I left the corpse pit with no name and no heart. My boots were shredded, my ankles slick with blood—and still, I felt nothing but a hollow echo where hope once lived. Through the haze of pain I put one foot before the other, tracing the broken road back to Elvishia.
Not as a king. As a shadow.
It took hours—maybe longer. The sky bled into twilight by the time I crested the last hill. Below me, Elvishia's walls glowed with torchlight. I saw fires dancing against the dusk: a festival.
No—a confirmation of my death.
Banners of gold and white snapped in the wind. Music blared like a victory cry. Wine sloshed in goblets. At the plaza's center loomed a statue:
Not of me. Of Kael.
My brother. My murderer.
On its bronze plaque: "Kael the Pure, Savior of Elvishia—Slayer of the Demon King Valen." Crowds cheered. Children pirouetted around a mock execution stage, wooden swords raised in salute. Posters bearing my coronation portrait lay burned and torn at their feet.
"Down with the demon tyrant!" a man roared, alcohol-fogged and triumphant.
"Justice to the traitor!" another cried.
I slipped into the throng, hood low. Finding a wine merchant, I stammered, "Why… why are you celebrating?"
He flashed a grin, red wine staining his teeth. "Don't you know? The demon-loving king is dead—executed at dawn by the Church. He was a conspirator with dark tribes… dunked innocents in his summoning cauldrons!"
My throat clogged. "That's not… true."
The merchant scoffed. "Sympathizer, huh?" He spat on the ground.
The lies seeped into me, venomous. My people—those I vowed to protect—danced on my grave.
Yet, in that frenzy of hate, a spark resisted the darkness. Kael must not know. The truth must survive.
I fled: weaving past guards, melding into alleys draped in shadow until I reached the Duke's estate.
Kael.
Only one path in: the secret tunnel we built as children. One we both believed would keep us safe.
I descended into the damp stones.
In his bedchamber's half-light, I saw scenes that splintered what remained of me.
Seraphina. Naked. Languid on Kael's silken sheets, her laughter a blade.
"He was such a fool," she purred, tracing his chest with lithe fingers. "All his books… his bleeding ideals. I almost pitied him."
Kael drank deeply. "He never saw it coming," he said, voice smooth as poison. "He believed loyalty was unbreakable. What a nerd."
"People still buy his martyr story?" she asked.
He shrugged. "World loves a good lie. We just sold them the best."
My heart—if it still beat—shattered. My fingertips pressed to the cold stone. My teeth snapped, tasting iron.
Kael's head snapped up. "Did you hear—?"
He flung a dagger at the tunnel's mouth.
I didn't wait to see blades. I sprinted into the darkness, every breath a firestorm in my lungs. By the time I reached open air, my vision blurred. Blood dripped from my eyes—literal crimson tears that burned like betrayal.
I collapsed in a back alley, rags my only bedding.
A ragged old man stirred beside me. His eyes, ancient and fathomless, saw right through me.
"You're crying blood, boy."
"I have nothing left," I rasped. "My wife… my brother… my people… all mine turned on me."
He nodded as if pleased. "Welcome to the truth."
He offered no hand, no comfort. Only words sharpened on grief:
"This world is a wolf. It feasts on the weak." "Kindness is a blade that cuts yourself before your enemies." "Mercy is a leash. Remove it." "You want revenge? Then stop bleeding. Become what they fear."
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the jungle's edge loomed.
The Black Jungle, cursed by the Church. Its twisted roots sighed like hungry ghosts.
And in the silence, I felt it:
A heat, a calling—like a fingertip brushing the scar on my back.
Then a voice, soft as dusk:
"You walk like you're still wearing a crown, corpse‑boy."
I looked up. Perched on a dying branch was a being no larger than my hand: violet feathers like shards of night, eyes glittering with mischief, smile wide and impossible.
"Your last chance," it said, drifting closer. "Name's Nyxiel—Guide of the Abyss, friend to fallen kings, occasional terror, perpetual cute."
I swallowed. "You're not… a god?"
Nyxiel snorted. "Nope. I just worked for one."
It spun tales the Church would burn as heresy:
Long ago, two brothers—Light and Darkness—ruled in harmony, shepherds to humans, elves, and demonkin alike. But greed scalded the Light. Seven false saints betrayed their kin, cutting away the Dark and sealing him beneath the earth's heart.
And thus began the genocide of his children.
"History twisted," Nyxiel whispered. "And you, Valen, were the perfect puppet."
I lowered my gaze. "I… I slew the last Demon King."
"He forgave you before you raised your blade," Nyxiel breathed. Then, pointing at my mark, "That brand is balance's will—the flame of betrayed royalty. Only those who have lost everything can carry it."
My skin tingled. The jungle stilled.
And then the world went black.
Void. Stars. Shadows.
Seven silhouettes flickered in the gloom: the ancient Demon Kings of old—robed in flame, bone, wind, sorrow—each crowned by betrayal.
"Wraith," one murmured. "Your name means shadow and revenge. Do you bear both?"
"I do," I whispered.
They shared their truths—of kingdoms lost, love broken, hopes crushed. Their voices etched scars in my mind.
Finally, the one whose horns I once severed stepped forward. His eyes were sorrow incarnate.
"You were blind, Valen," he said. "Yet never wicked. Now you see."
A single tear of darkness trailed my cheek. "I swear: I will use this gift to tear down liars."
They bestowed their knowledge, their fury, their final breath—and faded.
I jolted back to the jungle's edge. Nyxiel hovered near, wings flickering.
"You saw them?" it asked.
"I did."
"And you still choose this path?"
"I will raze their heaven to forge a purer world."
Nyxiel's grin was a crescent moon. "Then let's begin."
Far away, the Church of Light trembled. Prophets in their temples convulsed by shared vision: a throne of ash, a man wrapped in night, eyes bright as dying suns.
"He returns. If he is not stopped, he will rise beyond fate… beyond death."
Beneath a smoldering volcano, the last priest of Darkness wept at a glowing seal of familiar design.
"He lives—the Revenant Crown has chosen again. Find him… before the Light does."
I stepped from the Black Jungle with only Nyxiel and a whispering wind behind me. My purpose was reborn in shadow.
Next Chapter's Hidden Promise:In the echo of betrayal, you will find the key to salvation.
_Read the next chapter to uncover who holds the lock.
© 2025 Kael Virell. All rights reserved.
This is an original work of fiction. No part of this text may be copied, distributed, or reproduced without permission from the author. All characters, names, and places are the intellectual property of Kael Virell.