The throne room of Yth'razel was a cathedral of shadows and flame.
Vaessara stood at the foot of her father's dais, her head bowed as the Demon King's voice thundered through the hall. Pillars of black stone rose like the bones of ancient titans, and the air shimmered with heat from the ever-burning pyres. Demons of every shape and rank lined the walls—horned, winged, scaled, and fanged—each one silent, each one watching.
Azhakar the Bound Flame sat upon his throne of obsidian and fire, his eyes twin embers that saw through flesh and soul alike. His presence pressed down on the room, a weight that made even the bravest demons tremble.
"Yth'razel awakens," Azhakar proclaimed, his voice echoing off the stone. "The seal weakens. Soon, the world of men will remember their fear."
The court roared its approval, but Vaessara felt only dread. She kept her face impassive, her mind racing. She had seen the cracks in the realm's foundation, the unrest among the lesser clans, the whispered talk of peace. Not all demons hungered for war. Not all wished to see the world burn.
Azhakar's gaze fell upon her. "Daughter. You will lead the vanguard when the gates open. Show the humans the price of their arrogance."
Vaessara bowed lower. "As you command, Father."
But inside, her heart rebelled. She remembered the stories her mother had told her—of a time before the wars, when demons and humans had traded, even loved. She remembered the faces of the children in the lower city, gaunt and afraid, their lives spent in endless preparation for a war they did not choose.
After the court was dismissed, Vaessara slipped away from the throne room, her cloak trailing embers in her wake. She moved through the labyrinthine halls of Yth'razel, past murals of conquest and statues of long-dead generals, until she reached a hidden alcove behind the Hall of Chains.
There, waiting in the gloom, was her most trusted confidant—a demon named Kharos, whose loyalty was to her, not the king.
"You heard his decree," Vaessara whispered. "He means to raze the human world. But the clans are restless. Some want peace."
Kharos nodded, his eyes wary. "There are more than you think, Princess. The old ways are dying. If you lead, many will follow."
Vaessara's hands trembled. "If I defy him, I risk everything. But if I do nothing, we become monsters in truth."
Kharos placed a clawed hand on her shoulder. "You are not your father. The realm needs hope, not more fire."
Vaessara looked out through a crack in the wall, where the sky of Yth'razel burned with unnatural light. Somewhere beyond, the human world waited—afraid, unprepared, and perhaps, not so different from her own.
She made her decision.
"Gather those who trust me," she said. "If war is coming, we will fight for a different future."
As Kharos vanished into the shadows, Vaessara drew her hood over her horns and whispered a silent prayer—to gods who had long since abandoned Yth'razel, and to the hope that somewhere, peace was still possible.