As Ela stopped before the massive door, the guards on either side—tall, armored demons clad in obsidian plate—stepped forward. They bowed their heads respectfully to her, then placed their hands on the dark iron handles.
With a low, echoing groan, the doors began to part.
The sound was deep and ancient, like stone grinding against stone. Ash blinked, his eyes widening as the world beyond the doors was revealed.
A long, shadowed hall opened before them—wide, tall, and lined with flickering braziers that bathed the room in a deep crimson glow. At its center stood a massive blackstone table, its surface veined with silver and etched with glowing runes. The legs were carved into monstrous talons, gripping the floor like the feet of some ancient beast.
At the far end of the table, seated on a throne-like chair of polished obsidian, was a man.
Ash's eyes locked on him.
His father.
He hadn't seen him clearly the day before. Only a towering shape, a distant voice. But now, with the moons' glow spilling into the chamber, Ash could see the details.
Black hair flowed down past his shoulders like a midnight curtain. His skin was pale, but not sickly—like stone forged in starlight. And his eyes—red, deep, burning with a slow and eternal fire. They were the color of blood and fate, with pupils like slits of void. His gaze was sharp, but still. Regal. Watching.
And above all, his presence was overwhelming.
An emperor's presence.
The aura that clung to him made the air in the hall feel heavier, like gravity bent around him. Six horns crowned his head—three pairs spiraling upward like blades carved from black crystal, each glowing faintly at the tips with traces of abyssal energy.
To his right, a chair stood empty.
Ela's seat.
Next to it sat a woman—a noble demoness with long crimson hair and horns to match. Her features were sharp, beautiful in a way that cut rather than soothed. Her eyes shimmered with gold beneath her dark lashes, and she observed the newcomers with cool interest.
Beside her, another woman sat. Pale as bone, with skin that nearly glowed under the light. Her hair was soft gray, her features smooth and expressionless, but her eyes were keen—piercing. She gave Ash a brief glance and then turned her attention back to the center of the table, sipping from a silver goblet.
On the left side of Ash's father sat a child—no older than three, with black hair and faintly glowing eyes. Her features mirrored Ela's so clearly that Ash knew immediately: this was his sister.
Lys.
Next to her sat a pair of twins—a boy and a girl, both a little older than ash. Their crimson horns gleamed in the torchlight, and their eyes burned with mischief. The girl leaned toward her brother, whispering something with a grin. They giggled.
And beside them, quietly watching, was another child.
A boy. Pale, like a whisper of shadow. His eyes were strange—violet and hair was soft gray, He said nothing, simply observing, like Ash.
Ash, still held against his mother's shoulder, stared in silence. He didn't understand the relationships or the roles. Not yet. But the shapes and shadows of power were already taking root in his infant mind.
This was not just a family.
This was a court.
A court of demons and bloodlines, power and legacy. And somehow, he was part of it.
His father's gaze lifted. Their eyes met—one red and ancient, one newborn and black as the void.
And for a moment, the world held its breath.
As their eyes met—Vael, Emperor of the Abyss, and Ashteron, barely a soul born—time seemed to shudder in place.
Then, softly, Ash's mother took a breath and stepped forward.
The spell broke.
She walked gracefully toward the empty seat beside Vael, her silken gown brushing the cold stone floor. Her movements were slow but steady, like someone still recovering, yet determined not to show weakness.
Vael's crimson gaze shifted, following her. As she reached her chair, he spoke—his voice low, calm, and filled with a weight that settled across the table like mist.
"Are you well enough to walk around now?"
Ela glanced toward him, her hand gently brushing Ash's back as she lowered herself into her chair. "Yes," she replied softly. "I'm all right now, Vael."
Vael studied her for a brief moment longer, then gave a small nod.
"Good," he said simply.
He turned his head to the left, addressing a tall, silver-clad demon standing just behind his chair.
"Zareth" Vael said, his tone composed but absolute. "Let the breakfast be served."
The butler bowed, deep and flawless. "At once, my lord."
With a flick of his clawed hand, Zareth turned on his heel and strode silently toward the kitchen corridor. The attending maids, dressed in flowing black and red, followed swiftly behind him like shadows melting into the stone.
The family remained in relative silence, though whispers passed between the twins and occasional glances flickered across the long table.
Ash shifted in his mother's arms, still too young to understand the nuances, yet sensing the undercurrent of power and position that hummed in the air.
Soon, the doors parted again—and Zareth returned.
He led the procession with elegant precision, carrying a silver tray bearing a dark-glazed roast with shimmering herbs of abyssal bloom. Behind him, maids followed with plates of charred fruits, blood-pastries, steaming stews, and glistening black bread dusted with frost-sugar. Tall goblets of wine were passed to the adults, while goblets of fruit-nectar and spiced juice were set before the children.
Each placement was deliberate. Every dish chosen with intent.
When the last plate was settled and the servants bowed and stepped back, Vael stood.
He raised his goblet.
"Let us thank the Abyss for the food before us," he said.
His voice rang through the chamber like a bell forged from silence.
In unison, the others responded with a bow of their heads:"We thank the Abyss."
Then the Emperor sat.
And the meal began.