Read Our quirky fairytale :: Chapter 13: So close and still so far

Present Day, at the Star Castle

Luci stepped out of the bathroom and returned to his chambers.
After drying off, he slowly put his clothes back on, adjusting each piece mechanically, his gaze lost in the void. The evening mass was still ahead of him before he could finally collapse into bed.
Yet, despite his fully dressed state, he still felt cold.

He reached for his royal cape and draped it over his shoulders. Then, he turned to face the mirror of his grand armoire, where his crown sat solemnly on the vanity before it. The golden circle, stained by the bloody fate of his lineage, awaited him.

His reflection almost disgusted him.
To kill or be killed—that was the only true pact binding him to this crown. But the blood on his hands was nothing compared to that which had marked his ancestors.
Behind him, the window remained wide open, welcoming the storm. The rain had been falling for hours now, the sky burdened with heavy clouds, the moon drowned in darkness.
But it wasn’t the storm outside that weighed on him.
It was himself.
And what he had become.
He pulled the cape tighter around his shoulders. A cape that anyone else would have dreamed of wearing. And yet… to him, it was unbearably heavy.
Even now, as an adult, it still felt too large for him.
He should feel proud. After all, he was the prince of this kingdom.
But all he felt was emptiness.

A king built on lies, a slave in the real world. 

A smoke prince, reigning over a sand castle.

Everything was deception, a façade.
Nothing had ever made him feel truly alive—except the pain of losing those he held dear.  And even then, he had to keep his head high, feign indifference.
He had never been happy. Never been true.
He had never lived for himself.
Every day of his existence had been dedicated to the kingdom. To his duties. To his people.
Never had he asked himself who he truly wished to be. Because he had never been allowed to.
This cape was not a symbol of pride.
It was a weight.
A prison.
He had always been the prince.
Never just Luci.
No one had ever asked him.

No one… except for a little demon, twelve years ago.

"Luci, who do you want to be in this story?" 

"I suppose I'm the prince."

 "Ahaha, no, I mean... who do you WANT to be?"

 "…Who I want to be?"

 "Yeah! You can be anything you want, Luci! As long as you're happy, I'm happy too!"

A foolish game. A child’s question.
And yet, it was the only time anyone had ever asked what he really wanted.

He lowered his gaze to his hand. His fingers brushed over his ring.

A friend?

A lover?

The partner of a Demon Lord? 

Someone free… as long as I’m with you?

He let out a bitter chuckle.
Why ask the question at all? His fate was already sealed.
Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the crown resting on the vanity. He reached for it, lifted it carefully, and stared at it.
A perfect circle.

A gilded cage.

"Long live the king," they say...
But I’m not even king yet.
I’ve delayed the title, pushed it away until my marriage, postponed the inevitable.
How many more years must I give them before I’ve "done my part"?
Father… how much did you sacrifice?

Is there an end? A way to rule without losing myself?

Slowly, he placed the crown upon his head and turned toward the grand mirror.
His reflection stared back at him.
A broken man.
A prince.  A future king.  Nothing more.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"...Long live the king."

That was when he saw it.
A shadow in the mirror.
His breath hitched.
Behind him, just beyond his own silhouette, he swore he saw the outline of two wings.
Something… was on his balcony.

Luci spun around, his heart pounding in his chest.
His breath caught in his throat.
Through the torrential downpour, he was there.
As the prince once again felt himself drowning in despair, he had appeared, as if summoned by his silent plea.
Asher had returned for him.
He had not abandoned him.
Fulfilling the promise they had made twelve years ago.
The imposing demon sat on the railing, unmoving, regal in the storm.
Like a fallen angel emerging from the shadows.
He did not move.

He waited.

Luci’s heart slammed against his ribs.
His fingers tightened around his cape, and slowly, he stepped onto the balcony.
He felt the rain soak into his freshly dried hair, into his crown, but he didn’t care.
He never looked away.
Not for a second.
No words.  No sound.
The world outside them ceased to exist.
There was only this moment.
Only them.
Luci took another step.
One meter.
Asher, perched on the railing, was at his eye level. And yet, with those massive wings, he still seemed so much taller.
Their gazes never wavered.  Their hearts pounded so hard, it stole the breath from their lips.
Another step.
Fifty centimeters.
Luci lifted his hand, hesitating.
He wanted to touch him.
But… could he?
What if Asher no longer wanted human contact?  What if the Demon Lord he had become felt nothing for him now?
He stopped.
His heart screamed, but he waited.
For a sign.
A sign that Asher was still him.

Asher’s gaze flickered.
Then, it locked onto the small golden ring on Luci’s finger.
His eyes widened.
He… kept it?
As if spellbound, Asher raised his own hand, tentatively brushing his fingers against the ring.

Luci shivered.

Asher hesitated.
And then, finally, his hand settled atop Luci’s.
Luci closed his eyes for just a moment.
This touch… was warm.
He let his fingers trail up, up, until they reached Asher’s cheek.
The demon trembled.
Their faces drew closer.
And for a brief, fleeting moment—
Time stood still.

Luci’s fingers rested gently on Asher’s cheek, the heat beneath his palm grounding him in reality.
This wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be. His mind refused to believe it, but the warmth of Asher’s skin, the faint shiver beneath his fingertips, it was too real.
Luci parted his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Asher... is it really you?"
The weight of twelve years was in that single question.
Twelve years of uncertainty.
Twelve years of silent hope.
Hearing his name fall from Luci’s lips struck Asher like a thunderclap to the chest.
A tremor ran through him, and a tidal wave of emotions crashed over his body.
His pupils widened—stretching from narrow slits to near-perfect circles.
Two full moons reflecting the storm raging within him.
He wanted to answer.
"I... I..."

He wanted to say Yes, it's me. 

To ask Do you remember me? Do you still care?

 To promise I am still your Ash. You can trust me.

Or maybe he didn’t want to speak at all.
Maybe he just wanted to close the distance between them.
To let his lips say everything his words could not.
Luci was so close now.
Their gazes had found each other, latched onto one another as if afraid to let go.
Asher’s heart hammered in his chest.
In Luci’s eyes, he saw the same thing—
The hesitation.  The longing.  The desperate, aching desire to finally shatter the wall between them.
But just as Asher was about to take the final step—
A flicker of red light reflected in his pupils.
Firelight.

Torches.

Everything shattered in an instant.
The heavy doors to the chamber slammed open, crashing against the walls. Guards poured in, torches raised, swords drawn.
"Quick!! Protect the prince!!"
Asher didn’t have time to think.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. His instincts took over.
And in a single, desperate motion—
He grabbed Luci.
And took off.
"Wait—AHHHHHH!!"
The world tilted.
Luci felt his body being crushed against something scorching hot, his feet leaving the ground. It happened so fast his crown slipped from his head, clattering to the floor.
"A-Asher—! You’re squeezing me! Let go—!"
But his voice was lost in the chaos.
Because the moment he opened his mouth, he realized—
There was no ground beneath him.
The air rushed past his skin, yanking violently at his clothes.
The gentle rain from moments ago turned into a brutal downpour, pelting against his face like tiny shards of ice.
He looked down.
The castle… was already far, far below.
His breath caught in his throat.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD DON’T LET ME GO DON’T LET ME GO—!!!
His heart pounded like war drums, loud and erratic. His fingers dug into Asher’s tunic, clutching the fabric with all his strength.
The wind roared in his ears, the rain blurred his vision, and panic swallowed him whole.
His thoughts spiraled—
His vision darkened—
His stomach twisted—
And then…
Nothing.
The world faded to black.
Luci passed out.

Asher hovered in place, wings beating furiously against the storm.
His breathing was ragged, his arms locked tight around Luci’s unconscious body.
His mind finally caught up with his actions.
And reality struck him like a hammer to the chest.
OH MY GOD WHAT DID I JUST DO?!?!
He looked down at Luci.
The prince wasn’t moving.
His skin was pale.
His lips slightly parted, breath slow and faint.
Please, please, PLEASE tell me he’s not dead!!!
A cold sweat ran down Asher’s spine.
Beneath him, the castle was in chaos.
More torches ignited, a sea of fire illuminating the courtyard.
Guards were scrambling, shouting orders, unsheathing weapons. Arrows were being drawn.
There was no going back.
He couldn’t land.
And he definitely couldn’t just drop the prince in a random place like nothing had happened.
Because… because holy shit, he had literally just kidnapped the heir to the human kingdom.
Right in front of everyone.
Oh. Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad!
He only had one option.
He pulled Luci closer, wrapping the royal cape tightly around his body. His scales instinctively heated, emitting a soft warmth to protect the prince from the freezing rain.
His eyes darted back to the castle one last time.
Then, without another second of hesitation—
He flew.
Far.
Fast.
With a very, very accidentally kidnapped prince in his arms.

Meanwhile, Back at the Castle

A few moments later—
Lucio stormed into the now-empty chamber, sword in hand.
Too late.
The guards were still in disarray, exchanging frantic orders.
His sharp eyes scanned the room, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling with anger—until something caught his attention.
A glint of gold.
Slowly, he stepped toward the balcony.
His fingers brushed against the fallen crown, droplets of rain still clinging to its surface.
He picked it up with careful precision, his gaze darkening.
Then, closing his eyes, he took a slow, measured breath.
He murmured a spell.
A language long forgotten by most. Latin.
The very first spell Luci had ever taught him.
The air in the room shifted.
A subtle hum vibrated through the walls.
Lucio’s eyes flashed red.
In one slow motion, he reached up, undoing the tie in his hair. Dark strands cascaded around his face, framing his features in a way that blurred the line between him and the real prince.
Then, with eerie calmness—
He placed the crown upon his head.
When he turned back toward the guards, his face was no longer entirely his own.
The illusion was flawless.
Only those who knew Luci intimately would be able to notice the tiny details, the minuscule differences in expression.
His voice, however, was perfect.
Cold. Steady. Regal.
"Alert the army."
His crimson eyes gleamed like burning coals.
"We march to war against the demons."