Princess Anora and Queen Reya placed themselves within the opulent tea room in the grand south wing of Cadan Castle. The dim golden walls were adorned with intricate etchings depicting the ancestry of House Valinski, lending the chamber an aura of ancient elegance. They sat in the middle of the dimly lit room on mats with a tiny table between them, upon which a single candle flickered, pertaining to their culture.
Both mother and daughter wore informal grey gowns, in striking contrast to the grandeur of their surroundings. Reya sipped her tea in a serene manner, her dark eyes keenly observant. In the middle of the room, Nora meditated with a focus that matched her mother's quiet intensity.
Nora was strikingly beautiful, her long, dark curly hair cascading around her like a shroud. Her presence held mysterious depths with subtle dark undertones, and her skin was a lustrous shade of light gold. Every aspect of her presence exuded regal beauty. Empress Reya, the very embodiment of poise, instructed her daughter in the art of mindful meditation. "Slow your breathing, quiet your thoughts," she advised while taking another sip of tea. "Listen for the candle, the flickering of its light."
Nora followed her mother's guidance, exhaling deeply and closing her eyes in concentration. After a few moments, Reya prompted her. "Now tell me, what do you hear?"
A contemplative silence enveloped the room. "I hear my heart beating in my ears. I hear... my blood flowing, a gentle breeze. I hear the cup singing as you place it down, the flickering of the candle. I hear your blinking lashes, your controlled breath."
The queen nodded approvingly. "Someone's coming," Anora announced as she snapped her eyes open, revealing their captivating red beauty.
"Good," Reya replied, pouring more tea for her daughter. "With enough practice, you can take over the reins as the maiden to the red tower, as I was, as your grandmother was."
Nora leaned forward, her eyes reflecting curiosity. "Why can't I learn from the Grand Maiden, as you did?"
Reya's expression grew slightly sombre. "I've told you before, the coven may be useful, but they cannot be trusted. Besides, this is a great way to connect. By teaching you and granting you the rite of passage to do what the women of this family are good at: ruling and governing. Using the power that our male counterparts can only dream to achieve."
Nora contemplated her mother's words as she sipped her tea. After a brief moment of silence, she placed her empty cup down and changed the topic. "You've been surprisingly none intrusive today."
Nora's red eyes met her mother's, reflecting a hint of disbelief. "I half expected you to ask me to check on Avel."
Reya's gaze held an air of enigma, "He's beyond our help now." Nora's red eyes burned gently as she watched her mother closely. She could read the hints in her mother's features, the slight wrinkles and eye strain, and she contemplated her words carefully. "If you say so," she responded simply, just as the door behind Reya swung open with a sudden force, revealing the unexpected arrival of Theon.
The second eldest prince burst into the room in disbelief, not bothering with pleasantries. "Did you hear the news?" he exclaimed as he began to pace, the urgency of his message eclipsing formalities.
Queen Reya, accustomed to her son's brash behaviour, remained calm and addressed the situation. "Hello to you too," she remarked, reminding Theon of his rudeness.
Theon, wearing his formal green attire adorned with two silver V pins on the high collar signifying House Valinski, continued with his revelation. "The Grand Maiden has arrived." Reya gracefully rose from her seat, her movements fluid and purposeful. "I'll go see to her at once," she stated, her voice carrying a hint of determination as she hurried out of the tea room, leaving behind a trail of swirling silk and subtle fragrance. Theon's gaze followed his mother's departure, his brow furrowed with concern. He turned to face Nora, his expression questioning, seeking answers in the depths of her enigmatic red eyes.
"She's hoping the Grand Maiden can do something about Avel," Nora explained, her voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and weariness. "You know, he's been speaking to himself, locking himself in his room and the study. Looking at old scripts no one understands. He's losing it, she hopes the Grand Maiden can fix him." Theon's suspicion lingered as he absorbed Nora's words. "How do you know that?" he inquired, his tone edged with scepticism. "That's mostly what she was talking about all of yesterday," Nora replied, the exhaustion of hearing her mother's concerns evident in her voice.
"She knows the only reason the Grand Maiden is here is to tell us if the Lothrans have granted us an audience or not, right?" Theon pressed further, seeking clarity. "I honestly don't think she cares," Nora stated plainly, her gaze distant as she began to stretch, her movements fluid and graceful. "I've got another piece of information for you." Theon began. Nora raised a questioning brow, impatient to get on with her morning rituals.
"Araikus is back." He added.
Pause.
"Why would I care?"
"I have eyes you know." Theon retorted.
In the dim light of the tea room, Nora's slender form seemed to sway with an otherworldly grace as she stretched, her long, dark curls cascading around her like a veil of shadows. Slowly, she turned to stare after her brother, her gaze enigmatic and equally terrifying, betraying depths of thought and emotion that lay hidden beneath her regal exterior.
Theon hesitated for a moment, his own gaze meeting Nora's before he quietly took his leave, leaving her alone in the dimly lit chamber, her thoughts swirling like the shadows dancing on the walls.
Theon briskly brushed his short hair as he strode through the castle halls, his steps purposeful. His gaze caught Darthal in a moment of tender consolation, comforting one of his understudies, a fair-looking young woman whose eyes were red with tears. As Theon approached, Darthal gently encouraged the sobbing woman to move along, and she obliged with a bow, offering a low greeting to the prince before rushing off.
"What's wrong with her?" Theon inquired, his curiosity piqued by the emotional encounter.
"She mourns for her brother, as do we all," Darthal replied, his tone sombre as he touched his fingertips together.
Theon raised a questioning brow, prompting Darthal to explain further. "Her brother was in Ox'Orn with our young master of arms, Hunter. Six hundred men died there, and her brother was one of them."
Theon turned to glance in the direction the young woman had disappeared, his thoughts lingering on the tragic loss. "The men who died because of the blood gate," he murmured, the weight of the foretold events settling heavily upon him.
"What more do you know of it?" Theon turned back to Darthal, his expression intent. "I've heard it may be the origin of the corruption," Darthal explained gravely. "Its nature is potent and vile. We'd be best to close it sooner rather than later."
Theon eyed Darthal thoughtfully, contemplating the implications of his words. "If only Father would allow me to partake in the choosing," he mused aloud, a hint of frustration colouring his tone. Darthal looked upon the young prince with slight shock, surprised by Theon's candid expression. Theon's visible relaxation hinted at the weight of his unspoken desires and the limitations imposed by his father's authority.
"The partaking in the choosing is not a simple test, Your Highness. Your father learned from his previous attempts and the tragedies that ensued," Darthal explained, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "My brother may have failed to become anointed, but I will not," Theon assured with determination evident in his voice. "Help me convince Father that if I were to undertake the test, I would prove myself capable of wielding the power of gods. With it, I could end the corruption and the dark angels," Theon stated confidently, his eyes shining with conviction. Darthal observed the young prince, sensing no hesitation or doubt in his words. "Perhaps," he began carefully. "Should the need for the choosing arise, I may advise the king to consider you."
Theon's delight was palpable at Darthal's response. "I only ask you to consider your task," Darthal continued, his tone grave. "And remember that your brother was almost pushed to the brink of insanity despite his vast promise," Darthal pointed out, his expression serious. Theon sneered at the mention of his brother's struggles. "Just because Avel couldn't do it doesn't mean I have to be counted out. Fate has judged him and found that he was lacking," Theon declared with unwavering confidence. "I, however, will succeed where even Avel couldn't."
Diary Entry - Caladan, Year 50,191
There is a strangeness to this boy. An unmistakable darkness our, Avel Valinski—a flicker of something twisted, barely hidden beneath his calm facade. It is faint, yes, but I know the early signs well enough. In his eyes, I see a hunger for something beyond strength or power; it is almost as though he craves dominion itself, a right to rule. Reya and has sown this seed by defying us, but what she does not realize is that she has birthed something far more dangerous than she can control.
When I tested him, he was too steady, too still, too unnerved. His endurance came not from fear or bravery but from a place of calculation, perhaps even thrill. He didn't just survive the madness—he seemed to study it, dissect it, as though it was simply another tool. That calmness, that eerie quiet, is not a gift. It is an omen. If the boy indeed has a soul, it is hidden beneath layers even the foremothers cannot penetrate.
Ivane is blind to what Avel may become. Reya sees only her son, the heir to the Aratheans legacy. But I see the shape of his potential twisting beneath the surface, a kind of moral void that seeks to know, to possess, to judge—all under the guise of righteousness. If so, then he is not simply Ivanes tool; he is a weapon with a will of its own.
But what will he wield this power for? I cannot dismiss the cold tendrils of dread that tighten around my thoughts when I look at him. Avel Valinski is more than a boy; he is a shadow growing, one that might one day plunge this world into a darkness we cannot foresee.
For now, he is restrained by youth, his ambitions still bound by innocence. But even now, I feel that he is watching us all, waiting for the moment when he will slip free from the threads of our design.
Signed, Grand Maiden Merrill Valary Deschon
The Grand Maiden and Darthal Vermyr stand in a quiet corner, the air thick with a shared, unspoken tension.
"And what of this boy?" she asks, her tone sharp and calculated.
Darthal hesitates, glancing briefly over his shoulder before leaning in. "I fear the boy sees too much," he murmurs. "There's a depth to his eyes—an understanding that is... unsettling."
She arches an eyebrow, an edge of impatience slipping through her cold detachment. "And does anyone suspect the truth?"
Darthal shakes his head. "Everything is as you have planned, Grand Maiden. The household suspects nothing."
A faint, satisfied smile crosses her lips as she studies him, weighing his loyalty for any fractures, any trace of doubt. "Good," she says finally, each syllable laced with the bite of command. "As a last favour to Reya, I will see to her boy."
Darthal's expression flickers, but he remains silent, watching as she turns away. A hidden chill lingers, a whisper of something inevitable—yet neither speaks of it aloud.
(Avel's Quarters)
"Avel."
"Avel," a sweet voice called out, its melodic tone gently pulling the crown prince from the depths of his subconscious. Through the strands of his dark hair, Avel slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting the sight of his mother, Reya, who stood before him, her blue eyes etched with an emotion unknown to the boy.
"Get up," she pleaded softly, her voice carrying a sense of urgency as she placed his formal attire onto the grand bed that dominated the opulent room.
The room itself exuded an air of regal splendour, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings, and ornate tapestries hanging from the walls depicting scenes of valour and conquest. "What's going on?" Avel asked groggily as he sat up, his mind still heavy with the remnants of sleep. "The Grand Maiden is here," Reya explained, her tone grave yet tinged with a hint of anticipation. "She agreed to see you, but she won't have much time, so get up." Avel rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
As he was done he accepted the pill in his mothers hand, he took it and immediately placed it on his tongue. What a bitter thing. Reya reached for the jug of water by the boys dresser and poured him a glass.
"Drink." She insisted as she handed it to him.
As she did, she noticed several ancient-looking books scattered across the floor, adding to the room's sense of scholarly grandeur. "How are your eyes?" she inquired, her gaze softening as she studied her son's feline features. Gently, she cupped his cheeks, feeling a pang of sadness as he recoiled slightly from her touch. "They don't hurt. They're just sensitive," Avel explained, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and determination as he stood, dressed in a simple grey sleeping gown.
"Meet me by the guest room. I have to see to Lady Merrill beforehand," Reya instructed briskly, her maternal concern evident in her tone. "Be quick." As soon as his mother left the room, Avel wasted no time in donning his attire, his movements purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. Upon his grand bed lay a regalia fit for royalty, a pure white sceptre as long as a cane. Its design was simple yet elegant, with a round white orb at its peak. The material of the sceptre was smooth and pristine, its color mirroring the luminous hue of the celestial body and ethereal make-up of a pale moon. Slowly, he reached out for the sceptre, his hand hovering just above it as a sudden tremor coursed through his fingers. With a sharp intake of breath, he clenched his trembling hand into a fist, his knuckles whitening with the effort as he struggled to still the involuntary movement. Gradually, the trembling subsided, and a sense of calm washed over him as he reassured himself of his control.
In a moment of stillness, he reached once more for the regalia, his fingers curling around its smooth surface as he lifted it from the bed. Using it as a cane to steady himself, he rose to his feet. Dressed in elegant attire befitting his station, he made his way to the door with measured steps.
The young prince found himself in a guest chamber steeped in history and tradition, with high stone walls adorned with ancient tapestries depicting scenes of myth and legend. Heavy velvet curtains hung from the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.
In the center of the room, seated upon a stone throne that seemed to have been hewn from the very earth itself, sat the Grand Maiden, her dark dress reminiscent of that worn by a bishop in its sombre elegance. The fabric draped around her slender frame like a shroud, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded her. As the Grand Maiden gazed upon Avel and Queen Reya with her silver eyes, her voice, though crony, carried a weight of authority that commanded attention. "This is him?" she questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity.
"Yes," Reya confirmed, her voice steady as she stood beside her son. The old, pale woman studied the young prince with a discerning eye, taking in every detail of his form as he stood before her, his posture erect and his demeanor poised. Avel's long raven curls cascaded around his shoulders in a wild yet elegant manner, framing his uncannily perfect features with an air of regal grace. "Lady Merrill Deschon. She is Soothsayer for the Lumerians and Head of The Black Coven," Reya introduced the old woman, her own form clad in a formal dark silver dress that shimmered in the dim light of the chamber.
After a few moments of tense silence, Lady Merrill spoke again, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Leave us," she instructed, her gaze unwavering as she watched Queen Reya with a hint of scrutiny.
Hesitant, Queen Reya cast one last lingering look over Avel before bowing respectfully and taking her leave, leaving the young prince alone in the presence of the formidable Grand Maiden.
"She worries," Lady Merrill stated, her voice cutting through the silence of the chamber as she continued to study the boy before her with a scrutinizing gaze. "And she has good reason to," the old woman added, her eyes squinting as if trying to discern something hidden beneath the surface.
"I can taste it off of you," Lady Merrill continued, her voice laced with disgust. "The madness. It is bitter, rancid," she scolded, her wrinkled face contorting with distaste. The young prince remained erect and unreactive, his expression unreadable as he listened to the Grand Maiden's words.
"The gods pity the man who, in his callousness, can remain sane," Lady Merrill mused, her tone dripping with disdain. "Madness," the young prince began softly, his voice carrying a weight of solemnity. "I find is not a curse."
"How so?" Lady Merrill inquired, her curiosity piqued by the boy's unexpected response.
"Because in it, lies the truth," he added gravely, his words hanging heavy in the air.
"Strange," the Grand Maiden remarked as she leaned back in her seat, finding herself observing the boy more closely than before. "There is rationality in madness," the prince continued, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.
"Go on," Lady Merrill encouraged, her interest now fully engaged. "I find it functions as a gateway to the higher mysteries of the world. My brush with death opened my eyes to the truth," the boy confessed, a sense of dread creeping into his tone. "What truth?" Lady Merrill demanded, her impatience evident in her voice.
"We are not as safe as we think we are. Or maybe we think we are safe, therefore we are," he said, his words tinged with uncertainty. "In the unseen," the boy continued, lifting his head to face Lady Merrill directly, "lies that which cannot be seen." The Grand Maiden beheld his violet eyes as they shone brightly, swirling and shifting with an otherworldly brilliance. A wicked and knowing grin formed on the witches face.
"He knows."
The young prince watched her with guarded eyes, wary yet curious. "Demons, young prince," she began, her voice a low murmur, "creatures lurking in shadows far older than you or I. Nigh-all-powerful—beings of malice and cunning beyond mortal comprehension. Very few have ever truly seen them, fewer still understand their nature."
Avel's gaze sharpened, a flicker of intrigue glinting in his eyes. "Demons?"
The Grand Maiden tilted her head, her expression almost amused. "They are as real as the air you breathe, Avel. Most souls will never encounter them, and even those who do often dismiss them as mere visions, symptoms of fear. The mind is quick to hide and reject what it cannot explain."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But there are those, like you and I, who can see beyond the veils. We know that demons are more than mere superstition; they are ancient, insidious forces. They hide in plain sight, in the darkness beyond the human souls grasp, waiting for weakness. And when they find it, they strike."
Avel frowned, absorbing her words. "So they're... manipulators, then? They prey on those who don't understand them?"
"Exactly," she replied, a hint of a smile curling at the corner of her lips. "They rely on ignorance, on disbelief. And that is why so few can truly comprehend them. To understand demons, is to know that evil is not always born from men—it often whispers to them, coaxing them toward ruin."
The boy reflected on her words briefly. 'What is Evil?', he marked to himself. "Whatever these demons are, one thing is clear," he added solemnly. "And what is that?" Lady Merrill inquired, her curiosity now fully peaked.
"They are after me," the boy said regretfully, his voice filled with anguish.
"You?" Lady Merrill uttered, unable to mask her disbelief. "I'm the reason the dark angels plague our lands. The reason why these demons are killing my people," he explained achingly. "Why would they want you?" Lady Merrill demanded, her voice tinged with disbelief. "To understand that you would need to do as you intended when you summoned me here. To assess me and see if I possess the power of a Herald." The Grand Maiden cast a cold gaze upon the boy her nails biting into the handles of her stone throne.
The Grand Maiden stood and drew closer to Avel. As she did; she could feel the edges of his mind—shielded, tightly bound, like an ancient fortress.
"Look at me, boy," she commanded softly, her voice a dark thread winding through the air.
He met her gaze, steady and unflinching. She pressed her fingertips to his temples, her presence slipping inside his mind like cold water finding the cracks in a stone wall. At first, she encountered only shadows and flashes of memory: Reya's gentle hand on his shoulder, Ivane's distant gaze. But then, deeper within, she found something else—a dark, coiled presence, a part of him untouched by innocence.
Images flared in his thoughts, sharp and violent. The heart of the universe stained with blood, countless bodies strewn like fallen leaves, and at the center of it all… Avel himself, standing over them. The expression on his face chilled her: a look of complete and terrible understanding, as if he accepted both the power and the destruction that came with it. "You…" she breathed, disturbed. "You relish this."
Avel's eyes flickered with a hint of brilliance, but he said nothing. The room shook and roared as she dug deeper, searching for some trace of remorse, of hesitation, of pain, but instead she felt only hunger. A dark, twisted consuming desire for control, for supremacy over everyone and everything around him. It was more than ambition—it was a yearning for dominion. She beheld a dark sun beaming with red molten veins, a great and terrifying power clasped out of existence in the boys palm. She released her hold on him forgetting to hide the shock on her face. "You hide this well," she whispered, almost to herself, feeling the fear prick at the edges of her mind. "But you cannot hide it from me." Avel's mouth curled into a small, unreadable smile. "Perhaps, Grand Maiden, it's not I who hides it. Perhaps it's you who cannot bear to see it."
The chill of his words, so precise, so unsettlingly mature, struck her to her core. She pulled back, her hands trembling faintly. The boy's mind, once so carefully molded, now seemed a chasm she could not fathom. And in that moment, she realized something that filled her with dread: the boy was not bound to the demiurges will. No, he was something else entirely—something dark and rising, far beyond her reach.
An Omen.
"Why?" Lady Merrill struggled for words. "Why not tell anyone?" "Because," Avel stated softly, his gaze now fixed on the ground beneath him. "I was afraid," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of regret and resignation. The Grand Maiden settled herself back into her seat, her expression unreadable as she listened intently. "Afraid of?" she questioned, her voice calm yet probing. "The demiurge," Avel replied softly. "I do not think this power is from them. I knew the Lumerians would destroy me. I knew my people would shun and fear me. If the gods knew that I held such power, they would have me killed. I pose a threat to them," he stated plainly, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. There was a potent purity to its nature.
"I understand," the Grand Maiden said simply, her voice betraying no hint of judgment. "If the gods knew that my existence serves as an invitation to these demons to enter our worlds, they would end me to protect all of existence," Avel added, his tone filled with resignation. "You were afraid of what your 'gift' would bring down upon you," she surmised, her gaze piercing as she studied the young prince. "I was," Avel admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"And now?" she inquired, her curiosity evident in her tone. Avel stood, refusing to answer her question, his violet eyes cold and distant. "Why tell me all this?" the Grand Maiden questioned, her voice echoing in the dimly lit chamber. Avel's gaze met hers, unwavering. "I know you're here to refuse my father's request for an audience with the Lothrans," he stated assuredly.
"Is that so?" the Grand Maiden asked, her tone neutral. "I ask that you reconsider," Avel implored, his voice filled with quiet desperation.
"Why would I do that?" she challenged.
"Because my people don't deserve to suffer anymore, especially because of me," he explained, his voice tinged with sorrow. "The demons behind the corruption are after me. After this power I wield. Allow my people to survive and only I need suffer."
The Grand Maiden studied the boy for a moment, her expression inscrutable. "Demons aren't things you can outrun, boy," she cautioned, her tone grave.
She studied him again, her silver eyes reflecting the darkness that surrounded them. "Very well. Your matter is something that would be of interest to the Lumerians," she conceded as she rose from her seat, making her way to the door.
"Of great interest," she added ominously, her words lingering in the air as she prepared to depart. "I'll do what I can," she offered, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.
Avel stilled himself, a sense of foreboding creeping and coiling into the depths of his chest and stomach. A rising surge of energy prickled and slithered within him, disturbed by an unseen presence that perturbed his very essence.
"It would appear she didn't notice me," an otherworldly voice pierced through the air from the depths of the shadows, its eerie tone slicing through frequencies like a chilling whisper from the abyss.
"I wasn't aware you'd returned, Uriel," Avel spoke softly, his tone devoid of any emotion.
From the darkness emerged a frightening being, its form perfect yet terrifying in its pristine beauty. It had wings as colourless and grey and white as ethereal snow in ones dream, sharp nails gleaming like polished ivory. Colourless moon-kissed skin bore intricate, barely discernible, golden metallic markings that adorned its cheeks, neck, shoulders, and torso in symmetrical patterns, reminiscent of ancient runes etched in gold. Its eyes glowed with a dim, cold light, pale and piercing, akin to moonlight reflected off a still, icy lake.
"Were you testing her?" the far-removed voice questioned, its wings recoiling as it emerged further into the dim light.
"I'm only buying time," Avel stated calmly, though his words carried a weight of hidden knowledge and calculated intent. He shut his eyes briefly, slits open enough to barely see, hands tucked behind him majestically as he held his sceptre. The being's voice held an unnatural resonance, hinting at depths of knowledge begging to be uncovered, yet concealing a darkness that threatened to swallow all who dared to delve too deep. It was a voice that whispered of forbidden truths and ancient secrets, drawing listeners into an abyss from which there might be no return. "The Lumerians want us dead. The corruption was their doing, and she knows that. But she doesn't know I know that," Avel explained, his violet eyes barely open as he glanced over at the being, his regalia resting casually on his shoulder. The being stood silent, its presence looming like a shadowy spectre, a harbinger of unseen terrors lurking just beyond the veil of reality. "Playing the fool?" Uriel inquired, his voice carrying a weight of ancient wisdom and solemnity.
"I don't know why the Lumerians want us dead yet. If you don't know the cause of a problem, you cannot resolve it," Avel explained calmly. "And this power you gave me won't stand well with them." He added.
"All I know as of now is that I need to be prepared," Avel said trying to ease the sense of euphoria and overwhelming power surging within him by pacing himself to the throne. "This audience with the Lothrans will allow us to know if they are on our side," he added, his voice resonating with determination.
Uriel watched as Avel sat upon the throne, his brilliance evident as he opened his eyes, the violet pupils beaming across the shadows that enveloped the room. "Did you find more of your brethren?" Uriel, the great being, knelt down before the young prince. "I have," he explained, his voice tinged with sorrow. "They are stricken with a death-like sleep, just as I was," he stated, bowing his head in reverence. "To awaken all of them would take a great amount of life force," Uriel instructed.
"Just as you did for me, I implore you to revive them," the being pleaded. "I plan on it," the young prince assured, his tone unwavering in its resolve. "What of your memories?" Avel inquired, his curiosity piqued. "They are piecing themselves together, father. I ask for your patience," Uriel said, his gaze filled with a sense of longing and uncertainty. "However, I did manage to set sights on the Lothrans on my journeys," he added.
"And?" Avel inquired eagerly.
"All who beheld me were befallen with madness," Uriel explained, his voice tinged with sadness.
"Hmm," Avel murmured thoughtfully as he studied the being before him. "Let's go," he finally said, his tone dispassionate yet resolute as he rose to his feet, and Uriel followed suit.
"May I ask where?" the being questioned.
"To awaken my army," Avel declared, his voice echoing through the chamber with a sense of purpose. The young prince found himself caught between two near impossibilities. On one side he needed to face off against the fall out with the Lumerians and on the other he would need to face the demons that were invading their home and feasting upon his people. Both enemies were proving themselves too much for the Aratheans. The only salvation he found was through the demonic like entity before him now. Whatever it was, it was powerful and with more like it, he surmised he could save his people from befalling a grim end. Even if it meant killing all the gods.