"What do you think, pet?" asked Demon Lord Caelum, his deep voice echoing through the sanctuary garden as he turned to the small girl beside him.
To anyone unfamiliar, Vivi would appear to be nothing more than an ordinary twelve-year-old with ombre black-white hair and purple eyes. But that illusion couldn't be farther from the truth.
Vivi was a shapeshifter, more than a thousand years old, ancient and powerful beneath her youthful façade.
Caelum had just finished sculpting yet another statue of a woman.
"She looks almost perfect, Father," Vivi replied with a bright smile.
Caelum's lips twitched in amusement. "You're right. Almost," he echoed. "Just almost. But they will never be perfect."
"Unlike the real her," he added, his voice growing softer.
His gaze drifted across the sanctuary. A thousand sculptures, each bearing the same woman's face, filled the garden. Some stood reading books, others with their dresses caught in the wind. A few sat surrounded by cats or dogs, others holding delicate cups, flowers, or musical instruments.
All were depictions of the same woman.
The same face.
Caelum turned back to his latest masterpiece. This one stood tall, her long hair lifted as though caught in a breeze, one hand raised with a lily, the other holding her wide-brimmed hat.
She was nearly flawless.
If only she were alive and breathing before him.
His fingers gently grazed the smooth marble cheek, reverent and aching.
"Father!"
A sudden shout broke the stillness, echoing from the edge of the sanctuary. In the distance, a young boy, nimble and energetic, raced toward them. He looked about fifteen, with blonde tousled hair.
He ran at full speed through the maze of sculptures, never once touching or disturbing a single one. It was clear this wasn't his first time here. He knew every step, every path by instinct.
"Father!" he shouted again as he approached.
Caelum didn't flinch. He remained still, his eyes still on the statue. Clearly, he was used to the boy's dramatic entrances.
But just before the boy could reach him, a shadow flashed.
A woman appeared out of nowhere and, without hesitation, grabbed the boy by the arm and threw him effortlessly to the ground.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Milo?" she scolded, eyes blazing. "No running in the sanctuary! What if you knocked over one of Mother's sculptures? What would you do then?!"
Milo scrambled to his feet with ease, brushing off the sand on his pants, as he gave her a mischievous grin.
"I'm sorry, big sister Luna," he said, unfazed. "But I got a letter from brother Alpha."
He held the letter out to her.
Luna's features were regal, sharp, and commanding, appearing no older than twenty-five. But like her siblings, she was also more than a thousand years old.
She glared at Milo one more time before snatching the letter from his hand and opening it.
As Luna read through the letter, her expression shifted. Her brows furrowed, and she inhaled sharply before turning to Caelum, urgency in her voice.
"Father," she said tightly. "The Holy Beast… Seiryu… has been awakened."
Caelum didn't respond immediately.
His hand remained where it was, gently caressing the smooth, lifelike cheek of his newest sculpture.
Then he sighed, long and heavy.
"It seems we must leave the sanctuary… for now," Caelum said, his tone laced with reluctance. "We return to Malvakar today. Tell the others."
"Yes, Father!" the three answered in unison, then vanished swiftly to fulfill his command.
Left alone in the quiet sanctuary, Caelum pressed his forehead to the statue's.
"I must leave you for now, my love," he whispered. "But I promise… I'll return to you soon."
City of Dwarves – Emberwrought
"This is amazing," gasped Norik, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a wild ginger beard. He held the newest invention of the Ember Tower in his gloved hands, a fully functional Deepcall.
The rest of his team, nine fellow dwarves, all master crafters and engineers, stood in awe.
The Deepcall was a revolutionary communication device, allowing instant voice contact between users. Gone were the days of crystal messages and enchanted letters with limited reach and fragile handling.
With this, demi-humans across Velrathis could speak to one another in real time.
"I still can't wrap my head around how Leader P comes up with things like this," said Varka, scratching his head.
Dwarves, unlike other demi-human races, could not use magic themselves, but they were legendary craftsmen. What they lacked in raw power, they made up for in genius engineering, crafting, and magical integration.
"She's not just brilliant," said Frida, adjusting her goggles. "She's one of the Demon Lord's ten children."
"So… the rumors are true?" Zarn asked, wide-eyed.
Each dwarf in the room was at least 150 years old, and while they aged physically more quickly than other demi-humans, the average dwarf still lived to see 800, sometimes even 900 years.
"Of course it's true," Rurik replied. "Have you seen the sigil on her left arm? That's the Demon Lord's mark. Only his children bear it."
"Senior Thrain," Dagna piped up, "you're the eldest among us. How old do you think Leader P really is?"
Thrain stroked his long white beard, eyes narrowing in thought. "I've no clue how old she is exactly. But she was already leading the Ember Tower when I was a young apprentice. My parents worked under her. From what I've gathered… she's over a thousand years old."
"Hey!"
The entire group snapped to attention at the sudden voice.
From the hallway emerged their leader, Peanut.
She looked no older than eighteen, with a lithe figure and the confident air of someone twice her age. She wasn't a dwarf, but a shapeshifter, with amber-colored hair and eyes. She wore her usual style: amber rubber shoes, tight leather pants, and a cropped cotton shirt printed with the word Peanut across the chest.
"I'm heading out," she said casually. "Make sure all one hundred Deepcalls are finished by the time I'm back."
"Yes, Leader P," they chorused.
"Can we ask where you're going? And when you'll return?" Thrain asked respectfully.
Peanut paused in the doorway.
"I don't know when I'll be back," she said with a shrug. "But I'm heading to Malvakar. Father's returning today."
With that, she walked out.
The entire room froze in stunned silence, jaws hanging open.
After five centuries of isolation in his private island sanctuary, Ebon Spire, the Demon Lord was returning to the capital city of Malvakar.
City of Shapeshifters – Veyln
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's voice echoed through Veyl Arena, amplified by crystal-powered speakers. "We've reached the highly anticipated semi-finals of this season's tournament!"
A roar erupted from the crowd, thousands of demi-humans packed the stands: elves, demons, dwarves, shapeshifters, and even night dwellers, who thanks to the innovation of the Ember Tower, now confidently walked in broad daylight using their Sunlight Rings.
Veyl Arena was the battleground where demi-humans tested their strength and skill. It wasn't just a sport, it was legacy, pride, and honor.
"Whoever wins this round will have the privilege of facing our undefeated champion, ORSO!" the announcer bellowed.
The audience erupted, chanting his name in thunderous unison.
"OR-SO! OR-SO! OR-SO!"
"But before we bring out the champion himself, let the semi-finals begin!" the announcer continued. "Introducing our two powerful contenders: the Elven marksmaster, Earl Zirion, versus the mighty bearshifter, Korvek Nightclaw!"
Cheers and shouts echoed as the two fighters entered the arena, one graceful and lean, the other towering and muscular.
As soon as the bell rang, the fight began.
Zirion moved like lightning, swift, elegant, and precise. Every strike he delivered was calculated. Though Korvek possessed immense physical strength, he struggled to land even a single blow on the nimble elf. His brute force was no match for the elven marksmaster's agility and technique.
Within minutes, Korvek lay unconscious at the center of the arena.
"ZIRION! ZIRION! ZIRION!" the crowd chanted, thrilled by the spectacle.
"And now," the announcer's voice boomed again, "the moment you've all been waiting for, the grand finale! Let us welcome our undefeated champion… ORSO!"
The arena trembled with the weight of the cheers.
From the Champion's Tent emerged Orso, a massive bearshifter, twice the size of Korvek. His towering form radiated sheer power. The cheers intensified as he stepped into the light, brown hair catching the sun like steel, one ear missing and a deep slanting scar in his left eye.
But before the final match could begin, a loud engine roared through the stadium.
"Hey, Bear!"
All eyes turned toward the arena floor as a loud mechanical hum filled the air. A sleek hover bike zoomed into the center of the ring, scattering dust as it landed. Riding it was none other than Peanut.
"That's the latest hover bike model from Ember Tower!" came awed whispers from the audience.
"What are you doing here, midget?" Orso asked, brow raised. "We're about to fight."
"Then finish it quickly," Peanut said coolly, raising an eyebrow. "I got a message from big sister Luna. Father's returning to Malvakar."
Orso looked toward the announcer.
"Well? Start the fight already."
Though clearly uncertain, the announcer obeyed.
"Begin!"
Without missing a beat, Zirion lunged toward Orso with lightning-fast precision, but before anyone could even register what happened, his body went flying through the air.
The elf slammed into the arena wall with a deafening thud and landed just outside the boundary line.
The arena fell silent.
Gasps and stunned murmurs spread like wildfire. The spell detectors positioned around the ring had not triggered once, no enchantments, no illusions. Just raw strength.
Orso had thrown the elf one-handed like he was nothing but a sack of flour.
"W-what just happened…?" a dwarf whispered.
But before anyone could process it further, Orso strode casually toward Peanut, who was still atop her bike.
"Scoot over," he said gruffly, eyeing the hover bike.
Peanut folded her arms. "This is my bike. I'm the only one who drives it."
"I'm the second eldest," Orso said simply. "Scoot."
With a loud, dramatic sigh and a roll of her eyes, Peanut grumbled but shifted over.
"You better not scratch the paint!" she snapped as Orso took the controls.
The crowd watched in disbelief as the champion of Veyln rode off, not with glory, but with his bratty little sister, on a hover bike.