Velkaris had once been a kingdom of storms and fire—built in defiance of the heavens. But now, with Kael and Seraphine walking its halls side by side, it breathed again. Not just with fury…
…but with purpose.
Kael stood at the center of the Infernal Council's war room. The air shimmered with heat and runes—hovering maps of the known realms flickered in bloodlight over the stone table. His brothers sat at the edges, some cautious, others already strategizing.
And Seraphine stood at his side—her voice low, sharp, cutting through the old men's pride like a dagger through silk.
"We can't win this war with brute force alone. The Court uses lies like blades. They've poisoned bloodlines, rewritten history. We don't just need soldiers. We need truth."
Maelrik tilted his head. "And who do you suggest we convince with truth, princess?"
"Humans," she replied. "And wolves."
A chorus of growls and mutters rose from the chamber.
Kael raised a hand. "Enough."
His voice had changed since his rebirth. It was still quiet—but it struck like thunder.
"They're right to doubt. The humans won't follow demons, not unless they see the Court for what it really is. And the wolves…" He hesitated. "They still think I'm one of them. That's a weapon we can use."
Agramor, the elder demon, leaned forward. "So you'll walk the lands of your enemies to win them to your cause?"
"Yes," Kael said.
"With her at your side?"
Kael didn't hesitate. "Especially with her."
Two nights later, they slipped from Velkaris beneath a moonless sky.
Kael and Seraphine wore cloaks stitched with rune-thread to hide their demon auras. Veyra joined them, along with a shape-shifting scout named Ezren—a demon who could walk among humans with ease.
Their first destination: Eldenfort—a border city between the human kingdoms and the Eclipse's grip. Once a neutral trade haven. Now crawling with spies and secrets.
They arrived just before dawn, blending into the early morning market crowds.
Seraphine pulled her hood low, watching the merchant stands. Most of the goods were smuggled: blacksteel from fallen werewolf mines, outlawed scrolls, ashes of burned demon relics.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"We're souvenirs now."
Ezren moved beside them. "The Eclipse Guard uses Eldenfort as a funnel. Half the stolen magic from conquered territories comes through here before it reaches the Court."
"And the people let them?" Seraphine asked.
"They're scared. Or paid."
Kael's eyes scanned the rooftops. "Then we give them a reason to choose something better."
They met with a contact—Captain Daenor, a former member of the Eclipse Guard who had defected after witnessing a Court massacre in the east.
He had lost an arm.
And his faith.
"I don't know why I agreed to this," he muttered, pouring wine with his remaining hand. "Maybe I'm tired of hiding."
Seraphine studied him. "Then you've already made your choice."
Kael unfurled a hidden map.
"We need you to get a message to the old northern lords. House Rhaven, House Verin, even the scattered packs. Tell them Velkaris rises again. And that I—Kael Thorne, son of Elenara, heir of fire—call them to stand against the Eclipse."
Daenor studied the map. "They'll want proof."
Kael nodded—and slid a ring across the table. The Crown Seal of Velkaris, once lost, now blazing again with infernal light.
Daenor's eyes widened.
"I'll try."
"That's all I ask," Kael said.
That night, as Kael and Seraphine camped beyond Eldenfort, a storm brewed.
They sat by a low fire, cloaked in silence.
Then Seraphine whispered, "Do you ever miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"The Keep. The gardens. The lies before the truth."
Kael looked at her, his voice soft. "Sometimes. But mostly I miss her."
"Your mother?"
He nodded. "She was the only one who saw both sides of me and didn't flinch. Not the wolf. Not the flame."
Seraphine placed a hand over his. "You are more than both. You are you."
He turned to her. "You don't fear me?"
"I choose you," she whispered.
They didn't kiss. Not yet. The moment held them in stillness—a vow unspoken but felt.
But peace does not linger long in stories like theirs.
As they crossed into the Hollowing Pass two days later, Ezren raised a warning hand.
"Riders," he hissed. "Three of them. Eclipse Guard. Moving fast."
They dove into cover behind a crumbling statue, weapons half-drawn.
The guards passed—but not without pause.
"They're tracking something," Veyra muttered. "Or someone."
Then she stopped.
Her eyes flickered.
And Kael saw it too—a symbol on one of the guard's cloaks.
A white serpent eating its own tail.
"That's not just Eclipse," Kael said.
"No," Veyra whispered. "That's the Inner Circle."
That night, Ezren returned from a scouting run with blood on his tunic and a hard set to his jaw.
"They weren't tracking us," he said. "They were hunting a village near the old Fae boundary."
"Why?" Seraphine asked.
"Because someone inside that village has information."
"About what?"
Ezren hesitated.
"About you."
Far away, in Velkaris, betrayal bloomed.
A hooded figure slipped through the winding corridors of the Demonspire. Silent. Measured.
They entered the forbidden archives beneath the citadel—a place only royal blood could access.
They reached for an ancient vault. Unlocked it.
Inside lay a blade carved from starfire and void.
They whispered only one word.
"Soon."
And the flame sigils on the walls began to dim.