Author's POV
The witch realm was quiet that morning, wrapped in a soft mist that curled low to the ground like pale ribbons. The air carried the scent of herbs and faint smoke—markers of a land steeped in spellcraft and secrets. Natalie walked with long, confident strides, her cloak brushing over the cobbled path as she guided Vaelthor forward.
Beside her, Vaelthor looked nothing like the proud, arrogant man who once laughed in the face of enemies. His steps faltered, his usual composure broken by the nervous tension gripping him. His hand occasionally brushed against Natalie's, almost unconsciously seeking assurance.
As the path curved, the looming silhouette of a Covenstead—a witch's ancestral house—came into view. Its spires jutted against the sky, walls marked with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Natalie's expression softened with nostalgia, but when she glanced at Vaelthor, she had to bite back a chuckle.
"You look like you're marching to your execution," she teased, her eyes glinting with amusement.
Vaelthor ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling sharply. "You don't understand. What if… what if he hates me?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear he had buried deep inside. "What if our son doesn't want to see me? What if I've already failed him before even meeting him?"
Natalie slowed her steps, watching the man who had once terrified kingdoms now tremble at the thought of a child. "Vaelthor," she said softly, "he's your son. Blood calls to blood. No matter how long it's been, that bond is unshakable."
But Vaelthor wasn't convinced. His fists clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the ancient house ahead. "You don't know that. You don't know how much I've ruined—"
Before he could finish, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence.
"Father!"
The word, small yet clear, cut through Vaelthor's fears like a blade. A small figure darted across the courtyard—a boy with dark hair that gleamed like polished obsidian, eyes burning with the same fire Vaelthor once wielded in battle. He threw himself forward without hesitation, straight toward the man he had never seen before.
Vaelthor froze. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide as the boy skidded to a stop before him, panting slightly but smiling so brightly it lit up the entire realm.
"Father," the boy repeated, voice trembling with excitement, "you really came."
For the first time in years, Vaelthor was speechless. His throat tightened, words failing him as the boy's innocent gaze pierced straight through the armor he had worn all his life. His hands shook as if afraid to reach out, afraid that the boy would vanish like an illusion if he touched him.
Natalie stood to the side, her lips curving with a quiet, knowing smile.
From a shadowed corner, a tall figure leaned lazily against a rune-etched pillar. Lord Zareth, his golden eyes glowing faintly, watched the reunion with uncharacteristic amusement. A chuckle escaped him, low and deep.
"So, the infamous Vaelthor really is done with his villain story," Zareth said with a smirk. "Who would have thought? You'll make a great father."
Vaelthor's jaw tightened, but his eyes never left the boy. For once, he didn't snap back. He simply let the words linger in the air as he slowly, carefully lowered himself to his knees and opened his arms. The boy didn't hesitate—he ran straight into them.
And for the first time, Vaelthor allowed himself to feel both fragile and whole.
---
***********Harper
The morning in the demon castle was anything but restful for me. My days of quiet meals and stolen solitude had ended—today, the maids fluttered around me with nervous urgency.
"Lady Harper, you must learn the dance for the banquet," one of them announced, wringing her hands.
"The… dance?" I echoed, brows knitting. "And who exactly is supposed to teach me?"
The room fell into an uneasy silence. The maids exchanged quick, anxious glances, none of them willing to step forward. I frowned, waiting for someone to speak, until at last, they slowly parted to reveal a figure standing in the doorway.
Ellis.
My breath caught. Of all people, she was the last I expected. Her lips curved in that sly, knowing smile, and she stepped into the room with graceful poise.
"I'll be your teacher," she said simply.
The maids bowed their heads and scurried out, leaving us alone. The air seemed heavier the moment they closed the door behind them.
I crossed my arms, eyeing her warily. "You? Why you?"
"Because no one else can teach you properly," she replied without hesitation, her voice smooth and assured. She clapped her hands once, and the shadows in the room flickered faintly, as though even they obeyed her. "Come. Stand here."
I obeyed reluctantly, moving to the center of the polished floor. Ellis circled me like a predator, her gaze sharp and assessing. Finally, she stopped in front of me and extended her hand.
"The dance isn't just a performance," she said quietly. "It has an origin. A truth buried beneath centuries of lies."
Her words prickled at me, my curiosity outweighing my caution. "What truth?"
Ellis's smile was faint, almost wistful. "Long ago, the Banquet of Shadows wasn't a demon's festival. It belonged to the witches."
I blinked in surprise. "Witches? Then why… why is it celebrated here, by the demons?"
She tilted her head, her golden hair catching the dim light as her eyes darkened. "Because history was rewritten. The banquet was the spark that ignited war between demons and witches. And at the heart of that war…"
She leaned closer, her whisper brushing my ear like smoke. "…was Ravenna."
My body stiffened, the name unfamiliar yet heavy with meaning.
"Ravenna?" I repeated, my voice low, laced with confusion.
Ellis's eyes gleamed, a secretive fire dancing within them. "Yes. Ravenna. The true cause of it all."
The silence that followed was suffocating. My heart pounded in my chest, questions swirling, but Ellis only stepped back, her expression unreadable.
I swallowed hard, clutching my skirts. That name… why did it feel like the beginning of another storm?