The castle stood in an eerie perfection, the halls stretched high, their ceilings lost in shadow. Tapestries lined with figures Aamon could not recognize. The decor was opulent yet unsettling,

  one in particular seized Aamon’s attention, a towering portrait of a cat… its elongated limbs stretched far beyond any natural proportion. Its eyes gleamed with an unsettling awareness that followed him as they passed. The artist had either adored cats or feared them.

  The throne room was vast, its pillars scarred by centuries of existence. Between them, there was the throne. A monstrosity of demon skulls, their hollow sockets staring at Ciel and Aamon, their horns turned into dulled spikes forming a crown. At its center, seated atop a plate of steel, was a girl.

  She couldn’t have been more than sixteen in appearance, her porcelain face framed by dark braids, her lips stained the color of blood. Her dress was a masterpiece of dark Lolita success. layers of black and midnight blue silk, lace gloves, a fan clutched in small fingers. But there was nothing innocent in her gaze. When her eyes locked onto Aamon, she snapped her fan shut with a sound like a guillotine’s drop.

  “You!” The word was sharp, her voice too old for the youthful face it came from. The throne room seemed to surround them, guards blocked the doors behind them. All ready to draw

  “Dysriel what is this creature you brought me?! This thing can level us all… kill it!” Before anyone could turn, the queen points out her fan and casts a spell “Igne suffocationis morieris” before Aamon can react, a noose of fire and rope falls out above him. It wraps around his neck like a living serpent.

  Aamon’s world quickly became a blur, his wings thrashed in desperate need to get air. The flailing of his wings was enough to send Ciel crashing to the ground. His face twists in terror causing his veins to strain against his head. “Stouguhh, THOIGHTN!” His clawed hands flew to his throat. He didn’t mean to cut so deep, but his strength was uncontrolled. Every slash to free himself, made more blood leaked out, searing the stone below.

  “Let go… friend not mean. Talk is what he does” Ciel tries to help in her still weak body, but Aamon’s feet are kicking wildly in the air. “Aamon calm Ciel help.” She wraps her arms around his legs, her boots skidding against the blood pooling on the stones. Her boots didn’t burn as she pushed upwards, trying to lift him, to ease the suffocating pressure.

  Why is Ciel doing this? The thought flickered in Ciel's head, useless. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t watch another person die… not like this, not the first person to show her kindness.

  Above her, Aamon’s gasp cut through the chaos. His eyes were wide and glassy, locked onto hers. Aamon couldn’t believe she’d try to save him. Ciel’s muscles burned, but she wouldn’t let go.

  To everyone else the throne room was silent, no crowds, no grand spectacle, Only the empty stares of the people around. The queen’s three princes stood in a half circle, while Dysriel the third chosen prince's fingers tapped against his sword hilt, counting the seconds.

  Aamon’s thrashing grew more controlled, his boots scraping against Ciel’s shoulders as he fought for leverage. For a second Aamon’s heel dug into her collarbone before he kicked off her. The force sent her staggering back, but it was enough for him. His hand shot up, fingers clamping around the knotted magic of the noose. He pulled the queen's noose with a force so strong he did not just loosen it, he tore it apart.

  The spell ruptured outward in a burst of red light. Aamon hit the ground hard, gasping for air, the weight of execution still kept his throat compressed. Aamon was alive and the Queen’s magic had been broken, yet she seemed unsurprised.

  “it seems you just ripped it like a savage.” The queen says with her dark, soothing voice. “Talk demon, this is your only chance…. Who are you?” She puts her fan to her chest, and closes one of her blue eyes. She knows now after throwing her spell, she can't defeat this demon, so why not use him? She thought.

  “My Queen! He's a demon, filth that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe in your presence.” Prince Dysriel says obediently to the queen. “Just give me the word and I'll cleanse him from this hall.” He positions himself between where Aamon is and his queen.

  “Quiet! Dysriel.” The queen’s voice shoots out as Aamon finally pushes himself up off the ground . “So demon, tell me what brings a man like you here to my kingdom?”

  “Well… I’m Aamon.” Aamon’s voice was hoarse from the noose. “I just got out of my cell and wanted to find a friend, and maybe see a dragon but everyone keeps hurting me.” He stands up straight, his blood seems to evaporate as he heals from the self inflicted scratches. “This is the fourth time already, and one was a kitty.” With a flick of his wrist he adjusts the crooked dragon pendant still clinging to his shoulder.

  “Cell you say, dearie?” The queen puts her fan down on the armrest of polished horns. “I know you weren’t in my dungeon, I'm a lady of class and I don't keep pests like you Aamon.”

  “Oh, I wasn't in your cell, I was in hell with my mother. I got out the night before, since then people keep attacking me. It really hurts.” Aamon announces looking at Ciel still fallen on the floor. She has herself propped up on her elbows waiting for permission to move.

  “A cell, with your mother. How… curious.” The queen’s voice was soft, a considerate tone that belied her racing thoughts. “I’m Luna Varnmoor and I have questions like, why are you here Aamon? Why is a naive demon breathing in my vicinity?”

  Aamon stands putting his hand on his dragon pendant. “My full name is Aamonith but it’s too long so my mother said I should let people just call me Aamon. I feel like it's a splendid name for a knight, right?”

  “HA! A knight?” She said bluntly, making Aamon’s tail go limp till Ciel grabs his sleeve. “You can’t be a knight, Aamon nobody would let a demon save them. Go beg the Queen of Elarion if you want charity, collects strays~”

  “Friend, Ciel thinks the queen is not being nice to you. She thinks you shouldn't say more.” Ciel whispers to Aamon as she finally decides for herself to walk to his shadow. Her movements are slow and worrisome.

  “Quiet girl, don't you see im speaking to him.” Queen Luna's hand clenches at ciel’s interruption. “Now dearie, tell me what’s your mothers name? and where is she?”

  Aamon’s tail began to wag in an almost doglike motion. The tension in the throne room was thick with hate, but Aamon didn’t seem to notice. His smile widened and his eyes were bright with joy. Someone had asked about his mother. No one ever asked about his mother.

  “My mother is right here!” He announced proudly, splaying his fingers like a child. “With me always as she said she would!”

  Queen Luna rose from her throne in a single motion. Her eternally youthful face usually a mask of perfect composure twitched. “Who the hell was your mother? That power it almost reminds me of-” Queen Luna demanded, her voice sharp. Aamon just tilted his head, tail still wagging as he wiggled his fingers playfully.

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  “Oh, like I said, they are my mother! Or, well, what’s left of her.” He looked down to his fingers once more as he spoke. He felt like crying, but he didn't want to spoil the already thick tension of the room. “Most didn’t survive the dig.” He lets out a small cough, straightening up. “She did once tell me her name was Abyss.”

  Silence.

  The silence of a tomb. Even the distant birds outside seemed to freeze midsong. The knights, the princes, and even Ciel. All of them went still. Ciel, who had been hovering protectively at his side, took a step back making her boots scrape against the floor. Prince Dysriel was the first to break. His sword hissed from its sheath with infused mana, the sound giving a faint purple color.

  “Ab… Abb… You dare speak that name here, demon?” He jumps closer to aamon, ready to strike down the blasphemy. “That’s not allowed, nobody says her name! You will be beheaded for this!”

  Before the blade could fully meet its mark, Queen Luna's voice cut through the room “Stand. Down.” Dysriel froze as Queen Luna’s eyes never left Aamon’s face. “He isn’t lying.” She whispers to herself. “Aamon speaks the truth… and I fear he doesn’t even know what his mother has done. He thinks she’s a sweet woman.”

  The first prince, Verius, rose from his knees beside the throne. Of the three, he was forged from the coldest iron. He is least forgiving and the most brutal in his convictions. His voice cut through the throne room's hush, sharp and unwavering. “Mother dearest, ignorance is not an excuse.” He points at the floor below Aamon. “Look at him… the Abyss itself clings to his fingers like a curse.” he spits his words at the lady clasped on his fingers. “It is savage. Profane. That he dares speak her name with fondness is a blasphemy that cannot stand.”

  No sooner had he spoken than the second prince, Dean stepped to his brother's side. Where Verius was a blade… Dean was a shield, the most fiercely loyal.

  “Brother, your case is strong but your judgment is swift. Reflect… if only for a moment.” he turns an eye to queen luna, then back to his brother. “We know precious little of our Lady's past. She keeps her own history locked away. Who are we to decide what is sacred to her?”

  All eyes then turned to the third prince, Dysriel, who had remained apart from his brothers. His loyalty was placed not in his own opinion, but solely in the will of his queen. “We are not here to speak for our Queen, but to serve her. We are her chosen children. Our agreement is irrelevant; our knowledge is incomplete.” Dysriel sighs, falling to his queen’s side. “My Queen, your wish is our law. If you desire this demon dead, I will sever his head myself. If you wish him spared, I will escort him beyond our borders. You need only command it.”

  Queen Luna let out a quick laugh at the discussion amongst them “My boys quiet down already. We couldn’t kill him even if we wanted to. I threw one of my strongest spells at him.” The Queen finally comes to terms with the unshakable truth… survival stands above all. “He just doesn't seem to acknowledge that fact, even if it’s said out loud.”

  With a sharp click of her heel she commands the room’s attention. “Aamon, dear child.” She moves the lace of her wrist cuffs from her palm. “your mother was a vile creature. Ask the elf, her people knew the depths of your mother’s cruelty.” She gives ciel a look of approval. “They called themselves the Abyssal Elves, they followed her like hounds to slaughter.”

  Aamon’s tail goes still. “No... My mother was kind.” His gaze drifts toward the silent elf. She gives him a single nod, confirming the Queen’s words. “She… she told me stories every night. She... she loved me.”

  Queen Luna’s lips lift into a merciless smile. “Your mother owned this world. She didn’t rule it.. no… she crushed it beneath her heel.” she looks to the back of her throne, at the map on the wall. “Entire kingdoms turned to ash because a peasant dared cough in her presence. She burned cities for sport~ Aamon.”

  Aamon’s hands start to tremble from her words. The memories flood him, his mother’s soft voice, her gentle hands braiding her own hair into his suit, the warmth of her embrace. “No... no, she wouldn’t…” Aamon whispered to himself

  “Oh, but she did.” Queen Luna steps closer to him. “Lady Abyss, they called her. A Butcher of Death itself. She slaughtered children, Aamon. Just like you… and she laughed while doing it.”

  Aamon’s vision blurs, he can’t accept this. Liar! Liar! His mind screams, but the elf’s eyes tell him otherwise. Ciel puts her hand around his clawed ones in attempt to calm.

  Yet he still cries out. “Then why... Why was she so good to me?!”

  “Because even monsters can love their children.” Queen Luna drops to a knee before him.

  Ciel pulls Aamon’s hand to her slender chest “friend… Ciel will stay. Won’t leave.” The words are simple, but to a boy who has spent an eternity in silence, it was a rope to a future. His right hand twitched, unsure whether to reach out or curl into fists.

  “I see now… my mother wasn’t good.” Aamon forces a smile. “But I’m not mean. I just want to be a knight. To help people.” The words sound fake, even to him. Help people? How? With hands stained by a legacy he never chose?

  “Oh, sweetie. You want to help?” The queen lets out a pitiful laugh. “Then here’s my deal: Kill the succubus rotting in the wastes west of here, and I’ll make you a knight.”

  The queen turns to Ciel. “Refuse… and every kingdom will know you as the Butcher’s heir. They’ll hunt you…. They’ll burn every village you will ever sleep in. And your dear little friend here?” The queen’s voice drops. “Well. She’s not as durable as you, is she?”

  “My queen, are you mistaken?” Prince Dysriel yells out, stepping into Queen Luna’s side. “He’s a demon… no matter his achievements he should never be a knight. He can’t ever be on-”

  “Silence brother!” Dean, the third prince, places a hand on his brother’s chest. “If our lady says he can become a knight then he can. Her word is final, if you continue speaking against her I will silence you myself.”

  Suddenly Queen Luna invades Aamon’s space even more. Her young face is inches from his, going back to that manipulative innocence, her voice drops low and soft with a high pitched end.

  “My mother told me it was beautiful.” Aamon looks her in the eyes, desperately trying to keep strong. “She said knights were noble. That they saved people. She said dragons were just... lost. That elves healed the wounded. That dwarves crafted legends. She said druids spoke for the trees, that they kept the whole world from burning.”

  “Your mother fed you pretty lies.” Queen Luna runs a finger along his left horn, feeling the smoothness of the obsidian. “This isn't one of her stories. Knights are attack dogs for whoever feeds them. Druids slaughter any soul who steps into their woods. Dwarves would sell their own mothers for a vein of mithril. And the elves? Most kneel to the Abyss now. Open their throats in sacrifice.” She bends over to catch Aamon’s fleeing eyes. “Wake up. The only thing waiting for a soft-hearted demon like you is a axe to the skull.”

  “You think I'm a fool.” Aamon's voice emerged, as his massive wings gave a slight nervous flutter.

  “I think you're a child.” She moves her hand to pat his head. “A sweet, doomed little thing, but not a useless one. That innocence, that belief... I think you could get close to her. Someone like you could end someone like her. You could tear down her wicked kingdom. Build something-”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “-something purer in its… wait, what?” Aamon pushed himself up, cutting her off.

  “I said I’ll do it. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill a thousand bad people if I have to. I will be like Sir Aldric. I will defeat Sloth. You’ll see. I’ll be a real hero.” Aamon announces with his claws digging into his palms.

  Without another word he walked off, the edge of his wings flaring behind him like a cape. Determination burned in his ruby eyes, he will kill the succubus. He would prove himself.

  Ciel darted after him, her shadow merging with his. Ciel didn’t speak because she didn’t need to. The only thing that could remove her is death. She is his first friend, his only light.

  The great doors of the throne room shut, sealing away the presence of the demon and his maid.

  The moment the lock clicked the confident posture of Queen Luna shattered. Her knees went weak, dropping her onto the cold marble. The First Prince Verius was at her side in an instant, his plate armor scraping against the floor as he dropped to one knee. He grabbed her hand for support, his face, usually fixed in an arrogant command, went pale with a fear none of his scars could match. “Mother! What sorcery is this? Was it that creature?” Prince Verius draws his sword with his non-dominant hand. “A moment, and I will bring you his head… a fitting trophy for your halls!” His sword rang through the throne room as he ripped it from its scabbard.

  “Stop.” Queen Luna's voice stopped him. It was not a shout this time, but a whisper. He froze by a power far older than his own. All eyes turned to the queen. She raised her head. “You would not reach his neck, Verius…. And if you did, you would not return.” Her voice light as she trembled. She slowly pushed herself to her feet. “Your steel is but a child’s toy to him. We could not kill him because he is not merely a demon. He is her son. Lady Abyss, and she is the reason I draw breath in this world at all.” She looked at her brave, but still mortal sons and they finally understood just how vast the gap was between them.

  Prince Dysriel was the next to speak, stepping forward with grace, that belied the curiosity in his eyes. He alone did not seem afraid, only fascinated. “My Queen, We have served you as sons, yet we know nothing of our Queen. You have always been a mystery wrapped in a crown. If the Abyss is your origin… What does that make you? And what does it make him to you?”

  Queen Luna’s gaze settled on him. “My past is a cinder I have no wish to rekindle. Some doors, once closed, should remain barred.” She drew herself up to her full height, the momentary vulnerability sealed away.

  She looked directly at Dysriel. “Watch him, Dysriel.” She turned her back on them and dropped on her throne. “Learn his habits, his whims, his weaknesses. We are fortunate that his interest seems, passing. For now.” She lifts her fan from the arms rest, opening it to cover her mouth. “Our goal remains unchanged. We let him find the Succubus of sloth and end her. Or die trying.”

  She stared at the empty space where the demon had stood. Her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the ghosts to hear. “And we pray that her son does not decide to finish what she started…”