The palace was silent again.
Torchlight flickered in the corridor outside Daemon's chambers, but inside—only darkness remained. Heavy curtains blocked the moon. The only light came from a single rune-stone pulsing weakly on the desk.
Daemon sat cross-legged on the marble floor.
Bare-chested. Barefoot.
Breathing in slow, steady patterns.
Astral energy swirled within his core, dark and hot, like coals soaked in blood. His veins thrummed, black-red lines crawling faintly beneath his skin.
He exhaled—and pushed.
His goal: break through to Fourth Star.
He'd stabilized at Third. Most would train for years to go beyond that.
Daemon didn't have years.
He had enemies. A crown prince. A kingdom that feared him. A world waiting to burn.
He focused.
Pressed deeper into his core.
The void of his Astral Flame roared inside him—twisting, screaming. His blood boiled. Bones ached. But he held his breath and reached—
Then—
Something snapped.
His breath caught.
A pulse of divine residue—remnants from the temple—reacted violently with his dark essence.
His vision whited out.
His spine arched.
He slammed backward into the floor, convulsing.
The holy glyphs once burned into his skin flared back to life, not as light—but as shackles.
"No—"
His voice barely escaped.
He felt his soul split, one side trying to ascend... the other being dragged down into that cursed white chamber again.
He clawed at the floor.
Bleeding.
His heart pounded in uneven thuds. His Astral Core flickered.
Too fast. Too unstable.
I should've waited.
The divine pressure burned from the inside.
His lungs seized.
And just as the pain peaked—
Darkness swallowed him.
....
Hours passed.
The flames in the rune-stone died.
Daemon lay crumpled on the floor, sweat slicked across his skin, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. His chest rose and fell slowly—still breathing, but barely.
And inside him?
His Astral Core pulsed.
Faint.But—stable.
The divine interference was still there.But he'd done something few had ever managed:
He forced divine and demonic energy to sit in the same soul.
A forbidden fusion.
A ticking bomb.
And somehow...He survived.
Sunlight bled softly through the high windows of his chamber.
His chest rose and fell slowly, and every inch of his skin pulsed like cooling iron. His mouth was dry, and his limbs ached, but something burned quietly in his chest.
He pushed himself up with effort and walked to the window.
Morning.
He squinted at the rising sun, and then he felt it.
The power.
Inside his Astral Core, the dark flame had stabilized—no longer wild, no longer fragile. It spun slowly, dense and heavy like a newborn star.
Fourth Star: Radiant.
"Twelve years old..." he whispered. "Radiant Star. Mortal Realm."
He tilted his head toward the ceiling, as if addressing the unseen sky.
"Thank you," he muttered. "I don't know what you are... but I know you're watching. Just wait. I'll make you proud."
Knock knock !
A knock at the door.
Then it opened.
Lady Vexen entered Daemon's chamber with a tray of food, bowing low.
"Good morning, Your Highness," she said, setting it down. "I caught a rat trying to poison your breakfast. I've… taken care of her."
Daemon, seated by the window, barely glanced over.
"Good."
Something felt off. She was too… obedient.
No trembling hands. No desperate glances.
Strange, he thought.
But then again, this was the same woman who had once murdered her own son without shedding a tear.
"Did something good happen?" he asked casually.
Lady Vexen forced a smile. "Oh, no, my prince. I'm just… serving you as I should."
Daemon narrowed his eyes slightly but let it pass.
"There is something else," he said, rising from his seat.
She stiffened.
"You'll continue where I left off. From today onward—you'll be the new Rose."
He handed her a small black vial filled with shimmering liquid.
"And take this. It's the same water. You know what to do."
Lady Vexen's hands trembled slightly. "M-My prince… if someone sees me—"
"They won't," Daemon said, his voice cold. "The king won't allow it.
He'll rot away in silence, too proud to show weakness.
Like he always does."
Vexen swallowed thickly.
Daemon turned away, dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
"You may go.
I have… other matters to prepare."
Lady Vexen clutched the vial tightly and fled the room.
Daemon stayed at the window, the morning sun glinting off his black hair and crimson eyes—already planning his next move.