The training field behind the obsidian palace rang with the rhythm of war.
Steel sliced the air like thunder; magic scorched it with fire.
Velrith moved like a storm fluid, lethal, and precise. Her obsidian-black training armor clung to a body no longer youthful but carved by discipline and time. Muscle coiled beneath her skin with practiced grace, and her long dark hair, braided tightly behind her, swung like a war banner with every movement.
She wasn't the frightened child her father once threw across this courtyard.
She was nearly eighteen.
A weapon forged in blood, tempered in silence, and sharpened by expectation.
Her blade arced through the air and slammed into the iron dummy with such force that a metallic screech echoed through the stone courtyard. Sparks danced from the steel like fireflies fleeing a storm.
Frustrated, she dropped the blade and raised one hand, breath sharp.
Magic surged to her fingertips.
A streak of deep crimson fire shot forward, engulfing the dummy in a blaze of heat and fury. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was slag and ash.
And yet… her expression didn't ease.
Her hand trembled not from exhaustion, but from anger.
From confusion.
From the crushing weight of inevitability.
Her jaw clenched as the words echoed in her head, again and again:
"After your coronation, we will enter the Tomb of Kings."
"The slumber must begin."
Why?
Why now?
Why this ancient, unexplained tradition?
Why must they leave just as she was ready to lead?
Velkira her inner voice stirred, silk-tongued and sardonic.
"Perhaps they're growing weak. Perhaps this is the only way to preserve what's left. A hibernation of power... or pride."
"Maybe," Velrith muttered under her breath, gripping her blade tighter.
"Or maybe they're just tired of ruling."
Velkira replied again, this time mocking:
"Aww… will the little heir miss her mommy and daddy?"
The teasing faded into steel.
"Or are you afraid you won't measure up without them holding your hand?"
Velrith didn't reply.
Not aloud.
But her silence was loud enough.
From the edge of the courtyard, where the ancient trees kissed the warding stones, a figure stepped through the shadows graceful and silent.
Velrith didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Greetings, Lady Velrith," came Clementine's voice velvet, amused, and far too familiar.
Velrith sighed.
"I'm not in the mood for your little games, Clementine."
Clementine stepped into the light, her silver eyes catching the last of the sun.
Cloaked in gray and indigo, her movements made no sound, as if the shadows themselves parted for her.
"Tell me something I don't know, my lady."
Velrith turned slowly, her expression unreadable.
"What do you want?"
Clementine bowed her head barely.
"I've made up my mind. I will serve you. Not in shadows. Not in silence. I will serve you… openly."
Velrith narrowed her gaze.
"A pledge means nothing without proof."
"I expected no less."
Velrith's blade spun once in her palm before she sheathed it.
"Then let's test your resolve," she said coldly. "I want everything you can find on Kraves his past, his loyalties, his weaknesses. I want secrets no one dares whisper. You have until the night of my coronation."
Clementine's smile widened.
"Very well, my queen in the making. Secrets are my speciality."
She stepped backward into the tree line, her presence vanishing like smoke.
Velrith stared after her, the air still tinged with heat.
"The loyalty of a shadow," her darker self whispered, "can be a blade… or a curse."
Velrith wasn't sure which Clementine would become.
But she would find out on her terms.
Later that evening, Velrith stood at the upper balcony of the royal wing. Below her, the city of black stone shimmered beneath a sky painted in bruised violet and flame.
She turned from the view and entered the antechamber of her mother's quarters, where Queen Virelle stood before a grand obsidian-framed mirror, her fingers undoing the braids in her long white-gold hair.
Even in privacy, the queen carried herself like a symbol graceful, poised, divine. But tonight, there was a weariness in her reflection. A softness at the edges of her eyes.
"Mother," Velrith said quietly. "Is the slumber truly necessary?"
Virelle met her daughter's gaze in the mirror.
A long pause passed between them.
Then she turned, slowly.
"When I married your father, I was still human," she began, her voice calm but distant. "I gave that up willingly. My soul was bound to his. I became demon kin not by birth, but by choice."
"I know," Velrith said. "You became part of our bloodline."
Virelle nodded. "And I never once regretted it. Your father… he made sure of that."
She crossed the room, her silken robes whispering across the stone floor.
"But with that bond came change. Power. Longevity. And a burden. The deeper our power grows, the more unstable it becomes. Like fire with no air. It begins to burn itself."
She lifted one hand.
Her skin shimmered for a heartbeat revealing cracks of molten light glowing beneath, like fractures in ancient glass.
Velrith took a sharp breath.
"You're fading."
"All demons do, in time," Virelle said. "Even the oldest. Even the strongest."
She took her daughter's hand and pressed it gently.
"The Tomb of Kings is not death. It is preservation. Our bodies rest. Our magic resets. Without it, we become… hollow. Corrupted."
"And Father?"
"He's already feeling the toll. He hides it because that's what kings do. But I see the way he winces when no one is watching. The way he holds his sword like it's heavier than before."
Velrith looked down.
Fists clenched.
"So… you'll leave."
Virelle stepped closer and touched her cheek.
"No, daughter. We'll become part of the realm itself. Our blood will nourish its roots. Our bones will sleep beneath your throne. But you… you will be the one they kneel to."
"I'm not ready."
"No ruler ever is," Virelle said with a quiet smile. "But you… you are more than just our daughter. You are the first of your kind."
"Flame and shadow. Mercy and wrath. You were forged to rule."
Velrith's eyes shone with flickers of doubt tempered by something stronger.
Resolve.
Virelle leaned in, whispered:
"Do not rule like your father."
"Do not rule like me."
"Rule like Velrith."
For a moment, silence settled between them.
Then Velrith stepped forward and embraced her mother tightly.
Not as heir.
Not as queen.
But as daughter.
"I will not fail you."
And this time, she believed it.