When Derius stepped out from the Steelguard hall, the sun caught the dark edges of his armor, making the plates gleam like shadowed fire.
Waiting for him just beyond the courtyard gates were the twenty women of his household — not fighters, not guards, but the ones who knew him best. The ones who filled his nights with laughter, warmth, and games that had nothing to do with swords.
They weren't dressed for war. Silks, flowing wraps, and ribbons framed their faces. Yet their eyes were bright, wet with tears they tried to hide behind teasing smiles.
The moment he came into view, they swarmed him like a tide.
"Lord Derius, you can't leave so soon!" cried Lira, pressing a folded cloak into his hands. "We haven't even finished our… game from last night."
"You'll come back for us, won't you?" another, Veyla, said as she clung to his arm, slipping a small silver charm into his palm. "If you don't, I'll… I'll haunt you."
"That might be the only way I'd let you haunt me," Derius replied with a faint smirk, causing a ripple of soft laughter through the group.
While they spoke, two knelt to tighten the straps of his greaves, their fingers lingering longer than necessary. Another smoothed the shoulder plates of his armor, brushing imaginary dust away as if stalling for time.
"You look far too good to be walking into a place like Veythar," murmured Sianne, tilting her head as she adjusted his cloak. "Maybe you should stay here where people appreciate you properly."
He gave her a slow glance. "If I stayed every time you asked, I'd never leave this house again."
The demoness leaned against the courtyard's stone column, arms folded, an amused curl to her lips. "Are you all planning to cry, or are you sending him off to die looking like a prince?"
The women shot her glares, but none dared answer her directly. Instead, they returned to fussing over Derius — polishing his vambraces, checking the buckles of his sword belt, slipping tiny keepsakes into his pack.
"You'll miss us," one of them teased.
"I already do," he said, and though his tone was calm, they all knew him well enough to hear the truth in it.
Maelis, the eldest among them, stepped forward last. She held out a black-forged longsword wrapped in crimson cloth. "For you," she said, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes. "And when you bring it back, I expect it to still be in your hand."
Derius accepted it with a single nod, securing it at his hip.
When they were finally done, the twenty stood in a line, their cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. One by one, they touched his arm, his hand, his shoulder — a silent farewell each in their own way.
"Don't keep us waiting too long," Lira said softly as he turned toward the gates.
"
He looked back once. "I won't."
The demoness fell into step beside him as they left the courtyard, her eyes dancing with mischief. "For someone who pretends not to care for attachments, you certainly collect them."
"I don't collect them," he said. "They choose to stay."
She chuckled low. "Then Veythar had better watch itself… because there's a man coming who has twenty reasons to survive."
"we aren't going to fight any one are we?"
The city's skyline dwindled in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the blur of gold fields and winding roads. Derius's black luxury car purred low, each shift of the engine smooth as silk. Inside, the leather seats breathed warmth, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the sharper tang of his armor oil.
The demoness sat in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, skirt slit high enough that the movement drew his eyes for a heartbeat before returning to the road. She noticed, of course. She always noticed.
"You didn't tell them," she said lazily, tapping her nails on the window frame.
"Tell who what?"
"The Steelguard. That you're half demon."
He smirked. "If they knew, they'd try to chain me to their side. Or burn me."
Her lips curved slowly. "Or keep you as a weapon."
Her hand rested on the console between them, fingers brushing against the back of his. Not accidental — her touch lingered there just enough to send a slow heat up his arm.
"They already think I'm insane for walking into Veythar as a human," he said, eyes fixed ahead.
"They're right," she replied. "You would die as a human." She leaned closer, her voice warm against his ear. "Good thing you're not."
The car's suspension dipped as they took a turn, her shoulder pressing into his. She didn't move away. Instead, her fingers slipped over his wrist, tracing the pulse there.
"Do you want them to find out?" she asked.
"No."
"Because you're ashamed?"
He glanced at her, the faintest challenge in his gaze. "Because they wouldn't understand."
She smiled at that — a slow, knowing thing — then leaned back, stretching her arms above her head in a way that shifted her body closer again. The movement made the silk of her dress whisper against the leather seat, and his jaw tightened briefly before he looked away.
For a few minutes, silence reigned, the low hum of the engine the only sound. Then she spoke again.
"Tell me something," she murmured. "When you go into Veythar… will you still be you when you come back?"
"Yes."
She laughed softly, leaning her temple against the window. "You say that like you believe it."
Her hand was back on the console, closer this time, brushing his thigh. He didn't stop her.
"You know," she said quietly, "for all their doubts, the humans love you. But you and I both know… you fight differently when you're not pretending to be one of them."
His eyes flicked toward her. "And you fight differently when you're not wearing a dress."
Her smile deepened. "Maybe you'll see both in Veythar."
The road stretched ahead — long, winding, and full of shadows. But in the quiet cocoon of the car, the air was thick not with fear, but with something warmer, sharper, and far more dangerous.
---
They had been on the road for hours now. The fields had given way to rougher land — stone ridges jutting like broken teeth from the earth, shadowed valleys where the sun refused to touch.
The demoness had her legs tucked sideways on the seat now, facing him fully. One hand rested casually on the armrest, the other tracing idle shapes along his thigh through the fabric.
"You're too calm," she said, studying his face.
"Calm keeps me alive," he replied without looking at her.
"Calm gets you killed in Veythar. You need… hunger." Her hand slid higher, deliberate.
He caught her wrist without looking. "I'll have it when I need it."
She leaned closer, her lips hovering near his ear. "You'll need it the moment we pass the border."
Outside, the sky had shifted — clouds darker, thicker, moving against the wind. It was as if the land ahead rejected the sun.
"You feel that?" she whispered.
He nodded. "The air's heavier."
"Veythar doesn't like visitors." Her smile was slow, almost predatory. "Especially humans."
He glanced at her briefly. "Good thing I'm not just human."
Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment, then she settled back in her seat. "They're going to smell you the moment we get close. The demon part of you will call to them. The human part will make them want to tear you apart."
"Let them try."
Her eyes glimmered faintly, some inner fire awakening. "If you say so."
The road narrowed, the cracked asphalt giving way to uneven stone. The car's headlights caught shapes on the horizon — towering black spires, jagged and sharp, piercing the clouds like spears. Between them, strange flickers of light danced, too steady to be lightning, too unnatural to be fire.
"That," she said softly, "is the gate."
He kept driving, the hum of the engine now swallowed by the oppressive silence outside.
"You've still got time to turn back," she murmured, watching him with something between admiration and challenge.
He smiled faintly. "You should know by now — I don't turn back."
She let out a soft laugh, but her eyes stayed on the approaching darkness. "Then keep driving, Derius. Let's see if Veythar remembers your blood."
Derius kept his eyes on the road. The demoness hadn't spoken for a while, only watching him, her gaze sharp as if weighing something in her mind.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"There's something I haven't told you," she said.
He smirked faintly. "You've kept plenty from me. Which secret is this?"
"This one changes everything."
Her voice carried a weight that made him glance at her. Her posture had shifted — no more playful lounging, no sly smiles. She was leaning forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees, every trace of teasing gone.
"You weren't sent to Veythar just because you're strong," she continued. "You were sent… because your father asked for you."
The grip on the steering wheel tightened. "My father is dead."
She shook her head slowly. "No. He's very much alive. And not just alive — thriving. He's a General in the Demon Realm's highest court. One of the oldest living warlords in history."
He kept driving, his jaw tightening. "If he's alive, why didn't he come for me himself?"
Her eyes softened, just barely. "Because he's bound to Veythar. He cannot leave without risking the safety of the border. The war you've heard whispers of — it's worse than humans know. The only thing holding back a full invasion is him."
"And now he wants me to take his place?" Derius asked, his tone laced with disbelief.
She nodded once. "Yes. Half-human or not, you carry his blood. You're strong enough to inherit his mantle… to command demon armies, to hold the line between worlds. He believes you can protect both realms the way he has."
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I've spent my whole life fighting to protect humans — not to rule demons."
"You wouldn't be ruling them. You'd be controlling them. Without a leader they fear, the Demon Realm would spill into the human world in days." She leaned closer, her voice lowering. "Your father has done his part for centuries. But his time is running out. And if you refuse…"
She let the words hang.
He glanced at her sharply. "If I refuse?"
Her lips curved faintly, but it wasn't a smile. "Then the next General won't be you. And trust me, whoever it is won't care about keeping humans alive."
The road stretched on, the horizon darkening further. Neither of them spoke for a long while, but the tension between them shifted — no longer just attraction or challenge. Now there was something else between them.
Legacy.
Destiny.
And the weight of a choice he had never asked for.