Prologue
PROLOGUE
SARIEL
Vassileo | One Year Ago
T heriel grins wide, fangs gleaming—a rare sight, considering his stoic nature. The blade of my sword grazes the flesh of his abdomen. Black blood weeps, and in my fleeting victory, he takes me by surprise. In the next moment, his body slams into mine. He pins me down with a forearm to my throat, forcing me to drop my sword in favor of preventing a crushed larynx.
“Asshole. I had you.”
His smile stretches wider. “Yes, but then you let your guard down the second you saw my blood.”
My claws dig into the flesh of his forearm as I grind my teeth against his tremendous weight. I am a large male—even by daemon standards—and yet my older brother is even larger, eight feet to my seven and a half.
A bead of sweat drips from his forehead and directly into my mouth. Gagging, my brother gives a gravelly baritone laugh as he fights to keep his mounted position over me.
Twisting my head, I spit out a mouthful of blood, saliva, and his sweat onto the sparring mats. “Gods, you’re disgusting.”
This only makes Theriel’s laughter rumble all the harder until his muscles give in to it, and he rolls over. His words are spoken on a wheeze. “You should see your face.”
His laughter is contagious. I sit up, propping an arm on one knee, as I cough-laugh, rubbing my bruised throat and spitting another mouthful for good measure, trying to rid myself of the phantom taste of his sweat.
“Hilarious, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll get Xera to add a little something special to your dinner tonight. You know she favors me.”
Xera is the head cook in my family’s palace. A young, buxom daemoness, and as sweet as she is, she’s a heavy smoker and seems entirely unconcerned with oral hygiene.
Theriel’s laughter ceases, jaw dropping. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I’ve always been the more playful of us, quicker to laugh and make light of things. Mischief twinkles in my eyes as I momentarily don a mask of confusion. “Dare to what? You’ve been working so hard in your archdaemon training. Surely you deserve some modicum of reward. Like a little extra… sauce.”
Theriel’s mouth curves downward in horror. “You’re diabolical.”
My laughter rumbles through my feigned indignation. “Brother, I am the very picture of innocence. I am but a lamb—a babe in this barbaric world.”
Theriel chuckles, rubbing at his chest in a way that catches my eye. “Ah, right. An innocent babe who put chilli pepper seeds in my hair conditioner when he was only ten.”
My head tips back with laughter. “I’d nearly forgotten.”
Theriel winces. “I haven’t. Nearly burned my dick off.”
My laughter halts in confusion. “Wait, what?”
My brother shakes his head at me as his laughter wheezes out of him. “Haven’t been able to jerk off with conditioner since.”
My laughter roars out of me. “You never told me that!”
Tears leak from his eyes. “You were ten! How could I?!”
The floor beneath us shudders, waning our laughter. The rumbling beneath us grows in intensity until the walls, weapons racks, and decor tremble.
“Fuck, you think that could be from another riot?”
The riots in Vassileo are a constant threat, and as of late, they’ve grown increasingly worse—ever since the arrival of a female I can only assume is Azrael’s consort, though no one knows for sure.
Theriel’s brows pinch, shaking his head. “A riot can’t cause the whole realm to quake.”
Screams sound in the distance of the palace, setting our feet in motion as we sprint out of the sparring rooms. Tinkling fills the air as the chandeliers and fragile decor dance until they shatter. Paintings crash to the ground as cracks splinter up the walls. We’re both racing towards my father and mother’s study, two floors down, where they spend much of their time.
When we reach the staircase, we see it’s already been cracked in half, and servants are pouring out of the palace for safety. At the base of the broken landing, my father, Charon, and mother, Monette, collide, both whirling to frantically scan the vicinity for us. A whoosh of relief leaves me as Theriel and I spread our wings to dive towards the front doors the moment our parents do.
The palace staff are already spread across the front gardens, each one doing their own headcount to ensure everyone is here. Though it doesn’t look that much safer out here than it does inside. Crevices spiderweb beyond the horizon, growing wider with each passing moment as new ones form.
My mother’s voice is breathy both awe and horror as she clutches the front of her dress. “Akash almighty, what is this?”
Theriel steps up to her, checking her hands.
“The mundrapedra. Where is it?”
Mundrapedra. World Stone.
Her jaw drops. It’s our most precious family heirloom, invaluable in its worth because it’s what enables us to reach our soulbound mates—no matter what realm they’re in when we experience the Summoning.
The Summoning is what all daemon males or dominants experience when their soulbound comes of age, which varies—some at twenty years, others at a hundred or more. When soulbounds unite through vow and consummation, their magic strengthens exponentially. Without the mundrapedra, finding one’s soulbound becomes far more difficult, often requiring the aid of seers and mages—though success is never guaranteed.
Sometimes, fate allows soulbounds to meet naturally. But when a Summoning goes unfulfilled, a daemon loses part of their soul and mind, becoming one of the broken who tarnish daemonkind’s name. And ultimately, the mundrapedra is likely what secured my family’s rule as the archdaemons of Vassileo.
My father’s expression hardens as he draws my mother against his chest. “It’s in the safe in our closet, as it always is. Leave it. We can search for it in the rubble.”
Theriel’s expression turns pained as he rubs at the centre of his chest, brows knit together. He shakes his head, tossing his thick horns from side to side.
Gods, has he been Summoned?
My mother steps forward, grasping his shoulders, my father her perpetual shadow. “Darling, please. What good is the mundrapedra if you’re dead? Please, just wait until this subsides.”
As if to punctuate her words, the soil beneath our feet heaves, sending many of us tumbling to the ground. Fifty feet away, a fissure bursts wide and several palace staff are swallowed by it. My father scoops my mother off the ground and takes flight to hover above it as he barks at the staff to follow suit.
Theriel and I hover in front of our parents, watching in horror as the quaking increases—and what lays beyond the chasms it forms comes into view: clear skies and the lush, verdant forest of another world.
My father can clearly see the determination written all over Theriel’s face. “Don’t you dare go in there!”
“How else then? How else will I find her? And how else will we maintain the throne?”
My father’s expression contorts with fury. “If I have to choose between you and a throne, I will choose you every fucking time! Don’t you dare risk your life for that fucking rock! You can search the?—”
“There won’t be any rubble to search!”
Theriel, and our parents look to me—ever the calm middle man in our family arguments. I can feel their determination for me to side, as if my decision will decide the future.
I want the mundrapedra too. I need to be able to find my own mate. It’s an easy choice for my parents because they’ve already found one another, thanks to the priceless heirloom.
My eyes dance between the three of them as the world around us is gradually swallowed, bite by bite, in an apocalypse.
Finally, my eyes settle on Theriel. “I’ll go with you.”
Without hesitation, Theriel turns and soars toward the palace, miraculously still standing. I swoop to follow close behind.
We barely make it inside before the palace begins to collapse. Dodging falling walls, pillars, and chandeliers, we reach our parents’ bedroom closet, where the safe remains untouched. Theriel quickly works the tumbler until it clicks open, and the thick metal door swings open. He sifts through my family’s treasures, pocketing my mother’s favorites and tossing others away whilst searching for the mundrapedra.
Seconds tick by, each one lowering the guillotine closer to our necks as the palace gives another shudder and booms with finality. Theriel’s voice is sharp.
“Where the fuck is it?”
The world tilts. We slam into a wardrobe as the rest of the safe’s contents spill—everything vanishing into a gaping fracture in the floor. Everything except for the mundrapedra , which rolls into a corner. In the gaping fissure, the palace floor and wall are gone, replaced by a jagged opening into another realm. But this one is wholly different from the alluring forest we’d seen in the cracks outside. This is something darker—yet glittering with city lights. In place of a majestic forest, towering metal and glass structures piercing the sky. I can hear the distant rhythmic thumping of music.
The closet door swings open, slamming into the wall as the world turns yet again, and gravity yanks us toward the glittering chasm. My wings beat wildly, slamming against falling wardrobes and drawers. I manage to grab the door handle with one hand, Theriel’s wrist with the other. He flaps desperately, but the unseen force drags us down.
Theriel’s dark lilac eyes meet mine—wide with an emotion I’ve never witnessed in him—fear. His grip begins to slip. And so does mine. Realizing this, Theriel’s fingers loosen around my wrist. “No, what’re you doing?!”
“If I don’t let go, we both fall!”
His eyes shift to the corner, where the mundrapedra sits—too far away for either of us to reach.
“You’ll find me! I trust you!”
“What?! There are infinite realms! What if I can’t?!”
“You will.”
“What if you’re wrong?!”
The corner of his mouth tips up in a grin just before he releases his hold on me entirely, and he disappears into the black sky of a world I’ve never known.
“Little brother, I am never wrong.”