Chapter 6 – The Demon King's Path
The sun had barely risen over Aerion, and yet Kael already felt the weight of eternity on his shoulders. The hills were silent, barely stirred by the wind in the leaves. Each step he took echoed in his mind like a warning: he was walking toward a destiny he could no longer escape.
Every thought pulled him in two directions: the burning desire to save his friends and the visceral fear of what he would have to become to succeed. The blade of the high demon, Valdros's screams, the faces of Lyric, Erya, and Thane… all returned in a whirlwind he couldn't stop.
"They're counting on me… but I'll have to betray them…" he murmured, his voice cracked with anguish.
He knew the Time Artifact was the key. The Demon King possessed it, and no brute force or clever scheme would be enough. To get close, he had to earn the trust of the one he hated most, to live under the same roof as absolute evil, and walk a tightrope between loyalty and betrayal.
Kael stopped near a rock and closed his eyes. In the silence, he imagined the exact sequence of what he had to do:
Meet the Demon King without raising suspicion.
Prove his worth.
Obtain the Artifact—the only way being for the Demon King to hand it to him willingly.
Each step was risky, but he had no choice. Six months had passed since the premonition, and time was running out. His friends… they were counting on him, but he doubted he could endure.
As he resumed walking, noises behind the trees startled him. Erya appeared, breathless but determined. She had followed him, refusing to let him go alone.
"Kael… I won't let you do this alone," she murmured, breath catching.
Kael didn't even look at her. Each step toward her seemed to dig him deeper into his role. He saw her face, her eyes full of worry and resolve, but he couldn't respond.
"Erya… listen, I…" he began, but the words died in his throat. All he could see was the plan, every detail of the manipulation he had to carry out.
She followed him silently, walking by his side but respecting the space he wanted to keep. She saw him differently now: colder, more distant, but also more determined than ever. She knew he was obsessed with something, but this time, she wanted to break through that wall.
"Kael… look at me. If you do this, I'll be there. I'll help you… no matter what it takes."
Kael glanced into her eyes, and for a moment, something fragile, something human, passed between them. Then he looked away. All that mattered was the Demon King. His plan. His friends. And the only way to save them.
"Erya… I… I have to go alone," he finally murmured.
"No!" she protested, clenching her fists. "I won't let you lose yourself in this obsession. We're a team, Kael…"
Kael felt a pang in his chest, a cruel reminder of what he had to do. He had to play the traitor, even to those he loved most.
"Erya… believe me… what I have to do… it's… necessary." Kael let the words fade into the air like a sentence.
Erya placed a hand on her chest, as if to hold back what she was about to say. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear for herself, but for him. Her eyes searched for a crack, a contradiction, a sign that he wasn't already lost.
"You can't carry this alone, Kael. Not this time. You belong to us as much as we belong to you. Let us… let me go with you." Her voice cracked on the last syllable, firmer than she felt.
He looked at her, and something—an almost human memory—tried to break through the mask he had forged. She was there—always—with that gust of spirit and stubborn gentleness. There could have been a thousand reasons to let her come, a thousand chances to give in. But he thought of the faces he had seen in his vision, the black line that threatened to erase their smiles. One rule now: minimize risks, reduce variables. The fewer witnesses, the fewer souls to shatter if he failed.
"I can't put you in danger," he said at last, his voice dark but strangely calm. "If you come… if any of you come… everything becomes more dangerous. I have to do this alone."
Erya moved as if to reach for him, then stopped herself. Her face shifted, torn between rebellion and reason. Deep down, she knew Kael was right—and that his stubbornness was also a monstrous, necessary choice. Her jaw tightened.
"Then come back alive," she whispered. "And if you lose yourself… I'll find you."
He nodded, without another word. Their eyes met and emptied at once: promise, threat, and farewell compressed into a single breath.
Erya turned away before a word could betray her courage. She walked back to the camp, each step measured, her silhouette upright despite the storm inside. Behind her, Lyric watched silently—his features, for once, harsh, stripped of his comic mask. Thane stood still, eyes fixed on Kael, as if an invisible thread held him back.
Kael remained alone in the clearing for a moment. The emptiness he felt wasn't the outer silence—it was the absence of visible support, the solitude he had chosen. He took one last breath; the air felt heavier, filled with resin, damp earth, and a metallic taste he couldn't explain.
Then he left.
Each step etched itself like a decision: slow, deliberate, each stride a final departure from what once gave him light. The path sank into the forest, and soon the shadows grew thicker, more still. The sounds of the camp faded: the crackle of a last fire, Lyric's distant breath, a branch snapping like a final warning. Leaves brushed his calves like curious fingers; the damp earth clung to his boots, reminding his body of the world's truth—dust and mud, pain and effort.
He walked for a long time. The landscape changed: black rocks, gnarled roots, and then, after a steep climb, the cave appeared like a wound in the mountain—a chasm from which a red glow seeped, slow and steady. The air grew hotter, heavier; a harsh smell, like heated metal, caught in his throat. His heart pounded so hard he thought he could hear its echo in the stone walls.
As he advanced, Kael replayed the plan in his mind like a brutal mantra: feigned humility, calculated prowess, simulated obedience. He imagined himself smiling without joy, complimenting without sincerity, accepting a hand that might be a chain. Each image cost him. Each image brought him closer to what he feared: becoming the necessary monster.
Thirty meters from the entrance, he stopped. The world seemed to split in two: behind him, the life he loved—light, laughter, fire—and before him, absolute shadow, the ancient voice. He swallowed. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, not to fight, but to remind himself he was still a man.
He took two steps, then two more.
The stone beneath his feet vibrated like a drum. A voice, deep as rock, emerged from the darkness, calm but sharp:
"I was told a hero would come. Not accompanied?"
The surprise wasn't in the words, but in the restrained dismay. The Demon King had expected calculations, messengers, mercenaries, a procession of caution. And here was Kael—alone, brimming with silent defiance, naked before the abyss. The shadow looming over him seemed to waver, as if the creature were trying to understand the nature of this courage—or madness.
Kael felt the Demon's gaze pierce to his bones. The silence that followed weighed like a shroud. Then, in a deep echo, the Demon King concluded, almost amused:
"Very well. Show me why you dared come without chains."
The Demon King remained still.
The hero stepped forward, alone, without escort or plea to the heavens.
For millennia, all who had come before him had trembled, prayed, or begged. None had worn that look—the gaze of a man already dead, yet refusing to fall.
A strange curiosity stirred in the black monarch's eyes. Was it recklessness, despair… or that thing he had long forgotten: faith?
For a moment, something shifted in the ruins of his soul.
"Interesting…" he murmured, voice deep but uncertain. "Come. Let's see what you make of your courage."
Kael inhaled. He crossed the threshold.
The world of the living receded behind him with a single step, and he entered, alone, into the heart of evil.