Chapter 3: The Succubus's Son!
Two hundred years ago...
"Xolvion, come away from there," Lyralei's melodic voice carried across the castle's private gardens, tinged with the gentle authority that only mothers possessed. At just over twenty years old, barely more than a toddler in demon terms, Xolvion was crouched beside a pool of molten lava, poking at the glowing surface with a stick and watching the ripples spread.
"But Mama, look!" He pointed excitedly at the patterns he was creating. "The fire follows my stick!"
Lyralei approached with that graceful glide that marked her succubus heritage, her silver hair catching the eternal twilight of the demon realm. Unlike the other noble succubi who adorned themselves in revealing silks and jewels, she dressed simply in flowing robes that spoke of understated elegance rather than overt seduction.
"That's very clever, my little prince," she said, settling beside him on the obsidian bench. "But you're not controlling the lava. You're simply disturbing its surface tension."
Even at twenty, Xolvion possessed an intelligence that unnerved the court demons. Where other demon children his age were learning to throw tantrums that could literally set things ablaze, he was asking questions about magical theory and observing the world with unsettling perception.
"Why don't I have horns like Vorthak?" he asked suddenly, abandoning his lava experiments to study his mother's face.
Lyralei's expression softened, though something sad flickered in her violet eyes. "Because you're special, my darling. Different doesn't always mean what others think it means."
"Father says that, too." Xolvion climbed onto the bench beside her, small enough that she could easily gather him into her arms. "But the others whisper. They say I'm not a real demon."
"And what do you think?" His mother asked with a gentle smile.
The question surprised him. Most adults told children what to think, but his mother always asked for his opinion first. It was one of the things that made her different from the other court ladies, who seemed to view children as decorative accessories.
"I think..." Xolvion paused, choosing his words carefully, "I think being different might be better than being the same as everyone else. If everyone could do the same things, wouldn't that be boring?"
Lyralei's smile was radiant. "Exactly. You see things others miss, my clever boy. That's worth more than all the hellfire in the realm."
A commotion from the castle's main courtyard interrupted their quiet moment. Through the garden's archway, they could see a group of young demons engaged in what passed for play among their kind, a mock battle with very real flames and shadow magic flying about.
"Xolvion!" Vorthak's voice boomed across the courtyard. Even at barely 60 years old, the eldest prince already stood head and shoulders above his siblings, his crimson skin gleaming with perspiration from exertion. "Come show us what the bastard princeling can do!"
The cruel laughter that followed made Xolvion's cheeks burn with shame. He started to rise, some misguided notion of proving himself driving him forward, but his mother's gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," she said quietly. "Least of all to those too stupid to recognise intelligence when they see it."
"But what if they're right?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "What if I really am just a mistake? A human child who happened to be born with red eyes?"
Lyralei turned him to face her, her hands framing his small face with infinite tenderness. "Listen to me, Xolvion Valous. You are my son. You are your father's son. And someday, when you discover what you're truly capable of, they'll all understand just how wrong they were to underestimate you."
The early years...
"Mama, why can't I make fire like Vorthak?" Xolvion asked for what must have been the hundredth time, watching his eldest brother practice hellfire techniques in the courtyard below their window.
Lyralei set down her embroidery and pulled him onto her lap. "Because you have different gifts, my darling."
"But I don't have any gifts!" Xolvion's frustration was evident in his voice. "Vorthak makes fire, Seraphine controls shadows, I can't do anything!"
"You can do many things," his mother said gently. "You can read better than demons twice your age. You can solve puzzles that stump the court scholars. You notice things others miss."
"That's not magic, though, is it?" Xolvion slumped against her. "Why am I so different, Mama? Why don't I have horns or scales or wings? Why can't I cast spells?" Xolvion looked almost like a young teenage human child would at this point.
Lyralei was quiet for a long moment, stroking his silver hair. "Magic comes in many forms, my clever boy. Some is loud and obvious, like your brothers' fire or sisters' shadows. But some is subtle, patient, and far more powerful than anyone realises."
"Mama, I'm different from everyone," Xolvion said, now old enough to understand the politics swirling around him. "The servants smile at me differently than they do my siblings. Even the court ladies seem... warmer when I'm around."
"And how does that make you feel?"
"Warm, I suppose. Like they actually see me, not just another demon prince." He looked up at her curiously. "Is that my magic? Making people... like me?"
Lyralei's smile was both proud and sad. "It's the beginning of it, darling. Your gift is connection, empathy, and understanding. It may not seem as impressive as hellfire, but it's infinitely more valuable." His mother explained.
However, the days of Xolvion feeling safe and protected by his mother's warm embrace were short.
The wasting curse took Lyralei slowly, despite the court physicians' best efforts. At fifty, Xolvion was old enough to understand that one of the other noble consorts had arranged for his mother's elimination, viewing her as a threat to their own children's positions, even if others said it was due to a lack of magical power.
"Mama," he whispered, kneeling beside her bed in their private chambers. "Why can't I help you? Why can't I do anything?"
Her once-lustrous silver hair had faded to dull grey, and her violet eyes seemed dimmed, but she managed a weak smile. "You are helping, my brave boy. Your presence gives me strength."
As she spoke, something stirred within Xolvion—not the violent magical surge that marked most demonic awakenings, but something subtler. A warm pulse that seemed to emanate from his chest, spreading outward like ripples in still water.
For a moment, Lyralei's breathing became easier, and colour returned to her pale cheeks. But it wasn't enough to save her.
"What you just did," she whispered, "that's your true gift awakening. Remember this feeling, Xolvion. Remember that your power comes from love, not hatred."
Xolvion's mother died that night, peacefully in her sleep, with Xolvion holding her hand.
Three years later...
At fifty-three, Xolvion had grown into his height and inherited his mother's ethereal beauty. The castle staff had begun to notice him in ways that made him uncomfortable, their gazes lingering longer than propriety demanded.
It was Mira, a young demoness who served in the library, who first experienced the full manifestation of his abilities. She had approached him whilst he struggled with magical theory, offering help with genuine kindness.
"My lord," she said softly, "you look troubled. Perhaps I could assist?"
As she leaned over to examine his books, Xolvion caught her scent, something like cinnamon and warmth. When their eyes met, he felt that familiar flutter in his chest, but this time it was accompanied by something else. A subtle pulse of energy that seemed to flow between them.
Mira's pupils dilated slightly, and her breathing quickened. "I... My lord, I find myself quite drawn to you," she whispered, her voice husky with sudden desire.
"As I am to you," Xolvion replied honestly, and he could feel the truth of it resonating through whatever connection had formed between them.
What followed was gentle, passionate, and mutually fulfilling lovemaking. More importantly, as they lay together afterwards, Xolvion realised he could sense things about Mira that he'd never known before, her knowledge of the library's hidden passages, her understanding of the castle's political undercurrents, even fragments of minor magical techniques she'd observed. However, it quickly faded into nothingness, leaving him with more questions.
"That was..." Mira breathed, her eyes bright with satisfaction and something approaching adoration. "I feel so alive, my lord. So... Energised."
Xolvion stared at her in wonder. She wasn't weakened or drained; if anything, she seemed more vibrant than before. And he... he felt stronger too, not just physically, but mentally. As if their connection had enriched them both. A strange sensation that he was unable to explain.
Over the following decades that followed, Xolvion had learned to understand and refine his abilities. Being able to use an ability he called charm, something that would allow him to seduce the opposite sex and control them almost as he pleased. An ability he inherited from his mother as a succubus. However, it could only seem to make it work on lower-level demons, and as usual, the slight knowledge or power boost he would feel didn't last long afterwards.
By his two hundredth year, Xolvion had perfected the art of seduction, having fucked half of the castle's staff by this point. Consistently experimenting with the only magical ability he had.
"It's disgusting," Seraphine had sneered after catching him with a young maid in the library. "You're like some sort of emotional parasite, even by succubus standards."
But Xolvion knew better. He wasn't taking anything that wasn't freely given, and he always left his partners better than he'd found them. It was a form of symbiosis that none of his siblings could understand, because it required something they lacked.
Now, sitting in his chambers after his siblings' threat, Xolvion found himself thinking of his mother's words. Different doesn't always mean what others think it means.
They saw his abilities as a weakness because they couldn't conceive of power that didn't come from force. They looked at his seduction magic and saw a parlour trick, a useless ability not fit for a prince of the demon realm.
They thought he was weak because he looked human. They thought he was stupid because he didn't have power to flaunt. They thought he was harmless because he smiled and played the charming fool.
And tomorrow, they planned to get rid of him for good.
But tonight, as he prepared for what might be his final hours in the demon realm, Xolvion allowed himself one last memory of his mother's voice: Someday, when you discover what you're truly capable of, they'll all understand just how wrong they were to underestimate you.
What I'm truly capable of, eh... I wonder, mother, sometimes, just sometimes, did you tell me a sweet lie to make me feel better? Xolvion wondered as he looked at the dagger on his desk, knowing that if he had attacked his brother, he would have been killed.
"My only way out of this is to tell Father before it's too late." He then said to himself, knowing that if they got to him before he could get to his father, he was finished.