The moon hung low over The Rift's Edge, its pale light bleeding across the jagged scar that divided Veythar from the human realm of Aurethium. The air here was different — charged, smelling faintly of ash and something far older than fire. It was where worlds brushed, but never blended. Where the unwary could vanish between breaths.
Derius Rhaegar stood at the edge, coat stirring in the cold wind, eyes locked on the silhouette approaching through the silver haze.
She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. Skin like molten bronze, hair flowing black as a midnight river, and eyes… eyes like twin cuts in reality itself, glowing faint crimson. She wore no armor, only a fitted black garment that clung like shadow, and the curve of her lips carried the promise of cruelty.
"Derius Rhaegar," she purred, stopping a blade's length from him. "The half-blood who thinks himself untouchable."
"I don't think," he said, voice smooth as polished steel. "I know."
Her smirk sharpened. "They say you seduce queens and kill kings. I wonder which you would be to me."
Derius tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Try and find out."
Without another word, she moved — fast, a blur of motion as her claws ignited with ember-light. Her strikes were elegant, lethal, each blow aimed for the throat, the heart, the spine. But Derius wasn't there. At least, not where she thought.
Each time she struck, her claws passed through air.
The world around her shifted — walls of shadow and fire rising and crumbling in an instant, the ground becoming molten, then turning to frost. Her own reflection stepped out of the dark to meet her, attacking with her own moves, driving her back in confusion.
"An illusionist," she growled, panting.
"A reality you can't touch," he corrected.
In the flicker of a heartbeat, she was against the Rift's stone, his hand braced beside her head, his presence swallowing hers. She realized too late that she hadn't been fighting him — she had been dancing in his world, a world he owned completely.
"You're not leaving tonight," Derius said quietly. It wasn't a threat. It was truth.
Her eyes narrowed. "You think you can keep me here?"
"I don't think," he said again, leaning close so his breath brushed her ear. "I know."
The illusions faded, replaced by the moonlit balcony of his high chamber in Aurethium, the city glowing beneath. Somewhere behind her, she could hear laughter, music, the distant voices of women. His harem. His domain.
No demon had ever crossed the Rift without leaving by dawn. But as the night deepened and the scent of burning candles mingled with the city's wind, she knew — she would not be going back to Veythar tonight.
Not because she was trapped.
But because Derius Rhaegar had decided so.
---
The city of Aurethium stretched far below, a jeweled ocean of lantern-light and winding streets. From the high balcony, the wind carried scents of spice, steel, and smoke — the smell of a city that never truly slept.
The demoness stood beside the carved railing, the moonlight catching in her hair. She looked out over the human realm as if it were prey. Derius leaned against the stone archway, watching her with a calm that could shatter into violence at any moment.
"You've crossed the Rift before," he said finally. Not a question.
Her lips curved faintly. "A few times. Never for long."
"Then why now?" His voice was quiet, but it carried weight — the kind that demanded truth.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned her gaze to the horizon, where Veythar's jagged peaks loomed faintly beyond the Rift. "Because you've been dreaming of us," she said at last. "Dreams that don't belong to you."
Derius's jaw tightened. "Dreams of fire and blood. Of eyes watching me through the dark."
She tilted her head, studying him like a blade she might want to steal. "Those aren't just dreams, half-blood. They are calls. Someone in Veythar knows what you are — and they want you to remember."
He stepped forward, his shadow falling across her. "I remember enough. A mother I never saw. A father I buried with my own hands. And a voice, every night, whispering a name I don't know."
Her eyes gleamed. "The name belongs to the one who marked you before birth. A demon lord who bled into your bloodline. That's why you can walk both realms. Why no wall or ward keeps you out."
Derius studied her for a long moment. The wind pulled at his coat, the city's light glinting off the silver buckle at his chest. "And you," he said finally, "you're here to deliver this warning?"
Her smirk returned — slow, wicked. "I'm here because I was told to bring you home."
"That's not happening."
"I know," she said simply. "But it's… amusing to try."
A faint, dangerous smile touched Derius's lips. "Then stay. Tell me everything you know."
"You don't command me, human."
"Half-human," he corrected, stepping so close she could feel the heat rolling off him. "And you're already staying. That's not a request. That's my decision."
Something in her expression shifted — irritation mixed with intrigue. She didn't like being told what to do… but she wasn't walking away either.
The wind picked up again, carrying the distant sound of drums from somewhere deep in the city. Between them, the air was heavier now, the kind of weight that came before storms.
Derius leaned on the railing beside her, not looking at her when he spoke. "Tell me why the dreams feel… real. Why do I wake with the taste of smoke in my mouth."
She hesitated, then whispered, "Because they are real, Derius. Your mind walks in Veythar while your body sleeps here. And if you don't find out who's calling you…"
He turned to her, eyes dark. "Then what?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Then one night, you won't wake up here at all."
---