The sharp clank of the vault's heavy lock snapped Daemon out of his daze.
His eyes flicked to the bag in the corner — the same dried meat the guards had left him. The moment the scent hit him, his stomach twisted violently with hunger.
Like an animal, he lunged for it. His fingers tore at the brittle pieces, shoving them into his mouth, barely chewing.
But then he paused — mid-bite.
His sleeves were too short. His boots felt tight.
He looked down at his hands — longer, rougher, more mature.
His legs stretched out awkwardly, the boyish stiffness in his frame now gone.
He'd grown.
How long… have I been here?
The vault doors groaned as the thick metal parted — light flooded the chamber.
Daemon squinted, adjusting to the sun he hadn't seen in what felt like minutes… but was clearly much longer.
And then he saw him.
Not a soldier.
Not a servant.
But his father.
King Aleric himself stood there, dressed in his royal cloak, though the weight of his crown looked heavier than ever. His face — once proud and sharp — had aged. The lines beneath his eyes were deep, dark, and hollow, like sleep had long abandoned him.
For the first time in two lifetimes, Daemon was the one to speak first.
"Father… I see you haven't been sleeping."
His voice was calm, almost concerned. But the grin behind his words was buried deep, hidden under perfect control.
Of course you can't sleep. Not with Lady Vexen wearing my mother's skin every night and haunting you like a ghost. And yet you still haven't caught her?
The king let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Politics. War. The enemy kingdom we suspect they're preparing for something. The world never sleeps, son… so neither do I."
His gaze finally settled on Daemon's figure. The air shifted. His expression wavered — just for a second.
"You've grown." His voice was quieter now, almost proud, but layered with disbelief. "Sixteen years old… and already Fifth Star."
Daemon blinked, caught off guard.
Sixteen?
Four years. Gone. Like smoke.
He lowered his head slightly, smiling the same practiced smile he wore as a child.
"It's thanks to you, Father. You gave me this chance. I simply didn't want to waste it."
The king nodded, though his eyes seemed distant, haunted by burdens Daemon already knew the shape of.
But one more question sat on Daemon's tongue.
"Gabriel…?"
A flicker of warmth touched the king's expression at the mention of his golden son.
"The Crown Prince is studying at the Royal Academy," Aleric said. "Learning what it means to rule. The world won't go easy on him just because he's my heir."
Daemon's smile thinned.
The Academy?
In his past life, Gabriel had never once left the palace for formal training. Always homeschooled, always under the wing of the High Priests and generals.
Something's different this time. Another shift I didn't expect.
But it didn't matter. The world could twist itself into any shape it wanted.
He'd bend it back — in blood and fire.
"Then I look forward to seeing him again, Father," Daemon said softly.
And he meant it.
Because the next time they met — the Great War would begin.
The king's voice broke the silence, quieter this time. Almost… pleading.
"Daemon. You don't have to leave."
Aleric's gaze lingered on him longer than usual — not as a ruler to a subject, but something closer. Too close. Unfamiliar. It was the first time Daemon had ever seen the man speak like a father.
"If you stay," the king continued, "I'll have you trained at the finest academies. I'll give you a command post. An army of your own. Serve beside your brother. Protect him. You'll be safe here."
Safe.
That word stung more than any sword ever had.
Daemon tilted his head, studying the man who sat on the throne of his fate. He couldn't tell if it was guilt, or something worse. Pity. The great King Aleric Dominick III — lowering his pride for a boy he never once shielded.
The king placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You've seen this city's walls," Aleric said. "But beyond them — monsters wait. Creatures that don't care about princes or names. Only power."
His voice lowered. "And you, Daemon… you're still just a child."
For a long moment, Daemon stared at the heavy hand resting on him.
The same hand that had signed his life away once before.
And then he laughed.
A low, bitter sound — sharp as shattered glass.
"Monsters?" he repeated, voice light. "I've met plenty. Some wear crowns. Some wear smiles."
His gaze flicked to the door. "And the one who raised me under this roof? She tried to kill me more times than the beasts outside ever did."
The king stiffened. His face darkened.
"Watch your tongue," Aleric barked. "Is that how you speak of your mother? My wife?"
Daemon's lips curved into a hollow smile.
"She's not my birth mother." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "The one who gave birth to me… was your maid. The same one who died the night i was born."
The words dropped like stones into the vault, the air crackling under the weight of them.
The king froze.
"…How do you know that?" His voice came out hoarse.
Daemon turned, voice cool and even. "She told me."
Aleric blinked, confusion flickering in his tired eyes. "Told you? When? How?"
"In a dream," Daemon lied, smooth as silk. "Though I don't remember much else. Only that she sounded… sad."
A long silence stretched between them, deep and suffocating. The king's hand dropped from Daemon's shoulder, heavy with an emotion he didn't name.
Without another word, Daemon bowed.
"Pardon me, Father. I'll return to my room."
And just like that — he left.
Leaving Aleric standing alone in the vault, haunted by ghosts both living and dead.
•••••
The moment Daemon stepped into his room, the maids froze in place.
At first, they didn't recognize him — the boy they once whispered about behind closed doors was gone.
Now, standing in his place, was someone taller, sharper, quieter. Someone whose eyes burned with something far older than sixteen years.
One of the maids finally blinked, her voice trembling.
"Your Highness… you've grown."
Daemon glanced down at himself — the sleeves of his old black tunic clinging too tight to his arms, the collar stiff against his throat. He moved toward the wardrobe, where neatly folded clothes sat waiting. His hand slid over the new fabrics.
"Who prepared these?" he asked, though the answer was obvious.
The head maid bowed low. "The queen, Your Highness. She… anticipated you'd need a new wardrobe. Since you'll soon be leaving the palace."
Daemon let out a soft, cold laugh. "How thoughtful of her."
The queen, that serpent in a crown, probably celebrated the news the moment it reached her ears. After all, the 'cursed son' was finally leaving her perfect little world behind.
Hours passed in quiet ritual — his hair trimmed, nails cut, his body cleaned and polished like some rare gemstone. When the final knot of his new tunic was tied, the maids stood back and stared at him as if seeing a prince for the first time.
"You've grown so handsome, Your Highness," one whispered.
Daemon turned, the smallest smile tugging at his lips — not out of pride, but amusement.
"Pack my things," one maid asked, holding out expensive bags embroidered with royal crests.
But Daemon waved his hand lazily.
"Why? I'm not going on a trip." His voice sharpened. "I'm leaving this kingdom."
The maids flinched at his tone, bowing their heads in silence.
Daemon reached for the worn black cloak, the only piece of cloth that felt like armor, and tucked the Demon King's book under his arm. With nothing else, he stepped out of the palace gates.
At the stables, the dark brown stallion stood waiting — Caldrin.
The same beast he'd once tamed in his past life. The horse snorted softly, as if recognizing him, lowering its head to meet his hand.
Daemon mounted up, gripping the reins without looking back.
From the balcony above, Queen Bianca stood, smiling and waving like the perfect doting mother. The whole court would think her heart swelled with pride.
Daemon lifted a hand in return, his smile as hollow as the crown on her head.
"Enjoy your kingdom, Mother."
"Because the next time you see me…"
His voice dropped to a whisper, only the wind hearing the last part.
"I'll turn this kingdom into a desert."
And with a sharp kick, the horse lunged forward, carrying the black-cloaked prince beyond the castle walls — and toward the future that waited for him.