The great hall sat silent, emptied of nobles and guards — only the soft crackle of the fireplace filled the space.
Daemon leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes drifting across the room, landing on the man seated across from him.
King Velrick.
He didn't look old, not even close. His face still held the sharpness of youth, but his eyes — those told another story entirely. Deep, calculating, as if they'd aged decades beyond his body.
Daemon knew the rumors. In his past life, the name Velrick had barely meant anything to him. Just another minor king in a minor border nation. The tale went that Velrick's parents — the former king and queen — were killed in a carriage accident when Velrick was barely ten. Alone, orphaned, and thrown onto the throne, he'd ruled with only his uncle, the duke, as his shadow.
Back then, Daemon had never paid attention.
Lilac had forbidden him from setting foot in this kingdom. She'd sent Gabriel instead, like always, handpicking her favorite sword to solve every problem.
But now... sitting face to face with Velrick... Daemon found himself studying the man differently.
Velrick's voice broke the silence, light and teasing.
"Prince Daemon, am I making you uncomfortable? Or is it the mask? Does it bother you?"
Daemon blinked out of his thoughts and leaned forward, resting his chin lazily on his hand.
"Not really. I'm just wondering why you wanted to speak with me. What do you want?"
Velrick's gloved fingers tapped the armrest once, twice, before folding together. His voice dropped lower.
"Let's be honest. I have my reasons. But the first... is simple curiosity."
He tilted his head slightly, his masked gaze fixed on Daemon.
"You, being the reincarnation of the Demon King."
Daemon's smile twitched faintly.
That again.
He'd expected mockery, suspicion, maybe fear — the usual. But Velrick's voice wasn't disgusted. It was something else.
"Let me guess," Daemon said smoothly, "you want to ask if I'm ashamed of it?"
Velrick shook his head, lips curling under the mask.
"No. I don't hate it."
Daemon raised an eyebrow, genuinely caught off guard.
"Really? Not even a little?"
"On the contrary," Velrick said softly. "I'm impressed."
A sharp silence stretched between them.
Daemon's eyes narrowed, studying him.
"You're not impressed that your so-called hero Michael is my twin brother... but you're impressed by me?"
Velrick leaned back, gaze thoughtful.
"When I was young, my mother used to tell me bedtime stories. Tales of the war between heaven and hell. Of the hero Michael — pure and shining, piercing the Demon King's heart."
He chuckled under his breath.
"But the one I liked the most was about the Demon King himself."
Daemon's expression darkened slightly.
"Strange taste for a prince."
Velrick's voice grew quieter, more serious.
"They say the whole world banded together to kill him. Kingdoms. Empires. Heaven itself. But the Demon King didn't kneel. Even when the skies rained fire, he stood. Alone. Fighting, even knowing he'd lose."
Nyxtriel's voice stirred softly in Daemon's mind — pride, amusement, something darkly fond.
"A king worthy of worship," she whispered.
Daemon tilted his head slightly, lips curling into a dry smile.
"Is that why you let me walk into your city, Velrick? Because you wanted to meet a piece of the past?"
Velrick's masked gaze didn't waver.
"Not the past. The future."
The fire snapped in the hearth, shadows stretching long across the marble.
Daemon leaned back, silent.
For once, he didn't know if Velrick was an enemy or something worse.
An admirer.
Daemon didn't bother to meet the king's gaze. Instead, his sharp crimson eyes drifted lazily across Velrick's frame — sizing him up. His aura wasn't weak. Ninth star. Two levels above his own.
That made things interesting.
The king's voice broke the quiet.
"Prince Daemon, tell me who's this young lady with you?" Velrick's masked head tilted slightly. "Your lover, perhaps? I never imagined you for the type to fancy older women."
Daemon leaned back, unfazed. "Not a lover. She's mine. That's all you need to know."
Nyxtriel, seated gracefully at his side, gave the faintest smile,pleased, like a child hearing praise.
Velrick chuckled under his breath, resting his gloved fingers on the polished armrest.
"She's quite beautiful," he mused. "But... there's something off. She doesn't feel human."
Daemon's lips twitched, but he said nothing. The silence said enough.
The velvet curtains swept open as the auction master raised his voice, polished and theatrical.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed nobles and honored guests — tonight, we present the rarest treasures from across the continent!"
A servant wheeled out the first item on a silk-draped cart: a silver chalice crusted with black jewels.
"An ancient goblet from the fallen Empire of Solmare! Legend claims it once held the blood of a starborn beast. Bidding starts at 500 gold crowns!"
The crowd stirred, hands flicking up with practiced ease.
"Six hundred!"
"Eight hundred!"
"One thousand!"
The bids climbed like wildfire, but Daemon barely glanced at the item. His eyes wandered the room, watching — not the treasures, but the faces. The gloved hands, the cold smiles, the nobles playing king and beast with their wallets.
Beside him, King Velrick chuckled under his breath.
"Do you see how easily humans price the past, Prince Daemon? Everything has a number. Even blood."
Daemon's lips twitched.
"That's the difference between them and me. I don't pay for what I want."
The king's golden eyes behind his mask gleamed, amused.
Item after item was paraded out. Ancient scrolls, enchanted trinkets, a beast's claw still laced with poison — the room buzzed with excitement, but none of it mattered.
Until the final item.
The auctioneer's voice shifted, a new tone slipping through — reverent, almost cautious.
"For our final piece this evening... A treasure unearthed from the ruins of Drakefall Caverns. The remains of an ancient beast, slain in the final age of the Titan War."
Two servants wheeled out a steel-caged case, reinforced with spells and runes. The moment the lid was lifted, a heavy wave of pressure swept through the room.
Nestled inside was a half-heart. Blackened, petrified but pulsing. Slowly. As if some ancient will still lived inside.
Daemon's expression didn't change, but inside his core something flickered.
The half-heart of a dragon.
A relic like this wasn't just rare — it was almost impossible. Dragon hearts were the purest, most volatile source of power a creature could leave behind.
Nyxtriel leaned close, her voice quiet but sharp.
"Father... that's not a fragment. But its power... it's almost worthy of one."
Velrick raised a single gloved hand, signaling a bid before the auctioneer could even name a price.
"Fifty thousand crowns."
The room froze. A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles like the wind before a storm. No one else raised a hand.
The auctioneer cleared his throat, barely masking his unease.
"Starting bid — five thousand crowns."
Velrick raised a single gloved hand, signaling a bid before the auctioneer could even name a price.
"Fifty thousand crowns."
The room froze. A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles like the wind before a storm. No one else raised a hand.
Daemon let out a slow breath, barely a whisper.
"So that's what you've been waiting for, Velrick. I was wrong. You didn't come here for the fragment." His crimson eyes narrowed. "You came for that."
Velrick, still leaning back comfortably, glanced sideways.
"Of course I did. Power like that shouldn't fall into the hands of commoners."
Daemon smirked.
"Neither should the throne, but here you are."
Velrick's mask tilted ever so slightly — amused. But behind the silver eyes, there was calculation.
The auctioneer's gavel came down.
"Sold. To His Majesty, King Velrick of Aurelian."
The half-heart of the dragon was sealed away once more.
And Daemon sat, quiet and still.
Now the game was clear.
The fragment wasn't here.
But the king... had something else worth stealing.