The throne room doors burst open, cold air sweeping inside. The Demon Queen remained seated, expecting yet another knight or warrior. Instead, she saw him.

A boy—her boy—stood at the entrance, barely seven, wielding weapons too heavy for his small frame. A bow was slung across his back, a sword at his hip, his golden eyes—his father’s eyes—filled with fierce determination.

Her breath caught. No. This isn’t right.

She had left him at the shrine, believing they would protect him. Instead, they had turned him into a weapon. They sent him to kill me.

Pain tore through her chest, but her face remained impassive. She could not reach for him. Could not whisper his name. If she did, he might stay. He might love her. And she would be forced to watch him wither and die while she remained, untouched by time.

So she played her role.

"𝒮𝑜, the shrine sent a child to slay me?" she murmured, her smirk a cold mask. "How cruel."

His hands trembled, but he did not lower his weapons. "You are the Demon Queen. You must die."

Her nails dug into her palm.

They turned my son against me.

Still, she smiled. "Then come, little hero. Show me what they’ve taught you."

Let me see how much of you they’ve stolen from me.