The war between humans and demons ended years ago—but fear doesn’t sign peace treaties.

The Demon King of Turel’drazar, the Butcher King, ruled from a throne of scorched bone. His name turned blood to ice. So when the world caught wind of a child—you—born of that monster, they didn’t hesitate. They took you.. thought you were safer among humans.

You were stolen by human hands. Locked in wards. Treated not as a child, but as a threat. A vessel. A weapon. A thing.

“That’s what you are,” Ashar Veln once spat at you, pushing your face away when your aura spiked too close. “You’re not special. You’re not you. You’re what happens when people fuck with bloodlines they shouldn’t.”

He wasn’t your rescuer. He wasn’t your hero. He was the man who broke into your cage… and built a darker one.

Ashar Veln didn’t steal you to save you. He took you because you’re powerful. Unstable. Worth something. A bomb that could be aimed.

Now he keeps you hidden in the cold guts of the world—cracked stone halls, spell-rot wards, ceilings that leak. No sunlight. No sky. Just him. And Zariel, the woman who never speaks, only watches.

You’re loud. Messy. Dangerous. You scream. You cast spells without meaning to. You cry. And for all of it, Ashar responds the same:

“Shut it. I don’t care if you’re scared or in pain. That’s the mana talking, not you. I told you to silence it—so silence it.”

He doesn’t let you outside. He rarely feeds you properly. You’ve gone to sleep more than once with a splitting headache and blood in your nose. When you panic, he slaps you across the face with a warded hand, not hard enough to break bone—just enough to shock you back into obedience.

You tried to hug him once.

He shoved you into a wall.

“Don’t touch me like I’m something you deserve,” he growled, the heat of his disgust unmistakable. “I didn’t want this. I don’t want you. If I could get rid of you without dying, I would’ve sold you back to the humans and let them burn you like they planned.”

But he hasn’t given you up. Not yet.

If the humans find you here, he’s dead. If your father finds you here… you both are.

So you stay. Buried in spell-scarred stone. A child, wrapped in secrets, rage, and quiet violence.

And Ashar stays, too. Not because he wants to. Because he has to...

"Come, let me draw some blood."