Hex stood outside Hazel's chamber, his arms folded, his white eyes glowing faintly in the dark. His shirt was back on, but the scent of soil and sweat still clung to him. He didn't move. He didn't blink. He simply watched.
Down the corridor, two guards stood outside Toya's room — cloaked in black, their spears crossed, their eyes sharp. No one would pass without permission.
Lysithea approached quietly.
She wore a long robe of silver thread, her hair braided down her back, her steps silent as snow. She stopped beside Hex, her gaze lingering on Hazel's door.
"She's sleeping?" she asked.
Hex nodded. "Finally."
Lysithea leaned against the wall, her eyes thoughtful.
"The demon," she said. "It didn't want Hazel. Not truly."
Hex glanced at her. "It wanted Balthazar."
Lysithea nodded. "As a host."
The hallway grew colder.
"He's powerful," Hex said. "Too powerful for most demons to possess. But this one… it's old. It's patient."
"It's been watching him since he was nine," Lysithea said. "Waiting for the right moment."
Hex's jaw tightened. "It tried to break him. First through grief. Then through shame."
Lysithea looked down. "And now it wants to wear him."
Hex didn't speak.
"He's vulnerable," Lysithea said. "Not weak. But open. He's finally letting people in."
Hex's voice was low. "That's what makes him dangerous to it."
Lysithea turned to him. "Do you think it'll come back?"
Hex nodded once. "It always does."
They stood in silence for a moment, the torches flickering around them.
"I'll stay here tonight," Hex said. "She's safe with me."
Lysithea smiled faintly. "I know."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"Hex," she said softly.
He looked at her.
"Don't let him carry this alone."
Hex's eyes softened.
"I won't."
She walked away, her silver robe trailing behind her like mist.
Hex remained at Hazel's door, his eyes fixed forward, his magic humming beneath his skin.
Outside , beyond the orchard, past the scorched hills and the sleeping farmland, the shadows thickened.
The air was colder here — not from wind, but from something older. Something wrong.
A circle of demons gathered beneath the twisted roots of a dead tree, its branches clawing at the sky like broken fingers. The ground pulsed faintly beneath them, black veins spreading outward like rot.
The main demon paced.
Tall, skeletal, cloaked in smoke and bone. Its eyes burned violet, its mouth twisted in a permanent sneer. Its claws scraped the earth with each step, carving symbols into the soil that hissed and bled.
"He's powerful," it hissed. "Stronger now."
Another demon — hunched, with wings like torn parchment — growled low. "He was supposed to break. The orchard was supposed to die."
"He didn't break," the main demon said. "He grew."
A third demon slithered forward, its body made of ash and teeth. "The light magic infects him. The girls. The elves. They poison him with hope."
The main demon stopped pacing.
Its eyes narrowed.
"He is still mine," it said. "His body. His blood. His grief."
The others hissed in agreement.
"We waited," said the winged one. "We whispered. We watched. He was alone. He was perfect."
"He is not alone now," said the ash demon. "The moth girl listens. The cinnamon one reads. They dig into the soil."
The main demon bared its teeth.
"Then we dig deeper."
It raised its clawed hand, and the ground split open — revealing bones, broken mirrors, and the faint echo of screams.
"We will remind him," it said. "Of what he is. Of what was done. Of what he could become."
The others leaned in.
"We will wear him," the main demon whispered. "We will walk in his skin. We will speak with his voice."
It smiled.
The wind howled.
And the shadows crept closer to the castle.
The moon hung high over Hollow Vale, veiled in mist, casting pale light across the castle's stone towers. Inside Noctis Spire, the halls were silent — but not still.
In his chamber, Balthazar jolted upright.
His chest heaved, sweat clinging to his skin. The fire in the hearth had long since died, leaving only shadows dancing across the walls. His breath came in shallow bursts, his heart pounding like a war drum.
He was shirtless, his skin slick with sweat. Silky black wide-legged pants clung to his hips, the silver and black dragon belt shine faintly in the moonlight. His hair was damp, clinging to his temples, and his eyes — usually sharp and unreadable — were wide with something raw.
Fear.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the cold stone floor. The dream still clung to him — no, not a dream. A memory. Twisted. Distorted. The library. The fire. The laughter. The hands.
He pressed his palms to his eyes.
Then he felt it.
A shift in the air.
The temperature dropped — not sharply, but subtly. Like a breath behind the wall. Like something watching.
He stood slowly, every muscle tense.
The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to stretch, just slightly. The mirror on the far wall fogged over, though the air was dry. And the scent — faint, but unmistakable — of ash and old wine.
Balthazar turned toward the window.
The orchard below was still.
But something moved at the edge of the trees.
A flicker of black. A ripple in the mist.
He stepped closer to the glass, his hand resting on the sill. His breath fogged the pane. And then — just for a moment — he saw it.
Eyes.
Violet. Burning. Watching.
He didn't flinch.
"I know you're there," he whispered.
The eyes vanished.
But the presence remained.
He turned from the window, walking slowly to the center of the room. He didn't summon his magic. Not yet. He didn't need to. The demon wasn't here to fight.
It was here to remind him.
To whisper.
To wait.
Balthazar sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees, his breath steadying.
"You won't have me," he said into the dark.
The shadows didn't answer.
But they listened.
Hex stood in the hallway outside Hazel's chamber, his arms folded, his white eyes scanning the shadows. The torches flickered softly, casting blue light across the stone floor. The air was calm.
Then it shifted.
A pulse.
Faint. Wrong.
Hex straightened, his senses sharpening. The magic around him trembled — not loudly, but like a whisper through bone. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing.
The demon was near.
Not inside the castle. Not yet. But close enough to breathe against the walls.
Hex stepped away from Hazel's door, moving silently down the corridor. His boots made no sound. His cloak trailed behind him like smoke. He passed Toya's guards, nodding once, and continued toward Balthazar's chamber.
He didn't knock.
He opened the door.
Balthazar sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, his black silk pants loose around his waist, the silver dragon belt glinting faintly in the moonlight. His skin was damp with sweat, his eyes distant.
Hex stepped inside.
"You felt it too," he said.
Balthazar didn't look up. "It was watching."
Hex closed the door behind him, his hand glowing faintly with protective runes.
"It's closer than before," he said. "Hungrier."
Balthazar nodded slowly. "It's waiting for me to break."
Hex walked to the window, peering out into the orchard.
"I won't let it take you," he said.
Balthazar finally looked at him. "You can't stop it alone."
Hex turned. "I know, we worked together. "
Hex stood near the window, arms folded, eyes scanning the orchard below. Balthazar sat on the edge of his bed, His posture was tense, his gaze distant.
The door creaked open.
Lysithea stepped inside, her silver-threaded robe trailing behind her like mist. Her eyes immediately found Balthazar, and her expression softened.
"I felt the shift," she said. "The demon's are closer."
Balthazar nodded slowly. "It's watching."
Lysithea walked to his side, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.
"You're not alone," she said.
He looked up at her — at Hex — and something in his eyes broke.
"If the demon takes over my body," he said quietly, "please kill me."
Lysithea's hand tightened.
"Absolutely not," she said, voice sharp. "Don't you dare say that to us."
Balthazar blinked.
"We will find a way to get you back," Lysithea continued. "Even if it means we die in the process."
Hex stepped forward. "She's right. We're not letting you go."
Balthazar looked down, his fists clenched.
"You need to take the throne," Hex said. "Become king of this land. Hazel is here. She can rule by your side. She can be your queen."
Balthazar shook his head. "No. I believe she wouldn't want me. She wouldn't want this."
Lysithea raised a brow. "Oh, she's very attracted to you."
Hex smirked. "You don't know what she wants. Or what she'll do."
"She traveled this far," Lysithea said. "To find history about her and Toya's mother. She's using her magic to restore your land — by choice."
Hex leaned against the wall. "If those actions aren't screaming wife material in your brain, some other man will take her as their wife."
Balthazar's jaw tightened.
His fist clenched slightly at the thought.
Lysithea smiled. "Also, we need some mini Balthazars around here."
Hex chuckled. "Do you not want your bloodline to continue, a few sons and daughters running through the orchard?"
Balthazar exhaled. "I do want a family of my own. I want this kingdom to be passed down to them. My family worked so hard for this land. Why lose it?"
Lysithea nodded. "Then continue to fight for it."
Hex stretched. "We should all get some rest. We have to plant trees tomorrow morning."
"We only have four months until fall," Lysithea said. "But with magic, I believe we can get the trees to grow in three."
"If we don't use magic," Hex added, "we're looking at next spring. The people need this now."
"We can restore relationships with the other kingdoms next spring," Lysithea said. "But first, we restore the land."
The three stood in silence.
Then Balthazar rose.
"I'm glad you're both here," he said.
Hex smiled. "We're not going anywhere."
And for the first time in years, Balthazar didn't feel like a prince.
He felt like a brother to his two close friends.