Months later, Eldoria flourished.
Trade opened cautiously between humans and demons. Scholars exchanged knowledge. Borders softened.
Suspicion remained — but so did hope.
On the anniversary of their pact, Elara stood once more in the obsidian courtyard. This time, not as a sacrifice — but as a sovereign.
Malakar approached her, not in armor, but in simple black robes.
"You changed my kingdom," he said quietly.
"You changed mine."
He lifted her hand — gently.
"You once asked why I chose you."
"Yes."
He leaned close, his voice softer than flame.
"Because even the Devil King grows weary of standing alone."
Elara smiled.
"And because," he added, "you are the only being in existence who can hold my fire without fear."
She stepped closer.
"I was afraid," she whispered. "I just chose not to let it rule me."
For a long moment, the mountain was still.
Then Malakar removed his iron crown and placed it upon her head.
"Not Queen of the Underrealm," he said.
"Queen of Two Realms."
Above them, the smoke parted — revealing a sky bright with stars.
The prophecy had not promised ease.
It had promised balance.
And for the first time in centuries, the mountain did not feel like a threat.
It felt like home.