The sky burned.
Elara knew it wasn't fire—fire crackled, roared, devoured.
This sky bled.
Crimson clouds churned above her village like an open wound, streaked with veins of black lightning that split the heavens without sound. The air tasted metallic, heavy enough to make breathing hurt. Even the wind had stopped, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
She stood at the edge of the square, barefoot on cold stone, fingers clenched around the hem of her torn dress.
Around her, people screamed.
Not the sharp kind—no, these were broken sounds, ripped straight from throats that knew they were about to die.
"Run!"
"Get inside!"
"Gods save us—!"
Elara didn't run.
She couldn't.
Because the ground beneath the village gates was cracking open.
With a deafening裂 crack, the earth split apart, swallowing wood and stone as if they were nothing. Heat surged upward, and from the chasm rose black mist so thick it blotted out the dying light of the torches.
And then—
Something moved within it.
A horned silhouette emerged, massive and impossibly tall, its presence pressing down on the village like a physical weight. Each step it took sent tremors through the ground. Red eyes ignited in the darkness, glowing like twin stars born in hell.
A demon.
No—
Demons.
They poured out of the rift in silence, armored in obsidian and bone, wings folded tight against their backs. Their weapons gleamed with infernal runes, humming softly as if alive.
Not raiders.
Not beasts.
An army.
The villagers fell to their knees.
Some prayed.
Some wept.
Some fainted where they stood.
Elara felt none of it.
Her heart wasn't racing. Her hands weren't shaking.
Instead, something deep inside her stirred.
Warm.
Familiar.
Wrong.
The demon army parted.
And the pressure intensified.
From the heart of the rift, he stepped forward.
The Demon King.
He did not roar.
He did not announce himself.
He didn't need to.
The world seemed to bend around him, shadows stretching toward his feet like worshippers. His horns curved back from his temples, black as midnight, etched with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly red. Long dark hair spilled down his back, stirred by an unseen wind.
His armor was elegant, forged for a ruler—not a brute. Crimson light traced its edges, glowing in time with the slow, steady beat of his heart.
When his gaze swept across the village, people collapsed under it.
Then his eyes stopped.
On her.
Elara gasped.
The moment their eyes met, the world snapped.
The screams faded.
The sky blurred.
The ground vanished beneath her feet.
All she could see were his eyes—deep crimson, endless, ancient.
Recognition flared in them.
Not surprise.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
A whisper slid through her mind, not spoken aloud but carved directly into her thoughts.
There you are.
Her knees buckled.
She would have fallen if the air itself hadn't held her upright.
The Demon King raised one clawed hand.
The demons knelt instantly, armor crashing against stone in perfect unison.
Gasps rippled through the village.
He spoke then—his voice low, resonant, carrying effortlessly over the screams and crackling earth.
"Human girl."
Every head turned toward Elara.
Her blood went cold.
The Demon King took a single step closer. Then another. Each step erased distance that should not have been crossed so easily.
"You are chosen."
A murmur swept through the demons. Shock. Confusion.
Chosen?
Elara opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
A village elder staggered forward, shaking. "G–Great Lord, please! Take gold, livestock—anything! She's nothing! Just a girl!"
The Demon King didn't even look at him.
With a flick of his fingers, the elder was hurled aside like a broken doll, crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crack.
Elara screamed.
Something flared in her chest—hot, furious, blinding. The air around her shimmered, and for half a heartbeat, golden light flashed beneath her skin.
The Demon King's eyes widened.
Just a fraction.
His lips curved into something that was not quite a smile.
"So it's true," he murmured. "You feel it too."
He stopped directly in front of her.
Up close, he was overwhelming. Power radiated from him in waves, ancient and absolute. She could feel it pressing against her bones, her soul.
He reached out.
Elara flinched, bracing for pain.
But his fingers never touched her skin.
They hovered inches away.
Careful.
Reverent.
"I am Kaelthar," he said softly. "King of the Abyss. Ruler of the Demon Realm."
Her vision blurred with tears. "I—I don't know you."
"I know," he replied.
His gaze softened—just slightly.
"But you know me."
Her heart skipped.
Because he was right.
Somewhere deep inside her, beneath fear and confusion, a memory stirred—of fire and darkness, of wings unfurled against a burning sky, of a voice calling her name long before she had one.
Kaelthar straightened and turned to his army.
"I claim her," he declared.
A stunned silence followed.
Then chaos.
"What?!"
"A human?!"
"She cannot—!"
Kaelthar's aura exploded outward.
The ground shattered.
The demons fell silent instantly, forced to their knees by sheer pressure.
"She is mine," he said coldly. "By ancient right."
He turned back to Elara and extended his hand—this time offering, not threatening.
"Come," he said. "You will be my queen."
The village erupted in screams.
Elara stared at his hand, trembling.
Queen?
Human and demon were sworn enemies. The histories said demons slaughtered humans. The priests said demons corrupted everything they touched.
And yet…
Her heart was pulling her toward him.
Against reason.
Against fear.
Against everything she had ever been taught.
Behind her, the village burned.
Ahead of her stood hell itself.
And for the first time in her life, Elara understood one terrifying truth:
She was not being taken.
She was being returned.
Slowly, shaking, she placed her hand in the Demon King's.
The moment their skin touched, the sky screamed.
Golden light erupted from her body, clashing violently with Kaelthar's crimson aura. The shockwave tore through the village, flattening buildings and sending demons flying.
Kaelthar tightened his grip, pulling her close.
His voice was a whisper meant only for her.
"Do not awaken yet," he said urgently. "If you do… this world will not survive."
Her vision went white.
And then the abyss swallowed her whole.