Yubellana had always loved the way he played.
The first few notes rang out through the manor's music room, rippling across air perfumed with fresh lilac and firewood. She stood in the doorway, caught, no, captivated, as his fingers danced with impossible grace over the ivory keys. Franz Liszt, she recognized. Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.
It wasn't just performance. It was poetry. Every motion, every note, perfectly controlled, yet filled with passion. This was not the careless, smug noble devil she had served for a while—this was someone transformed.
Riser Phenex sat in the golden sunlight, his blond hair catching fire in the light, his eyes half-lidded, and entirely focused on the piano. He didn't look up, but he knew she was there. Of course he did.
"Ah, Yubellana, I love you," he said as the music swept into a playful crescendo, "when I am with you," he said.
Her lips curled into a small smile, cheeks already warming.
"I become what you call a... hipdevil. I am hip, to the jive. I am in the groove, darling."
She laughed softly, covering her mouth. "Riser, you sound like one of those human jazz phonographs trying to flirt."
The notes slowed, playfully exaggerated, as he turned just enough to cast her a look full of theatrical longing.
"And now," he sighed, letting the piano linger on a sweet, low harmony, "you set my soul on fire. It is not just a little spark. No, it is aflame! A great, roaring flame. I can feel it now, burning, Yubellana, burning."
"You're incorrigible," she murmured, stepping into the room with her hands folded. She tried to sound disapproving, but her voice trembled with a poorly hidden giggle.
He rose, letting the final note of the Rhapsody echo gently behind him like the closing breath of a storm. Then he walked to her, not with the lazy swagger she'd known before, but with the composed confidence of a man who had chosen every step.
She blushed as he took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"Your cheeks betray you," he said, eyes gleaming. "You wear crimson better than any noble banner."
"You are impossible," she whispered, heart racing.
"And yet here you are, enchanted all the same."
Their faces drew closer, her hand pressed lightly against his chest. He leaned in—
But she turned her face away, flustered. "Riser, wait, there's something you're forgetting."
He paused, expression caught between mock disappointment and amusement.
"You're due to visit your parents at the estate today," she said quickly. "You told Lord and Lady Phenex you would attend tonight's evening meal."
He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against hers. "You wound me, Yubellana. Interrupted at the very height of passion—for family obligations."
"You're the one who made the appointment," she replied, smirking shyly.
He laughed, stepping back. "And that is why you're my Queen. A beautiful woman with an inconvenient memory for my own convenience."
She flushed again, but said nothing.
He turned away, retrieving his coat with practiced grace. His movements were purposeful, elegant. Everything about him lately had changed. It wasn't just charm, it was a kind of focus, a clarity that unsettled and thrilled her in equal measure.
Once, Riser had been all fire and laziness. A noble devil with too much power, too little ambition, and no direction but the bed and the banquet.
But now...
He gave the piano one last glance before they left the room. "You know, Yubellana," he said quietly, "music is what the soul would say if it were free from the body. When I play... it's as though I remember something I never learned."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "You sound like a wannabe philosopher. It seems you have been thinking a lot."
"I have," he said simply. "Something... cosmic. Like I've stumbled across the answer to a question older than my bloodline. And now I can't stop seeing it: truth, purpose, wonder. Even in the smallest things."
She watched him as they walked down the hall. He paused to admire a painting he'd ignored for years. Complimented a servant's stitching. Yesterday, she'd caught him smiling at the simple act of eating a slice of fresh-baked bread, as if it were a ritual worthy of reverence.
"You're different," she said softly. "Since last month. You carry yourself like a man who's found something or someone—that woke him up."
He glanced at her sidelong. "Maybe I did."
Her heart skipped. For a moment, she wanted to ask more, to pry even. But she was afraid the answer might pull her deeper than she already dared to fall.
They reached the teleportation room. A Phenex sigil shimmered on the obsidian floor.
He took her hand again and smiled, less like a flirt, more like a man.
"Don't wait up," he said. "If my father tries to assign me another engagement to some nobleman's daughter, I may flee the mansion entirely."
She chuckled. "I'm sure you'll manage."
"Of course. I'm a hipdevil, remember?"
The teleportation circle flared to life beneath him, firelight licking at his coat.
And then he was gone, off to the Phenex estate, where power slept beneath old stone and politics simmered in gilded cups.
Yubellana stood alone, hand to her chest, wondering.
He was changing.
She only hoped she would not be left behind.
------------------------------------------------
The Phenex Estate stood like a monument to arrogance and eternity.
Riser gazed upward as the teleportation circle faded beneath his feet, boots touching down on polished volcanic glass inscribed with ancient noble seals. Before him stretched the ancestral palace of House Phenex, a sprawling gothic marvel of obsidian towers, sunstone domes, and fiery wards that shimmered in the dusk like auroras. Miles of enchanted gardens surrounded the main hall, where flowers bloomed with demonic fire and songbirds sang in infernal tongues.
It was the kind of splendor that made human monarchies look like peasant circuses.
He adjusted the collar of his coat with quiet precision. He might be the third son, but he was no afterthought.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Lord Riser, welcome home."
The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman in a tightly fitted French maid uniform. Her presence was crisp, elegant, her features refined—likely a noble devil in service, as was often the custom in ancient houses.
She bowed. "The family is awaiting your arrival in the dining hall."
"Well, lead the way," Riser said smoothly, and followed her inside.
The dining hall was vast, vaulted ceilings of ruby glass, a table carved from firestone stretching the length of a cathedral nave. Fire-elemental chandeliers bathed everything in warm, flickering gold. The Phenex crest, a flaming bird wreathed in demonic script, burned gently on every wall.
Seated at the head of the table was Lord Aurelius Phenex, regal in flowing crimson robes. A man of classical devil nobility, with eyes like burning coal and an expression carved from obsidian.
To his right: Rionas Phenex, the second son and self-made media mogul—handsome, laid-back, already sipping wine with a bemused smirk.
To his left: Rahella Phenex, both wife and sister to Aurelius—refined, powerful, and poised with the ease of a woman used to commanding lesser devils with a glance.
And beside her sat the youngest Phenex: Ravel.
Twelve years old, dressed in a pristine blue gown with a golden sash, her expression desperately serious as she sat straight, trying to appear as proper as possible.
When Riser stepped into the light, all heads turned.
"Well," Rionas grinned, swirling his glass, "look what the wind and his vanity dragged in."
"Apologies," Riser replied as he moved with effortless grace to his seat. "I was busy being in the groove. You know, hipdevil business."
Rahella stifled a chuckle. Aurelius arched a brow. Rionas only laughed louder.
"You're getting poetic. Been spending too much time with your Queen, I take it?"
"She brings out the classical romantic in me," Riser said smoothly as he sat beside his brother. "And unlike some of us, I don't spend all day manufacturing scandals just to boost magazine sales."
"Scandal sells, little brother. Beauty is temporary. Profits are eternal."
"Tragic words from a man with hair that expensive."
Before Rionas could counter, a tiny voice piped up.
"Riser!"
He turned to his sister, smiling warmly.
"Ravel. Still trying to look like a grown-up, I see."
"I am a grown-up!" she pouted, puffing her cheeks. "And I should be your Bishop!"
Riser placed a hand on his heart dramatically. "Alas, my peerage accepts only beautiful women."
"I am beautiful!"
"You're eleven."
"I'm mature for my age!"
Rionas leaned in, stage-whispering to Riser, "That's exactly what an eleven-year-old says when they try to get into noble clubs with illusions."
"I heard that!" Ravel snapped, throwing a bread roll at her older brother.
Rahella reached over gently and adjusted her daughter's hair.
"My little Ravel will be the fairest maiden in the Underworld," she said with a soft, dangerous smile. "And frankly, Riser, it's not a terrible idea. She's talented, and the Bishop piece's demonic power boost would aid her development. She could learn much under your guidance."
The tone shifted. Rahella's suggestion wasn't just maternal—it was a sign of trust.
Riser tapped the table gently with his finger. He had to tread carefully here. Accepting his sister into his peerage could increase their bond—and future influence—but it would also mean giving up a precious piece. Still…
He turned to Ravel, grinning like a fox.
"Tell me, little sister. What year are you in at the Devil Academy?"
"Fourth!" she said proudly. "Already top of my class in Enchantments!"
"Very good," Riser nodded. "Then here's a challenge."
He leaned in, locking eyes with her.
"If you graduate with ten DAEMONs—and I mean ten, with the highest score in each subject—I'll give you my Bishop piece. No take-backs."
The room went silent. Even Aurelius looked faintly impressed.
Ravel blinked. "Ten…? But that's…"
"The record is seven," Rionas pointed out.
"I want to be more than a record!" Ravel declared, fists clenched.
"Then do it," Riser said, smiling. "And I'll welcome you to the team with open arms."
"Promise?"
"On my pride as a Phenex."
Ravel beamed, and Rahella gave a small nod of approval.
Dinner began, servants bringing in seared chimera steak, abyssal salad, and demonic nectar wine—flavors refined over centuries of tradition. As they ate, the conversation drifted to territories, noble gossip, and the upcoming Rating Games.
But Riser listened more than he spoke. His thoughts wandered—not with boredom, but with purpose.
Demonic Leyens.
That was the term. Ancient regions pulsing with raw, condensed demonic energy. Sacred land for devils. Living currency. From these leyens grew what devils called Infernal Crystals—stones that shimmered with chaotic energy, able to be absorbed to increase a devil's demonic power.
The Phenex family owned hundreds. Some low-class, many mid-class, dozens high-class—and more importantly, they had two ultimate-class leyens under their domain. That alone placed them among the richest families in the Underworld.
That wealth translated into power. The reason noble families stayed noble. The reason so many lower devils remained powerless.
Even a talentless devil could become mighty if fed enough Infernal Crystals.
And he had access.
He chewed slowly, savoring the wine. One day, he'd harvest their highest-grade leyens for himself. Not just for power, but for his ambition.
If he wanted to build a peerage that could stand against gods, he'd need it.
He glanced at Ravel, now happily sketching a study plan onto her napkin with one of the enchanted forks.
"Yes," he thought, amused. "She may just earn it."
But the greater game had already begun.
And Riser Phenex was no longer playing to lose.
----------------------------------------------------
After the last wineglass was drained and Ravel had proudly declared her study schedule with ten DAEMONs like a knight swearing an oath, the evening came to a gentle end.
Most of the family dispersed to their private wings, but Lord Aurelius Phenex gave his son a look—a subtle lift of his brow, nothing more. Riser understood.
He followed his father down the obsidian halls of the estate, their boots echoing like distant war drums. At the end of a corridor guarded by silent marble golems, they came to his sanctum.
The doors opened without a sound, yet they carried weight, a silence thick with generations of ambition.
The study of Lord Aurelius Phenex was not a room. It was a statement.
Oil paintings of long-dead ancestors, battles, phoenixes rising from infernal oceans—works so rare even the Louvre would weep blood to house just one. There were statues from the pre-Great War, enchanted glass bookshelves that whispered knowledge in ancient tongues, and a fireplace that burned with golden flame. At the center of it all sat a desk, not ornate, not gilded, but a flawless slab of Void Obsidian and Celestial Ore, mined during the Second Satanic Rebellion. Its value? Enough to bankrupt a human empire. And yet, in this room, it was as natural as air.
So was Aurelius Phenex.
The Lord of the House stood tall, with golden eyes like suns darkened by smoke. His presence filled the room without effort. He had no need to raise his voice. Power hung on him like an heirloom blade: well-worn, deadly, and absolute.
"Sit, Riser."
Riser obeyed.
Aurelius studied him for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Then he spoke.
"You seem different."
Riser said nothing.
"Less dulled. Less trapped in the rhythms of idle hedonism. You carry yourself like a devil who has found his purpose."
Riser looked his father in the eye. "I was blind," he said dramatically, "and now I can see."
Aurelius didn't blink. Didn't smirk. But something in his gaze approved.
He stood, slowly circling his son, and then said:
"Tell me, Riser.
I hold no sword.
I build no wall.
Yet when I speak, gods pause and kings kneel.
What am I?"
Apparently, dramatics ran in the family.
Riser smiled. "Power."
The fire behind Aurelius flared, not with rage, but with recognition.
"Well answered," the old devil said. "Power is the first and last currency of our world. All else is inheritance."
He gestured to a map carved into the wall, a three-dimensional projection of the northernmost reaches of Phenex territory.
"Our high-class leyen field in the Varruk North is under siege. A wolf tide—massive beasts drawn by the leyen's pulse. They're devouring it faster than the ritual wards can regenerate."
Riser studied the region. "That's Uncle Ryzephar's domain."
Aurelius nodded. "He's doing what he can, but they're multiplying faster than expected. The leyen itself may be swelling beyond stability. Such things happen. The Underworld resents us, even if we are its children."
Riser gave a wry smile. "Even Hell wants us dead. It's oddly comforting."
His father let the corner of his lip twitch. "I want you to go. Aid Ryzephar. Fight. Burn. Learn."
Riser raised a brow. "No heir's paranoia? No concern for my tender youth?"
"You are a devil, not a flower. If you die to wolfspawn, you were unworthy of the name Phenex."
Riser exhaled through his nose, more pleased than anything. "And if I live?"
"Then you earn the right to claim something greater."
The two locked eyes. There was no need for dramatics. This was the devil way.
"I accept," Riser said. "I want to see the leyen. I want to test myself, and I want to know what it means to face a tribulation."
Aurelius gave a single nod. That was all the dismissal required.
The hallway beyond led to the Solar Garden Wing, where moonlight and firelight coexisted in an enchanted grove built into the estate's heart. There, in her private salon, sat Rahella Phenex.
His mother.
Tall. Glorious. Golden hair cascading down her back like woven sunlight. Emerald eyes that glittered with mirth, cruelty, and centuries of wisdom. Her curves were precisely sculpted by generations of superior bloodlines, refined magic, and perhaps the sheer will of perfection.
She was sipping something from a crystal flute. A swirling pink liquid that glimmered like stardust.
"Not of Earth," she said when she caught him looking. "The fruit only grows on the floating gardens of the Agares. Delicious and expensive."
She rose gracefully and pulled him into a hug, burying her face into his chest.
"My baby," she whispered. "My baby."
Riser stiffened for a moment, then melted slightly. She kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and then—lingering—his mouth.
Such things were not uncommon in noble devil circles. Hell had no god. Only power made sin.
"You've grown handsome," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Too handsome. I may have to put a ward on your heart."
"You already have one on mine," he replied, half-serious.
She laughed. "Oh, how charming you've become. Tell me, darling, what did your father say?"
"He wants me to aid Uncle Ryzephar. There's a wolf tide threatening the leyen."
Her gaze sharpened instantly. "He's sending you?"
"He's testing me."
"He's gambling you."
He stepped away, hands tucked behind his back. "I accepted."
"You shouldn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She blinked.
"I need to know what I'm made of, Mother. We devils live forever, but how many of us ever live?"
She looked at him strangely, and for a moment there was almost fear in her gaze. Not of death, but of change. Her little boy had left. Someone older had taken his place.
Still, she smiled, a devilish, perfect thing, and poured him a glass of the forbidden drink.
They talked for a while. Of gossip. Of scandal. Of which noble had recently been caught siphoning leyen power from another's territory. Rahella laughed like a queen at a play. And Riser, ever the gentleman, matched her wit with ease.
When the time came to leave, she pulled him into a final kiss—this one passionate. Her hands gripped his collar as her lips played on his own, whispering promises and half-spells in an ancient tongue.
"My beautiful boy," she said breathlessly. "Come back to me in one piece."
"I always return, Mother," he said with a smirk, brushing her cheek. "The world hasn't yet found a fire that can consume me."
And with that, he stepped through the teleportation portal, bound for his private mansion to prepare for the trials to come.
For the leyen.
For the wolves.
For power.