Elara dreamed of falling.
Not through darkness—but through absence.
There was no wind, no sensation of speed. Just the certainty that something immeasurable surrounded her, vast enough to swallow stars without noticing.
Then—
Eyes opened in the void.
Countless.
Formless.
Watching.
She tried to scream.
No sound came.
A voice spoke—not in words, but in meaning.
You are late.
Her heart slammed violently in her chest.
"I don't know you," she whispered.
The void rippled, amused.
You knew me before you knew fire. Before you knew blood.
A shape began to form—not a body, not truly. A suggestion of presence. Pressure so immense it made her soul ache.
The gods feared you, it continued. Demons buried you. Humans forgot you.
Golden light flared instinctively, but it was swallowed instantly, absorbed like a candle flame dropped into an ocean.
You are not light, the voice said gently. You are the pause between light and dark.
Something brushed her consciousness.
Not touch.
Recognition.
Wake soon, little Arbiter, it whispered. Or this realm will belong to me instead.
The void collapsed.
Elara screamed awake.
She bolted upright in bed, gasping, sweat soaking through the black silk sheets. Her chest burned, heart racing so violently she thought it might tear free.
The room shook.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the crystal walls as golden light leaked from beneath her skin, pulsing erratically.
"No—no—stop—" she whispered, clutching her chest.
The light surged higher.
Then—
Shadows wrapped around her.
Firm. Anchoring.
Kaelthar.
He was there instantly, kneeling on the bed, one arm around her shoulders, the other pressing against her back. His presence hit her like gravity—solid, undeniable.
"Elara," he said sharply. "Breathe. With me."
She clutched his robes desperately.
The light faltered.
"Again," he commanded, voice low, absolute. "Breathe."
She obeyed.
Slowly, painfully, the power retreated, sinking back into her bones. The cracks in the walls sealed themselves with faint hisses of molten stone.
Silence returned.
Elara sagged forward, forehead resting against Kaelthar's chest, trembling violently.
He did not push her away.
Instead, he wrapped both arms around her fully, holding her like a shield against the world.
"What did you see?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard.
"Something older than gods," she whispered. "It knows me."
Kaelthar went still.
That was not the reaction she wanted.
"You've seen it too," she realized.
"Yes," he admitted. "Once. Long ago."
Her fingers tightened in his robes. "What is it?"
"The Void Sovereign," he said. "The first hunger. It existed before creation decided what it wanted to be."
Her blood ran cold.
"And it's watching me."
"Yes."
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because even speaking its name draws attention," he said. "And because the moment you learn too much… it accelerates."
Her breath hitched.
"So I'm a beacon," she said bitterly.
"You are a key," he corrected. "And keys are always hunted."
The truth settled heavily between them.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Elara became painfully aware of how close they were.
She was half in his lap, his arms still around her, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could feel the steady power of him beneath her hands—the controlled strength, the restrained danger.
And something else.
Something very human.
Her pulse quickened.
Kaelthar noticed.
Of course he did.
His grip loosened slightly, giving her space without pushing her away.
"You should rest," he said quietly.
She didn't move.
"If I sleep," she whispered, "I'll see it again."
His gaze darkened.
"Then don't sleep alone."
The words hung between them—dangerous, intimate.
She looked up at him.
"Is that an order?" she asked softly.
"No," he said. "It's a promise."
Her breath caught.
Outside the chamber, the demon realm was tearing itself apart.
Three factions had formed overnight.
The Purists – led by Varyx, who believed Elara must die before she awakens fully.
The Abyssal Loyalists – demons who saw her as salvation and pledged themselves to Kaelthar completely.
The Opportunists – who wanted to bind her power, crown or no crown.
Assassination attempts doubled.
Spies moved openly.
The court was a blade balanced on its edge.
And Elara was the point.
Kaelthar escorted her to the inner sanctum the next day—a place even demon lords were forbidden to enter. Ancient wards glowed faintly along the walls, reacting to both of them.
"This place was built to contain gods," he said. "If anything can shield you while you sleep, it's here."
She turned to him.
"You'll stay?"
"Yes."
She hesitated. "Why?"
His answer was immediate.
"Because if the Void reaches for you again, I want it to go through me first."
Her throat tightened.
That night, she lay beside him—not touching, not daring to. The space between them felt heavier than any embrace.
"Elara," he said quietly into the dark.
"Yes?"
"If I ever tell you to run," he said, "you must do it. Even if it means leaving me."
Her chest ached.
"And if I refuse?"
A pause.
"Then we end the world together."
She turned toward him.
Their faces were inches apart now.
This time, the pull was unbearable.
She lifted her hand slowly, giving him time to stop her.
He didn't.
Her fingers brushed his jaw.
The power between them surged—not violently, not explosively.
Harmoniously.
Their foreheads touched.
Their breaths mingled.
Just as his lips hovered a breath from hers—
The sanctum alarms screamed.
Kaelthar cursed softly and vanished from the bed in a blur of shadow.
Elara sat up, heart pounding.
The sky outside the palace cracked open.
Not with light.
With nothingness.
A tear in reality yawned above the demon capital, and from it spilled darkness that devoured sound, color, and hope itself.
The Void Sovereign had made its first move.
And it had chosen the demon realm as its battlefield.