Elara woke to silence.
Not the gentle kind—no birds, no wind, no distant hum of life—but a vast, crushing quiet that pressed against her ears until she wondered if she'd gone deaf.
She opened her eyes.
Darkness.
Not black. Not empty.
Endless.
The ground beneath her was smooth and cold, like polished stone, faintly warm with heat that pulsed in slow, living rhythms. She pushed herself up on trembling arms and sucked in a sharp breath.
The air burned.
It tasted of ash and iron and something older—something that didn't belong in the human world.
She wasn't in her village anymore.
The sky above her was a cathedral of shadow, layered with swirling crimson clouds and fractured constellations that glowed like dying embers. Massive pillars of obsidian rose in the distance, carved with runes so ancient they hurt to look at.
The Demon Realm.
Her chest tightened.
Memory rushed back in fragments—the rift tearing open, the army kneeling, the Demon King's eyes locked on hers.
You will be my queen.
Her fingers curled into the stone beneath her.
"No," she whispered hoarsely.
Her voice sounded small here.
Pathetic.
"You are awake."
She flinched.
Kaelthar stood a few steps away, his presence impossible to miss even when still. His armor was gone now, replaced by dark robes edged with crimson sigils that shifted like living script. His horns curved back from his temples, gleaming faintly in the low infernal light.
He watched her closely.
Not like prey.
Like a storm waiting to see if lightning would strike.
"You brought me to hell," Elara said, forcing the words out despite the tremor in her voice.
"This is not hell," he replied calmly. "It is my realm."
"That's worse."
For the first time, something flickered across his expression—amusement? Regret? It vanished before she could name it.
"You crossed willingly," he said.
"I didn't have a choice!"
"You did," Kaelthar said softly. "And you chose me."
Her breath caught.
She hated that part of herself—the traitorous pull, the way her hand had reached for his without thinking.
She struggled to her feet, ignoring how the ground seemed to subtly adjust beneath her steps, supporting her weight.
"Send me back," she demanded. "Whatever you think I am—I'm not it."
Kaelthar stepped closer.
With every step, the air thickened.
"If I send you back," he said quietly, "your kind will kill you before sunrise."
She froze.
"What?"
"You were seen glowing," he continued. "Golden light. Ancient energy. Humans fear what they do not understand."
"That's not—"
"They already call you a witch," he interrupted. "A traitor. A demon-touched abomination."
Her throat closed.
She knew it was true.
She'd seen the fear in their eyes.
Kaelthar stopped an arm's length away.
"And the demon court," he added, voice hardening, "will not forgive me for sparing you."
As if summoned by his words, the ground trembled.
A deep, echoing horn sounded across the abyss.
Elara flinched. "What was that?"
"Judgment," Kaelthar said. "They've gathered."
Before she could ask what that meant, the space around them folded.
The world bent inward like a closing fist.
Elara gasped as the ground vanished beneath her feet—then reformed instantly into something vast and overwhelming.
A throne hall.
Miles long, impossibly tall, carved entirely from black stone veined with molten crimson light. Thousands of demons filled the chamber, standing in perfect, terrifying order.
At the far end rose the Abyssal Throne—jagged, colossal, radiating power so immense it made Elara's knees threaten to buckle.
Kaelthar stood tall beside her.
Every demon turned to look.
And then—
They roared.
Anger. Shock. Fury. Disbelief.
"A human?!"
"This is blasphemy!"
"She pollutes the throne!"
Elara's ears rang.
She felt naked under their gazes—clawed hands, burning eyes, fangs bared in open hatred.
Kaelthar raised one hand.
The roar died instantly.
Silence slammed down like a blade.
"My court," he said, voice echoing through the hall. "You stand before your queen."
The word struck her like a physical blow.
Queen.
"No," she whispered. "I didn't agree to—"
Kaelthar's voice dropped, meant only for her. "Stay silent."
The command wasn't cruel.
It was protective.
A demon stepped forward—tall, crimson-skinned, wings spread wide in challenge. His armor was ornate, his horns adorned with jewels of bloodstone.
"King Kaelthar," he snarled. "By abyssal law, no human may stand within these walls, let alone claim the throne."
Kaelthar didn't look at him.
"Lord Varyx," he said coolly. "You overstep."
Varyx's gaze flicked to Elara, lips curling in disgust. "This creature is weak. Mortal. Unworthy."
Something twisted inside Elara.
Before she could stop herself, she met Varyx's gaze.
The air shuddered.
Golden light pulsed beneath her skin, faint but unmistakable.
Varyx staggered back as if struck.
A wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the court.
Kaelthar's head snapped toward her.
His eyes darkened—not with anger.
With fear.
"Enough," he said sharply.
The light faded.
Elara swayed, dizzy, heart pounding.
Kaelthar caught her instantly, one arm wrapping around her waist, steadying her against his chest.
The contact sent heat racing through her veins.
The throne hall fell dead silent.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
The Demon King was touching her.
Holding her.
Claiming her before the entire realm.
Kaelthar straightened, keeping her close.
"You question her worth," he said coldly. "Then witness this."
He turned and guided Elara forward—toward the throne.
Her heart hammered violently.
"That throne rejects all but demon blood," Varyx spat. "She will be destroyed."
Kaelthar leaned down, his lips close to her ear.
"If the throne accepts you," he murmured, "they cannot deny you."
"And if it doesn't?" she whispered.
"Then I will burn this realm to protect you."
Her breath caught.
He released her.
The distance between them felt unbearable.
Elara stared at the throne.
Power radiated from it in suffocating waves. It felt alive. Watching. Judging.
Her instincts screamed to run.
But something else—older, deeper—pulled her forward.
She took one step.
The throne flared crimson.
The demons hissed.
Another step.
The air vibrated.
Her skin burned, not painfully—but recognizing.
When she reached the base of the throne, the golden light returned—brighter now, responding to something ancient embedded in the stone.
Runes ignited.
Not demon runes.
Something older.
The throne shifted.
Cracks spread across its surface, reshaping, reforming—
And then—
It knelt.
The abyss shook.
Demons screamed.
Kaelthar went utterly still.
Elara collapsed to her knees as the power surged through her, memories crashing into her mind—fire, wings, screams, a golden figure standing over a dying world.
Kaelthar was at her side in an instant, gripping her shoulders.
"What are you?" he whispered—not as a king, not as a demon.
But as a man who suddenly realized he might have made the most dangerous choice in history.
Elara looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.
"I don't know," she whispered.
And somewhere deep in the abyss, something ancient stirred—
and smiled.