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The Fire Flower's Shadow
🌙The BlueMoon Kingdom
​The air in the BlueMoon Kingdom—a realm cradled by ancient, shadow-veiled mountains—was thick with an electric joy, a palpable wave of relieved and exuberant celebration. For a Demon King and his Queen, the arrival of an heir was an event that shook the very foundation of their magical sovereignty.
​Inside the birthing chambers, where the scent of potent herbs and spent magic still lingered, the world narrowed down to a single, precious moment.
​A small, weary maid, her hands trembling not from fear but from awe, approached the throne where Dylan, the mighty Demon King, waited. His usually sharp, crimson eyes—eyes that could command legions—were clouded with an agonizing anxiety that only a father could know.
​The maid presented the swaddled bundle.
​Dylan reached out, his large, powerful hands accepting the infant with a breathtaking, unexpected tenderness. He looked down, and the world seemed to stop. His ferocious demeanor dissolved, replaced by a deep, boundless love that was an entity all its own. He traced the soft curve of the baby's cheek with a single, reverent finger.
​"It's a baby boy, Your Majesty," the maid whispered, her voice husky with emotion. "The new prince."
​A wave of radiant happiness washed over Dylan's chiseled face. He saw his own dark hair and piercing gaze reflected in the perfect miniature of the child. But his elation was instantly tethered by his deepest concern.
​"My Irin," he asked, his voice low and laced with concern. "How is my beloved Irin?"
​"She is well, King Dylan," the maid assured him. "Resting now. You may see her in a few minutes."
​Dylan nodded, his gaze glued to his son. The future of the kingdom felt secure, precious, and fiercely protected in his arms.
​Far away, perched upon the tallest, most desolate peak that overlooked the joyous, twinkling lights of the kingdom, an ancient shadow stirred.
​Zerath, a demon whose wisdom was etched onto his very soul and whose age surpassed the mountains he stood on, watched the distant celebration. His face, usually a mask of stoic power, was contorted with a deep, agonizing pain. He held a second, impossibly small bundle in his arms.
​He was the King's most trusted advisor, a silent pillar of the kingdom, but in this moment, he was a thief and a tormented soul.
​He leaned down, whispering to the child, his voice catching in his throat like broken glass. "This is the last day you will be here, little one."
​A single, hot tear—a century of pain distilled—escaped his eye and traced a scorching path down his cheek. He gently touched the baby's face, and as he did, he saw it: a tiny, faint fire flower mark glowing, then dimming, on her shoulder.
​His ancient heart plummeted with a primal, suffocating fear. No…
​The prophecy was real.
​Hours later, the sun had fully set, painting the chamber windows in deep sapphire and velvet black.
​Irin, the Queen, lay weak but content, a fragile smile playing on her lips as she held her son. Dylan was at her side, his hand resting reassuringly on the bed, his happiness an unwavering shield around her.
​The first maid, the one who assisted with the delivery, approached the bed.
​A sudden, sharp instinct—a maternal certainty deeper than reason—pierced Irin's post-delivery haze. Her smile faltered, replaced by a troubled frown.
​"Dylan," she whispered, her voice weak. "Where… where is my other baby?"
​Dylan's expression froze, the shock palpable. "Irin, my love, you have our son, our first-born. There is only one."
​"No," Irin insisted, her eyes searching his face, then darting to the maid. "When I was carrying them, I felt two. I know there were two."
​The air in the room thickened, stretching taut.
​It was at that moment that Zerath appeared in the doorway. His presence, as always, was cold and commanding, masking the maelstrom beneath his skin. He smiled gently as he approached the bed and, with the practiced ease of an old friend, lifted the swaddled prince.
​"What troubles our Queen?" Zerath asked, his eyes sweeping over Irin and Dylan, gauging the situation.
​"Zerath," Irin pleaded, her voice edged with desperation. "Do I truly have only one baby?"
​Zerath's smile didn't waver, but his eyes were hard and unreadable. He deftly changed the subject. "Of course, my Queen. And look at him! He has Dylan's strong jawline and eyes, and your delicate, perfect nose."
​The shift in focus, the mention of her husband and her own features, brought a soft, undeniable smile back to Irin and Dylan's faces.
​But Irin's maternal instinct was a persistent ache. "Where is that first maid?" she asked, looking at the second maid near her bed. "The one who was here during the delivery?"
​"I… I don't know, Your Majesty," the maid stammered.
​Zerath stepped in smoothly. "I gave her leave, Irin. She was exhausted after such a long ordeal, and I sent her to recuperate."
​Irin nodded, still feeling a deep, unshakeable sense of something missing.
​Zerath, however, was in a cold, calculating flashback. He had sent the maid away—to an unknown, silent place. The Queen's intuition was terrifyingly accurate. She had birthed twins: a boy, their beloved heir, and a girl, the one who bore the ominous Fire Flower Mark.
​I cannot let it happen, Zerath thought, his internal voice a fierce vow. If that child, the girl, remains in this kingdom, the prophecy states that either you, Irin, or Dylan, will die. I won't let your happiness be extinguished.
​Dylan kissed Irin's forehead. "Yes, Irin, we have one perfect, magnificent son."
​"I thought I had two," she murmured, accepting her son again, the lingering doubt a shadow she couldn't quite shake.
​"No, Queen," the maid gently insisted. "If you had twins, the healers would have told us beforehand. It's impossible to miss."
​Irin gave a slight, defeated nod. Zerath remained outwardly cold, utterly unflinching, his monstrous secret safe for now.
​The Mortal World
​Twenty Years Later…
​The scent of roasting meat and a slightly suspicious, herbal soup hung over the dining area of a comfortable, middle-wealth home in the Hendry Kingdom. It was a realm governed by a beloved king who ruled with gentle wisdom and treated his people fairly.
​The home belonged to Zack, a successful trader, his kind wife Matilda, and their two daughters.
​Zack had settled at the table, his wife and youngest daughter already seated. Gloria, a vivacious ten-year-old, was already fiddling impatiently with her fork. The missing member was the eldest.
​The silence was broken by the entrance of Jade.
​She came in, bearing a steaming pot of the day's meal, a portrait of effortless grace. She was twenty years old, and undeniably gorgeous—her brown hair was thick and silky, falling like a curtain around her shoulders, and her movements were fluid and natural. She wore a simple, long gown that somehow emphasized her inherent elegance.
​Zack's face broke into a proud smile at the sight of her.
​"I don't want to taste experimental food, Jade," Gloria declared, her voice a dramatic whine, immediately breaking the spell.
​The family chuckled. Jade, setting the pot down, leaned over and gently pinched her little sister's ear. "Ow!" Gloria yelped.
​"Leave her, Jade," Matilda said, but a soft smile tugged at her lips. "You are making too many trial-and-error dishes lately. Sometimes they truly are awful to taste."
​"Mom!" Jade protested, feigning offense.
​Zack jumped to his elder daughter's defense. "No! Everything my Jade makes is awesome, Matilda."
​"Daddy, don't lie," Gloria muttered into her napkin.
​"Dad is right," Jade affirmed, giving Zack a conspiratorial grin.
​She served the soup to her mother and father. Both took a careful, anticipatory swallow. Their eyes widened slightly, then softened with pleasure. It was unexpectedly delicious.
​Gloria, watching their expressions, realized she was missing out. She reached eagerly for her spoon.
​Jade swiftly grabbed her wrist. "Ah-ah-ah. I heard you call it awful."
​"Give her some, she's little," Zack interceded, amused.
​Jade relented, handing the spoon back. Gloria tasted it and immediately frowned at Jade. "You gave me improved soup this time."
​Jade just narrowed her eyes playfully.
​A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Jade's friend, Emily.
​"Emily, dear, come! Have supper with us," Matilda offered warmly.
​Emily greeted them all but immediately made a series of frantic, significant hand signals to Jade across the room. Jade, confused, subtly shook her head in response. Emily rushed over and whispered fiercely in Jade's ear.
​"Come with me! Now."
​"What?" Jade whispered back, her brow furrowing.
​"What are you guys hiding from us?" Gloria shouted loudly, momentarily halting the supper.
​"Gloria, focus on your plate," Zack commanded gently.
​"Yes, Daddy."
​Emily gripped Jade's arm harder. "If you don't, you'll miss it! The 100-year-old..."
​Jade remember her agreement with Emily. Her eyes widened, and she gave a quick, silent nod.
​"Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry," Jade announced suddenly, putting on an innocent face. "We absolutely have to go shopping! I completely forgot! Can I?"
​Her parents, accustomed to her sudden urges, nodded. "Sure," Zack said. "But both of you eat first."
​"No, no, it's already late!" Jade insisted. "We'll eat outside!"
​Before her parents could argue further, Emily physically dragged Jade out the door and into the twilight.
​A couple of hours later, under a moonless, star-dusted sky, Jade and Emily were pressed into the damp, thorny shadows of forest bushes, deep in the woods, their fancy a forgotten whim.
​Jade was exhausted and covered in leaves. "I'm going back," she hissed, slapping a mosquito. "I can't wait for a myth that will never appear."
​"Just a few more minutes!" Emily pleaded. "It will come, I swear! My cousin saw it before. It's a rare chance, don't miss it!"
​Jade stood up, brushing pine needles from her gown. "I won't believe a myth." She turned to walk back toward the trail.
​"Fine," Emily huffed, settling back down. "I will see it today, no matter what."
​As Jade walked, the forest's quiet humidity made her throat ache with thirst. She spotted a small, fast-moving stream—the water crystal clear and silver in the gloom. She knelt, cupping her hands to drink.
​As she brought the cool water to her lips, she froze.
​In the still, unblemished surface of the river, the reflection of an absolute nightmare looked back at her: a Demon. It was massive, with dripping fangs, terrifying red eyes, and a predatory bulk. It was right behind her, ready to pounce.
​In a pure surge of adrenaline-fueled terror, Jade didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. She threw herself sideways, swiftly scrambling to the opposite bank.
​The creature's immense weight landed with a shocking splash in the river where she had been a second before.
​It scrambled out, dripping, and began to follow. Jade ran, blindly weaving and turning through the dense trees, trying to confuse the creature and break the line of the chase.
​After what felt like an eternity, she risked a glance over her shoulder. The pursuit had vanished. She stopped, leaning against a gigantic, ancient tree, panting, the fear still a raw, vibrating chord in her chest.
​When her ragged breathing finally began to ease, she looked up.
​A few steps away, bathed in the ethereal, fading glow of the sun's last breath, stood a man.
​He was mesmerizing, glowing, looking utterly eternal. His long, silky, shoulder-length hair had striking strips of red woven through the dark strands. He stood in profile, an immaculate silhouette of perfect beauty against the twilight.
​"Is he… from heaven?" Jade whispered, completely mesmerized, the demon momentarily forgotten.
​Then, a sickening, thick growling sound echoed above her head, and a heavy, viscous liquid dropped onto her shoulder. She touched it—it was thick and warm.
​Jade looked up, her eyes widening in horror. The demon that had been chasing her was clinging to the massive tree trunk directly above her, its red eyes staring down like twin coals.
​"Aha!" Jade shouted, pure terror finally breaking her control.
​In the instant of her panic, a strong, firm hand wrapped around her waist. A swift, dizzying movement spun her around and pulled her away from the trunk.
​Jade suddenly found herself several steps from the tree, standing safe and disoriented. The demon, having leaped from the tree, now stood before them, towering on the forest floor, its eyes fixed solely on her, its prey.
​She realized she was still held. She raised her head and looked up into the face of the handsome, eternal man. His jawline was impossibly perfect, his nose straight and commanding, and his eyes, a shocking, vibrant yellow, were locked on the demon.
​With a movement too fast to follow, he summoned a shimmering, luminous rope, like moonlight forged into a weapon. He slashed it once toward the creature, the light binding the demon in a single, bright strike. He then effortlessly flung the struggling mass into the distant shadows, where it disappeared with a dull thud.
​The danger was gone.
​Jade looked up at him again, still firmly held in his arms, his grip secure on her waist.
​"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a rich, low sound that vibrated deep in her chest.
​Jade nodded, unable to speak, her world entirely encompassed by his proximity.
​His grip did not loosen. A knowing, dangerous smirk touched the corner of his perfect lips.
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To be Continued...
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