The air was crisp as dusk tiptoed into the skies. At the edge of the village, a young girl rushed toward the well, her woven basket bouncing lightly against her hip. Her footsteps were quick and uneven, her sandals kicking up little clouds of dust as she hurried to finish her last chore before the Harvest Festival began.
She was humming softly, unaware of the presence that trailed her in silence. The woods behind her swayed gently with the wind, but one shadow did not move with it. It watched.
From the gnarled trees at the forest's edge, a demon crouched low, its breath thick and hot with hunger. Its skin was pale and stretched, almost translucent, and its eyes gleamed red with craving. Unlike others of its kind, this one liked to play with its food before tearing it apart. It licked its lips and smiled in anticipation.
Perverted and ravenous, it inched closer—inch by careful inch, blending with the dark, until the girl was just a heartbeat away.
It leapt.
But it never landed.
In a blink, it was yanked violently backward into the trees, swallowed by an unseen darkness.
The girl paused mid-step. A cold shiver crawled up her spine. She turned around, but nothing was there—only the rustling leaves and the lonely evening air. Her eyes scanned the trees a moment longer, then she shook off the chill and continued toward the well.
Far deeper in the woods, the demon crashed into a clearing, scrambling to its feet and snarling.
There stood a man cloaked in black, his frame tall and still. The moonlight illuminated nothing of his features, save for a sharp jawline and two brilliant golden eyes that pierced the gloom like fire in pitch.
"You..." the demon hissed, baring its teeth. "You're one of us... but not quite. What are you?"
The figure didn't answer. He simply stared.
"You could've let me have her. She was ripe. Soft. Screaming already in her mind." The demon took a step forward, cocking its head. "Why protect her? Why get in my way? You could feed elsewhere."
Finally, the figure spoke, his voice calm and laced with an effortless authority. "If you eat every soul that breathes, who'll be left to kneel when I take the throne?"
The demon blinked, confused. "Throne?"
The man sighed as though bored. "You're loud, messy, and reckless. Your kind make too much noise."
Then, without another word, he moved.
The battle didn't last long.
Levi's movements were fluid and deliberate, each strike landing with brutal precision. He didn't roar or growl like the creature before him. He didn't need to. His silence was far more terrifying.
In under a minute, the demon was on the ground, twitching, fading into ash and shadow with a hollow scream.
Levi exhaled once and straightened his coat, brushing a speck of dust off his shoulder. His golden eyes flicked toward the sky where the moon had fully risen. The wind shifted.
"Time to return," he muttered to no one.
Without looking back, he disappeared into the night.
---
The moon rose higher as Levi left the woods behind, his dark silhouette swallowed by the hills that guarded the realm's heart.
Far beyond the village, nestled between towering cliffs and shimmering black lakes, stood the Neanderthal palace. a marvel of stone, steel, and old magic. Its many towers pierced the sky like spears, wrapped in ivy and silver banners that fluttered gently in the evening breeze. Lanterns lit every arched window, casting golden light onto marble courtyards and winding, vine-laced walkways below.
The palace sat upon a throne of ancient rock, regal and immovable, its surroundings guarded by gardens of rare midnight blooms and sacred trees said to whisper secrets only the royal bloodline could hear. The air was cooler here, sharper—like it knew the weight of the bloodlines that lived within these halls.
It was beautiful. And it was lonely.
High above, in the eastern wing where shadows were thickest and rarely disturbed, a balcony door creaked open—though no hand had touched it.
A gust of wind passed through, and then a dark figure landed silently on the polished stone floor, the weight of his descent barely more than a whisper. Like a cat returning home, Prince Levi rose slowly from his crouch, his black coat shifting with the motion. Before he even lifted his eyes, his voice broke the silence.
"Why are you in my room?"
A man seated by the window, back half-turned, didn't flinch. He had been watching the palace courtyard below, arms folded, one leg casually crossed over the other. Upon hearing Levi's voice, he stood—not in alarm, but in mild irritation.
"I could ask you the same thing," the man said. "Finally back, are you?"
He stepped into the moonlight, revealing sharp features framed by dark auburn hair, tied back loosely. A sword hung by his waist, polished to a shine even in the dim light.
Sir Ryker—Levi's sworn guardian, his shadow, and perhaps the only soul in the kingdom who dared speak to him without fear.
"What took you so long?" Ryker asked, tone half-scolding. "The Harvest Festival's begun. The king is on his way to the banquet hall and demanded your presence."
Levi sighed and rolled his neck as though the weight of the world hung from it.
"I was busy," he replied.
Ryker raised a brow. "With what? Stalking shadows? Or... chasing them away again?"
Levi didn't answer. He walked past him toward the small table near the hearth, pouring himself a drink from the silver decanter resting there.
Outside, the sky had grown darker, but within the room, the golden flames of the lanterns danced across the high ceilings and deep stone walls, casting the long shadow of a prince who didn't quite belong to this world—or the next.
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