We'll name the two halves of the world in a way that feels ancient and powerful:
Human Realm → Elyndra
A land of kingdoms, cities, and empires built on fragile alliances and endless ambition. Golden plains, sprawling ports, and mountains that guard the north.
Demon Realm → Veythar
A land veiled in perpetual dusk, where black rivers carve through crimson earth and cities rise from obsidian cliffs. The air hums with ancient magic, and the sky burns with a pale, false moon.
---
Dive in.
The humans believe demons are just ancient myths meant to frighten children, but in truth, Veythar and Elyndra were once one world. A great cataclysm — called the Sundering — tore them apart centuries ago. The rift between them is sealed by a cursed wasteland known as The Shardveil, a stretch of land so poisonous that no pure human can cross it and live.
The two realms coexist in silence… most of the time. Trade, war, and influence happen through secret pathways only a few know — and those paths are controlled by ancient bloodlines.
---
Derius's Backstory
Derius Rhaegar is not fully human.
His mother, Lady Calyra Rhaegar, was a noble of Elyndra who disappeared for nearly a year before returning with him as an infant. No one spoke of where she had been — but there were whispers: Veythar.
His father's identity was never revealed, but Derius inherited signs that make him different:
Eyes that catch the light like molten gold when his blood runs hot.
The strength and stamina of three men, even as a youth.
A presence that unnerves animals and makes weak-willed men avoid his gaze.
In truth, his father was a Veythari War-Prince — a general of the demon armies. This makes Derius a Veythari Halfblood, part of an outlawed bloodline. Most halfbloods are hunted by both sides for fear they could unite the realms or tear them apart.
Derius hides this heritage behind wealth, charm, and his carefully cultivated legend as a lover and duelist. But in Veythar, his name is whispered not with lust, but with fear. Some demons believe he is destined to become the Breaker of the Rift — the one who could destroy the barrier between the worlds.
---
The dream came again.
It began with the sound — a deep, low thrum, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Then came the light, burning crimson through black clouds, casting long shadows across a landscape that should not exist.
Obsidian spires rose from the ground like the bones of titans, and rivers of molten stone cut across the land in veins of living fire. The air shimmered, heavy with magic so old it tasted like metal on the tongue. This was Veythar — not as the human books painted it, but as it truly was.
And in the distance, across a field of cracked, bleeding earth, stood a man.
No — not a man.
His skin was dark as volcanic glass, his eyes molten gold like Derius's own, but burning brighter, as if lit from within. The armor he wore was carved from the plates of some great beast, and in one hand, he held a spear tipped with a shard of the false moon.
"Blood of mine," the figure said, his voice carrying through the air like thunder rolling over mountains.
Derius felt it in his chest more than he heard it.
"Come home."
The dream shattered.
Derius woke in the high-pillared bedchamber of his Valmere mansion, the faint perfume of last night's pleasures still clinging to the sheets. The silken canopy above seemed to sway, though the air was still. His heart was pounding, the echo of that voice still heavy in his bones.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. Outside his balcony, the city of Elyndra's western jewel lay bathed in early gold — ships in the harbor, bells in the markets, and the distant sound of the royal guard changing shifts. A human world. A safe world.
But Veythar was close. Closer than anyone believed.
His gaze drifted to the far wall, where a single object rested on a stand — a long, black dagger etched with symbols that no scholar in Elyndra could read. He had taken it from his mother's things after she died. It was warm to the touch, even in the coldest winter.
He did not need a scholar to tell him where it came from.
From him.
The knock on his chamber doors broke the silence. "My lord Rhaegar," came the voice of his steward, clipped but tense. "There is… a visitor."
Derius frowned. "At this hour?"
"Yes," the steward said. "She… claims to come from Veythar."
The doors opened.
She stepped inside without waiting for permission — tall, wrapped in a cloak of deep crimson that moved as if stirred by a wind only she could feel. Her eyes were black until the light caught them, revealing thin bands of red circling the iris.
"Derius Rhaegar," she said, her voice low, the syllables sharp like broken glass. "You look… less like him than I expected."
Derius leaned back against the headboard, studying her. "You walked into my home before sunrise to tell me that?"
She ignored his question, her gaze flicking to the black dagger on the wall. "You've kept his weapon."
He swung his legs off the bed, standing without hurry. His sheer presence seemed to pull the air tighter in the room. "You've come from Veythar."
She smiled — a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "And you've hidden what you are for far too long."
The air shimmered.
One heartbeat she was standing ten feet away. The next, her cloak was pooling at her feet, and the shape beneath was not entirely human — her arms traced with lines of ember-light, her nails hooked like talons.
Most men would have flinched.
Derius didn't.
Instead, he let the world ripple around him. Shadows deepened unnaturally, the walls stretching taller, the light bending as if the room itself had fallen into some strange dream. The woman's smile faltered for the first time.
"An illusion," she said, almost whispering. "But it feels real."
"It is real," Derius replied, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed hers. "In my illusions, you bleed if I wish it. You die if I decide it. Tell me why you're here before you find out how much pain your kind can feel."
Her breathing quickened, but not from fear. "The Rift is opening," she said. "Your father is not dead — and he calls for you. Veythar will soon spill into Elyndra, and when it does, the first to burn will be this city you rule with your body and your lies."
Derius's jaw clenched. "If you've come to threaten me—"
"It's not a threat," she interrupted. "It's an invitation."
From behind her cloak, she pulled a shard of obsidian, etched in the same runes as the dagger on his wall. "This will open the path. But once you cross it, you will not return the same."
Derius took the shard, turning it between his fingers. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"Then I'll make sure," he said, eyes narrowing, "that Veythar isn't ready for me."
And when he smiled, it was the same smile that had made thousands of women melt — except now, it carried something colder. Something darker.
---