Chapter 260: A Reflection in Chains
The tenth floor of the dungeon was always silent. No scuttling of lesser monsters, no breathing of distant predators. Just silence and the faint weight of something watching from the shadows. Kael moved through it alone, torchlight cutting narrow arcs across the black stone. His team had protested when he told them he would speak with the bound daemon again, but none followed. This was something he had to do.
The chamber greeted him with the same oppressive force as before. The air thickened, charged like a storm waiting to break. Zerathis sat bound in chains of obsidian and silver, his massive frame hunched but not defeated. His wings, black and veined with firelight, flexed against their bindings as Kael entered.
"You return again, half-blood," Zerathis said, voice heavy, calm, and sharp enough to cut through the silence. "What will it be this time? Questions… or judgment?"
Kael stopped several paces away. He didn't draw his weapon, but his hand lingered near the hilt. "Questions."
The daemon chuckled, the sound like stones grinding. "Good. Ask. Words weigh nothing compared to steel—but they sharpen just the same."
Kael studied him, then asked, "Why should I trust a word from you?"
"You shouldn't," Zerathis said easily. His eyes burned brighter. "Not until I earn it. I was forged in betrayal. I know better than most that words mean nothing without blood behind them."
Kael paced slowly, his gaze locked on the daemon. "If I were to release you, what would you do?"
Zerathis leaned forward, the chains biting into his flesh with a hiss of smoke. His grin was a predator's smile. "I would carve a place for myself in this new world. Not as a servant to the Daemon Lord, not as a chained relic rotting in the dark. I would fight, build, and make something lasting—something worthy of power."
Kael's jaw tightened. "And if that meant serving under another? If I gave you freedom, would you rule beneath me?"
For the first time, Zerathis grew quiet. His eyes narrowed as if measuring Kael, peeling him apart layer by layer. The silence stretched, heavy as iron.
Then Zerathis spoke, voice rumbling low. "Yes. But only if your fate proves steeped in strength and power. Only if you rise high enough that kneeling to you is no shame. If your will is iron, if your strength is true, I would bend my knee—not to chains, but to choice. Until then, I serve no one."
Kael's heart pounded harder than he wanted to admit. He should have felt vindicated. Instead, doubt crawled in his gut.
"You sound like me," Kael muttered. "Too much like me."
Zerathis laughed, sharp and cold. "Of course I do. We are cut from the same cloth, half-blood. You build your Hollow with blood and will, you gather strength by force of vision. You may call it freedom, protection, whatever makes you sleep at night—but power, in the end, is what binds your people to you. You wield it well. That is why I answer you."
Kael frowned, voice low. "And the Daemon Lord?"
The grin vanished from Zerathis's face. His chains rattled as he thrashed once, the ground trembling. "The Daemon Lord is a coward. A creature who shackles his strongest to hide his fear. I curse him for it. His rule is not my world anymore. My chains are proof enough that he is no master of mine."
The words hit something raw in Kael. He thought of his father—how every demand, every cruel lesson, every torment was a chain meant to break or harden him. He thought of the Hollow, of the people who looked to him for safety. Of Lyria, Azhara, the council.
And he thought of what would happen if Zerathis lied.
If he freed him, and the daemon's strength turned against them, it would all burn. Everything Kael had built, everything he loved, gone in fire and chains.
Kael stepped back, the torchlight casting his shadow long across the floor. "I can't decide this here," he said finally. His voice was steady, but his chest felt tight.
Zerathis tilted his head, studying him with that same knowing gleam. "Then go, half-blood. Think. Dream of the world you want to build, and ask yourself if you can build it without me. One day, you'll know the answer."
Kael turned, his boots echoing off the stone as he left the chamber. The daemon's laughter followed him, low and lingering.
When he reached the Hollow again, night was falling. The torches lining the streets flickered in the breeze, casting light on new homes, new walls, and the growing life of the town. Children played near the wells, merchants closed their shops, and the council building loomed with its warm glow.
Kael paused at the gates, looking at all he had made. He should have felt proud. Instead, a shadow of doubt gnawed at him.
If Zerathis lied, if he gambled wrong, he could lose it all.
And yet… if the daemon spoke truth, if their ideals truly aligned, then maybe—just maybe—this chained monster could be the key to something greater.
For now, Kael kept his silence. But his mind was far from at rest.