Prologue
Planet Kaelmane
A grand ivory-walled kingdom stands majestically atop the hills, its air humming with magic. For centuries, its inhabitants have known peace and flourished under the fair and benevolent rule of their king and queen.
Alas, the peace is shattered once more as the seal succumbs to the onslaught of demons. Enormous hellish flames abruptly rise, engulfing the once beautiful kingdom. The mountain stronghold crumbles to rubble, leaving the people exposed to the cruelty of their enemy.
Leaves rustle through the wind. A pair of rushed footsteps follow. A young lady clad in royal attire runs past the dark trees, a bladeless sword hilt tucked in her belt. She holds firmly onto a bearded elder’s hand, a crimson trail marking their path as they flee.
The old man glances at her, concern etched into his wrinkled, timeworn face. “Your Highness…you— You’re bleeding! W-We need to heal you!” he heaves, his powder-white hair fluttering.
The words reach the princess, but she doesn’t dare stop. They don’t have the luxury. The galloping of infernal mounts and the snarls of their pursuers draw ever closer. Behind them, the sky glows a deep, suffocating red with smoke and embers. The distant screams of her people as if refusing to fade.
With the king and her elder brother, the heir to the throne, dead, and she, the only remaining royal, gravely wounded, there’s no one left to save them.
“We need to keep running, Artello!” The strength in her voice betrays the exhaustion clawing at her ribs. “You hold onto that power stone! It’s our last hope!” Her straight hazelnut-brown hair, tied into a braid, sways against her back, while shorter bangs fall in strands across her light-blue eyes focused on the grassy path ahead.
“But Your Highness…I-I can’t…run anymore! These old legs can only carry me so far!” He coughs violently, his frail frame convulsing with exertion.
The princess steals a glance back, her heart sinking. Artello is barely keeping pace, his face pale, his dry lips cracked. The princess curses under her breath. With a sharp inhale, she skids to a halt and grabs Artello by the shoulders as the latter collapses. The brunette’s fingers dig into the takuman’s robes, her grip trembling not from fear, but from the cruel reality pressing down on her.
The elder looks up at her, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths, “Permit me to heal you, Your Highness…then you would no longer have to carry me along…”
The princess stiffens before shaking her head, “I can’t just abandon you! You and your forefathers served the royal family as the Royal Takuman for years!” Her words come fast, forceful, but do nothing to stop the way Artello sways on his feet, his legs like brittle twigs ready to snap.
Her Highness gently lowers him onto a fallen log. The old man slumps forward, head bowed, his hands gripping his knees as he pants, too old, too weary to go any further.
Artello’s sunken eyes find the princess, and he extends his hand. Resting upon his palm is a large orange stone. “Your Highness, you must take this.”
The princess’s gaze fixes on its soft pulsating glow, a reservoir of untapped energy waiting to be wielded. If only her body weren’t so battered, if only her limbs weren’t so sluggish, her magic so drained, she could harness its power, amplify her spells, and turn the tide. She could’ve saved hundreds.
With hesitant fingers, she reaches out to take it. But before she makes contact, a black spike pierces her shoulder. A strangled cry tears from her throat at the sharp, searing agony ripping through her flesh and she staggers backward.
Artello gasps, his eyes widening in horror. And then, like shadows unraveling from the foliage, the damned creatures emerge. Clawing. Writhing. Surrounding them. He glances around helplessly.
A takuman’s oath—to never bring harm to another living being—once his source of pride, now serves as chains preventing him from even defending himself.
Gritting her teeth, the princess grabs the spike embedded in her shoulder and yanks it free. Hot pain explodes, blood spilling down her attire in thick rivulets. But she doesn’t falter. Her fingers find the hilt at her waist. A soft hum vibrates through the air as her eyes glow blue, a surge of energy coiling from the depths of her being.
A sharp and gleaming blade materializes along with an armor snug around her body like an extension of her very soul.
With a battle cry, she lunges forward. The first demon barely has time to react before her sword arcs through the air, slicing cleanly through flesh and bone. Another pounces and she twists, blade flashing and severing its clawed hand, before driving her weapon straight through its chest.
Every strike is precise, every movement honed through years of training. She sidesteps a clawed swipe, ducks under another, then spins on her toes, her energy swelling, rising, until she unleashes. A shockwave bursts from her, a brilliant cascade of power that rips through the ranks of the vile creatures. They shriek, their bodies flung backward.
She spins, just in time to see Artello wrenched from his feet. Dark claws coil around the old man’s arms, dragging him backward as he screams. Panic seizes the princess’s chest. She rushes forth, but something slams into her back.
The force sends her staggering, and in that split second, her guard lowers, leaving her face exposed. A slash rips across her cheek, then another across her hand as she instinctively raises it to shield herself. The impact jars her entire arm, her fingers numb. A sharp hiss slips through her teeth, tears pricking her eyes while her grip on the sword slips.
The moment the blade falls to the ground, her armor gives out a cobalt glow and dissolves like mist. Her breath catches in her throat. A dreadful, sinking weight settles in her gut. Without the protection of her armor, the demons descend upon her.
A taloned foot slams into her chest, and another crushes her wrist into the dirt. She tries to move, to fight, but they tear into her before she can even draw a gasp. Fangs sink into flesh, claws shred through muscle. Pain erupts everywhere, her nerves ablaze with agony. Her raw screams echo through the forest.
Blood pools beneath her, staining the ground. The world tilts in and out of focus. With the last remnants of strength and desperation, her trembling fingers stretch toward the hilt. The cold metal is just out of reach, slick with her own blood.
Her nails scrape against the soil. Inch by inch, she forces himself forward. By the time her hand wraps around the hilt, the rushing adrenaline is the only thing keeping her conscious.
The demons seize her arms and wrench her up to her knees. A shadow falls over her. Two infernal mounts stride into view. The princess lifts her gaze to the Demon King mounted atop one of the beasts.
Heat radiates from his colossal form as he growls, baring his canines. Two enormous horns, along with smaller ones, protrude from his skull to form a crown atop his massive head. His fiery gaze pierces into the brunette, and his triumphant smile enrages the princess.
“Kryxos…!” she growls weakly, tasting her own blood.
“Princess Lloria-nena!” the Demon King greets in a gravelly voice. His hellish mount screeches, rearing on its hind legs before settling with a snort.
Kryxos’s second-in-command dismounts with an eerie grace. His grimly pale face is marked by hollow eyes with glowing green orbs and pointed ears that touch the black horns jutting from his forehead. Long, wavy raven locks cascade over the black spikes on his shoulders, matching his twisted grin and sickening demeanor.
“Perfect~ This is how it should be~” he croons. “You should kneel before the new ruler of Kaelmane!” He pivots with a flourish, sweeping into an exaggerated bow before his master. The Demon Lord’s smirk deepens, a flick of his thick fingers commanding his subordinate’s devotion.
The lesser demon bows lower, spine curving like a serpent. Then, with deliberate slowness, he straightens and extends his left arm, where three elongated, inky claws extend from the wrist. Bringing the razor-sharp claw dangerously close to the princess’s throat, he purrs, “As the servant of my master, I, Styrodox, will end the last of the royal bloodline! Only then will I earn his intoxicating scourge across my flesh~ And the deepest of the brandings~”
Artello’s grip on the gem tightens as Styrodox lifts his arm, savoring the princess’s helpless defiance. The claws arc downward, slicing through the air—
“Threshold!” Artello’s desperate cast shatters the scene. Before the demon’s claw can make contact, a rift tears open beneath the princess, swallowing her whole. Styrodox’s breath catches as the portal snaps shut, leaving nothing but emptiness where the princess had knelt moments before.
The Demon King erupts with a thunderous roar, shaking the very ground beneath them. He yanks hard on his mount’s leash, forcing the beast into a sharp turn. Drawing his obsidian blade from its sheath, he cleaves through the takuman’s neck in one swift stroke. Artello’s headless body crumples to the ground, his severed head rolling a short distance before coming to a stop.
A stunned silence settles over them—
“Find her! Search the entire planet! She couldn’t have teleported far! I want her skull crushed beneath my foot!!”
The nether demons immediately scatter in search of the princess.
Styrodox watches the blood pool beneath the old man’s form. His lips curl slightly, but as he crouches beside the corpse, his smirk fades. A strange shimmer catches his eye. “Master, look…” His voice is low, almost cautious, as he motions toward the takuman’s palm. Orange powder trickles from his fingers, glittering against the darkened soil.
Kryxos’ burning gaze snaps downward, his expression hardening. His eyes narrow before he tugs sharply on his mount’s reins, turning away.
“Master…?” Styrodox calls out quickly with the rarest hint of unease. His master’s abrupt dismissal chills him more than the princess’s escape.
“If that is the power stone…” Kryxos rumbles a guttural growl. “—then she is no longer on Kaelmane…nor will she ever return.”
With that, the new king of Kaelmane digs his ankle into his mount’s side, his interest in the hunt already lost. The beast lets out a piercing screech before trotting back toward the blazing kingdom.
___
Planet Earth
In the star-filled sky, a portal tears open, hurling the princess into the dense woods below. She lands with a thud and a cry of pain. Crisp, dried leaves crunch under her palms as she struggles to lift her head, only to realize she isn’t alone.
Through the branches of a smaller tree, two yellow orbs glow ominously. She hears twigs cracking, accompanied by low growling of the emerging beast. Its coat of coal-black fur glistens in the moonlight, its sharp canines bared. The princess gazes at the creature that displays no signs of friendliness.
Her eyes flit to the hilt lying just beyond her reach. With one hand pressed to the gaping wound, she extends the other to grasp the metallic handle but collapses back onto the ground with a pained hiss. Darkness clouds her vision and her eyelids involuntarily shut into unconsciousness.
The wolf pads forward with careful steps, ears pricked and alert. Soft, ghostlike tendrils of blue energy drift from the princess’s unmoving body, curling and coiling over her wounds. They shimmer faintly, almost hesitating. Her skin twitches weakly beneath the layers of grime and blood, trying to mend only to be halted by the filth clogging the gashes.
Lowering its head, the wolf sniffs before gently pressing its snout against the princess’s temple. Upon receiving no response, it casts a brief sweeping glance over the surroundings, and then settles beside her, silent and watchful.
——
In a house nestled far from the bustling city, a woman in her mid-thirties calls out from the kitchen, “Lucas? Wake up! You’re going to be late for college!” With the spatula, she folds the omelet sizzling in the pan. Her other hand tucks back her soft, wavy brown hair.
In the bedroom, a boy verging on his eighteenth birthday stands before the bookshelf opposite his bed with a somber aura. His leaden-gray eyes are fixated on the small, weathered wooden box with faded blue paint—sitting amidst his collection of books. His thick brows are furrowed in a blend of pain and nostalgia, his fingertips tracing the familiar carvings he touches every morning before opening it.
Inside rests a ring on a velvet pillow, its golden band adorned with a large orange stone. He traces the stone gently, his thoughts drifting to his late father, Zack.
“Lucas? Are you awake?” He hears his aunt, prompting him to close the box and return it to the shelf.
Running his hands through his tousled golden-brown hair, he answers back “Yeah, Aunt Jenna! I’m awake.”
