Rheon
The End of Kings, the Beginning of Flame
The throne room was a ruin of blood and ash. I didn’t hear the screams anymore — not from the soldiers, not from the guards, not even from my own men as they carved through the last of the resistance.
All I heard was her.
Seori.
Her soul thrummed in the weapon in my hand — burning bright, steady, alive. She wasn’t gone. But she wasn’t here either. She was within me. Her breath fused to mine. Her rage in every swing. Her love in every strike.
The Demon King was staggering now — one hand clutching the jagged ruin of his side where my blade had torn through. He dropped his obsidian sword with a clang.
Blood soaked his robes. His crown hung loose.
Still, he laughed. A low, broken laugh that sliced through the room like rot.
“So this is love,” he rasped. “This… pathetic thing. You burned your kingdom for a girl who will never return.”
I stepped forward, the weapon—Seori—glowing in my grasp.
“She was never just a girl,” I said, voice trembling. “She was everything you could never be. And she chose me.”
He raised his chin, blood dribbling from his lips. “Do you think her soul will last inside you, Rheon? Do you think she can bear the weight of your curse? You are not free. You will never be free. And now—neither will she.”
I saw red.
“No,” I whispered. “You cursed us both. But now she is the fire… and I am the sword.”
And I drove her home.
The blade pierced his heart with a flash of blinding flame and shadows that coiled like serpents. The King’s scream echoed through every plane of the demon realm, crumbling what little power he had left. His body cracked like stone… and disintegrated. Ash. That’s all he became. Just ash.
Silence fell.
My knees hit the ground.
I dropped the weapon and caught it in my arms—still warm, still glowing—but empty.
“Seori…” I whispered, holding the blade to my chest. “Come back to me. Please. You promised. You promised you’d come back…”
I didn’t care who watched. I didn’t care that I was the prince of ruin, blood-drenched and feared by all.
I would’ve traded every victory, every war, for her to open her eyes and look at me again.
But the weapon was still.
Tears burned my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I choked. “I should’ve saved you first. I should’ve known—”
“Rheon.”
The voice was soft. Feminine.
I looked up.
The Demon Queen stepped through the smoke, her crimson gown untouched by the blood around her. Her eyes shimmered—not with cruelty, but with mourning.
“There may still be a way,” she said.
I blinked.
“What?”
She came closer, her gaze flicking to the weapon in my arms — to Seori.
“She is of me,” the Queen said. “Of flame and starlight. Of demon and angel. She was never meant to die in this realm… and she was never meant to be bound to a weapon.”
“Then—bring her back,” I said, breath ragged. “Please.”
The Queen knelt beside me. She touched the sword — and it pulsed like a heartbeat.
“There is a ritual,” she said quietly. “Older than any curse. But you must give her a reason to return.”
I closed my eyes, forehead pressed to the blade.
“Seori,” I whispered. “Come back to me. Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. But because I love you. Because I need you. Not as a weapon. Not as a warrior. Just… you.”
The blade glowed. And the Queen smiled faintly.
“She heard you.”