Part 1 – Cracks in the Mirror
(Aiden's POV)
The words echoed long after she left.
"I will make you suffer."
"I won't stop."
"This isn't forgiveness."
She had meant to frighten him. Humiliate him.
Hurt him in a way that would fester.
But she didn't understand.
She couldn't know the truth he carried in silence.
He wasn't afraid of pain.
He didn't feel it.
Not in the way others did.
Pain was pressure. A dull weight. A shadow without bite.
It passed through him like wind through glass.
He didn't bleed.
He didn't bruise.
He didn't scar.
But her voice? Her hatred?
That sank into him like a blade made of memory.
He sat alone in his chamber, long after the candles burned low.
The scarf around his neck remained, though there was no wound beneath it. Just skin, smooth and flawless — as if nothing had ever happened.
But something had.
She had looked at him with pure, burning hate… and something else.
Recognition.
And that was what scared him more than anything else.
She knew something he didn't.
---
Aiden stood and crossed the room. The marble floor was cold beneath his bare feet. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, casting only shadows against the frost-covered glass.
He reached for the sword resting on the wall — an ornamental blade gifted by the Eastern Kingdoms.
Its edge was flawless. Sharp enough to slice silk.
He pressed the tip against his palm.
Pushed. Harder.
There was no resistance. No blood. Not even a mark.
He let the blade fall.
Clink.
This body could not be harmed. Not by steel. Not by poison. Not by magic.
It was a shell without weakness.
And yet… he felt like he was breaking.
---
He didn't understand her.
She acted like he had ruined her life.
But he had never seen her before.
He had never stepped foot outside the palace since his fourth birthday.
The only blood on his hands was that of animals and training dummies.
So why?
Why did she look at him like that?
Why did her voice tremble when she spoke of pain?
And why did something inside him ache when she turned away?
---
He should've reported her.
The Emperor would've had her executed in less than a day.
A demon-blood servant, caught threatening the heir?
It would be a public event. A warning to others.
But Aiden hadn't said a word.
Because even in her cruelty… even in her venom… she was the first person who had looked at him like he wasn't a statue.
Like he was human.
And that terrified him more than her blade ever could.
---
He remembered her words.
"You can hurt me. I won't stop you."
He hadn't meant to say it.
It had just slipped out.
But the moment he said it… he had known it was true.
There was a strange kind of peace in surrender.
If pain was the only thing she needed — if his suffering could calm whatever storm lived behind those amber eyes — then maybe… maybe he deserved it.
Even if he didn't know why.
Maybe she could give him something the world never had.
A reason.
---
He walked to the mirror. Looked at the face he had worn for twelve years.
Golden eyes. Pale skin. Hair like moonlight.
Perfect. Untouched. Cold.
He raised his hand and touched the reflection.
And whispered, almost to himself.
"Who are you really?"
---
Part 2 – Day of Deliverance
The palace halls gleamed with red banners and golden chandeliers.
It was the annual Day of Deliverance — a celebration of the Empire's greatest victory.
A day when nobles dressed in silks, raised glasses of blood-colored wine, and toasted to the "fall of the demon scourge."
Aiden had never understood the occasion.
Even as a child, he'd found it strange—how the adults laughed louder, drank harder, and watched him more closely on this day than any other.
Now, at twelve, he understood enough.
The Day of Deliverance was not a day of peace. It was a day of domination.
A reminder to the world that the Empire had crushed the last resistance.
That the Demon King and his kin were wiped out.
Aiden didn't remember any of it.
But today…
he would be seated at the Emperor's right hand, smiling as if he did.
---
The great hall was packed. Marble columns were draped with crimson silk. A massive feast stretched across three tables—meat, fruit, sugared roots, and wines older than most nobles.
At the head sat Emperor Kael Vaelora, robed in white and red, his face ageless, his eyes glinting like a hawk's even when he smiled.
To his right, Aiden sat in polished silver armor, decorative and unused.
His body itched beneath the weight of all the eyes on him.
He had attended this event every year… but this time, something felt different.
This time, he knew what they were celebrating.
He could feel it in every toast.
Every smirk.
Every time the word "victory" was uttered.
They were not honoring peace.
They were glorifying slaughter.
---
At the side of the hall, dressed in a muted servant's uniform, Lyra stood with a tray in her hands.
She hadn't expected to be assigned here.
And she certainly hadn't expected to see him.
But there he was—Prince Aiden—seated beside the man who had butchered her father, mother, kin, and people.
She had sworn not to let emotion control her.
But her hands trembled when she saw the prince raise a goblet as the Emperor stood.
---
Emperor Kael lifted his glass high, voice booming across the hall.
"To the day the skies were painted black, and our steel turned red!"
The crowd roared.
Kael turned to Aiden with a smirk and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"My son… though you were but a child, you carry the blood of this triumph. Our legacy. Our justice."
He gestured to the crowd.
"Look around. This peace? This empire? It stands because we were willing to burn the roots of corruption. The demon bloodline was a disease."
He raised his glass once more.
"And now… it is gone."
The crowd drank.
Aiden did not.
He stared at his father's hand still resting on his shoulder.
He felt nothing. No warmth. No pride.
Just a pressure that dug into his bones.
---
From across the room, Lyra's eyes locked onto him.
She expected arrogance. A smile. Even indifference.
What she saw instead—
was confusion.
Discomfort.
And something deeper. Something she hadn't expected to see in the prince's eyes.
Guilt.
He turned away from the cheers. His gaze drifted toward her for the briefest moment.
It wasn't recognition. But it was something close.
She straightened, gripping the tray tighter.
What game was he playing?
---
Aiden excused himself midway through the feast. The cheers faded behind him as he stepped into the cold marble corridor beyond the banquet hall.
The echo of Kael's words rang in his head.
"The demon bloodline was a disease."
He knew now.
The truth had never been hidden—he just hadn't known how to look.
His father was not a hero.
His crown was not clean.
And Lyra…
He remembered her voice. Her threats. Her pain.
She wasn't mad.
She was mourning.
And he was sitting in the ashes of what she'd lost.