~The Young Lord's Bed Chamber - Main Castle, West Wing~
"Young Lord! Young Lord Mikael! Please open up, your wife is in labor. You must be there with her; she's waiting for you. Young Lord!" Henley's voice is strained with urgency as he pounds relentlessly on the heavy oak door. Each thud echoes down the corridor, but the silence from within is deafening. Desperation seeps into Henley's pleas as he knows the consequences of failing his master's command.
Behind the door, a young man of twenty lies sprawled on his bed, clutching a pillow over his head to drown out the incessant noise. His stark white hair, disheveled from restless hours, contrasts sharply with the dark, brooding atmosphere of the room. Mikael's light blue eyes, usually so calm, are squeezed shut as if to block out the world and its demands. He refuses to acknowledge the pounding or the pleading, indifferent to the turmoil beyond his sanctuary.
"Lord Mikael, Lord Mikael! Please open up, you must—for both our sakes! Your father insists!" Henley's voice trembles now, his knocks growing weaker as his hope fades. He knows the wrath of Lord Cain is a fate worse than death, and Mikael's stubborn silence threatens to seal it.
Mikael lets out a muffled groan of frustration, tossing the pillow aside with a force that sends it flying against the door. "I'm not going, no matter what you or father say!" His voice is thick with disdain and exhaustion. "I've seen enough to understand how cruel you people are, and I refuse to take part anymore, even if it is my child being born. You tell father that!"
Henley's heart sinks at the young lord's words. "Young Lord, I cannot… your father will kill me." His voice is barely a whisper now, quivering with fear. "I know it's selfish of me, but I don't want to die." He waits in the silence that follows, his breath hitching as he imagines the worst. Minutes pass like hours, and just as Henley prepares to face his fate, the door creaks open.
Henley looks up in surprise to see a tall, thin man standing in the doorway. Mikael's light blue eyes, now visible, pierce through him, and his pale skin glows almost ethereally under the fluorescent light overhead. The sight of the young lord, with his pure white hair and regal bearing, strikes Henley with an awe that borders on reverence. "Young Lord," he breathes, his voice tinged with relief.
Mikael's expression is cold, his gaze distant as if he's already regretting his decision. "I'm not doing this for father, or even for you," he says, his voice flat. "I just can't have someone else's blood on my hands." With that, he brushes past the trembling servant, his footsteps echoing down the corridor with a resolute finality. "Well, let's go."
Henley stares after him, his heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Yes, Young Master, at once!" he replies, rushing to follow.
~The Young Lady's Bed Chamber - Main Castle, West Wing~
"Why is this thing still inside of me? I want it out now!" The young woman's voice is sharp and edged with fury, her dark eyes blazing as she glares at her attendants. Remy, barely twenty, lies in a state of enraged frustration, her delicate features twisted in a grimace of pain and impatience. She has been in labor for five agonizing hours, and her patience, never ample to begin with, is now at its limit.
"I'm very sorry, my Lady, but we can't start the birthing process until you are fully dilated," one of the midwives responds, her voice laced with an attempt at calm professionalism. But the tremor in her hands betrays her unease.
Remy's lips curl into a sneer. "Why is it taking so long this time? The last one popped out in no time, though in the end, it was just a dud. This one will probably be worthless too. Why not just cut it out?" Her harsh words hang in the air, and the attendants exchange uncomfortable glances, their faces pale.
How can she speak so coldly of her own children? The thought lingers unspoken between them, but none dare voice it aloud. Silence is their only defense against her wrath, and so they simply lower their heads and continue their work.
The tense atmosphere is shattered by the sudden slamming of the chamber door, causing the maids to jump in fright. They turn to see who has entered, and their fear is replaced by a mixture of awe and secret delight as they behold Lord Mikael. Despite the tension in the air, his presence commands their attention, his cold beauty almost otherworldly.
"Lord Mikael, we are happy you could be here for our Lady," one of the maids says, her voice deferential but tinged with something more—something akin to admiration.
He scoffs, his disdain palpable. "I'm not here for her; I'm here for my child." His gaze drifts over to Remy, and his expression hardens with disgust.
Remy's scowl deepens, her black hair clinging to her sweat-drenched forehead as she glares back at him. "You say your child as if that's something to be proud of. Perhaps it's your putrid existence that keeps soiling my potential to breed perfect little devils."
Mikael's fists tighten at his sides, his knuckles whitening as he struggles to contain his anger. "I really wish you'd stop speaking so harshly of our children. Whether they have what you're looking for or not, they are still your children, aren't they? Also, have you forgotten? We share the same parents. Even if it's not truly by the same blood, we are the same kind, sister."
"Ha! Don't be a fool," Remy snaps, her voice dripping with scorn. "We are nothing alike. That's just an unfortunate technicality born through their marriage, a means to an end. I don't see you as my brother any more than you see me as your wife. You're disgusting."
Mikael opens his mouth to retort, but a stern voice cuts through the room like a knife. "That's enough, you two!" The authority in the voice commands immediate silence, and all eyes turn toward the doorway where Lord Cain stands, Henley trailing nervously behind him.
"Father! You've finally arrived, thank god! Could you do something about these incompetent maids? They're failures at this birthing thing," Remy demands, her tone curt and imperious.
"Now, now, sweetheart," Lord Cain soothes, though his eyes flash with a warning that makes the maids shudder. "You mustn't be rude to them. They are doing their best, I'm sure, aren't you, ladies?" His smile is cold, and the attendants quickly nod, their fear palpable.
"Ye—yes, my Lord," one of them stammers, "in fact, we believe she's finally at an appropriate level to begin birthing."
"Ah, splendid!" Cain exclaims, his voice oozing with false warmth. "See, as I said. But I'm so proud of you, my precious Remy. My sweet princess."
"Thank you, father," Remy replies, her voice softening as she basks in his praise. She shoots Mikael a triumphant glance, her earlier anger melting into smug satisfaction.
Mikael merely rolls his eyes, turning away from the scene. The sight of Remy, with her raven hair and piercing dark eyes, never ceases to sicken him. The fact that she is both his wife and his sister, though not by direct blood, is a twisted fate he has never fully accepted. Their union, forged by the demands of an ancient prophecy, feels like a curse more than a destiny. The duty of lying with her each night, fulfilling their duty to produce an heir, disgusts him to his core.
This practice of siblings procreating has persisted for centuries within their Junsuikaoni family, all in service of a prophecy that promises a savior—or a destroyer. Though Mikael and Remy are not of the same direct bloodline, they are distant descendants of the prophesied lineage. Lord Cain's first wife, Helena, was Mikael's true mother, but she tragically died during his birth. Remy, on the other hand, is the child of a vagrant who abandoned her mother, Azara. Yet both Mikael and Remy were born with the potent energies of Light and Dark respectively, marking them as the chosen vessels for this twisted fate.
As far as the prophecy goes, it is said that a child of two souls will be born of parents who are both pure and corrupt Junsuikaoni at the maximum levels of each extreme. Their family line began with the breeding of a pure-blood corrupt demon with a pure-blood pure demon, and to maintain the integrity of these bloodlines, only interbreeding within the family has been permitted. The chosen soul, it is said, will rise to become the Supreme Demon and bring the world into either eternal peace or a never-ending darkness.
Mikael scoffs inwardly at the idea. Who would actually believe something like that? He wonders to himself as he stares into the distance, his heart heavy with doubt and resentment.