The palace council chamber smelled of old cedar and ink, its high stained-glass windows filtering morning light across the long table. Ethan and Maya stood before the assembled lords and magi, both still marked by soot and exhaustion from the night before.

Captain Aldric’s jaw was clenched as he listened to their account. “A village razed, with no survivors,” he said grimly. “And a demoness—an officer, not a foot soldier—sent to provoke them directly.” His gaze shifted to the king.

King Gravell’s expression was carved from stone. His hands rested heavily on the arms of his chair, fingers drumming. “Serenya,” he repeated softly. “If she walks openly in our lands, then The Demon King means to unsettle us. To draw our champions into the open.”

High Magus Selora leaned forward, her violet eyes sharp. “Or to test them. If what they say is true, Serenya deliberately left them alive.” She looked at Ethan and Maya with a gaze that pierced far deeper than flesh. “Why? What did she see?”

Ethan stiffened under the scrutiny. “She didn’t see anything. She just—she taunted us.”

But Maya’s voice cut across his. “She knew. About our powers. More than she should.”

The chamber stilled. Lord Varic’s knuckles whitened on the table’s edge. “If the demons understand your limits…” He trailed off, glancing toward the king. “Then they will exploit them.”

Veylan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice deep and heavy. “That bond you share is not simply strength. It is vulnerability. And if the enemy has sensed the cracks already forming…” His eyes lingered on Ethan’s clenched fists and Maya’s pale exhaustion. “…then we may lose more than a village.”

A silence hung, heavy and damning, until King Gravell broke it. “Then we must ask ourselves,” he said slowly, “whether these summoned heroes remain a blessing—or a danger we cannot control.”

The words rang like iron across the chamber.

---

Far from Arathen, in the depths of a ruined citadel, shadows curled like living things. A throne of blackened bone rose from the darkness, and upon it sat the figure the court of men called Demon King. His face was obscured, his presence veiled in an aura of crushing weight that made the very air tremble.

Before him knelt Serenya, her armor scorched, her lips still curved in a smile. Soon after, Kaelith walked into the chamber, kneeling next to it. Serenya could only think of one word to describe him: Filth. Suffice to say, she was not a fan of this half-demon.

Kaelith closed his eyes, and listened to everything Serenya had to say for her report. 

Serenya’s smile gleamed in the gloom, feline and unrepentant even as ash clung to her burned armor.

“They are more than we expected them to be now,” she said. Her voice carried an edge of delight, as though each word were a jewel rolling on her tongue. “The boy wields soulfire with a recklessness that could scorch kingdoms. The girl—ah, the girl bends time itself. They grow with each battle, as though fate itself conspires to sharpen them.” Her golden eyes glimmered, hungry. “It thrills me.”

Beside her, Kaelith shifted. His dark hair shadowed his face, but his sneer was audible in his voice. “You sound like you’ve fallen in love with them.”

Serenya’s lips curled higher, though her gaze did not leave the bone throne. “Perhaps I have. What better lovers than weapons destined to carve the world apart?”

Kaelith spat to the side, the sound harsh against the echoing chamber. “You disgust me. You speak of them as if they are equals, not prey. They are tools to be broken. Nothing more.”

The silence that followed pressed down like a mountain. The Demon King did not move, but his presence weighed on them both, a shadow dense enough to choke. When at last his voice came, it was like stone dragged across stone:

“Serenya.”

She bowed low, her smile never dimming.

“You would see them sharpened,” the Demon King rumbled. “Fed with trial until their edges gleam.”

“Yes, my lord,” Serenya purred. “Only then can they be shattered in a way that makes the world weep.”

The throne’s shadows stirred, restless, but then the voice turned.

“Kaelith.”

Kaelith bowed deeper, his forehead nearly touching the cracked stone floor.

“You would see them broken now.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kaelith growled. “Every moment they breathe, they defy us. The boy’s fire, the girl’s threads—left unchecked, they could unmake us all. I would burn them before they have the chance.”

Another silence, heavier still. Neither dared move. The throne’s aura pulsed, black waves of will bending the air.

Finally, the Demon King spoke, his words as final as a hammerfall.

“Then you shall both have your chance. One to test, one to hunt. Let us see which path breaks them first.”

The citadel shuddered as the decree settled, an invisible brand carved into the marrow of the world. Serenya’s smile widened, triumphant. Kaelith’s jaw tightened, his hatred sharpened to a blade.

Between them, the air burned cold.

---

The corridors of Arathen’s palace were colder than they had been when Ethan and Maya first arrived. Servants bowed lower, but their eyes lingered longer. Guards shifted uneasily when the two passed by, and whispers followed them like smoke.

It wasn’t just rumor. It was suspicion.

Maya felt it first—the subtle pulling of the bond, tightening like a leash the closer they came to the inner wards of the palace. Selora had explained, almost too casually, that the enchantments were designed to “monitor magical fluctuations.” But Maya recognized it for what it was: surveillance.

“They don’t trust us,” she muttered under her breath as they walked a colonnade overlooking the courtyard.

“They never did,” Ethan said, his voice low, rougher than usual. His gaze swept over the soldiers drilling below, the banners snapping in the wind. “But now they’re afraid. And fear makes people do stupid things.”

Maya stopped, her hand brushing the cool stone balustrade. “Do you think they’ll try to… control us? If the king starts seeing us as a bigger risk than The Demon King—”

“Then we don’t give them the chance,” Ethan cut in, turning toward her. His eyes burned with quiet defiance, a flicker of violet deep within. “We keep showing them we’re worth more alive than chained.”

She studied him, her chest tightening. His words were fire, but beneath them she could feel the tremor in him—an undercurrent of doubt he wouldn’t let surface. The bond whispered it to her even if his face didn’t.

Later that evening, Selora summoned them to a smaller council chamber. Not the grand hall of marble and banners, but a dark-paneled room with only a round table and wards humming faintly along the walls. Selora, Veylan, and Captain Aldric waited, their faces unreadable.

“You should know the council is divided,” Selora said without preamble. Her gaze lingered on them both. “Some argue you are too dangerous to keep free. Others insist only you can face the Demon King. For now, the king has chosen the latter. But make no mistake—his patience is not infinite.”

Maya’s hands clenched in her lap. “We didn’t ask to be summoned here. We didn’t ask for your oath.”

“No,” Selora said softly. “But you carry it now. And with it, the burden of perception. Every move you make will either fortify their faith… or erode it.”

Ethan leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “And if they decide to cut their losses?”

Selora did not flinch. “Then my king will act as kings must. Which is why you cannot afford to falter.”

The words hung heavy in the chamber.

When Ethan and Maya were dismissed, the palace felt even colder, its beauty stretched taut like the skin of a drum. Even the night air seemed to listen as they walked back toward their chambers, silent but for the faint, unyielding pulse of the bond between them.