In truth, there was no we. A demon as ancient and malevolent as Ol’gaz required no partners, no allies. He operated alone, as he always had.
He had clawed his way out of confinent, shredding his essence to tatters to free himself. His escape had been brutal, desperate, and absolute.
One foolish vampire—a female too consud by her own desires—had unwittingly summoned him.
It was a weak-willed creature—a foolish female vampire—who had dood herself. Her desires had burned brightly enough to summon him. She didn’t realize her longing had beco a beacon, piercing the void where he had been bound.
That was all Ol’gaz needed. One mont. One slip.
That mont had been everything Ol’gaz had waited for. Finally, after eons of imprisonnt, he could rise again.
The first thing he tasted was her soul. Oh, how sweet it had been—rich with yearning, dripping with hunger. Desire made for a delectable feast, and the deeper it ran, the more satisfying the taste.
Yet, even with this fresh burst of strength, Ol’gaz was far too weak to act independently. His host had beco his cage.
She was useful for only one thing—what she had just given birth to. His child. A hybrid born of vampire blood and demonic power. That child would beco his weapon, his vessel.
But not yet. Timing mattered. He needed the boy to mature, to grow strong enough to wield the power that would shake the world. A baby, after all, inspires nothing but pity.
So he waited. And waited.
And waited.
The years stretched endlessly, each one a tornt. Ol’gaz soon realized sothing was terribly wrong.
He was trapped again. An invisible force—no, a barrier—wrapped around him, silencing him, caging him inside his host. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t influence. He couldn’t even be heard.
He fought against that unseen prison, clawing at its walls with every ounce of power he could muster. It was futile. The barrier was unyielding, and his strength dwindled.
Exhausted, he withdrew into a deathlike slumber, a slumber filled with hatred and the promise of revenge. Soday, he vowed, he would rise again.
And then, one day, the barrier lifted.
It was sudden, without warning or explanation, but Ol’gaz didn’t waste a second pondering why. He struck.
No longer a silent passenger, he began to plant thoughts in the mind of the boy—Florian. His son. His creation.
Florian was a creature born of forbidden magic, a hybrid infused with the latent power of a demon. Ol’gaz knew the boy had the potential to dominate the world.
But Ol’gaz had no intention of sharing the throne.
The boy’s body was a vessel, nothing more. A tool to reclaim the supremacy that Ol’gaz had been denied for so long. As for Florian’s soul? That was a trivial matter. Whether it was consud, obliterated, or discarded, Ol’gaz couldn’t care less. Souls were fuel, nothing more.
And as Ol’gaz’s influence grew deeper in Florian’s mind, the demon smiled. Soon, the world would tremble before him.
The world would soon rember his na. And this ti, there would be no chains strong enough to bind him.
***
The human witch studied the broken talisman in her hand with a furrowed brow. It was a necklace, split cleanly in two, the jagged edges of the tal glinting under the dim light.
When she introduced Florian as Amara’s illegitimate child, Lady Maris considered keeping the talisman around his neck. It could’ve been explained as Amara’s last gift to him, an heirloom to ensure he wouldn’t dare remove it.
But there was always the risk that soone might notice the dark magic tied to it. Lady Maris’s gaze shifted to the dark symbol etched into the pendant. Her lips tightened.
Not wanting to take that risk, Lady Maris had hidden the talisman deep in her chamber—the very place where the late queen had perford the ritual. It had seed safer there, away from prying eyes.
"This is... bad," the witch muttered, her voice low and grave. Her gaze remained locked on the fractured talisman, as though expecting it to reveal its secrets if she stared long enough. She rotated it in her hands, murmuring softly to herself.
"I don’t know what happened to it," Lady Maris said hurriedly, clasping her hands tightly. "When I felt the spell between myself and Emmanuelle break, I checked the talisman imdiately. It was already like this." Her voice wavered, teetering on the edge of panic.
The witch smacked her lips thoughtfully, as though tasting the air. "Hmm. Well, it’s not your fault," she said at last, her tone calm but distant.
She set the broken talisman down with careful precision before turning to survey the room. Margrave Boris stood stiffly in the corner, arms crossed and jaw set, clearly feeling uneasy in the cramped space. Everyone else sat rigidly, silent under the weight of the witch’s scrutiny.
Finally, the witch’s gaze returned to Lady Maris, the woman who seed most dependent on her expertise—and who, judging by her expression, carried the most guilt.
"This talisman..." the witch said, her voice quiet yet firm. "It was binding the demon to this world. In a way, it allowed the demon to remain tethered inside your child’s body—"
"He’s not my child," Lady Maris interjected sharply.
The witch’s eyes narrowed, displeased. The silence that followed felt suffocating. Lady Maris coughed lightly, her face flushing as she anded, "Never mind."
"Does that an the demon is no longer bound to this world?" Margrave Boris asked with impatience. He leaned forward, his expression set with the certainty of soone who had already reached the conclusion he wanted.
The witch’s glare was cold. "You nobles," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Always so quick to speak, so eager to assu. Vampires or humans, it makes no difference—you’re all the sa. You think wealth and status place you above the rest, that they grant you wisdom. But if you’re so clever, Margrave, and can deduce everything yourself, then why waste my ti? Surely, you don’t need my services."
She shifted as if to rise, clearly prepared to leave, when King Valentin’s voice cut through the tension.
"We need you." His tone was low but firm, laced with desperation. "We’re out of options."
The witch paused mid-motion, her gaze flickering toward the king. For a long mont, she studied him, then shifted her piercing eyes to Lady Maris and Margrave Boris, as though weighing whether the effort would be worth her ti—or if their pleas were nothing more than hollow noise.
Finally, with a asured sigh, she sank back into her seat.
"It’s true," she said, her voice carrying an unsettling calm. "The demon is no longer bound to this world. But..."
She let the word hang in the air, drawing out the silence until the tension was unbearable. "At the sa ti, that talisman served as its shackle. Its bond to this world was both its lifeline and its prison."
Margrave Boris froze, his throat tightening as the implications of her words sank in. "That ans..." He hesitated, his voice faltering, as if he didn’t want to hear himself say it aloud. "That ans it’s free?"
He didn’t believe the words, not truly. He prayed they weren’t true. But the witch had no rcy to offer him.
"Yes," she said, her tone as final as the toll of a funeral bell.
The color drained from the margrave’s face, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
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