Leaving the student dormitory, Kael headed for the dining hall, doing his best to keep it together. One single thought pounded in his head: It's fine. They're alive. Everyone's alive.
For the gods' sake, stop hugging people.
And definitely don't cry like a child again.
He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The hall buzzed with voices. The hum of conversation, bursts of laughter, clinking dishes, the warm scent of fresh bread and tea — it all hit him like a wave, wrapping around him in a way that made it almost painfully familiar.
Just like before.
From across the room, a hand waved. He knew that gesture instantly.
Naros.
He was smiling, beckoning him over just like he always used to.
Kael couldn't help but smile back.
Kael sank into the chair, feeling his muscles—still wound tight from everything he'd processed—begin to ease, just a little.
Naros, mouth full, casually shoved a bowl his way — porridge, bread, a few pieces of meat. A cup of tea followed.
"You're late. I grabbed some for you too."
Kael took the spoon, scooped a bite of porridge, and nodded.
"Thanks, Naros."
Naros squinted at him mid-chew, his eyes far too sharp.
"There's something off about you."
Kael flinched.
Naros nodded, as if confirming his own suspicion.
"Yeah. Definitely." He leaned in, narrowing his gaze. "You look… how do I put this… wrecked? Did you not sleep at all last night?"
Kael took a sip of tea, racking his brain for a fresh lie—but Naros beat him to it, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth.
"It's about your father, isn't it?"
Kael glanced at him over the rim of his cup.
Naros tapped his spoon against the edge of his bowl.
"Knew it!" he said, triumphant. "Let me guess—you stayed up all night reading world history? Cramming for class?"
Kael sighed heavily.
But of course, Naros wasn't about to stop there.
"Your father, yeah, sure, he's the great High God—" he waved a hand dramatically, leaning back in his chair, "—but what a jerk."
"Naros, please."
"What?!" Naros shrugged, grinning. "You telling me I'm wrong? Oh no, my dear friend, I'm painfully right. What kind of sane father sends his only son—and might I add!—the heir to the heavenly throne!!! into the mortal world to train in some Order of spellcasters?!"
Kael looked at him, then turned away.
"You know why."
"Oh, I know," Naros leaned in again, voice sharpening with frustration. "You didn't pass the divine power test. So what? Is that really a reason to shout across the entire damn Heavens that you're stupid and unworthy of studying with the gods?"
He stabbed his spoon into the table with a loud clack.
"And that's a reason to throw you into the mortal world like trash?"
Kael tightened his grip on the cup, but didn't say a word.
Because Naros was right.
Damn it—he was right about everything.
Kael couldn't help but remember that day.
It felt like a different life entirely.
But here, in this timeline… it had happened only a week ago.
The day the High Elders of the Heavens tested his divine potential.
Yes, true gods come of age at two hundred years, and only then is their full power awakened—but even before that, it's possible to predict the strength of their divine core.
And he was the son of the Supreme God.
They expected the impossible from him.
Power that would outshine everyone.
But at the trial, the elder had simply said, calm and clear:
"Kael will certainly be strong…
But not strong enough to inherit the Celestial Throne."
And in that moment—
Tauren exploded.
His rage shook the very heavens.
He roared so loud that even the gods—those ever-confident in their power—locked themselves in their palaces and didn't dare come out until sunset.
Kael could still hear his voice.
"You! The greatest disappointment of my life!"
His chest tightened. He couldn't breathe. But the memories came burning back.
"One hundred and ninety years!" Tauren thundered, his voice rolling like a storm across the skies. "One hundred and ninety years I wasted training you! The High Elders of the Heavens taught you from the moment you were born!"
He threw everything at him.
Scrolls. Cups. Statues. Nothing mattered.
"And you're so useless, you can't even approach the throne!"
Rage.
Disappointment.
Contempt.
When the fury burned out—
all that remained were the scorched ruins of hope.
Tauren collapsed onto his celestial throne.
And then came the verdict.
"Leave."
His voice was tired. Cold. Empty.
"Get out of my sight."
Kael didn't move.
"You'll go to the mortal world."
His heart skipped a beat.
"To the great immortal master."
No…
"Maybe he can teach you something."
Father…
"Go."
I—
"And don't come back until you're worthy of the heavenly throne."
And the last thing he said—
The words that seared into Kael's mind like a brand—
"I am so… disappointed."
And that look.
Kael would remember it forever.
Because from that day on, Tauren never looked at him as a son again.
Not when the war began.
Not when the world started to fall.
Not even when the Heavens themselves crumbled.
Kael exhaled slowly, staring into the bowl of porridge in front of him, but made no move to eat. The memories pulsed in his mind — heavy, aching, like wounds that would never truly heal.
He remembered.
Even when his true power awakened, when he finally felt it burning in his veins like living fire, like molten strength—
even then, the Mark never came.
The mark of a ruler.
The one everyone had waited for.
The one he had waited for.
He waited for his father. Waited for Tauren to finally look at him with pride, not contempt.
He waited for his mother…
The goddess of love, Aphelia…
Waited for her to hold him again like she did when he was a child—
when she used to hide him from Tauren's fury, when he'd run from the endless training that broke him again and again.
But no.
The Mark never came.
And it never would.
Kael would never stand near the throne.
Not even one step closer.
He exhaled quietly and picked up the spoon without looking.
It didn't matter.
Just eat the damn porridge.
Just save the fucking world.
Once breakfast was done, Kael pushed the thoughts away. None of it mattered.
Why dwell on things that would never change?
The only thing that mattered now was changing the future.
Making sure the Heavens didn't fall.
And seeing Tauren again.
Looking into his eyes. Alive.
Even if they were filled with contempt.
At least they'd be alive.
Leaving the dining hall, Kael and Naros headed toward their first class—History of the Three Realms.
A faint smile tugged at Kael's lips.
Back then, in his first life, they were the legendary truants. Of course they never showed up to classes like this.
They preferred to swim in the lake, drink stolen wine, and test the patience of every senior in the Order.
Why?
Why didn't he go to class back then?
Did he really think he was above mortals?
Even with Tauren's wrath looming over him?
Oh, they had a great time—right up until the day the Head of the Order decided to deal with them himself.
Kael still remembered that day.
Oh gods, how furious Kirion had been.
No—he hadn't just been angry.
He was ready to tear them apart with his bare hands.
Kirion's rage was terrifying. So intense it made the air itself vibrate.
And their punishment…
Half a year scrubbing every damn floor in the Order on their knees. Half a year rewriting the rules and codes a hundred times a week.
But it was after that—after the fury and the punishment—that Kirion began training them personally.
And that was how they became the personal students of the Immortal Master.
They stepped into the classroom, and Kael immediately felt it — the atmosphere of discipline and quiet reverence. There was nothing excessive here. No lavish decorations, no ornate tapestries. Just books, scrolls, and silence, steeped in ancient wisdom.
Two long tables for students stood facing the central desk — a massive structure that loomed in the room like a monument to the authority of knowledge. Kael and Naros were the only new initiates. Not surprising.
The Vekto Order was one of the most prestigious orders in existence — even if it resided in the mortal realm. To be accepted here was considered the highest of honors for any human.
Because here… even a mere mortal could become immortal.
But nothing about this place was easy.
The head of the Order, the elders, the mentors — all of them were immortal masters who had walked the path of power and wisdom. Rumor had it that Kirion had been offered ascension to the Celestial Realm not once, but twice. And twice… he refused. The very fabric of the world had invited him to become a god — and he turned it down.
Why?
Kael found himself wondering, but he didn't have time to linger in the thought — they were already at their seats. His gaze drifted to the teacher's desk.
A man sat behind it — mid-forties in appearance, short, slightly round, with touches of gray streaking through his black hair, which was tied neatly into a bun.
But his eyes…
They held centuries.
Dark. Deep. Radiating the calm of someone who had witnessed far too much. He looked like an ordinary mortal — but those eyes betrayed the truth.
Kael and Naros both bowed respectfully before quietly taking their seats, waiting for the lesson to begin.
The teacher straightened in his chair, shoulders squared, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and deliberate — as if he had recited these very words a thousand times before.
"The history of the three realms runs deep. We begin with the birth of creation itself."
Kael stood up, bowing his head in a gesture of respect.
"Forgive me, teacher…"
He faltered.
Panic hit him like a wave — he had completely forgotten the man's name.
Damn it, what was it?
Beside him, Naros leaned in with perfect timing, his voice a quick whisper:
"Ahem… Lian. Ahem. Lian."
Kael gave a subtle nod of thanks, relief washing over him.
"Forgive me, Master Lian. I have a request. Would you allow me to ask a question?"
Master Lian raised his gaze, dark eyes calmly sweeping over Kael with quiet evaluation.
"Commendable," he said, his voice still composed but tinged with approval. "Curiosity at your age is the path to wisdom. Ask your question. I'll tell you what I know."
Kael lowered himself back into his seat, doing his best to keep his voice steady, hiding the flicker of nerves beneath the surface.
"Could you tell us about the Underworld?"
Beside him, Naros raised a brow, glancing at him with a spark of surprise.
Lian gave a small nod, his face unreadable.
"What specifically would you like to know?"
Kael's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. A quiet tension coiled in his chest.
"I'd like you to tell us about the demon princes."
Master Lian slowly leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the desk. He paused for a heartbeat, as if weighing where best to begin.
"Very well."
His voice deepened, steady and resonant, as if reciting from an ancient scroll inked in centuries.
"The Prince of Illusion.
First among the strong, the lord of the shade,
He shrouds the world in a passionate haze.
One glance is enough — your mind starts to quake,
In endless deceit, your soul he'll misplace."
"The Prince of Death.
Where he breathes, the land holds its breath,
With a silent motion, he erases the rest.
His touch turns your heart into ice,
One graze — and your soul takes flight."
"The Prince of the Blade.
Thunder is born in the arc of his swing,
He'll split the world into 'was' and 'has been.'
His edge shines brighter than heavenly flare,
There are none who can match him in war."
"The Princess of Temptation.
A whisper in her voice, darkness in her eyes,
Pleasure that stings, sweetness that lies.
You reach out, hoping to survive —
But her kiss is where death comes alive."
Lian fell silent, yet his voice seemed to linger in the air, leaving behind a grim echo of ancient power.
Naros swallowed hard, a visible shiver running down his spine. He turned to Kael slowly, brows raised in silent question.
Kael didn't answer.
He didn't even look at him.
"Master Lian…" His voice was calm, steady — but inside, everything churned. "Could you… tell us more about each of them?"
Lian didn't answer right away.
He moved slowly, reaching for the teapot at his desk. He poured a cup of steaming tea, took a slow sip, and finally rose to his feet. Every movement was deliberate — as if preparing for something important, as if choosing his words with care.
He stepped out from behind the desk and moved between the rows of students, hands clasped behind his back, and came to a stop directly in front of Kael. His gaze settled on him with quiet intensity.
Lian stepped back toward his desk, resting both hands against its surface. He dipped his head slightly, his voice still calm — but now laced with a heaviness, as if he knew far more than he was willing to share.
"The first of them—and, as far as I can tell, the most powerful—is the Prince of Illusion… Ilirion."
He paused briefly, letting the name settle in the minds of his students like a shadow seeping through the cracks.
"This demon… can weave illusions so flawless, so complete, that no one—no matter how strong, no matter how wise—will ever realize they're not real… unless he chooses to lift them from your mind."
He straightened slightly, scanning the room as though looking for fear in their eyes. But his voice remained flat, emotionless.
"The question is—would he even want to?"
The air in the classroom thickened. Even Naros had gone still, tense with focus.
"One look into his eyes," Lian said softly, "and you may never know again what's real… and what's not."
Your memories… might be false.
Your entire life… might be a lie.
He let the silence stretch, heavy with something ancient and cruel.
"If you ever meet him…"
His eyes swept the room once more, sharp and cold.
"Run."
"Close your eyes."
"And never look back."
Kael clenched his fists beneath the table, hiding the sudden spark of tension flaring through his chest.
He was the one Kael had never met.
He was the one who had always remained a mystery.
But now… now he had a name.
Lian continued, his voice dropping a tone lower, as if he himself didn't want to speak the words aloud.
"The second among them is the Prince of Death. Seraphin."
Kael tensed at the name.
"He commands death… but not like the god of death does."
Lian paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room, then spoke again—slower this time, as if testing whether they truly understood.
"Seraphin can raise the dead. By taking their souls."
Kael felt a cold knot tighten in his chest.
He knew this.
He'd seen it.
"One corpse is not the problem," Lian said, tilting his head slightly, as if observing something unseen in the air. — "But when there are thousands?"
Thousands…
Anyone who died would rise.
They would stand again, drawn to his power, swelling the ranks of his army.
Another pause. Then the line that made Kael grit his teeth:
"But the most terrifying thing… is his skin."
Lian straightened, folding his hands behind his back. His voice was emotionless now—cold and final.
"One touch. And you're dead."
One second.
And life is gone.
The next—
The corpse rises.
The room fell into a dead silence.
"He doesn't need weapons. Or spells."
Lian's voice was quiet, but in the heavy silence, it rang out like a warning.
"All it takes is a touch."
Kael's fists clenched beneath the table, his shoulders tightening.
He hadn't known that.
He hadn't known Seraphin couldn't be touched.
During the war, Seraphin swept through the mortal world like a plague.
Cities fell.
Entire empires drowned in darkness.
Kael hadn't been able to stop him back then.
But now…
Now he knew.
Lian paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer—almost sorrowful.
"But then again… perhaps he deserves pity."
He stepped to the side, leaning gently against his desk, head tilted in quiet thought.
"How can one live a life without ever touching anything alive? Without ever feeling the warmth of another?"
There was no fear in his tone. Only calm reflection.
"Perhaps that's why he's mad."
He glanced toward the students once more—but his gaze seemed to drift past them, as if seeing something far beyond this world.
"Perhaps his power… is also his curse."
Lian continued, his voice steady—but now there was a clear undercurrent of warning.
"The third among them, but no less deadly—The Prince of Blades. Morgan."
Kael felt something clench deep in his chest.
"And gods help you if you ever cross his path."
Lian paused for a beat, letting the weight of those words sink into the students' minds.
"He's ruthless. There's not a drop of mercy in him."
No hesitation. No doubt.
"His weapons are two black swords."
Lian glanced at the class, as if already anticipating their thoughts.
"Not so scary, you think? That would be your mistake."
He shook his head slowly, and when he continued, his voice rang with the weight of steel.
"He doesn't wield his swords. He is them. They're extensions of his will."
Kael exhaled, low and tight.
He knew that.
He had seen it.
"You think maybe two of you could take him down?"
Lian gave a small, bitter smile. There was no humor in it—only a warning.
"Those two blades become a thousand in the blink of an eye."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
"A thousand," Lian said quietly, sweeping his hand through the air like he was tracing an invisible blade. "An army, trapped in a single man."
He stepped away from the desk. His voice dropped lower, darker.
"And each of those thousand blades — he wields them flawlessly."
It didn't matter how far they were from him.
"Morgar does not tire."
"His power flows from him like a raging river."
"A very dangerous demon."
Kael's fingers curled into fists, a dull, bitter fire rising in his chest.
He knew.
Morgar had led the demon legions when the Celestial Realm fell.
While the god of darkness clashed with the true gods, Morgar tore through the ascended.
It was his blade… that pierced through Naros.
Kael turned his head slowly, looking at his friend.
Naros had gone pale.
Not this time.
This time, Naros wouldn't die by that hand.
Lian gave them no room to breathe, mercilessly continuing to list the names that struck fear across the world.
"And the last, the fourth among the demon princes… the Princess of Temptation, Azalia."
Kael felt heat rise inside him, his chest tightening.
"The foulest creature of them all."
Lian's voice remained calm, but there was a faint note of disgust buried deep beneath his tone.
"Her power is love."
For a moment, Kael stiffened even more.
Love?
But not like the love his mother, the goddess of Love, embodied.
No.
This was something else entirely.
"One look into her cursed eyes…" Lian tilted his head, his voice dropping low — quieter, more chilling. "And if she touches you — it's over. You're in love with her."
Madly.
The room fell into a silence thick with the chill of realization.
"For her, you'd do anything."
Lian paused, his eyes lingering on Kael — as if he knew exactly what was unraveling inside him.
"You'd kill a friend."
A brother.
Your own mother.
Kael tensed so hard it hurt.
"And you'd be happy… just because she smiled."
He clenched his fists.
"You'd even kill yourself for that smile."
She doesn't fight.
She doesn't need weapons.
"You… are her weapon."
Kael shut his eyes, trying to hold back the flood of memories.
It was her.
That creature.
She destroyed the Vekto Order.
And she never even raised a hand.
The students.
The mentors.
The elders.
They killed each other.
For her.
Kael turned his gaze toward the window, watching sunlight lazily spill through the glass, casting soft glows against the white stone of the Order's walls.
He needed to pull himself together.
To silence the chaos clawing inside his chest.
But it was boiling.
Louder than ever.
Lian seated himself behind his desk, fingers laced neatly atop the polished wood.
"That's all I know of them," he said, voice calm — eerily calm, as if he were discussing distant legends, not the nightmares that could tear the world apart. "And my advice to you is simple: never seek them out."
He brushed his hand across the desk, eyes drifting thoughtfully over the students.
"They are merciless. Compassion does not exist in their nature."
Kael said nothing. His gaze stayed fixed on the sunlit courtyard beyond the window.
"And thank the gods…" Lian's voice dipped lower, almost contemplative.
"…that they cannot stand each other."
Kael blinked.
"These four princes," Lian added, "are in constant war among themselves."
Lian sighed, rubbing his temples with slow, tired fingers.
"Their pride is so vast," he said, "they carved the Underworld into separate realms, built four empires, and crowned themselves as kings."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"Each rules their own territory."
"And each wants more."
Lian gave a dry chuckle, folding his arms across his chest.
"So as long as they're busy tearing each other apart — that's good for us."
Kael didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on the window, on the light dancing across the stone.
But the thought echoed like thunder in his mind.
Not for long.
The god of darkness will unite them.
And when he does…
they'll destroy both worlds.
He slowly turned his head, fixing his gaze on Lian once more.
"Master," Kael said quietly.
Lian raised an eyebrow.
"Does Azalia… have a child?"
A pause.
"As far as I know, Kael—no."
But then he frowned, a subtle shift darkening his expression.
"…But anything is possible."
He reached for the teapot, slowly pouring steaming tea into his cup. His movements were calm, measured.
"Demons rarely leave the Underworld."
He lifted the cup, narrowing his eyes slightly, as if weighing his next words.
"So what little we know… takes years to uncover."
Kael said nothing.
But something inside him snapped into place—clean and sharp like shattered glass.
Of course.
Most likely… Azalia, that wretched creature, had a child.
A child born from one of the other princes.
If the four of them were always at war…
Then what better way to win than to unite with one of them—
and give birth to the monster who could end it?
Shit…
Those creatures warred among themselves for centuries—
and then, once drunk on their own blood, turned their gaze toward other worlds.
Kael clenched his fists under the desk, jaw tight with restrained fury.
But then Master Lian spoke again.
"You know…" his voice was calm, almost casual—
but Kael caught a note of something else beneath it. Curiosity. Tension.
He froze.
Naros stiffened beside him, as if what they'd already heard hadn't been horrifying enough.
"I told you demons rarely leave the Underworld," Lian continued, sipping from his tea with deliberate slowness.
He set the cup down. Fingers interlaced. Eyes thoughtful.
"But… seventy years ago… there was one very strange case."
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
"A single night. A city—erased."
Twenty thousand souls.
Gone.
Lian didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"He didn't just kill them. He turned the entire city to ash."
Kael's insides twisted.
"Nothing remained."
A pause.
"Only ash."
Lian paused for a moment, as if gauging their reaction.
"And the summoners who flew past that night… they swore they saw Illirion. In person. He came for that demon himself."
Kael's head snapped up.
"Master—did they see what the demon looked like?"
Lian shook his head slowly.
"Kael… they saw Illirion."
He gave a dry, almost amused smile—cold around the edges.
"Do you really think they stuck around to see who he was chasing?"
Kael flinched, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat, cursing the cowardice of mortals.
"But, Master…" he lifted his gaze again, voice tight, "where did that demon come from?"
Lian shrugged lightly.
"No idea, my boy. Maybe he just took a stroll out of the Underworld for fun."
The smile was there, but his eyes had gone distant. Thoughtful.
"But if Prince Illirion came in person… that demon must've mattered."
He tilted his head, fingers tapping softly against the desk.
"Perhaps… someone from his court?"
Kael turned toward the window, jaw tight.
Or his son.
Holy shit.
If Illirion came for him personally, that demon had to be important.
But if it was really a child…
What kind of monster wipes out a city of twenty thousand souls without hesitation?
What kind of power turns an entire civilization to ash?
Master Lian had begun lecturing about the creation of the worlds—his voice calm and measured—but Kael didn't hear a word.
His mind was a storm.
Seventy years ago…
A city erased in one night.
And the gods didn't know?
Not a single mortal prayed for the dead?
Twenty thousand people burned alive.
And not a single god noticed?
Kael clenched his jaw, fury curling like smoke in his chest.
Those summoners who flew past—
Gods, really?
What kind of pathetic cowards see something like that… and run, without even trying to glimpse the face of the one who did it?
Kael took a deep breath, forcing the rage back down.
Not now.
This wasn't the time for anger.
The facts remained: Illirion had taken that demon into the Underworld.
Which meant… the plan stayed the same.
He had to get there.
Find the damn god of darkness.
Didn't matter who he really was — Azalia and Illirion's child, or some other monster Illirion dragged from the ashes of that city.
Either way, the path was the same.
Get into the Underworld.
And that's where…
The real problem began.
Every god knew where the gateways to the Underworld were.
But moving through it unnoticed?
That was a different story.
Kael clenched his jaw.
His divine core would blaze like a godsdamned lantern in the dark.
Every demon would sense him the moment he stepped through.
And right now… he didn't have the power to mask it.
Shit.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, resisting the urge to curse aloud.
Why this young body, Chronas?
You bastard.
Fine.
He needed a way to suppress his divine core.
Otherwise, he wouldn't make it a step past the portal before the entire Underworld knew a god had entered their realm.
Kael lifted his head again, his thoughts still anchored to one thing.
"Forgive me, Master," he said quietly.
Master Lian stopped mid-sentence, his lecture abruptly cut short.
"You have another question, Kael?"
There was no annoyance in his voice—just calm, patient expectation.
Kael hesitated slightly.
"Yes. I do. It's… a theoretical one."
Lian gave a small nod, gesturing for him to continue.
Kael swallowed, trying to sound casual, though he could feel Naros turning to glance at him, one brow arching with silent suspicion.
But Kael didn't look back.
"So, let's say…" — he leaned forward slightly, feigning idle curiosity — "a caster somehow ends up in the demon world. Is there a way to hide their presence—so the demons wouldn't sense their spiritual core?"
The air in the room went still.
Lian didn't blink.
His gaze sharpened—piercing, analyzing—like he was trying to look straight through Kael and figure out why he needed to know this.
Kael felt Naros beside him hold his breath.
His eyes had widened.
But Kael didn't turn.
Lian hesitated, then spoke, his voice slightly colder than before.
"How does one accidentally end up in the Underworld?"
Kael didn't pause—his answer came instantly.
"Well… say they were walking near a portal and… tripped?"
Lian didn't blink.
"Tripped. Into a portal to the Underworld."
"Yes."
Silence.
Lian's gaze grew heavier by the second, pressing down like a stormcloud overhead.
But at last, he answered.
"If, theoretically, there's a caster who somehow 'tripped' into the Underworld… then let him die there."
Kael twitched, just slightly.
"There's no saving someone like that."
Shit.
He let out a slow breath, but before he could relax, Lian continued.
"You ask very strange questions, Kael."
Kael jumped on the moment, cutting in fast.
"Master, it's just… my imagination running wild. The portals are in the mortal world, right? What if someone actually did fall in by mistake? How would they survive?"
Lian stared at him for a long moment. Then finally nodded, slowly.
"Let's do this, Kael: you stop asking about that nonsense—"
"—and I won't ask what the hell kind of idiot manages to 'accidentally' fall into a demon gate."
His tone was light, but there was an edge to it. A quiet warning.
Then, just like that, he turned back to the blackboard and resumed his monologue about the history of the three realms.
Kael exhaled quietly.
Alright.
If he couldn't ask outright…
He'd just have to find the answer some other way.
*************************************************
📱 Group Chat: "Demon Princes +1 (???)"
Participants: Illirion, Seraphin, Morgar, Azalia
+ accidentally added: Kael
Kael:
Hey, quick question.
Purely hypothetical.
If someone, like, falls into the Underworld…
How do you hide a divine core so demons don't eat you?
Illirion:
…
Who is this?
Seraphin:
oooh
well hello, sunshine
Morgan:
Who are you.
Why are you in my phone.
Is this an attack?
Azalia:
Oh… Kael…
You fell into the Underworld…
into our group chat.
Kael:
SHIT
Kael:
WRONG CHAT
WRONG CHAT WRONG CHAT WRONG CHAT
Illirion:
typing…
deleting…
typing again…
Interesting.
Were you… talking about me?
Seraphin:
He was
I can feel it
sends audio: "Kaaael… such a pretty name to moan"
Morgan:
I will cut you.
Kael:
WAIT
I WAS JUST ASKING
THEORETICALLY
NOTHING PERSONAL
I SWEAR
Azalia:
sends heart emoji
You're adorable when terrified.
Illirion:
…
Am I imagining it…
or are you terrified of me?
Kael:
YES
Morgan:
Sending location.
Hope you run fast.
Karl:
IT WAS AN ACCIDENT
I SWEAR
PLEASE DON'T COME HERE
Seraphin:
sends sticker: "We're on our way"
Kael:
NAROS
HELP
I ACCIDENTALLY MESSAGED THE PRINCES
ALL FOUR OF THEM
Naros (DM):
Missing grumpy old Lian, huh?
⸻
Caption:
When you just wanted a theoretical answer,
but now you have four demon princes
and a panic attack instead of breakfast.