Vaelthor/Vincent~
Eighteen years. That's how long it's been since the Lycan royals carved my mother out of this world and locked my father in chains so deep, his name is nothing more than a whisper in the dark.
Eighteen years since the throne of the Demon Realm shattered, splintering into chaos, while our own blood—those we once called kin—circled my sister and me like starving jackals, eager to tear us apart the moment we stumbled.
My mother, Kalmia—the Demon Queen—was not the kind of mother sung about in soft mortal lullabies. She never held us when we cried, never whispered comfort in the dark. Her love was harder, sharper. It was the meals she threw down on the table when we were too weak to hunt for ourselves. It was the brutal training sessions that left Sylthara and me bloodied, gasping, sprawled in the dirt—but alive. In the Demon Realm, that was love. Survival was the only affection that mattered.
