The car was a rolling tomb, sealed in silence so thick it felt solid. Ren sat trapped between two unyielding forms of judgment: his father, Prince Martin, a stoic statue gazing out the window, and his younger sister Liz, who pressed herself against the door as if hoping to phase through it.
Across from him, Natasha sat enthroned in her seat, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her unwavering gaze a physical weight on him. In the front, Princess Charlotte's occasional glances in the rearview mirror were a silent storm of conflicting emotions—disappointment, anger, a flicker of hope—all warring behind her eyes.
The silence in this car. Natasha has questions. Liz is evidently afraid of me, angry perhaps but mostly terrified. I cannot tell what Martin is thinking. And Charlotte…. I can only imagine the kind of things Ren Vaelthorn did to this family.
All the accusations the crowd outside the court hurled at me. Is that really who Ren Vaelthorn was?
His hands tightened into fists, a subtle tension Natasha's sharp eyes noticed instantly.
They arrived at a stately, modern manor nestled within a secure, wooded compound—a far cry from the opulent palace he might have expected. Secluded. Private.
The moment they all stepped out and the car doors closed, the silence shattered.
"Liz, go to your room," Prince Martin stated, his words final, "the rest, to the study, now."
He led the way, his stride measured and firm, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind. Parenthood was a battlefield where love and guilt waged a constant war. He knew every one of his son's atrocities, had even helped bury them, not to condone the monster, but to protect the ghost of the boy he once was. He and Charlotte had chosen a path of warmth over cold political strategy, a decision that now felt like a profound failure. They had watched, helpless, as Ren curdled into the creature the kingdom despised.
Natasha's news of his memory loss had seemed a cruel mirage. But his genuine, shocking outburst in court—that raw, unfiltered confusion—was the undeniable proof. It was a miracle, a second chance they had watched dangle over the precipice. Now he was home. But his hollowed-out cultivation was a new kind of prison, and the fear that royal pressure would twist this new Ren into something worse was a fresh, chilling dread.
We have to anchor him, Martin thought, a desperate plan forming. Before the currents of this world pull him under for good.
Natasha entered last, shutting the study door with a sound like a vault sealing.
Martin leaned against the heavy oak desk, crossing his arms, a king in his own troubled court. Charlotte sat beside him, back straight, a queen bracing for a siege. All focus narrowed on Ren, standing alone in the center of the room.
"Speak, child," Martin commanded, the words resonating in the hushed space.
They have been through hell, Ren thought, bowing his head in a gesture that felt both foreign for those present. If I can do one thing, it's to give them closure.
"I'm sure Natasha has told you. My memories are gone. I woke up in a hotel room three days ago with nothing but my name and these chains. From her, I learned who you are and what she does—the facts I used to save myself today." He let the simple truth hang for a moment. "You must be wondering how I knew about the chains if I don't know my own family. The answer is... a voice spoke to me in the dark."
"Oh, wonderful," Natasha cut in, her voice a blade of polished sarcasm. "A voice spoke to you. Next you'll tell us you're the god of flowers."
A single, sharp look from Martin forced her into a simmering silence.
"What do you mean, Ren?" Charlotte asked, leaning forward, her entire posture taut with a fearful, intense focus.
"I heard a voice in my mind. Only I can hear it. These chains aren't as simple as they seem. It appears I'm being held prisoner with these chains, enslaved to an entity known as the Soul Devourer. The voice I heard belonged to the Soul Devourer. He told me the true nature of the chains. He was also the one that told me to pin the blame on Jerald. I only slightly deviated a bit from his instruction because I didn't want to implicate an innocent man. That's why I brought Natasha into the picture."
"Oohhh! Soul Devourer!" Natasha mocked, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. "I'm so sca—"
The joke died on her lips. She saw their parents' faces. Charlotte had gone pale, her eyes fixed on some distant horror. Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, the strain in his shoulders making him look years older.
The room's atmosphere plunged from skeptical to frigid.
"You two..." Natasha said, her sarcasm evaporating into stunned alarm. "You seem to know about this Soul Devourer. Who is he?"
Even Ren looked up, his own curiosity sharpening. He knew his captor was a threat, but the raw, visceral dread on his parents' faces spoke of a legend far more terrifying than he had imagined.
Ren had made up his mind in the car ride home to reveal most of the truth to his new family. It was the best explanation for his current situation. However, he did not expect Martin and Charlotte to actually have knowledge about the Soul Devourer.
They definitely know something. The Soul Devourer must be infamous then. But no, if he was, Natasha would have known about him. That means he's a being that operates in the shadows, antagonizing the human race and only a select few know of him, know of his deeds and capabilities. Thankfully some of the select few had to be my mom and dad.
I guess today is the day I get to finally understand what I'm dealing with here. My ESP could have revealed everything to me but I failed to engage it again since that morning.
Martin let out a long tired breath, uncrossing his arms.
"No we do not know who this Soul Devourer is, but we know who his followers are," he walked around the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a folder which he placed on the table.
Ren's eyes immediately caught sight of the bold red letters that spelled "LILIM" on the file.