The room was silent save for the soft rustle of sheets.
Daemon sat up slowly, stretching his arms with a groan. "It's great to be alive... Dying a second time like this really takes the fun out of things."
Before he could finish another thought, a sudden warmth pressed against his chest.
Nyxtriel had thrown her arms around him, clinging tightly, burying her face into his shoulder.
His crimson eyes widened. Bold wasn't the word he'd ever used for her before—cold, focused, efficient... but this?
He sighed softly and returned the hug, resting a hand on the back of her head.
"I was worried," she said quietly. "Please, Father, don't do something like that again. I know it was part of your plan, but it scared me. Truly."
Daemon had never seen Nyxtriel like this—shaken. Vulnerable. Her voice trembled, her grip clung tighter than steel. He was speechless for a moment.
"Nyxtriel... you don't have to worry. I'm here," he said gently.
She stepped back, looking him in the eyes. "I don't want to lose you again. I waited five thousand years, and I can't do it again. I won't."
He chuckled lightly, trying to ease the weight of her words. "You know... you really don't have to keep calling me 'Father'. It's fine, but it's starting to sound a little too—literal. And awkward."
She tilted her head. "Why is that, Father? You picked me up, raised me, trained me. You protected me in the demon realm. That's what a father does."
Daemon looked away, unsure how to explain it. "I'm not him, Nyxtriel. I don't remember being the Demon King. I'm living as Daemon now. So hearing it every time... it's weird. Like we're blood."
A pause. Then—
"Haha," she laughed, sudden and light.
Daemon blinked. Her laughter—it was real. It was soft, melodic, like a rare bell chiming in the middle of winter.
"You've been putting up with it all this time and didn't say anything?" she grinned. "You're funnier than I thought."
Her smile—he'd never really looked before.
Her crimson eyes gleamed like cut rubies. Her white lashes framed them perfectly, giving her an otherworldly grace. Her silver-white hair fell loosely over her shoulders, glowing under the soft light, and her lips—naturally pink—curled with warmth that somehow made her seem less like a weapon and more like a woman. If statues could come to life, they would still fall short of the sheer elegance she carried when she let her guard down.
"Then I'll call you... my Lord Daemon," she said with a soft smirk, lowering her gaze shyly.
He froze for a second, unsure why that name—spoken by her—made his pulse quicken.
"...Yeah. That works."
Nyxtriel nodded and stood beside the bed, composed again, but the faint smile lingered on her lips.
Then she suddenly spoke, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear.
"Oh right, Fath—I mean, Lord Daemon. While you were resting, I did some investigating around the castle."
Daemon arched a brow. "And?"
"There's a room on the upper floor, heavily guarded. No one's allowed near it, not even servants. It's completely silent. I believe that's where they're keeping the young prince."
Daemon's eyes narrowed. "I see... I'll have to take a look. How long was I asleep?"
"A full day, my Lord." Nyxtriel crossed the room and pulled open the curtains. Morning sunlight spilled in, painting her hair gold.
Daemon winced, shielding his eyes. "Tch. Bright." He sat up, stretching his limbs with a low grunt. "Any trouble while I was out? Assassins? Uninvited guests?"
"None. I stood guard the entire time. Not even the king was allowed in."
Daemon smirked. "Good."
"My Lord, when you were unconscious... that stone—the one with multiple colors—it was meant for you to absorb just one," Nyxtriel said, watching him closely. "But you absorbed all seven. Each color held divine energy. Are you not feeling... weak?"
Divine energy? Daemon thought to himself, before smirking.
"So the king really went that far... using a Seven-Colored Gem," he muttered. Without warning, he walked over to the dresser, grabbed a dagger, and slit his wrist.
"My Lord!" Nyxtriel cried out, rushing forward—
But it was too late. A red glow surged through Daemon's arm. The wound closed instantly.
"Inverse Divinity," he said calmly, flexing his fingers.
Nyxtriel blinked. "It healed you... You can manipulate divine energy?"
Daemon nodded. "A gift—well, more like a curse—that I picked up when I was twelve. The Saintess of Varyndor tried to purge me with divine light. My Astra Core didn't just survive... it devoured it. Since then, divine energy bends to me. Or rather—my corrupted core."
Nyxtriel looked stunned. "To twist divine energy like that... Only you could do something so impossible."
Before Daemon could respond, a knock interrupted them.
Knock knock.
"My Lord, we're coming in," a soft voice called from behind the door.
The lady-in-waiting stepped inside with two maids behind her. She bowed gracefully. "Prince Daemon... I'm relieved to see you awake and well."
She turned to the maids and gave a subtle signal. They quietly began setting out new clothes and preparing a warm basin to help him freshen up.
Daemon gave a slight nod, his eyes already drifting toward the window.
Today... he would walk the upper floor.
And finally meet the king's hidden monster.