The grand hall of the Seraphin castle glistened with surreal majesty. Crystal lanterns floated in midair, casting waves of warm, celestial light across the white marble floor. Each step echoed softly, caught in the vastness of the hall. Golden vines ran like veins across the high-arched walls, and the air smelled faintly of divine flora—sweet and cool, like rain over jasmine. It was a place of peace. But today, it trembled under the weight of something raw and unspoken.
Daeshim stood in the center, his cloak torn, armor dented, blood—his and others'—still dried on his arms. Behind him, the rescued humans clung to each other, wide-eyed and trembling. Their faces bore stories of terror and endurance, of a hell no one here could imagine.
The King descended from his throne, robes trailing behind like moonlight on water. His silver crown, adorned with the Emblem of Light, caught the lanterns' glow.
"Daeshim," the King's voice was deep, laced with concern and command. "You return… with survivors?"
Daeshim dropped to one knee. "Yes, Your Majesty. I brought them from the Necravore realm. I crossed the gate… I faced Dra'Zhul."
Gasps spread like wildfire among the courtiers. The name echoed in their bones. Dra'Zhul—a name spoken only in fear.
"You crossed the Gate of Dread?" the King's brows furrowed. "That path is cursed. Not even seasoned warriors have returned from it."
"I had to," Daeshim said, rising to his feet. "They were being harvested. Fed to a Commander."
The King's face darkened. "And Dra'Zhul…?"
"Dead."
Silence fell. You could hear a single breath.
"You killed a Necravore Commander…" the King whispered, awe and caution battling in his tone. "And you returned alive."
"I didn't plan to," Daeshim admitted. "But I couldn't ignore what I saw. If they're building armies by devouring humans... I had to act."
The King circled him slowly. "You're not ready for such wars. Power without control leads to ruin. Are you aware of what you've stirred?"
"I am," Daeshim said. "And I'll face it."
The King exhaled, then waved his hand. "Guards, escort the survivors. Treat them as kin. Feed them, clothe them. Let them know they are safe."
Servants rushed forward. A few of the rescued wept openly as they were guided away. One girl turned back and mouthed, "Thank you" to Daeshim before disappearing through the crystal corridor.
When the hall emptied, only the King and Daeshim remained.
"I need you to tell me everything," the King said, more softly now.
And Daeshim did. From slipping past the gate, to battling the dragon, to blending in with prisoners and saving the mysterious girl, to the final duel with Dra'Zhul. He left out the voice. The hunger. The strange evolution of his powers that even he didn't fully understand. That part… was still buried in shadow.
When he finished, the King sighed deeply. "You may have bought us time. But now… the Necravores will watch. They will retaliate."
"I know."
"Rest," the King said. "You'll need your strength for what's coming."
That night, Daeshim returned to his chamber, a hollow ache in his chest. The room was lavish but cold—white walls, bookshelves with ancient scrolls, a bed that barely saw sleep.
He sat on the edge, staring at his calloused hands.
There's something inside me… something waking up. But what am I turning into?
The reflection in the polished glass across the room flickered for a moment—his eyes darkened, unfamiliar.
"No," he muttered. "Not yet. I'll understand it first. Then I'll reveal it."
He slept with one eye open.
Next morning the sun pierced through the dense canopy of trees that surrounded the Seraphin castle. The jungle beyond was sacred—used only by warriors and visionaries. Vines hung like serpents from the trees, and every leaf shimmered as if kissed by magic. The ground pulsed with life, and yet, the silence was meditative.
Daeshim trained alone.
Each punch he threw cracked the air. His legs moved in blinding patterns, reinforced by the energy that now flowed inside him like wildfire.
A flash—he spun and shattered a boulder with his elbow.
Still not enough.
"I need to be faster… stronger. If Dra'Zhul was just one commander… then I'm not ready."
He turned to strike again, but paused.
There. A shift.
He wasn't alone.
Without a sound, Daeshim vanished from his spot and appeared behind the tall pine.
His glowing fist halted inches from the face of a girl.
"Elira…"
She gasped, clutching her chest. "You could've killed me."
"You were watching," he said, lowering his hand.
"I was… curious."
They stood silently, birds chirping above like gossiping witnesses.
"You look… different," she said.
Daeshim smirked. "You mean dirty?"
"No," she smiled faintly. "Powerful."
He stepped back, confused. "You knew I'd be here?"
"I followed you. I wanted to talk."
His guard rose. "Why?"
"Because I'm not your enemy, Daeshim. I was born a Necravore… but I never became one of them."
He crossed his arms. "Start talking."
Elira sat on a moss-covered rock, her face softening. "My father was once a Commander. But he believed in peace. He thought Seraphins and Necravores could coexist."
"That's not the story they tell."
"They lied," she said, bitterness curling in her voice. "They said he betrayed them. That he was influenced by Seraphin lies. But the truth was—he possessed a rare bloodline, one that gave him power others envied. So they made up a story and slaughtered him."
She blinked back tears. "My mother… my little brother… they killed them too. And I ran. Hid in their world, pretending to be one of them until I found a way to escape."
Daeshim's fists clenched. "So the Necravores… even kill their own."
"If it means power? Yes. They are parasites."
He sat beside her now. "Tell me everything."
She took a breath. "They don't just consume humans. They convert them. A commander whispers into a human's ear, and if the human holds darkness—hate, grief, envy—they become Necravores. Bound forever. Controlled. But those who resist? Their life essence is drained. Slowly. Painfully."
Daeshim's stomach twisted. "And they're building an army this way?"
"Yes. And Dra'Zhul was just a gatekeeper. There are twelve higher than him. The King of the Necravores… he's something else entirely."
"And you?" he asked. "How did you end up in Dra'Zhul's prison?"
"I tried to leave. To find help. They caught me before I crossed. I expected to die. Then… you arrived."
A quiet moment passed between them.
"You said something before," Daeshim recalled. "'Are you really Daeshim?' Why?"
"Because you don't feel human anymore," she said. "You carry something… older. Deeper. Like… the void itself listens when you speak."
He didn't answer.
"I want to destroy them," she whispered. "I want to burn their roots and scatter their ashes."
Daeshim stood slowly, extending a hand. "Then you're not alone."
She took it, her touch light, trembling—but full of purpose.
As they walked back toward the castle, the trees rustled like they, too, were preparing for war.
Above them, a storm gathered quietly.
And in the shadows of the Necravore realm, the King of Monsters opened his eyes… sensing the death of his servant.
His lips curled.
"So… the forbidden one lives."