In a distant place, a man sat nonchalantly on a throne of black stone and gold. He was tall, with completely black hair and completely red eyes, his pupils slit vertically like those of a predator watching its prey, his eyes shining with an ancient and mysterious intelligence. Two magnificent horns emerged from his forehead, curved backward, symbolizing his pure demonic royal lineage.
Crimson Crimson, because yes, he gave himself his own first name as his last name, an act of narcissism so absolute that even his people and his most loyal guards were left breathless.
He rose from his throne and went to do what he always did when he was bored: he went to see the works of art scattered throughout the castle. He wandered through the corridors of the demonic palace. They were dark, but very different from the palace of the Celestials, where light and illumination were a basic necessity. Here, they were practically non-existent. Yet Crimson could see everything clearly, as if light were only a secondary concern.
Looking at these paintings, Crimson saw not only art but moments from the past up to the present day, established over thousands of years, but something was missing from this room. Why would someone as narcissistic as him not proudly display paintings of his former lovers and children? There were three main reasons.
The first was that, for him, art should celebrate eternity, not decay. Keeping the portrait of someone who had been dead for centuries was an admission of weakness, a chain attached to a corpse. The second was that he had never really loved either his lovers or his children; there were children he had never even acknowledged. The third...
A noise rang out, the large door opened, and a magnificent woman appeared, with snow-white hair down to her waist, an angelic face, and golden eyes so bright and lively that it seemed she could bring someone back to life with just one look, radiating an ethereal aura.
It was Page von Crimson, the demon king's wife, the queen consort of the entire demon realm.
"Are you done haunting these corridors like a ghost?" Page asked her husband.
The Demon King smiled. 'That's the third reason. Why burden myself with the past when the only woman who ever made my heart flutter was standing right in front of me?'
The Demon King replied to his wife, "A specter could never possess a profile as perfect as mine."
The demon king approached his wife, abandoning his previous thoughts.
"I was thinking about the aesthetics of this palace. I thought it was missing of... me."
Page let out a small, amused sigh, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You are already everywhere, Crimson. In the laws, in the statues, in the fear of the people... and in our daughter's impossible temperament."
"I knew it, my wife understands me best," he said as he embraced her and kissed her subtly.
Page gently pulls away from Crimson's embrace.
"Your artistic musings will have to wait," she says in a more serious tone. "Our daughter Azriel has finally returned from her mission; she's waiting for us for dinner."
"Already? She has her mother's sense of timing. It's time to go. Why keep our beautiful little princess waiting?"
They walked together toward the large dining hall. As they approached, the atmosphere changed. The temperature dropped a few degrees and a feeling of heaviness settled in the air. It wasn't fear, but a presence: the mana of Death. Although it didn't affect anyone in this palace, everyone was of high rank; the lowest soldier in this palace was of rank B.
Azriel was already seated at the long black marble table, her back perfectly straight, her snow-white hair inherited from her mother falling over the chair, her red eyes, inherited from her father, those of a predator. The combination of her demonic eyes and angelic face made her irresistible. She had not changed her outfit and was still wearing the same impeccable one she had worn when she left.
"Father, Mother," she said in a melodious, almost bewitching voice, rising to bow with regal grace.
"My daughter, have you finally completed the dungeon I sent you to?" Crimson asked, amused.
"Yes, Father, I did it all by myself, refusing any other help; I didn't even rely on my traits as an awakened initiate of the advanced stage."
Crimson smiled.
"You know, I've heard news from the Celestain family."
At his words, Azriel paused, her slender fingers tightening imperceptibly on the edge of the table. Despite her usual mask of coldness, a glimmer of interest that she could not completely hide flashed across her scarlet irises.
The Celestains?" she replied in a hoarse voice. I imagine the eldest son of their house has finally decided to come out of his lethargy. Five years of silence... that's rather rude, even for someone in his situation.
Crimson let out a small, stifled laugh, then settled comfortably into his seat as servants served them delicious food. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a mana mirror, projecting an image that had already shaken the world in its own way.
"Let's just say he made a dramatic entrance," said the demon king, amusedly.
The video started playing, showing Kaen defeating an initiate while being an awakened one with nothing but a fork and a knife.
Azriel froze. Seeing him reappear so chaotically after such a long absence shattered her calm. Her cheeks turned red. She hadn't expected things to turn out this way at all, so her tsundere side took over.
"This is... This is ridiculous!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms to hide her trembling hands. He's fighting with kitchen utensils. Is he trying to become a circus attraction? It's rude, he's a prince!
"He looks very strong, though," teased Page.
"That's not the point, Mom," Azriel retorted, her ears red.
"You're right, my daughter, your father is a thousand times cooler and stronger than Kaen," said Crimson, laughing.
The room immediately fell silent. Even the waiters were stunned in front of their king, while the lady and the young lady stared at the man and looked him up and down as if to say, mind your own business.
The two women left together.
"Mom, can you help me figure out what to wear to the academy?"
"Of course," replied Page with a smile.
"Ahhh," Crimson sighed. 'Maybe I should work on my sense of humor.'