Meilin gasped, her gaze flying to his, and cleared her throat. "Yes, and?"
Ningshun raised an eyebrow. "I see what you did there. You learn fast."
Her face broke into a cheeky grin, and she crossed her arms, tilting her head. "You're clearly loving this way more than you should, so I don't see the problem."
His smirk vanished like a flame snuffed out by a breeze. He blinked, shoulders tightening as he swallowed, fingers drumming against the door handle. "You have no shame, do you?"
A sheepish smile spread across her face as she put a hand behind her head. "I, uh..."
"Never mind." A sharp breath escaped him. He turned the knob and pulled it ajar. "Ready to meet the rest of the team?"
'I just... whatever.' Meilin shook her head and turned to go into the office.
The team, clustered around a central table, looked up from their match. Her arrival was greeted by a barrage of suppressed giggles and exchanged glances.
'Did they hear everything?' she thought as sweat formed on her brow.
The place looked like a paradise for tech enthusiasts. It had tons of vibrant LED lights and walls filled with posters of famous Esports tournaments. She looked around the room at the sleek, large monitors and gaming rigs.
Ningshun trailed after her, his eyes narrowing at his teammates' brief smirks and stifled chuckles. He made eye contact with each of them, his gaze almost daring them to laugh before their smirks wilted away in the flame. With his shoulders squared, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Everyone, brace yourselves for the new Jungler—Meilin!"
Kaili, the Support, gave a kind nod; Hooman, the ADC, offered a wave, and Han, the Top Laner, greeted her with a warm smile before they resumed their match.
"Hi, guys!" She beamed with enthusiasm, taking in their screens with childlike wonder.
Ningshun pulled the white gaming chair back from the desk. "Take a seat, Meilin. Let's have a chat before the coach comes."
"Sure." Sitting down, she cast her eyes at their screen.
"Are you comfortable? After all, this is your chair."
"My chair?" she spoke almost in a whisper, and her breath caught with excitement. "Thank you. I'm more than comfortable. I could sleep here," she jested, reclining the seat and stretching out in it like it was a bed. As her eyes trailed along the RGB lights that lined the ceiling, her thoughts began to wander.
"Thirsty?" Ningshun's warm breath brushed her cheek as he bent down, accelerating her heartbeat, the soft whisper of his awakening a sensation that ran the length of her being. His face came so close that she could see the pattern in his irises, and the way he spoke in that deep, husky voice made her feel like a moth to a flame.
And she would burn forever if she were to live with him.
"Yes... please," her voice trembled.
"Good, because we've got all the best drinks in the galaxy—tea, coffee, soda, water..."
"Soda's perfect, thanks," she managed with a weak smile.
When Ningshun stood straight and moved away from her, an unexpected heat broke through her cheeks. Gathering her courage, she called out, "Hey, Ningshun."
He looked back; eyes wide, perhaps curious, perhaps intrigued. "Yes?"
Her cheeks turned a subtle shade of blush. "Thanks for standing up for me back there."
His eyes softened. A soft, amused smile lit his lips as he glanced away from her for a moment of thought, reflecting on her words. His gaze met hers once more, and she saw the tiniest flicker of warmth in the depths of his eyes. "No problem, Meilin."
After the match of the team, all eyes remain on the newcomer. Kaili, the one who talked the most, told her funny stories from their matches to ease her up. Hooman, the only one on the team with a beard, facial stubble, and a laid-back vibe, chimed in with his melodramatic memories. Only Han, the quiet one, managed to pipe in without words.
Ningshun returned with a can of soda in hand, grinning as he handed it over like a royal gift. "Here you go, milady."
She blinked, her eyebrows nearly taking off her face. 'No one had ever called me this before.'
"Milady? Isn't that a bit outdated, Ningshun?" Hooman teased.
Laughter echoing off the walls crashed to silence as a tall, well-groomed man in a buttoned shirt entered the room, the coach of Solaris Esports. He extended his hand with a doubtful smile. "Meilin, welcome. Glad you could make it. We've heard great things about you."
She shook his hand. "Thank you for having me."
"So, do you think you can work well with our boys?"
"Yes, without a doubt... After all, I can... see through what my opponents will do next." She paused. 'But how can I even explain it? I don't fully understand it myself. It's just... instinct, this gut feeling that somehow guides me.'
"Watching you play, I almost believed you," he quipped. "Okay, now that you're finally here, let's see you play in person..."
She shoved aside the little flutter of discomfort that tightened her chest. 'I can't mess this up. This is my one shot.'
"Ningshun speaks highly of you, so I hope you're as good as he says."
Ningshun nodded. He leaned in, placing his arms on the desk and whispered, "I know he looks scary, but that's all. Just play like you always do."
Meilin took a deep breath and lifted her chin to look the coach in the eye. "I'm ready. Let's do this."
~*~
Thousands of years ago—in a world beyond the reach of mortals—lay Astara, an ancient land of demons. The young prince, Feng Deming, who appeared no older than ten years of age by human standards, ran through fields with the lieutenant. They rushed toward the dimming light on the horizon, brushing past blades of grass as though each stalk were an outstretched hand urging them forward until they reached the middle of a field.
Deming felt his breath freeze in his chest like a full-force wind over the hollow of his body, his heart beating a drum. It felt as if the ground moved below their feet as hundreds of high faerie lords blocked their path. An acrid flavor that tasted almost metallic from fear clung to his tongue, and the scent of damp earth stung his nostrils. "Enemies," he murmured, feeling a chill down his spine and his pupils fully dilated. Preparing to flee, he turned his attention to the lieutenant, with no way of knowing whatever his next move was.
"Lord Muchen," the lieutenant whispered.
"Muchen?" Deming felt his heart thumping in his chest as he gazed at the faerie leader. 'He killed my father.' A tear leaked from his eye, and he balled up his fists in rage as he replayed the words of his father yet again.
"Take my son to safety, Lieutenant. Protect him with your life."
The faint whisper of the faeries, which was really little more than a low hum, mingled with the rustling of the grass and the gasping of the prince.
The lieutenant said nothing but lowered his sword, and the weight dug against the calluses of his palm. They felt heavy in the space around them, almost suffocating.
"What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed!" Deming cried out as the lieutenant moved closer to the faerie leader.
"Your grace, you have arrived early," the lieutenant smiled.
"What? Him?" Dropping his jaw, Deming jerked to the lieutenant and the faerie leader, eyes growing wide at the lieutenant's nonchalance. His golden eyes dimmed like a setting sun as the reality settled in. "Don't tell me... that you..."
"Truthfully, Lieutenant, I had concerns that you would not uphold your end of the deal. However, I admit I was mistaken." The faerie leader, Lord Muchen, nodded and commanded, "NOW!"
The faeries waved their wrists, and the chains placed over each limb of Deming's body, etched with twenty layers of glyphs, flared with power.
'What... are these?' Deming thought, gazing at the phantom chains bound around his wrists. He tried to claw his way out, but the chains squeezed against him. Sweat dripped down his forehead as it sunk in that his attempts were in vain—the glyphs holding the bindings were too strong for him to contend against.
"I promise I shall take good care of my slave."
"Me? A slave?" Deming's teeth clenched as his eyes drilled into Lord Muchen in rage. He whipped his head towards the lieutenant, eyes ablaze as he whispered, "What is happening?"
The Astaran lieutenant creased his eyes, and he moved forward with suspicion, all the while catching Deming's attention. He whispered, "What is happening? Your father was a coward who prioritized himself and his son over his own people. I am only doing what he lacked the guts to do for the safety of Astara. And as its new ruler, I will do it right." With a deep bow before the faerie leader, he swept his hand from his chest out toward Deming, as though presenting an offering. "Lord Muchen, as you requested."
Deming met the lieutenant's eyes with a burning glare, his pulse quickening. "You..." his voice trembled.
The lieutenant sneered at the prince before turning to the faerie leader. "In exchange for my life and the Supreme Throne of Astara, I present Feng Deming—the crown prince."
Deming's features hardened to disgust. "You despicable traitor!" he spat, voice shaking with fury. "My father was blind to trust a coward who stoops to slavery. You are a mockery of a king."
The lieutenant took a step back, sweat running down between his eyebrows as he glanced from Deming to Lord Muchen. 'I have no choice... If I don't hand over the prince, Astara is doomed. The faeries would wipe us out.' He tore at his soul with guilt. "I am aware that slavery goes against our principles. However..." Sighing, he recognized his treason and such violation for what it was: going against their code of forbidding slavery, a rule his tribe had lived by since its foundation millions of years before. 'There's nothing I can do now.'
In one last effort, Deming stared at the lieutenant with imploring eyes, desperate for mercy, with chains forcing him to remain in place.
The lieutenant stared at the ground, ashamed to meet Deming's eyes, his face red with embarrassment. "He is all yours." He spun and left without looking back.
Eyes flickering with pleasure, Lord Muchen took a graceful step forward, regarding the prince with a satisfied eye. "A most generous offering, indeed."
Fury seethed in Deming, scalding from his fists to the pit of his stomach as his life crumbled into a living hell. The taste of rage flooded over his tongue as he spat out his words. "One day, the Faerie Realm will fall, and its name will be forgotten forever—along with yours," he snarled like the low rumble of thunder. "I promise you this!"
The footsteps of the faeries pounded the earth up toward Feng Deming, pounding the beat of drums in his rib cage as they came nearer. As the gap between them closed, he did not know whether the smell of sharp and bitter ozone overwhelmed him or the cold stares of the faeries. His breath turned short, and he felt a taste of anxiety as the lieutenant receded from his sight, leaving him alone to meet the faeries bearing down on him.
"You will all regret this, mark my words!" Deming raged, shaking the chains on his arms. His fingers dug into his palms like talons as he fought the overwhelming force pressing down on him. Tears barely held in; he remembered what his father had taught him: to not back down during difficult times but to fight through it.
"Listen closely, my son—never allow yourself to be trapped... You are our only hope against their millions of years of oppression. The faeries want to crush our pride and destroy our culture. If we lose our identity, everything our ancestors achieved will turn to dust. We will be nothing... They want to weaken us by making us less protective of our heritage, dividing Astara. If they succeed, faerie worship will occur here and doom us all... that even death is a mercy from the only God there is.
Even if they take away our lands and try to break our spirit, we must never turn the other cheek and abandon our ideology... We are Astarans; we never surrender to oppression or lose our dignity, even if death comes near.
One day, you must lead our people because only you can stand up to the faeries. When the time is right, I will reveal who you truly are. Until then, never forget our legacy, our culture, and who we are as a people... Always remember who you are, Feng Deming."
Deming's face brightened then, with hope. Frowning, his mouth a firm line, he exhaled through his nose with all his remaining breath. 'Now I see why he never wanted me to waste time and play like the other kids...' His mind flooded with memories of the most grueling training sessions. 'That deciphering technique... I haven't mastered it yet, but I will... Father, I promise I'll restore Astara's glory... and once I decipher these seals, I'll break free...' A serving of dread bundled up in his chest. 'But what if I fail after breaking out... and be trapped again... and never see my home again? What will they do to Astara... and my people?'
"Take this... monster... away," Muchen hissed.
Deming's chest tightened at the accusation. 'Monster,' the word twisted in his gut. 'Father knew something about me that he didn't tell. Maybe that's why he trained me all my life. Maybe I am... a monster.'
A burning desire coursed through his veins, planning his getaway as the seed of the foretold day took root in his heart.
~*~
Feng Deming had been locked up for thousands of years. Now, he appeared twenty years old by human standards. Although the prince was imprisoned deep underground in a dark dungeon, he shone like a beacon. The soft light highlighted his pointed nose and high cheekbones. His defined eyebrows, as sharp as daggers, arched over his closed eyes. Long, dark-brown hair flowed like a river of shadows down to his thighs, adding an aura of mystery to his appearance.
The dungeon reeked of mildew with the faintest metallic note of blood still staining the walls. The faint rustle echoed through the silence, interrupted only by the distant drip of water. Every drop echoed, as if grains of sand were trickling through an hourglass, measuring out the long years of torturous suffering he endured.
Every day, he focused solely on mastering the deciphering of the twenty seals holding those phantasmal chains. Now, with his eyes closed and twitching beneath his lashes, and the pressure of the chains digging into his skin, he concentrated so hard that his forehead lit up, all the while yearning for the liberty to walk free once more.
'How satisfying it would be to see no trace of their world, all by my own hands,' Deming entertained, an evil smirk curling his lips, tasting the thought like honey. 'Their mutilated bodies shall be my masterpiece, and their painful screams, well, the sweetest melody to my ears... And all of that is within my grasp now.'
Deming was pulled from his trance as heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and the sound grew nearer as they hurried toward the dungeon. In the stillness, the low voices of men spoke far away in indistinguishable tones of urgency.
Many self-proclaimed 'gods' got together, preventing Feng Deming from escaping, all of them completely aware of his great power. The faerie general, known as 'the god of war,' yelled all the way through the dungeon, his voice grating as if metal were shredding against stone. "Cease, demon!"
Deming refused to open his eyes, not when he was this close to breaking the seal. 'Now, they shall witness the true meaning of what they call... a monster,' he sneered, the curve of his grin widening as he continued to decode the seals.
The faerie general looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had long, shiny silver hair with a slight wave and a gold chain headpiece that dangled a jewel resting against his forehead, matching the deep blue of his doe eyes.
The voice of the general began to rise in volume and intensity. "I said, stop!" A crackling pulse of energy formed a beam of light in his hand, vibrating with power.
And still, Deming refused to budge, not a moment of his attentions diverted by the alerts.
When he opened those eyes of his—like molten metal, telling stories of untold suffering and a promise of revenge—his long and dark lashes cast shadows across his cheeks with every slow blink. His golden eyes swept over the trembling soldiers. Each little shudder, each hasty flinch, only pleased him, as if he fed on the horror in their eyes.
Frustration and dread tinged the general's voice as he faced his troops. "Attack!"
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Demon King's Love - Copyright © 2023 by Aurora Luxi. All Rights Reserved.