«CHAPTER– 11&12»
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«SALTARIAN— JUNGLE»
Thalira's eyes fluttered open, and immediately, a pair of piercing eyes stared down at her.
A girl squatted beside her, dressed in rough animal-skin clothing, black paint streaked across her cheeks, forehead, jaw, and arms.
Then Thalira noticed a small red monkey perched atop the woman's head. Her eyes widened in shock at the strange, almost mystical sight.
"My master told me to watch over you, my lady," the girl said, her eyes locked on Thalira.
She bowed slightly, and the red monkey atop her head mirrored the gesture perfectly.
Thalira's eyes widened in surprise.
"I'm Isobel Allons, the Saltarian Jungle Guide," she said, her voice steady and confident.
"It's my duty to protect this place—and any harmless human who wanders here—from dangerous creatures and deadly animals. I was born here and raised here as well. My parents abandoned me in the Avialyn Forest, but Allons, the mighty ape, saved my life. He brought me to the Saltarian Jungle and raised me as his own, along with his family"
Thalira's eyes widened even further, unable to believe what she had just heard.
"You're safe here," Isobel said, her voice calm and reassuring.
"With me by your side, there's nothing to fear. My master will come for you once he finishes his business. If you don't mind, I can introduce you to my family, my lady."
Thalira swallowed hard.
Her family were monkeys? The thought of being taken into the midst of them made her heart race. Slowly, she sank onto the mattress, utterly speechless.
"Allons is their leader, and Gusto here is his great-grandson," Isobel explained.
The little red monkey perched on her head let out a cute giggle. Thalira couldn't help but smile, completely charmed by the tiny creature.
"He's cute," Thalira finally said.
Isobel smiled widely at her words, clearly pleased.
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«ALLON»
More than eighty monkeys could be seen, leaping from tree to tree and from stone to stone.
Young monkeys perched on their parents' backs as they were taught how to jump, chattering and making playful monkey noises.
Inside a massive treehouse, a huge red-and-black ape sat on a chair, dressed in animal-skin clothing.
Around him, his wives ate fruit.
This was Allons—the first monkey to build such a large, extended family. He had married multiple wives, who had given him many children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren.
Here is a more refined, fluent, and polished version in clear literary English:
"The king is dead?" Allons asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Do not be surprised—he could speak as well, which was what made him a great monkey. All members of his family possessed the gift of speech, except the younger ones.
"Duncan, the Crown Prince, definitely killed him. I am certain of it," said Daria, his first wife, as she picked up a slice of pawpaw and placed it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Allons could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was a small, white, and strikingly cute ape.
"Then that means Duncan will be crowned the next king, now that the king is gone. I rather like him. Those humans need a ruthless leader, and he is the perfect choice," said Syria, the second wife, as she took a sip of palm wine from her cup.
She was a red, charming ape.
"And what of the woman the prince brought as his bride?" asked Athena, the third wife, pouting as she chewed on her mango.
"She should have awakened by now. What is keeping her so long? Was she bitten by a sleeping bug or something?"
Athena was a yellow, charming ape.
"You like the girl? Something about her is not right. Did you notice her chest when he brought her in?" Periwinkle said, shaking her head repeatedly.
"It seemed to move—as though something were growing inside her heart. And she looks strangely familiar. I do not trust her at all. No, not in the slightest."
The others scoffed. Periwinkle, the fourth wife, was a small, black, and strikingly cute ape.
"Dad! Mummies!" Isobel's voice suddenly rang through the room, making Periwinkle startle and nearly spill her drink.
Allon smiled as Isobel dashed inside.
Gusto leapt from her head and scampered toward his great-grandmother. Syria laughed, picked up a slice of pawpaw, and fed it to him.
He settled comfortably against her chest, chewing contentedly, while she smiled and gently smoothed his hair with her fingers.
"Guess who I have here?" Isobel asked, blinking cutely as her gaze flicked toward them.
Met with complete silence, she groaned, pouted, and folded her arms in annoyance.
"Fine, fine… she's awake, isn't she?" Periwinkle asked. Isobel smiled widely and snapped her fingers, and Periwinkle proudly brushed her hair.
"Exactly, Mummy! She's awake, and she's here to join us!" Isobel shouted, and their eyes widened in astonishment.
"Really?" they all chorused.
Isobel glanced toward the door as Thailra stepped into view.
Their eyes widened at the sight.
Allons smiled, while Thailra swallowed hard, taking in the enormous monkeys staring at her. She forced a small, awkward smile.
Monkeys can talk too? This is insane.
"Hi… I'm Thailra," she murmured, bowing slightly. The monkeys exchanged curious glances.
"Boring name," Periwinkle remarked, sipping her wine nonchalantly and looking away.
"You're welcome in my home. Make yourself comfortable and join us with our fruits. Thailra is such a lovely name—especially coming from a gorgeous girl like my daughter, Isobel," Allon said.
Thailra smiled and bowed slightly to him, while Periwinkle scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Gorgeous, my foot. Isobel is far prettier," Periwinkle muttered, scoffing once again.
The other wives shook their heads in disbelief.
Periwinkle was the most talkative and supposedly humorous one among them, but her constant chatter had grown tiresome—her remarks always veered into insults, and they were rarely, if ever, amusing.
Allon gestured for Thailra to take a seat.
She glanced at Isobel, who nodded repeatedly, encouraging her to go ahead.
Thailra nodded in acknowledgment and settled into the empty chair, with Isobel joining her at the table.
"Here, eat up—you must be hungry," Isobel said, pushing the tray of fruits toward her. Periwinkle could hardly believe her eyes.
"What are your parents' names, and which town are you from—Ashkaroth, Morazana, Saltanira, or Alvaro?" Syria asked, gently patting the sleeping Gusto.
Thailra swallowed nervously, unsure whether to say New York. She worried they might think her mad—especially the red ape.
"Ashkaroth, from Tulsan," she said, picking up a slice of pawpaw and placing it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
The others exchanged glances.
Allons could hardly believe his ears.
If she truly was from Tulsan, she must be immensely powerful—those from that land were said to possess the spirit power capable of mastering the Six Eclipses of Souls.
Periwinkle began to understand why she had seen the growing light on Thailra's chest: she was indeed a formidable presence.
"Who are your parents? I mean—their names," Daria asked, gesturing with her hand. Thailra met the gaze of each of them in turn.
"Gulvan and Quinet," she replied.
The others covered their mouths in astonishment, eyes wide, and slowly turned to Allons.
He stared at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.
Isobel, too, looked at her in stunned shock.
"That explains why you look so familiar. You are undoubtedly their daughter. Gulvan Alvarez and his wife, Quinet, are truly your parents—I can see both of them in your face. They were the first to obtain the Silver Stone, the founders of its power, until Azreal Regathor seized it with his overwhelming strength and destroyed it," Periwinkle said.
Thailra's eyes widened.
She had known little of this—only a story her late father had told her when she was ten, about her ancestors, Alvarez and Quinet, the most powerful couple in Tulsan.
He had never mentioned the town, but now everything seemed to fall into place.
So her father had been speaking of Ashkaroth… her ancestors were from Ashkaroth?
"The Stone was never found?" Thailra asked. They all shook their heads in unison.
Suddenly, she remembered her necklace.
Her hand flew to her neck—and it was gone. Her eyes widened.
"Did you lose something?" Allons asked.
Thailra shifted her gaze toward him and slowly lowered her hand from her neck, swallowing hard before shaking her head.
Could it be that the pendant she had worn since birth was the Silver Stone Azreal Regathor had destroyed?
The thought made far too much sense—especially now that Duncan had been released from his chamber.
What, then, had truly happened while she was unconscious?
She picked up a piece of fruit and brought it to her mouth, chewing absentmindedly, her thoughts completely adrift.
She could scarcely believe it—so that was why her father had strictly warned her never to lose it.
It had been her mother's heirloom.
She had carried the Silver Stone all her life.
Now it made sense why she had vanished into the book and traveled a thousand year into the past because of it. Which meant that now she was here, the book would continue from where it had stopped.
The history of Ashkaroth would change, and its fate now lay in her palms.
She picked up another piece of fruit and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly as she tapped her fingers lightly against the table.
All eyes were fixed on her, glances exchanged in quiet speculation as they wondered what occupied her thoughts.
Allons merely smiled, sipping from his palm wine.
"Ah—" Thailra winced as she bit her tongue, her hands flying to her mouth at once. Isobel immediately offered her a drink, which Thailra accepted with both hands, drinking deeply.
The others sighed in relief.
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«AVIALYN CLAN»
Duncan stood amid the carnage, his sword still dripping with blood as Varokron's severed head rolled to a halt near his feet.
Without warning, a warm trickle slid from the corner of his mouth.
His brows drew together as he lifted his hand and touched it—blood. He had bitten his tongue.
Thailra's face flashed through his mind.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. Had she bitten her tongue too?
His jaw clenched, hard as steel.
After being locked away in the cave for fifteen years and finally released, his life now rested in the hands of a woman.
If she were to die, so would he.
His fists clenched harder, veins standing out as his eyes burned with fury.
Weakness was what he despised most in this world.
For him to survive, that woman had to remain unharmed. Was it because of the Silver Stone that their lives were now bound together?
He was untouchable, unbeaten—yet only she could wound him. If her heart were pierced, his own would be pierced as well.
This was the feeling he loathed most—protection.
For the first time, he had a reason to guard rather than to destroy. He was a demon; demons existed to ruin, not to shield.
His teeth ground together as the truth burned through him.
Varokron's body lay crumpled on the stone floor, lifeless and abandoned, the air around it thick as flies hovered and scattered, bearing silent witness to the end he had met.
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«MINUTES AGO»
"You three killed my mother, didn't you?" Duncan growled, his voice low and beastly, his fierce gaze locking onto him.
Varokron froze, paralyzed by sheer terror, his body trembling uncontrollably under the weight of Duncan's gaze.
He peed on his body, instantly.
Varokron's face drained of all color, eyes wide with sheer horror.
He could feel every heartbeat thundering in his chest, every breath trembling against the shadow of death that loomed over him.
"A snake bite… you own the snake, don't you?" Duncan's voice hissed, dripping with venom.
In a flicker of movement, his eyes blazing with fury. The sword at Varokron's feet leapt into his hand as if drawn by some dark instinct.
Lightning erupted along the blade, crackling violently down his arm.
Duncan's smirk deepened, shadowing his features in pure malice. Varokron crumpled to his knees, clutching his neck, his body trembling uncontrollably.
He shook his head, desperate, pleading silently for mercy—but it was too late.
The worst fate a man could face was staring into the eyes of a demon—and realizing there was no escape.
"You released the snake," Duncan growled, his voice low, maddening, and beastly, "and Iskaria poisoned it. Alaric finished the job, sending it straight to the palace… to the queen's chamber. She was bitten. The Serpenthis clan couldn't find the antidote in time—not because they failed, but because it wasn't ordinary venom. It was the poison of Iskaria's blood. You three… an excellent team. Perfect coordination. Perfect failure."
He stepped closer, eyes blazing, voice rising to a roar that shook the very air.
"That is why the three of you deserve the same fate—buried together, and dragged straight to hell!"
Varokron's knees buckled.
His body trembled uncontrollably, and in sheer terror, he lost control of himself.
He shook his head violently, pleading silently, but there was no mercy in Duncan's gaze.
Varokron's trembling grew worse, his body quaking like a leaf in a storm.
"You thought hiding behind your soldiers, your dragons, your petty schemes would save you?" Duncan hissed, stepping closer, boots crunching on the blood-soaked floor. "
"You thought your cleverness could outmatch the son of Ashkaroth? Fool."
Duncan's grip tightened around Varokron's neck.
Varokron convulsed violently, blood spilling from his mouth, his face as pale as death itself, as if the life were being drained from his very soul.
Duncan released his grip, and Varokron collapsed to his knees. He gagged violently, vomiting mouthfuls of blood as he struggled to dislodge the fork lodged in his throat.
Tears of blood streaked his face as he cried, helpless and broken.
Duncan teleported back to the chair he had been sitting in, his silver eyes cold and unflinching, watching the prince's torment with quiet, merciless satisfaction.
He took another slice of the heart from the plate in front of him, skewering it with a fork and bringing it slowly to his lips, his gaze lingering on it for a brief, deliberate moment.
"You dare kill my mother? Your flesh will suffer before you die, Varokron Drakmor," Duncan muttered, his voice low, merciless, and filled with venom.
Then, with maddening speed, he released his finger, and the fork shot straight into Varokron's mouth, lodging deep in his throat—now two forks pinned him mercilessly.
Varokron's eyes flashed red as he struggled to breathe, panic and pain twisting his features in sheer terror.
"Someone in the palace helped you three carry out this task smoothly. I will find them and rip their hearts out, piece by piece," Duncan growled, his voice echoing twice with a beastly, earth-shaking resonance.
The sheer terror of his words made Varokron soil himself instantly as visions of his death flashed before his eyes.
Duncan rose, and in a blink, Varokron's sword appeared in his hand. With terrifying speed, he lunged toward Varokron, every movement a blur of lethal precision.
Without hesitation, he drove it mercilessly into Varokron's chest, heartlessly pushing it deeper.
Varokron convulsed, vomiting mouthfuls of blood, the fork still lodged in his throat.
Duncan yanked the sword out, then plunged it back in with unrelenting force.
Another wave of blood spilled from Varokron's mouth, his face paling with every strike.
Again, Duncan withdrew, then thrust the blade deeper, tearing Varokron's heart into fragments.
With savage precision, he slashed across Varokron's neck before teleporting back to his previous position, standing calm as ever.
Blood dripped steadily from his sword, glistening like a dark promise in the dim light.
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««NIGHT»»
«AVIALYN FOREST»
Smoke covered everywhere.
Iskaria stared into her charm pot, where a deadly black snake lay lifeless within.
Dressed entirely in black, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, a dark smirk curling on her lips as she gripped her staff firmly.
"I'll be back soon. Ashkaroth awaits my return," she muttered.
In an instant, she vanished in a cloud of smoke. Moments later, the shrine was engulfed in flames, its heart burning without mercy.
In the shadows, a figure stood with a smirk tugging at his lips. Shrouded in a cloud of smoke, he vanished—only to reappear moments later, his sword dripping with blood.
Dark blood spilled as Iskaria suddenly appeared, vomiting a mouthful of black liquid and dropping to her knees before him.
Duncan squatted in front of her. She began to laugh—slowly, eerily—her teeth stained and slick with black blood, the sight deeply unsettling.
"It's been a long time, Your Highness. You were certainly quick to find the stone. You're free now, and you're here simply because you found out the truth. Yes, I poisoned the snake—yes, it was all part of my plan. Your mother convinced your father to order my death, because a sorceress is forbidden in Ashkaroth. So I did her the favor of killing her."
She let out a mocking laugh, blood sliding from her mouth. Duncan's lips curled into a dark smirk.
"An illusion?" he muttered, his smirk darkening.
Slowly, she began to dissolve into ashes, laughing with a witchy malice.
As she vanished, her evil laughter echoed through the forest, sending the birds perched in the trees fluttering into the sky.
"I will return when you least expect it, Duncan Tharagon. Your mother's painful cries were the most exquisite sight I have ever witnessed. Next will be you. Beware my return, for I will become the greatest force Ashkaroth has ever known. All will bend to my will and kneel before me!"
Her voice echoed through the forest, followed by her sinister, haunting laughter.
Duncan gritted his teeth, his grip on the sword tightening.
Veins spread across his body, and his eyes blazed with fiery red. His claws tore through the air, and his clothes ripped apart as a deadly aura erupted from him, jagged horns sprouting from his head.
He held his sword tighter, consumed by a maddening, beastly rage.
All the birds in the sky fell dead, dropping around him like a storm of black feathers.
His breath was heavy and beastly. His ears grew longer, his appearance deadly, and an insatiable thirst for blood surged through him—one that no ordinary human could satisfy.
This craving was different… maddeningly different.
HER blood was what he wanted.
He longed for it, believing it to be the only thing that could quell the storm raging within him.
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«SALTARIAN—JUNGLE»
Thailra slept peacefully in the room they had given her, her breathing soft and steady.
Outside her door, a shadow slowly formed.
The silhouette of a beast loomed in the dim light—tall, still, with jagged horns rising from its head.
The air inside the room grew colder.
The shadow stretched along the wooden floor, slipping beneath the crack of the door like living smoke. The candles flickered weakly, their flames bowing to an unseen presence.
Thailra stirred slightly in her sleep, her brows knitting as if she sensed something watching her.
The door creaked open.
He stepped inside without a sound.
Moonlight filtered through the woven window panels, revealing the towering figure. Jagged horns curved from his head, his eyes faintly glowing in the darkness.
His presence was overwhelming—dangerous, ancient, inhuman.
Duncan Tharagon.
He stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at her.
The fury that had consumed him in the forest had not fully faded. It coiled beneath his skin like restrained lightning. Yet as his gaze settled on her peaceful face, something shifted.
She looked fragile.
Too fragile.
His jaw tightened.
He moved closer, the floorboards barely daring to creak beneath his weight. For a long moment, he simply watched her breathe—as if reassuring himself that she was alive.
A strange pull stirred within him.
The Silver Stone's bond.
His hand slowly lifted, claws hovering inches above her cheek. He hesitated.
A demon does not hesitate.
Yet he did.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The moment his skin touched hers, a faint spark flickered between them—silver and red entwining for the briefest second.
Thailra's eyes fluttered open.
And she found herself staring directly into glowing, inhuman eyes.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"AHHH!!"
A piercing scream tore from her throat as she jolted upright from the bed. She stumbled backward, crashing into a table, but the impact did nothing to slow her.
Her trembling hands seized a tall wooden staff leaning nearby, and she raised it defensively, pointing it straight at him.
Her hair fell wildly across her face, strands clinging to her damp skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath sharp and uneven.
Duncan did not move.
He merely tilted his head slightly, watching her from beneath lowered lashes. One side of his face caught the dim light, the other swallowed by shadow.
Slowly, his lips curved into a smirk.
Not amused.
Not kind.
Predatory.
His gaze lowered.
A burning blue light pulsed faintly beneath the fabric over her chest, glowing through the thin cloth like a living flame. The reflection flickered against his eyes.
Sensing where he was looking, she immediately crossed her arms over herself, stepping back, her breathing unsteady.
A demon—untouchable, undefeated—reduced to depending on a fragile human girl for his survival.
If he wished to live, he would have to protect her.
The thought alone irritated him.
"If you're here to finally finish what you failed to do in that cursed chamber of yours, then think again. I won't let those rotten teeth of yours touch my skin. I'd rather die—so stay back!" Thailra shouted, thrusting the stick toward him.
Duncan's gaze dropped briefly to the trembling weapon pointed at his chest, then slowly lifted back to her face.
His eyes ignited—red flames flickering within them—sending a cold shiver down her spine.
He did not move.
But the air between them burned.
He had craved her blood before, but now… it was something else entirely—something impossible, forbidden.
That feeling should have died the moment it was born.
He would never surrender to it.
His body ached with a desire he refused to name, a pull toward her that made no sense, a hunger that threatened to consume him.
The urge to spill his seed inside her.
She was fragile.
Mortal.
Breakable.
The thought alone drove him to the edge of madness.
He was a demon prince—untouchable, unstoppable. Yet here he was, bound to a fragile human in a way that threatened to destroy everything he was.
"Propose to her… marry her!"
A thousand voices suddenly rang in his mind, crashing over him like a tidal wave. His head throbbed violently, and a groan tore from his throat as he sank to his knees.
Thailra's eyes widened in shock, watching him clutch his head as if it might explode at any moment.
"She's yours! Make her yours and rule the great Ashkaroth together! Make her the queen, sit her beside your throne! You will both be untouchable—no enemy will dare approach you if she stays by your side! Make her yours!!"
The voices multiplied, echoing through his mind—children, adults, all screaming the same command, relentless and maddening.
Duncan's teeth ground together, his hands tightening around the hilt of his sword as the voices screamed relentlessly in his mind.
Each command pierced deeper than the last, rattling his pride, tugging at something he had long buried.
"No…" he growled, his voice low and guttural, shaking with barely restrained fury. "I… I will not bow to this. I am no one's puppet!"
But the voices would not be silenced.
They surged, crashing through every corner of his thoughts.
"She's yours! Make her yours! Protect her! Rule together!"
He clutched his head harder, the blue fire in his veins threatening to ignite, sparks of raw power flickering across his skin.
His body trembled—not from weakness, but from the maddening pull of fate pressing against him.
Thailra took a cautious step closer, sensing his inner storm.
Her heart raced as she watched the demon prince—unbeaten, untouchable—struggle visibly with something far more dangerous than any enemy on the battlefield.
A low, dark growl rumbled from Duncan's chest, shaking the very air around them.
His eyes, burning like twin infernos, flickered between her face and the horizon, caught between rebellion and surrender, between desire and duty.
Finally, with a roar that seemed to tear the sky itself, he slammed his fists onto the ground.
The voices faltered for a heartbeat.
"She's yours!"
"Shut up!!!" Duncan roared, maddeningly, and in an instant, every fragile object in the room shattered into pieces. Thailra raised her arm to shield her face, but shards still pierced her skin.
"Ahh!!" she cried, wincing in pain—and through some cruel, unbreakable bond, every injury she suffered mirrored on Duncan's body.
He groaned, blood trickling down him as he staggered. Thailra sank to her knees, bleeding, and so did he.
"Get out now!! Out of my room, you animal!!" Thailra yelled, anger and tears mingling on her face.
Duncan's eyes glimmered with tears of his own.
The maddening voices vanished from his mind, leaving a deafening silence. Slowly, his monstrous form began to fade, his body transforming back to human
Duncan's eyes suddenly snapped shut, and his body collapsed to the floor. Thailra's eyes widened in shock.
Her legs trembled as she struggled to her feet, dragging herself across the room toward him.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she reached him, and she hesitated for a heartbeat before using the stick to gently turn his face toward her.
The stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
Her body shook violently as she sank to her knees beside him, gripping his face with both trembling hands, her fingers slick with blood. She stared down at him, heart hammering in her chest.
He..he has Carlos's face.
Carlos Rodriguez was Duncan Tharagon — the demon prince of Ashkaroth.
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