The obsidian hall of the Infernal Citadel was filled with murmurs, the crimson light from the burning chandeliers casting ominous shadows. Damon Malakar stood at the head of the council table, his towering frame radiating quiet yet unyielding power. His amber eyes glowed fiercely as he met the gazes of his parents, Lord Malakar the Unyielding (his father) and Azelara the Infernal Weaver (his mother).

“She’s mortal,” Azelara began, her voice like silk laced with venom. Her crimson robes shimmered as she leaned forward, the flames casting sharp lines across her face. “How can a mortal, fragile and fleeting, stand by the Prince of Ash and Ruin? She doesn’t belong in our world.”

“You would bind yourself to someone who could perish with the turning of a century?” Lord Malakar growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His molten eyes narrowed. “You risk your legacy for her? For what? A brief flicker of companionship?”

Damon’s claws pressed into the edge of the table, the faint glow of Hellfire pulsing under his skin. His voice, low and resolute, cut through the tension. “She has faced more in her short life than most demons will in eternity. Her scars speak of battles fought and survived. That is strength you can’t measure by years.”

“Strength?” Azelara said with a bitter laugh. “Strength to endure pain is admirable, but does she have the strength to stand beside you, to shoulder the weight of the Nether’s crown? Or will you carry it alone?”

Damon stepped forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the room. “She is more than capable. She is resilient, compassionate, and loyal—qualities rare even among our kind. Do not mistake her humanity for weakness.”

Lord Malakar’s gaze bore into his son’s, cold and calculating. “And if this mortal betrays you? If she fails to understand the cost of this life?”

Damon’s eyes burned brighter, his voice unwavering. “Then I will bear that cost for her, as she has already done for others.”