My wet clothes clung unpleasantly to my skin while the gale slapped my face raw. Every attempt to soar through the pummeling wind turned into a struggle against an invisible force shoving me backward. As the crown prince, the lord of darkness, I ought to look majestic and invincible. Instead, I resembled a drenched stray thrown outside in a storm. That was exactly the point.
Hiding from the rain would have been beneath me. To blend in, I had to look ordinary; plagued by the same issues as the commoners. The borrowed face alone—the one I often assumed, belonging to a brown‑haired fellow with a stockier build and deep scars on his cheeks—was not enough. I needed to be convincingly ordinary, to slip through the crowd so that no one would recognize me.
It had been a long time since my last visit. Slobodnica had turned into a sprawling lake. Rain‑soaked streets lay deserted; stone pavements, quilted with puddles, mirrored the gray sky. Four days of relentless rain had flooded the entire town, and the water was already lapping at the thresholds of houses.
I dived downward until my boots slapped onto the wet pavement. Water splashed high, instantly drowning my ankles. Without hesitation, I dismissed my black wings; I had no desire to attract unwanted attention.
Slobodnica was small. Compared with the great city I called home, it felt like a forgotten village. The angels here lived a simple life, far from the wealth and comfort to which I was accustomed. Stone cottages with wooden shutters and the occasional thatched roof looked like architecture from another age.
This town lay within my brother's domain. Normally it was he who watched over it, but in recent months rumors had spread about a growing cult. Its mission was to exterminate incomplete angels—those unable to summon their wings. Yet according to my father's law, even such beings were rightful citizens. The cult was a mockery of his power, and I had come here to show what happens to those who dare defy his rules.
The street curved left. In the narrow space between the houses, I recalled a birthday I once celebrated in a brothel. Together with long‑forgotten friends, we drank all the liquor, threw the women out, and forced them to earn coin so they could buy back our favor. The next day we realized that, had it not been for my immunity, we would all have swung from the gallows long ago. I chuckled at the memory, though it no longer seemed as amusing as it once had. I had long since outlived my reckless youth.
Entering the inn, I descended the steps into a room far too fragrant for my taste, where slow music drifted. A pianist perched on a tiny stage, tapping the keys with zero talent. To the left stood a large bar, and I headed straight for it. The blonde behind the counter, wrapped in scarcely more than a scrap of cloth, leaned forward and smiled at me.
"An unopened bottle of your most expensive liquor," I barked.
Her smile broadened.
"Nate! So good to see you! Come to celebrate something?" She leaned over and laid a hand on my shoulder. The touch made my skin crawl.
Nate. The name belonged to the man whose face I wore. I wanted to brush her off, but I realized her forwardness was not altogether surprising—she might be someone General Natelien Olen knew well. So I left her hand where it was, though my voice stayed hard.
"I'm working. We'll talk later."
Her smile froze. As if sensing something, she withdrew two steps, repelled by my aura.
"I'll bring the bottle to the back," she muttered.
I paid her no further attention. I moved to a table in the corner where three men sat. One of them—loud and poorly dressed—was leaning toward a young girl. Her look reminded me of Elisha. My sister would never have allowed a man to invade her space that way; she would have grabbed a candlestick and driven it deep into his skull, with a witty remark about him "wasting our oxygen" or something equally as cold.
Other people's lives held no value for Elisha. She believed she had the right to decide who would stop breathing and when. Though I never admitted it aloud, I agreed with her in many ways. I, too, possessed the power to decide who would live and who would not, and I was not shy about using it.
Where are you? Damn it, where are you, Reilan?! We had an agreement!
The voice pierced my mind like the tip of a dagger, cutting through my defenses and flooding my head with unexpected force. It slipped through a crack in the mental shield I had so carefully erected and paralyzed me for an instant. A torrent of thoughts and alien emotions dragged me elsewhere.
A room appeared before me, a place worlds apart from this dingy hole. Luxurious crimson drapes framed towering windows, while an antique table—gleaming and flawless—dominated the space. Behind it sat a man whose features bordered on divine perfection. Black hair fell into piercing, almost celestial blue eyes. His every motion was measured, each gesture elegant. He was the embodiment of eternal beauty, unmatched by any living creature.
Let me go, Darlek! I'll come!
His mind released me, and the world snapped back to its familiar, filthy chaos.
I staggered and had to steady myself on the nearest youth. He looked at me in confusion, about to speak—until his eyes fell on my hand. He noticed how black it was. A mistake—again, thanks to Darlek.
The boy recoiled, muttered something under his breath, and vanished.
Only three beings could drag me into their minds this forcibly. My despised siblings, Darlek and Elisha, were two of them. They could paralyze me even in the midst of battle, giving some fool the chance to lop off my head.
I inhaled deeply, searching for any trace that might make for a lead. I climbed the wooden stairs. A damp stench of decay mingled with a hint of expensive spicy perfume, I was close to my target.
I stopped beside the wall, pressed against its cool surface. Down the stairs lumbered a burly man with wings stuck in an unnatural pose. Not every angel possessed the gift of hiding his true nature, and some were forced to live their whole lives with jammed wings on their backs. Such wings were not a gift but a curse that burned their bearer to the bone—yet it was still better than being one of those who had never called their wings at all.
I moved quietly to a door from behind which coarse male laughter echoed. I turned the handle and entered. The scene before me was as repulsive as it was predictable. One woman, sudden fear in her eyes, jumped back; the other kept laughing as if nothing were amiss. The man between them was naked and, without a shred of shame, cast an irritated look at me.
"Get out, filth! I've paid for them for another hour!" he roared.
I tilted my head, a slow smile spreading over my lips. I merely said,
"Ladies, out."
The aura surrounding me flooded the room, filling every corner and forcing those present to submit. The women traded swift glances; their laughter died, and without a word, they left. The slam of the door plunged the space into unnatural silence.
I stood by the entrance while the man reluctantly pushed himself up from the bed. His hands reached for a thin robe, which he carelessly flung over his shoulders; it reluctantly adapted to his bulky body, revealing more than it concealed. His gestures were idle attempts at preserving dignity, but his eyes betrayed mounting embarrassment. Suddenly, he seemed less confident and more like a man caught in the act.
The air thickened, yet I remained silent. I knew it embarrassed him. When he could bear it no longer, he spoke.
"You have no idea who I am, do you…?" His voice, a touch quieter, tried to sound dominant. He lifted a dagger from the table and began tossing it between his hands. Was that meant to scare me? "Daner sent you, didn't he? Wants some petty revenge? I don't know how much he paid you, but I'll pay more and cleanse your stained soul. I am a purifier, a spreader of truth, and one of the kings of Terravorn!"
His words brimmed with false confidence, as though he were trying to convince not only me but himself as well. He was exactly the kind of man whose pride always betrayed him.
I almost admired his naïve attempt to solve things with words. Yet with what he had just said, hit the bull's‑eye squarely.
"Noxalora has no kings. It has one ruler—Sarlan!"
"You need to live in the future," he sneered. "The world has stayed so stagnant for too long. It's time people like you stopped following the dark angels and stood against them. They don't care about us; they see us as replaceable slaves. Together we can stop them."
I leaned slowly against the door so no one could enter. This was not one of the clever men of Terravorn that Nate had warned me about. He was an ordinary fool, willing to brag before anyone in hopes of feeling powerful for a moment.
"And how do you plan to do that?" I asked, tilting my head as if genuinely considering it. "I admit it might interest me. The dark have ruled for too long. Perhaps it is indeed time someone acted against them."
A flicker of distrust crossed his face, but a shadow of interest flashed in his eyes.
I went on,
"Do you already have concrete plans? Or is this just another futile attempt at rebellion that will fall apart before it even begins?"
"First, I need to make sure you're not incomplete. We take only those who have the courage to change the regime and are true angels," he challenged.
I stepped closer. My lips twitched into a slight smile as I casually summoned my wings. Shadows, blacker than the deepest night, unfurled behind me with dramatic elegance, but only for an instant—just long enough for him to know better. When I hid them again, his mouth quivered.
I did not have ordinary wings.
And fear appeared in his eyes.
"Even immortals can die," he declared nervously. "They have weaknesses. We'll use them against you and fulfill the Light Prophecy."
I rolled my eyes and sighed quietly.
"Light Prophecy? Weaknesses? That's the grand plan of Terravorn's self‑styled kings?"
The man clenched his teeth and barked back,
"It's only a beginning, but at least it's something. The dark have ruled this world for too long and nobody does anything. One spark is all it takes to change everything."
I sighed aloud and looked away from him. I don't even know why I expected something more elaborate. They are all idiots anyway.
"I'm late for a birthday party because of this absolute…"
His hand, tossing the dagger, froze. He began to study me again, as if trying to assemble a mosaic he had missed.
"Birthday?" he whispered.
"Celebrating my 878th birthday, in case you'd like to congratulate me," I announced with mild irony.
The dagger slipped from his hand onto the carpet. He didn't reach for it. He just left it where it fell. His eyes drifted to the window, but one of my shadows moved and blocked it. He certainly would not be flying anywhere.
I slowly pushed away from the door and stepped forward. My strides were small and unhurried, yet the man instantly retreated, backing up until the table behind him halted his progress.
I unfastened my cloak and bared my arms. They were black, decorated with writhing spirals of darkness. Living shadows emanated from them, intertwining.
"Something wrong?" I asked, raising an eyebrow while watching his clumsy attempts to hide his fear.
The magic slipped from my body, revealing the truth I had hidden until now. I was no longer merely the brown‑haired, scar‑cheeked angel. I stood there untarnished by mortality. The features of my face were nearly divine. Hair darker than night framed eyes bluer than the brightest sky.
"The Dark Prince!" he whispered. His gaze jumped between my eyes and hands as if trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
"I… I didn't mean it like that…" he stammered. The words fell out of him in jerks, every other one choked off by the fear gripping his throat.
I looked at him with disdain.
"I would respect you more if you stood by your word."
His face turned greenish. He glanced at the half‑open window behind me, and for a moment I sensed his hope that there was still a chance to escape. How naïve.
I spoke again, a faint note of disgust in my voice. "I don't like men who promise mountains and then deliver nothing."
"My prince…" he began, but I gave him no chance to finish.
"The Light Prophecy, you say?" I bellowed at him and burst out laughing. The man collapsed into a chair, gripping the armrests until his knuckles blanched. "You idiot, I invented it myself to lure fools into thinking it was real! Yet you've entertained me. I never expected anyone would build an entire plan around it just to get rid of me."
It was the truth. There were several false prophecies my father and I released into the world to test our subjects. In over eight hundred years, no one had ever latched on to one and tried to prove it.
"Luxana is dangerous to you and you fear her so much that you've imprisoned her. You know she could destroy you!" he whispered; some of his lost courage was returning.
"She is wholly loyal to the ruler. They have an agreement. She does not want to be your savior and never will be. Light and darkness cannot fight because neither can win; once such a battle begins, the void will swallow everything. That is one reason Luxana never leaves her small kingdom and surrounds herself with warrior women so that ambitious men cannot reach her."
My shadows began to coil around him, testing him. The man had nowhere to run. There was nothing that could save him now; his angelic magic could not stand against mine.
I knelt beside him.
"Weakness? I have none, because I've been hellishly careful. I care for nothing but myself. I don't care what you'd do to my family or anyone else. I have not formed a bond strong enough for you to stop me or blackmail me. I was born only for power, not for pathetic mortal pleasures."
"You liar! We all have weaknesses and you're no exception. One day you'll hit rock bottom and never rise again!"
"Perhaps. But today you will be the one to talk—about the other fools who believed in the Light Prophecy—or you will learn firsthand that playing with darkness is a thousand times worse than playing with fire!"
I leaned even closer and touched his face with my black hand. He was afraid. I didn't even need to use my full power to terrify him. I knew he would tell me whatever I wanted. Why make it harder? Death awaited him; he no longer needed to care what would happen to the others once he was gone.
I would be lying if I claimed I did not enjoy such games. The atmosphere in the room was frightening, yet I made it downright horrifying when I engulfed us in darkness where he could see nothing at all. His first scream silenced by the magical barrier that allowed no sound to escape.
Weakness? I possessed none.