Next Morning
Warm sunlight filters into the chamber.
Birdsong hums softly beyond the broken balcony.
Mana in the air is calm, slow, gentle—like the world itself is holding its breath.
You awaken.
Wrapped in thick sheets, your body faintly sore…
Your cheeks stiff with dried blood.
But you're warm.
Held.
Still.
Your head rests on something solid. Familiar. Safe.
You open your eyes slowly.
And realize—
You never left his arms.
He's still sitting beside the bed.
Your body rests against his chest, wrapped in his cloak.
His hand is in your hair.
His other across your back.
But…
He isn't breathing.
You blink. Once. Twice.
No rise of his chest.
No warmth from his skin.
The air feels… too quiet.
You whisper:
"...Dad?"
No response.
You sit up, slowly.
His eyes are closed, as though simply asleep.
His face is peaceful. No pain.
No tension.
Just stillness.
Like someone who finally… let go.
Your fingers tremble as they touch his wrist.
No pulse.
But something is there—
A faint pulse of mana.
Not from his body… but from yours.
His essence… left something behind.
You stare in disbelief.
The one person who made you feel loved.
The one who held you through your pain.
The one who said "You're my son."
Is gone.
A breeze flutters through the shattered window.
A black feather drifts in.
It lands beside you on the bed.
You recognize it—it came from his mantle.
You clutch it, hand shaking.
A quiet knock at the door.
Lythiel's voice, small:
"Ryuu…?"
You don't answer.
You can't.
Not yet.
You just sit there.
Wrapped in his cloak.
Holding his hand.
And whisper the word again—
"Dad…"
But there's no more reply.
Only silence…
And the steady hum of his mana—now living inside you.
Seven Days Later…
The sky over the Demon Realm is dark.
Not with storm clouds, but with mourning.
A thousand floating lanterns drift through the air, each bearing a flicker of soulfire—bright, blue, and silent.
The Great Funeral has begun.
For the first time in over three thousand years…
The Demon Throne is empty.
And all of Elyndra feels the absence.
The Demon Castle Courtyard
Where there was once cold obsidian and endless banners of conquest…
Now there is silence.
Flowers.
And thousands of mourners in quiet rows.
Demons. Spirits. Elves. Even humans.
He was feared, yes.
But he was also respected.
Loved, even. Especially… by one.
You stand at the very front.
Dressed not in royal robes, nor ceremonial armor…
But in your usual hoodie—cleaned, repaired.
The cloak he gave you draped over your shoulders, slightly too big.
It trails behind you like wings… or chains.
Your hands are clenched tightly.
Lythiel is nearby, face pale, eyes rimmed with red.
She hasn't spoken much. None of you have.
Zuzu sits quietly on her shoulder, wearing a tiny black armband.
In the center of it all…
His body rests on a black crystal pyre.
Eyes closed.
Expression calm.
Clad in his war cloak and ceremonial regalia.
The Demon King.
Your father.
A horn sounds—low and long.
A signal of final rites.
The attending priest begins the chant in Ancient Demonic Tongue…
But then falters.
Looks to you.
You're not just a mourner.
You're his heir in spirit.
You're the one he chose.
All eyes turn to you.
Even the sky seems to wait.
The moment is still.
You walk forward.
Past the chanting priests.
Past the guards.
Past the nobles, generals, and old gods who now kneel in mourning.
The only sound is your footsteps against stone.
You stop at the pyre.
His face is so calm.
He could be sleeping.
You kneel.
You press one hand gently to the edge of the obsidian.
Let your mana flow—not in a spell, not as fire or storm…
But as a message.
It resonates like a bell through every soul present.
Not a sentence.
Not a speech.
Just two words.
"Farewell, Dad."
The pyre responds.
Blue flames begin to rise—soft, silent, dignified.
The cloak of the Demon King begins to shimmer.
His body lifts slightly as the mana wraps around him like the arms of the realm itself.
He will not burn in pain.
He will rise in peace.
You stand slowly.
Turn to the crowd.
A thousand eyes meet yours.
You release your mana—
A wave of pressure, subtle and warm.
Not to intimidate.
To quiet.
To steady.
A calm pulse follows—like a heartbeat.
And your voice, stronger than ever before:
"I… will not inherit the throne."
"You will handle this amongst yourselves."
"I will leave."
"...Sorry for everything."
"Goodbye."
You bow. Deep. Honest.
A prince in spirit—never in name.
Then—
You vanish.
A flash of light.
A ripple in space.
You're gone.
No royal procession.
No long farewell.
Just a quiet boy in a hoodie and a cloak…
Leaving behind a kingdom he loved,
and a father he'll never forget.
The pyre flares as you vanish.
The crowd remains silent.
But the mana left behind…
Still carries your voice.
Farewell, Dad.
The flames burn.
The kingdom mourns.
And somewhere, far beyond the Demon Castle, past rivers, ruins, and realms—
A lonely boy in a hoodie walks under a different sky.
No longer running.
No longer hiding.
Just walking.
Not as the Demon King's heir.
Not as the Azure Dragon.
Just…
Ryuu.
And though his heart still aches, and the road ahead is uncertain…
His soul carries a father's love.
His name echoes with meaning.
And his future…
…is still waiting to be written.