Kael followed behind Iris and Alvera as the group of Ice Elf guards led them through a long hallway, heading deeper into the castle. The air got colder with each step, and the walls shimmered with faint blue light.
They were going to the basement. Whatever he had to see—it was down there.
Kael was curious. He wondered if the prophecy had something to do with him. The idea made his stomach twist a little.
If someone ever asked Kael who he hated the most—after the damn Goddess, those fake Heroes, and every demon he ever met—the answer would be easy.
The Oracles and Saints who come up with these prophecies.
Just the thought of that name made his jaw tighten.
There were days Kael even dreamed about burning down the Oracle's temple and stabbing each of those smug bastards.
After all, they had a hand in his misfortine.
Being chosen to enter demon land like some cursed champion? All because of a stupid prophecy made by someone playing with fate.
