The Demon Lord's Castle was believed to be the tallest structure in all of Velrathis, perhaps even the entire world of Solmara. They said that from the very top, one could reach up and touch the sky.
Five hundred years ago, before Demon Lord Caelum withdrew into self-imposed isolation on the distant island sanctuary of Ebon Spire, this towering citadel had been his home, and that of his children. It was once known as the Dark Tower.
But after five centuries without its master, the tower had changed. It was no longer dark. Its entire exterior now shimmered with all the hues of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.
Why?
Because the current Regent liked all the colors of the rainbow.
And today, after five centuries of silence and mystery, the no-longer-dark Dark Tower pulsed with activity.
Servants rushed from hall to hall in a frenzy of preparations. Every surface was polished, every banner restored, every floor scrubbed until it gleamed. The Demon Lord was returning.
And word had already reached the far corners of the empire.
The representatives of each demi-human race had dropped everything to travel to the capital. The announcement had come only hours ago, but thanks to the teleportation gates connecting all major cities, travel was no longer a hindrance.
Every city's mayoral hall had a teleportation gate linked to the others. Upon arrival in Malvakar, each representative was assigned their own Evadne Nyx, a sleek, black, whisper-silent aetherunner, the newest and most coveted model to date.
The Evadne Nyx was not for sale. Only thirty had ever been created. Ten were custom-built for the Demon Lord's children. The remaining twenty were gifted to the city mayors, a symbol of status and innovation that blended magic and technology in perfect harmony.
The first to arrive was the Mayor of Duskborn: Thalorien Silverbough. He was accompanied by his eldest son, Vaelorin, heir to the mayoral seat and older brother to Naelira and Melory. Thalorien was known as one of the Demon Lord's most loyal supporters.
As their Evadne Nyx glided soundlessly through the air toward the tower, Vaelorin turned to his father.
"Father, is Seiryu's awakening really that serious? Serious enough for the Demon Lord to end his isolation?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Thalorien's emerald eyes remained fixed on the towering castle ahead.
"Yes, son. It is," he answered solemnly. "Because if one Holy Beast has awakened, it won't be long before the others do as well."
His tone grew heavier.
"And once all six Holy Beasts awaken, the Blinding Mist Barrier that the Demon Lord cast over the empire will fall instantly. The humans will see us again."
Vaelorin frowned. "I've never understood why we needed to hide from them. They're weak. We're stronger. Their lives are fleeting. We live for centuries."
Thalorien turned toward his son with a hard, knowing gaze.
"Strength and longevity mean nothing when you're outnumbered, Vaelorin," he said gravely. "We demi-humans can only reproduce with our destined mates. But humans? They can reproduce with anyone. Rapidly. Recklessly. And they're greedy. Vile. Ambitious beyond sense."
There was a long pause before Thalorien spoke again, voice low and grim.
"I know there's talk among the new representatives of rebellion… of taking back their 'freedom' and 'lost kingdoms.' And I know they've approached you, my successor."
Vaelorin's eyes widened, startled. He hadn't expected his father to know.
Thalorien nodded. "They want to rise up. But if you truly care for our people, stay loyal to the Demon Lord. You weren't there before the Great Human War. I was. I saw everything. I survived it… barely."
His voice grew tight, eyes distant with old pain.
"It was the elves and the faes who suffered the most. When humans captured dwarves, they were forced into the mines to extract mana stones and crystals. Night dwellers, shapeshifters, and demons were thrown into fighting pits for blood sport. But our kind?"
He clenched his jaw.
"They stripped us of everything. Dignity. Identity. Pride. Elves and faes were used as sex slaves, passed around like things. They made them walk naked in chains, collars around their necks, paraded in public for all to see. They were humiliated. Dehumanized. Pissed on. Defiled in every way imaginable."
Vaelorin's expression darkened.
Thalorien placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I would rather die than see our people endure that again. We don't need to be called kings or queens. We don't need empty crowns or forgotten thrones. The Demon Lord and his children have protected us. Guided us. Without them, none of the magical innovations we now enjoy would exist. You know that."
His voice softened, but the steel never left.
"We are at peace because of them. Even though we serve them, look at how your sisters are treated by their master and mistress. You've seen it yourself, haven't you? They are heard. They are respected."
Vaelorin shifted, his brow furrowed. "Are you going to tell the Demon Lord about the rebellion?"
A small smile tugged at Thalorien's lips.
"Did you think the Demon Lord or his children don't already know?" he replied.
Vaelorin's eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean… they know?"
"If I know, son," Thalorien said with a raised brow, "you can be sure they knew long before I did."
"Then why haven't they done anything?" Vaelorin asked, struggling to understand.
"Because they don't feel threatened," Thalorien answered calmly. "The new leaders of the demi-human races might think the Demon Lord and his children have grown weak. After all, I'm the only remaining pioneer representative left in the Velrathis Council, aside from Drazmiel, the demon."
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.
"And sure, many believe the Holy Beast Masters were tricked into turning against each other with just a single question from the Demon Lord, triggering the Great Human War. But despite the stories… despite how relaxed the Demon Lord's children appear now… don't make the mistake of underestimating them."
His gaze flicked toward Vaelorin, sharp and serious.
"Among the ten children, the weakest is the Mistress of the Ember Tower. And to defeat her, you and I would need to fight side by side, along with a hundred more of us. Even then, it wouldn't be easy."
Vaelorin blinked, stunned. His mind conjured the image of the beautiful eighteen-year-old fox shifter who ruled the city of Emberwrought, Peanut, the mastermind behind most magical innovations.
"She's that strong?" he asked in disbelief.
"And who's the strongest?"
Thalorien didn't hesitate. "The Regent."
"Master Alpha?" Vaelorin asked, nodding slowly. "That makes sense."
But Thalorien only gave his son a flat look, one brow arching upward.
"You think Master Alpha is the Regent?" he asked.
"Isn't he?" Vaelorin replied. "He's the only one of the Demon Lord's children who stays in the Dark Tower, right?"
"There's another one who stays there," Thalorien said with a slight smile.
Vaelorin frowned, confused. "You're joking… aren't you?"
His mind quickly supplied the image of another figure he'd seen constantly clinging to Alpha, a tiny giggling, sugar-obsessed girl with platinum blonde hair, oversized bows, and sparkling golden eyes. The youngest. Pixie.
"Didn't you just call her Regent a few decades ago because she threw a tantrum?"
"Of course not," Thalorien said, chuckling. "I called her Regent because she is the Regent."
"But she looks like a spoiled seven-year-old!" Vaelorin protested.
"She may look like a child, but Pixie is more than two hundred years older than you," Thalorien replied.
Vaelorin shook his head. "But she acts like a seven-year-old! And I understand the older siblings keeping their appearance the same for hundreds of years, like Master Tuf and Mistress N. But what about the others? Like Master Neko and… Regent Pixie. Why would they choose to stay in such forms?"
Thalorien looked thoughtful. "That, I don't know. From the very first time the Demon Lord introduced himself to us, he and his children already had those appearances. I don't think they can change it."
Vaelorin nodded slowly, still visibly struggling to piece it all together.
"But how can she be the strongest?" he asked finally. "I really can't imagine it. She's so small."
Thalorien's expression darkened, his voice dropping an octave.
"She is the reason the Demon Lord and his other children haven't lifted a single finger despite whispers of rebellion," he said. "Do you honestly think this is the first time such whispers have stirred?"
Vaelorin didn't answer.
Thalorien continued, "Just a few decades after peace was established, the former Demon King Skareth decided he wanted his throne back. He chose to break his oath of surrender and led his most loyal and powerful supporters straight to the Dark Tower."
Vaelorin stiffened.
"I happened to be there," Thalorien continued. "The Demon Lord had tasked our people with designing the greenhouse and cultivating rare spices that only we elves and faes can grow. I was there to retrieve the harvest for Duskborn. But at that time, the Demon Lord had locked himself away in his chamber. His children wouldn't allow anyone to disturb him."
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the memory.
"But Skareth and his followers were enraged. They demanded the return of their kingdom, shouted, threatened, cursed… The Regent warned them three times. She told them to come back another day, said that their Father was unwell. But Skareth only laughed at her, insulted her. And then…"
Thalorien's voice dropped to a whisper.
"She spoke one phrase. That was all it took. And the rebellion ended, instantly."
Vaelorin leaned forward. "What did she say?"
Thalorien looked him dead in the eye.
"'All rebels, slit your throats and die.'"
Vaelorin's breath caught.
"And they did," Thalorien said. "Every single one of them. Without hesitation. Without question. They obeyed her like puppets. Even Skareth. The floor of the Great Hall was soaked in demon blood… and none of them took another breath."
He paused.
"That is why she is the strongest. She doesn't need weapons. She doesn't need to fight. She can end her enemies… without lifting a finger."
Vaelorin swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry.
He had no more questions.