Chapter 3
Of Bloodlines and Power
Goroth moved toward an adjoining chamber, his steps heavy but unhurried.
“Come.”
Aldric followed.
The room beyond was smaller, quieter. A private study. Goroth set a massive pitcher of dark liqueur onto the table with a dull thud and gestured for Aldric to sit.
They did.
Aldric asked the question that was on his mind.
“Why did everyone react the way they did, when I mentioned the blacksmith’s name?”
Goroth poured himself a generous measure and drank deeply.
He exhaled, long and slow.
“The name Varnir is known only to a handful of living high demons.” A pause. “His true name is Varntherionir.”
The words carried weight, but Aldric still didn’t fully grasp it.
Goroth continued.
“He is the Messenger. You may call him a god. Or an oracle. Both would be insufficient.”
His gaze hardened.
“He precedes time itself. Before creation learned to measure its own passing.”
Aldric frowned.
“And I met him.”
“Yes,” Goroth said flatly. “And that is… troubling.”
“Why?”
Goroth took another heavy sip.
“His presence marks the end of an era, and the beginning of another.”
Aldric drank as well, the liqueur burning warmly down his throat.
“Tomorrow,” Goroth went on, “I will send word to every high demon lord. If this age demands it, we must be ready for war.”
Silence settled.
Goroth’s gaze drifted toward the window, out across the darkened valley. He was quiet for several breaths, lost in thought.
Then he spoke again, voice lower.
“It surprises me that you are alive. Varntherionir is… violent. Or at least he was, the last time he appeared.”
Aldric shook his head slightly.
“Varnir was calm when I met him. He offered me food. Something to drink. Wished me well on my journey.”
Goroth looked at him for a long moment.
Then he chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.
“Perhaps, this time will be different.”
He lifted his goblet.
His attention shifted again.
“I knew my daughter would meet someone interesting,” he said slowly. “But someone with blood ties to the Old Kingdom?”
He let out a low whistle.
Aldric stiffened.
“I don’t have any ties to the Old Kingdom, my—”
“Don’t,” Goroth cut in. “No titles.”
Aldric inclined his head.
“As you wish.”
Goroth studied him for a moment longer, then continued, “You said Varntherionir gave you a sword and armor.”
Aldric nodded.
“Tell me,” Goroth said carefully, “did he bind the heartstone to you through blood?”
Aldric froze.
He had never spoken of that.
To anyone.
Not of the way Dreyrath’s heartstone had fed on his blood.
How it had answered him when he was imprisoned in Sanctum Aurelion.
He swallowed.
“How do you know that?”
Goroth’s expression shifted into something Aldric couldn’t quite place.
“Then truly another era begins. That explains why the Fog cannot be crossed by humans.”
Aldric frowned.
“I still don’t understand.”
Goroth stared into his cup.
“This isn’t the first attempt,” he said quietly. “The gods have tried to restore balance before. The last time, the Fog fell completely. For a millennium.” A pause. “But now…”
He shook his head.
He didn’t elaborate.
Instead, he looked back at Aldric.
“And the armor. How did it behave?”
Aldric hesitated, then answered honestly.
“It resonated once it tasted blood. It felt as if it was absorbing life force. Shadows wrapped around me as I cut through those who stood in my way.”
Goroth let out another low whistle.
“The Shadowveil Aegis. It can only be truly worn by someone of high Aylindor blood. I would like to see it in action.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Something tells me I will.”
Aldric shook his head and took a big sip from his goblet.
“I’m just a knight. I don’t have any Aylindor blood running through my veins. Besides—”
He paused, the memory surfacing unbidden.
“Varnir took them. Both the armor and the sword.”
Goroth refilled his own goblet and Aldric’s.
“Did he tell you why?”
“Not really. Only that he needed to make a few adjustments. That he’d return them when the time was right.”
Goroth snorted softly.
“Figures. Just riddles. Those who claim to see destiny and fate are never precise about timelines. Ever.”
Aldric chuckled.
They clanged their goblets together and drank deeply.
For a moment, the weight of gods, bloodlines, and eras receded, leaving only two warriors sharing a quiet understanding in the dark.
? ? ?
He was lost.
Running through open fields beneath a sky that refused to settle, the ground shifting beneath his feet no matter how fast he ran.
Then hands were on him.
Grasping. Pulling.
Clothes torn away as if they were nothing.
He tried to fight, to shout, but an invisible force pressed inward, deeper than flesh.
Fingers reached into his very soul.
Heat.
A searing burn.
Pain that wasn’t pain, but recognition.
Green eyes.
Locked onto him.
Unblinking.
A voice.
Muted, distant, yet unmistakably present.
Finish it.
Aldric spun, searching for the source.
Then another voice followed, softer. Familiar.
Come to me, my love…
Pressure.
He woke with a sharp gasp, sweat slicking his skin.
His heart hammered.
He hadn’t dreamed like that since returning.
He dragged in a breath and let it out slowly.
“Shit,” he muttered.
The brand pulsed beneath his skin. Itching, alive, a reminder that it was still not complete.
His gaze drifted to the side of the bed.
Nimble.
The damned barrel of a demon dog lay sprawled on his back, snoring softly, paws twitching as if chasing something only he could see. Aldric had no idea how the beast had managed to get into his chamber, he’d locked the doors when he returned. But he was glad the chunky fur ball was here.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
He lay back against the pillows.
As if sensing the shift in his mood, Nimble stirred, let out a wheezy huff, then bumped him once with his massive snout before settling again.
Aldric lifted the duvet.
The dog wriggled closer, curled near his feet, then dropped his full weight onto the mattress with a solid plop that made the bed creak in protest.
Aldric snorted softly.
The rest of the night passed more gently.
In the morning, he woke to a gentle scratching at the door.
A soft groan slipped from him as he rolled onto his side, then pushed himself upright and crossed the room. When he opened it—
Golden eyes.
A mischievous smirk.
And a sweet little pout.
Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then she smiled, warmth softening her expression.
“Oh. Your hair is such a mess in the mornings.”
He blinked at her.
“That bad?”
She shook her head, stepping closer and kissing him softly, her eyes bright with affection.
“No,” she murmured against his lips. “Perfectly bad. I like it like this.”
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“You like everything I do.”
She hummed in agreement, clearly unbothered.
“That is very true.”
Before he could say anything else, she slipped past him into the chamber, already smiling to herself, as if she belonged there.
Her gaze landed instantly on the bed.
On Nimble.
She pointed an accusing finger.
“Aha! I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “You little munchkin. You wanted to sleep with daddy today, didn’t you?”
Nimble responded by rolling onto his back and snoring louder.
Aldric snorted, he sat down and turned toward the table, pouring himself a glass of water.
Seraphae didn’t give him the chance to drink it.
She came over, plopped herself neatly onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed close.
“Want me to help with that hangover?”
“Yes… please. I feel like I ate a handful of the spiciest peppers in existence, and my head is about to explode.”
She made an exaggerated awww sound.
Then she murmured an enchantment under her breath.
The water in his glass shifted, faint red threads of magic spiraling through it like veins of light.
Aldric didn’t ask questions.
He downed the entire glass in one go.
As he exhaled, the pressure behind his eyes eased. The pounding dulled. His thoughts cleared, slowly clicking back into place.
He looked at her.
“You’re the best.”
Their lips met.
She giggled.
“Always. I want my knight happy… and hangover-free.”
Aldric glanced past her shoulder, then back to her.
“You probably want to hear what your father and I talked about.”
She waved a hand dismissively.
“No need. I heard every word.”
He blinked.
“What? How?”
She looked smug now.
“Well, I missed a few things because Zira and Kaela kept bumping into me trying to see.”
Realization dawned.
“…You and all your sisters were eavesdropping?”
Seraphae opened her mouth.
Aldric held up a hand.
“Wait. Why am I even asking? Of course you were.”
She laughed.
“You’re starting to understand how this court works.”
Then her expression shifted, just a little. Less playful. More honest.
“I never cared about bloodlines. Or gods. Or whatever ancient balance everyone keeps panicking about.” She glanced up at him through her lashes.
Her thumb brushed his wrist, grounding.
She leaned in and kissed him slowly, smiling when she pulled back.
“Come. We need breakfast.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
She tilted her head.
“The whole court is waiting for you.”
It took a second.
Then it hit him.
“…What do you mean the whole court?” he asked slowly. “How long have they been waiting?”
She shrugged, utterly unconcerned.
“I don’t know. Maybe an hour.”
Aldric sprang up on his feet.
“Hellfire, Rae! You need to tell me these things beforehand.”
She only laughed.
“Oh, but I didn’t want to wake you,” she said innocently. “You look so cute when you sleep.”
He shot her a look as he splashed water on his face and reached for his clothes.
Her smile only widened.
Five flights of stairs later, and after navigating at least a dozen servants who bowed, scurried, or stared just a second too long, they finally reached the doors to the dining hall.
Aldric wore a clean white tunic tucked into fitted leather trousers, brown boots polished but practical. Seraphae walked beside him in a flowing white dress, fabric catching the light with every step, heels clicking softly against the stone.
The doors opened.
They entered.