The forest outside Blackhollow always seemed a little too quiet. Trees stood like silent judges, their bark etched with age and shadows, and every rustle in the leaves felt like a whisper from something unseen. Lucien liked it that way. The quiet let him think — and plotting was always best done in silence.
He stood at the edge of the campfire, hands outstretched toward the flickering heat, eyes reflecting the flames like twin coals. Around him, the others talked, laughed, drank — pretending this alliance was natural, even friendly. But Lucien could see through the illusion. Demons, no matter how scarred or exiled, never truly dropped their guard. And why should they?
He didn't expect loyalty. He expected fear. And fear was something he was very good at inspiring.
Across the fire, a horned figure named Kael sat hunched, sharpening a blade. One of the younger demons, barely older than Lucien himself — or at least, he looked that way. Demon years worked differently. Kael had fire in his eyes and doubt in his heart. The way he looked at Lucien reminded him of the way children looked at a locked door after hearing a sound behind it — uncertain, curious, and bracing for something terrible.
"You're quiet tonight," Kael said, not looking up.
Lucien smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Quiet men do the loudest things."
Kael chuckled. "Is that a threat or a proverb?"
"Does it matter?"
Their eyes met over the fire. Something in Kael's expression shifted — from amusement to caution.
Good.
Lucien turned his attention back to the flames. The camp was temporary, like everything in the world he was building — a scaffold, not a castle. He wasn't ready to strike yet, but the foundation was forming. A rumor here. A stolen scroll there. People trusted what they saw, but Lucien trusted what people believed.
And belief, unlike truth, could be controlled.
A small girl — no older than ten — wandered close to the fire, clutching a bundle of herbs. Her eyes were wide, clearly human, but her aura wasn't clean. She had demon blood in her, just enough to be hunted. Lucien had seen her before, treated like a burden by the others. Not demon enough to belong, not human enough to be safe.
She offered him the herbs, hand shaking slightly.
"For your burns," she whispered.
Lucien took them gently, his fingers brushing hers. "Thank you."
She ran off before he could say more, disappearing behind a tent. For a moment, his smile softened — then it vanished like a candle snuffed out.
He didn't have burns.
He wasn't injured.
But she thought he was. And more importantly, she cared.
That was the kind of thing he could use.
He turned to Kael again. "You ever wonder how wars are won before they even start?"
Kael raised a brow. "Strategy? Strength?"
Lucien shook his head. "Hearts. You win the people before you raise the sword. When they cheer for your blade, not because it's sharp — but because they trust the one who holds it."
Kael didn't respond. He just went back to sharpening.
Lucien looked into the flames, seeing not fire — but cities burning, temples collapsing, white robes stained red. The Church would never suspect the boy who once begged for bread. They would never see the demon army led by a human smile.
Not until it was too late.
Not until the smoke whispered their names in the language of vengeance.
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End of chapter 15