Read Our quirky fairytale :: Chapter 1: Once upon a time

So this is the end.

I’ve always walked in your footsteps,
all the way to your tragic end.
I tried to carve my own path,
but when your life is written before you’re even born,
did I ever really have a choice?
...Yes, once. And that choice brought me here.
Have I grown since then?
Or am I still that child chasing your shadow?

Regrets?
What does it matter?
History is written by the victors,
and my tale ends here.

Did you feel fear, too?
...No, you never feared anything.
Even in death, I will never match you.
I wear your crown, but I will never be king.

Autumn winds swept across the red valley. Dead leaves swirled around the human banners, mixing with ash. Blood had already begun to dry on the black stones, at the border between the kingdom of Camellia and the infernal lands.
And among the last knights still standing, alone among the fallen, stood Prince Luci Star.

His boots sank into scorched earth, between the charred remains of his men. His red cape floated behind him, a rag of dignity in a ruined world. Red as the blood spilled for his crown, for his divine bloodline. Red as the eyes he inherited, mark of humanity’s last hope.

The front had collapsed. Human troops, drawn from several kingdoms, had scattered under the fury of demons. Lucio, his right hand, his loyal shadow, had vanished in the chaos. The horns had fallen silent. The screams drowned in noise. And in that clamor of metal and fangs, Luci had stopped hearing.

He had prepared. He had studied everything: the art of war, the strategies of the ancients, the history, the sacred texts. Even Lucio’s annotations on “How to Survive Two Demons in Three Simple Steps.” But nothing had prepared him for intestines at his feet.
War didn’t taste like theory.

Despite his cape, his crown, and the celestial power in his eyes, he felt weak.
Unworthy of his lineage. Unworthy of the hope his very existence carried.
Son of heroes, but a hero made of paper.
A child dressed as a king.
An actor playing the final act of his own tragedy.

It was the young sovereign’s first war, and likely his last. At the gates of Hell, the journey seemed one-way.

This wasn’t his war. But he hadn’t had a choice.
The Pope had spoken. The Holy Council had decreed: the demons had come too close. Too boldly. The border had been breached. The fragile balance shattered. The pretext was enough.
And when you’re the last heir of the Star bloodline, refusing means becoming humanity’s enemy. Refusing means excommunication. Condemnation. Isolation.
The kingdom of Camellia doesn’t have the luxury of saying no, they had told him. As if his burden wasn’t heavy enough.
So Luci had said yes. And he had taken his place on the front lines, like his parents before him, on the day they vanished.
And he was afraid.

Luci’s sword felt heavier with every swing, his breath shorter. The demons kept coming. No matter how many he cut down, more followed, grotesque, snarling shapes driven by hunger. In this endless chaos of destruction, his childhood dream of peace with demons seemed distant. Foolish. Grotesque. Impossible.

A movement caught his eye. A larger demon lunged at him, its piercing roar tearing through the air. The impact sent him rolling, his sword flying out of reach. He crawled back, hand stretching for the weapon. A blow struck his side. Pain exploded. His scream cracked with exhaustion. Blood flowed. Hot. Sticky.
His vision blurred. Demons circled him. No more escape. No more strength. No more potions. He was going to die.

This is it, he thought, pressing a trembling hand to his wound. With the other, he grabbed his sword, suddenly so heavy it felt impossible to lift. The demons were closing in, growls echoing in his chest. He closed his eyes, gathering the last scraps of mana he had. If he was going to die, he’d take them with him. He focused his energy into one final spell. A burst of light that would reduce everything around him to ashes, including himself. A blinding exit.
With luck, it might do a beautiful explosion, maybe it will make a decent tapestry someday.

But then, the sky roared.
A massive shadow tore through the clouds. Wings slashed the mist. Luci’s eyes snapped open just as a shape soared above him.
An instant later, the battlefield exploded in chaos. A new roar split the air, louder, wilder than anything Luci had ever heard. A demon… no, a Demon Lord slammed into the ground with a force that shook the earth, claws tearing into the pack surrounding him.
Demons fell. One after another. Like puppets with severed strings. He moved like a predator, wings spread wide, his strikes too fast to follow.

Luci watched, stunned. Why? Why was this demon helping him?
Was he insane? Or had Luci finally lost his mind?
He swore by all that was holy, if by some miracle he survived, he’d never touch succubus incense again.
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe the neighborhood bully had just come for his royal snack.

The creature stood there, back turned to him, massive wings folding slowly as it scanned the battlefield. Its presence was overwhelming. Its mana radiated in waves so thick the air itself trembled. The lesser demons scattered like frightened beasts, leaving Luci alone before the towering figure.
Luci’s hand tightened around his sword hilt. Every instinct screamed to flee. But there was nowhere to go.

The demon’s back was exposed, wings at rest, like Luci wasn’t even worth noticing.
Arrogant.
Did it really think he was that weak?

Teeth clenched, Luci felt fury rising, tangled with despair. This was his chance. That unguarded back was an invitation, and he wouldn’t waste it.
He raised his sword.

“Lux maxima,” he whispered.

White light coated the blade. Every muscle burned, but there was no hesitation. In one final surge, he leapt, aiming for the demon’s heart.
Then, just before the blade struck, something glinted in the dying light.
A ring. Gold. A crest. The signet of House Star.
A simple object. Painfully familiar.

Luci staggered. His breath caught. His aim faltered. The demon was turning.
The blade only grazed its side, carving a shallow but bloody wound.
The two froze, facing each other.

Time stopped.

Luci’s heart skipped a beat.
This wasn’t a monster. It was a face. A memory.
A name slipped from his lips, barely more than a breath.

—Asher?

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.
Memories surfaced in fragments: a lonely boy, a promise made in the forest, a bond long thought lost, banished as childhood fantasy.
But now, standing before him, was no hallucination. It was a ghost made flesh. Wearing the enemy’s armor. Wearing the face of an old friend.

The demon flinched. Green eyes narrowing.
For a second, something flickered across his face. Hesitation? Pain?
Gone too fast to name. Replaced by a calm, unreadable mask.
But Luci had seen it. Just for a moment. A flicker of something familiar.
They stood there, locked in place.

One filled with disbelief that the demon before him could be his childhood friend. The other overwhelmed by the silent betrayal of the human who had nearly pierced his heart.