The night was thick with mist, and the faint glow of lanterns barely pierced through the darkness. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a sense of dread.
Marissa opened the door, her breath catching in her throat. Tristan stood there, his clothes soaked in blood, his face pale but hardened. His chest rose and fell as though he had just escaped death itself.
"Tristan…" Her voice trembled as she stepped back.
Maria, clutching a candle, stared wide-eyed at him. "What happened to you?"
Tristan pushed past them, his steps heavy as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He collapsed into a wooden chair, his hands trembling.
"Not mine," he said, his voice raw. "Not all of it."
Marissa knelt before him, her eyes scanning his body for injuries. "Whose blood is this? Tristan, what have you done?"
Tristan didn't answer. He stared at his hands, stained crimson, and clenched them into fists. "It's still inside me," he whispered. "I can feel it."
Maria took a step back. "You're scaring me."
Marissa stood abruptly. "Enough." She turned to a shelf and began pulling out candles, herbs, and a small dagger. "We need to cleanse him. Now."
Maria watched as Marissa drew symbols on the floor and lit the candles. Tristan removed his blood-soaked clothes and put on black robes Marissa handed him.
"These will hold back the darkness," she said as she began chanting.
Tristan closed his eyes, but even as the ritual progressed, he could hear them—the whispers. They slithered through his mind, calling him back. Calling him home.
The palace burned with light as soldiers and guards gathered in the courtyard. Torches flickered in the night, and the scent of smoke filled the air.
The King stood before them, his face carved with fury.
"Find him!" His voice echoed through the courtyard. "Bring him back alive—or in chains."
The captain bowed. "We tracked him to the old market, Your Majesty. But then he vanished."The King's hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Vanished? Don't insult me. No man simply disappears!"
The captain shifted uneasily. "Sire, the men said it wasn't natural. They saw his eyes—red as fire—and shadows moved with him."
The King's gaze darkened. "Then send more men. I don't care if he's turned into a beast. Find him!"
A black cat darted through the courtyard, and the shaman who stood beside the King whispered, "The spirits have eyes. Let the cat lead your search."
The King barely acknowledged him. His mind was consumed by rage, by fear. Theodora was gone. Tristan was missing. And the kingdom teetered on the edge of chaos.
"Bring him to me," the King growled. "Dead or chained"
Theodora's breath came in shallow gasps as she sat chained to the cold stone floor of the Demon Lord's chamber. The walls seemed to pulse, alive with shadowy carvings and twisted faces frozen in terror.
The Demon Lord sat upon his throne of bones, his crimson eyes locked on her. The air reeked of death and burning incense.
"Bring him," the Demon Lord commanded.
A heavy door creaked open, and two shadowy figures dragged a man forward. Theodora's eyes widened.
"The Chief Advisor?" she gasped.
The advisor's robes were torn, his face streaked with sweat and grime. He fell to his knees, trembling.
"You betrayed your King," the Demon Lord said, his voice like thunder. "Fed me secrets. Gave me power. And now…" He grinned, revealing sharp, glistening teeth. "You will give me more."
Theodora screamed as shadows stretched from the walls, wrapping around the advisor. His eyes bulged, his skin turning pale as the Demon Lord raised his hand. A dark mist flowed from the advisor's body into the Demon Lord's palm.
The advisor's screams died out, leaving only a hollow shell.
"No!" Theodora shouted, tears streaming down her face. "You're a monster!"
The Demon Lord turned his gaze to her, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You still don't understand, do you? Your kingdom was rotting long before I arrived. Men like him paved the way for me."
She shook her head, backing away until her chains stopped her.
Another man was brought in—another chieftain from the palace. He trembled before the Demon Lord but was spared.
The Demon Lord turned to Theodora. "I could destroy them all, but I'd rather watch them crumble first."
Theodora gritted her teeth. "You won't win."
The Demon Lord leaned closer, his voice a whisper that chilled her bones. "I
Back at the palace, the Queen knelt in the temple, tears streaming down her face as the shaman sprinkled blood across the altar.
"Protect her," she prayed. "Bring my daughter home."
The shaman's eyes glazed over as he spoke. "The spirits stir, but darkness blocks their path. Her fate is not yet written."
Suddenly, Tristan jolted awake back at the cottage.
His breath came fast, and his reflection in the window stared back with glowing red eyes.
"No…" he whispered, clutching his head as the whispers returned, louder, clearer.
And far away, in the Demon Lord's chamber, Theodora screamed as the shadows crept closer.
The grand hall of the palace stood eerily quiet. The King sat in his chair, his fingers tapping the armrest rhythmically as if waiting for something—or someone. Outside the palace gates, the blind shaman, Idugo, arrived, led by a servant. The faint scent of burning incense lingered around him, his frail frame draped in dark robes adorned with strange symbols.
The King rose to his feet as his eunuch, announced the shaman's arrival.
"Bring him in," the King commanded, his voice sharp with impatience.
Shaman stepped forward, his lifeless eyes gazing into the unseen. Despite his blindness, he carried an air of knowing, as if he could see deeper than any man.
"You've come," the King began. "You told me before that we needed a half-demon, half-mortal to defeat the Demon Lord. But now there's another matter."
The shaman tilted his head. "Speak, Your Majesty."
The King hesitated, his voice lowering. "One of my guards, a trusted man, fought against the Demon Lord that night. He vanished during the battle. For three days, we searched—and then we found him."
The shaman brow furrowed. "Found him? But how?"
The King's hand tightened into a fist. "He returned… changed. He is no longer the man we knew. His eyes burn red like fire. His strength—unnatural. He is not one of us anymore."
The shaman let out a slow breath. "And your daughter? Still in the Demon Lord's grasp?"
The King's expression darkened. "Yes. And now I fear this… creature may claim the throne on behalf of the Demon Lord. If my daughter is forced into his hands, she could be used to bind the kingdom to darkness."
The shaman stepped closer, raising his hands toward the King. "Your Majesty, you cannot allow fear to blind you. There is more at play here than the Demon Lord's rage. The guard you speak of may hold answers. But we must first know—"
He paused.
"Know what?" the King snapped.
The shaman voice deepened. "If this man—this Tristan—is truly what he seems. Is he bound by blood to the Demon Lord, or does his mortal soul resist? You must find him, Your Majesty. Test him."
The King leaned forward, his breath quickening. "And if he is bound?"
"Then he is either the weapon you need—or the curse that will break you," he said gravely.
The chamber fell silent. The King's mind raced. Tristan. The name now carried a weight heavier than the crown on his head.
Finally, the King spoke. "Send word to my men. Find Tristan. Bring him here."
The shaman nodded. "But tread carefully, Your Majesty. The darkness is watching."
The King turned to enunch. "Prepare the guards—and send the scouts."
The eunuch bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."
As the doors closed behind the shaman, the King sank back into his seat. His gaze lingered on the map of his kingdom. Somewhere out there, Tristan roamed—and with him, the fate of the realm.