Chapter 1: Ashes of Innocence

The stars had vanished behind a veil of smoke.

The village of Veylaris, nestled in the cradle of the Blackthorn Mountains, had always been hidden from the eyes of men. Protected by old magic, guarded by bloodlines older than most kingdoms. A home for demons not of cruelty, but of peace. For Kael, it had been his whole world — the place where he learned to walk, to fight with wooden swords, to laugh with his brothers, and sneak bread with Eira from the kitchen halls.

Now it was a grave.

Fire devoured the rooftops, casting long shadows over the scorched earth. Screams had long since faded into silence. The once-crystal waters of the central well now boiled, and its stone rim was cracked from a holy sigil burned into it by radiant magic. The trees that once guarded the village borders were turned to pillars of coal. The air was thick — choking, hot, reeking of ash and blood.

Ten-year-old Kael stood amid it all, barefoot, smoke curling around his ankles. His heart pounded like a war drum, but his limbs wouldn’t move. The dagger in his hands felt too heavy. His skin was singed, his eyes wide with horror.

His home was gone.

“I told you to run, Kael!” his brother had shouted, blood streaking his face, sword raised. “Take Eira and go!”

Kael hadn’t listened. He’d hidden instead, dragging Eira into the cellar tunnels beneath the old forge. They had waited in darkness, silent, as the clash of steel and magic tore the world above them apart. Now, the trapdoor lay shattered behind them, and they had surfaced to a nightmare.

“Kael…” Eira whispered, tugging at his sleeve. Her voice was fragile, barely more than a breath. “Is anyone left?”

Kael swallowed hard. His throat felt raw. He didn’t answer.

Somewhere ahead, a figure in golden armor turned, the holy emblem of the Radiant Church glowing on his chest. The knight moved with purpose — hunting stragglers, ensuring death was complete. These were not warriors. They were executioners.

Kael stepped back instinctively, placing himself between the knight and Eira.

He didn’t know what he could do. He was small. Powerless. But he would not run again.

A memory flickered — his father’s face, solemn and firm, kneeling before him.

“You’re different, Kael,” he had said. “You carry the old fire. One day, it will awaken. It will hurt. It will save. You must be strong enough to choose how you use it.”

That day had come.

Kael’s legs buckled beneath him. Not from fear — not anymore — but from something inside him. Something ancient. Something vast. It was as if his blood had turned to fire, his bones to iron. He clenched his teeth, his fingers digging into the earth.

A low hum began to resonate in the ground, almost like a growl. The very air around Kael warped — shadows grew longer, curling toward him, coiling like smoke. The red in his eyes deepened into a searing glow, his skin etched faintly with ember-like markings. The knight stepped back, confused. Then afraid.

Eira stumbled away from him, gasping. “Kael… what’s happening to you?”

He didn’t know. But he couldn’t stop it.

A wave of pure darkness exploded from his body, a shockwave of black and red energy that tore through the air like a scream. It struck the knight and hurled him backward like a ragdoll. The ground cracked in a perfect ring around Kael, stones rising and hovering in the air, trembling in his power.

Then silence.

Kael slowly rose to his feet. His hair fluttered in the unnatural wind, his eyes burning with light that did not belong to this world. Eira looked at him with awe and fear — but also hope.

The demon child had died in the fire. What stood in his place was something else.

Kael spoke, his voice deeper than before, laced with something old.

“I won’t forget this.”

He turned toward the horizon, where the Holy Knights had marched from — their banners still visible in the distance.

“I will remember. I will return. And I will burn the world that burned mine.”

From the ashes of Veylaris, beneath the gaze of a darkened sky, the Demon King was born.

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