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Chapter 6: Innocence Lost

  The Harvest Moon festival marked five cycles of the blood moon, a time when demonic magic ran strongest. For three days, the vilge at the edge of the Shadow Forest celebrated with feasting, combat exhibitions, and ritual magic that strengthened their territory's borders.

  Azreth, now ten years old, watched from the sidelines as adult demons dispyed their powers in the vilge square. His father, Krozath, was among the warriors demonstrating battle techniques. The crimson-skinned demon's fire magic had earned him respect among their cn, and Azreth felt a surge of pride as his father conjured a whirlwind of fme that drew appreciative growls from the crowd.

  "Impressive, isn't he?" His mother's voice came from behind him. Myranna handed him a cup of sweet fermented bloodfruit juice, a festival treat. "Your fire magic could be that powerful someday."

  Azreth sipped his drink. "I'm better at control than raw power," he reminded her. Just st week, he had managed to maintain a fme precisely hot enough to forge a delicate healing amulet for her workshop—something even adult fire demons found challenging.

  "Different strengths for different paths," she agreed, ruffling his hair between his small horns. At ten, they had grown to about the length of his fingers, curving elegantly backward in a pattern that resembled his mother's. "Not every demon needs to be a warrior."

  Their conversation was interrupted by Vrath, who had grown into an imposing adolescent demon with bulging muscles and aggressive demeanor. In the three years since their confrontation at the blood fountain, he had mostly left Azreth alone, but his disdain remained palpable.

  "Healer's son," he sneered, the title an insult in his mouth. "Still hiding behind your mother's apron?"

  "Leave him be, Vrath," Myranna said firmly. "This is a time for celebration, not petty quarrels."

  The young demon scowled but bowed his head slightly to the respected healer. "As you say, Myranna. But the runt will need to prove himself eventually. The cn doesn't carry deadweight."

  After he stalked away, Azreth sighed. "Why does he hate me so much?"

  "He doesn't understand you," his mother replied. "Fear often masquerades as hatred."

  "Why would anyone fear me?" Azreth asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Myranna studied her son's face—so open, so different from other demon children his age who had already developed the necessary masks for survival in their harsh society.

  "Because you're different," she said simply. "And different can be dangerous."

  Before Azreth could press for crification, a warning horn bred from the vilge's edge. The sound cut through the festival noise like a bde, silencing the celebrations instantly. It sounded again—three long bsts that every demon recognized.

  Human raiders. Coming from the Scar.

  "Get to the shelters," Krozath ordered, materializing beside them. His festivities forgotten, he now wore the stern face of a warrior. "Myranna, gather your healing supplies. There will be wounded."

  "How many?" she asked, already calcuting what she would need.

  "Too many," he growled. "Sentinel scouts counted at least thirty Padins among them, with Church Sentinels as support. They're not here for resources or sves. This is a purge."

  Myranna paled, her blue skin turning almost gray. "Padins? Here?"

  The elite warriors of the human Church were rarely seen this deep in demon territory. Their divine magic made them lethal opponents, capable of negating demonic powers within a short range.

  "Go now," Krozath urged. "I must join the defense line."

  Myranna grabbed Azreth's hand. "Come, little one."

  But Azreth was frozen, staring at the vilge boundary where the first defenders were assembling. Something about the situation triggered a strange feeling of déjà vu—as if he'd stood on the other side of such a battle before.

  "Azreth!" His mother's voice snapped him out of the trance. "We must hurry."

  They raced through the suddenly chaotic vilge. All around them, demon families were either preparing for battle or seeking shelter in the underground caverns beneath the settlement. The festive decorations now seemed like a mockery, blood-red banners fluttering in the warm breeze as death approached.

  They had almost reached the central shelter when the first explosion rocked the ground. Azreth stumbled, and his mother caught him. Looking back, he saw a section of the defensive wall colpse in a shower of blessed white fire—holy magic that burned demonic flesh like acid.

  "Hurry," Myranna urged, pulling him toward the shelter entrance.

  But before they could reach it, a second explosion blew out the ground between them and safety. The earth buckled, and Azreth watched in horror as the shelter entrance colpsed, burying those who had been in the process of entering.

  His mother changed direction without hesitation. "The healing cave," she decided. "It's further from the vilge center but better hidden."

  They ran toward the forest edge, where Myranna maintained a small cave stocked with her most powerful healing supplies. Other demons raced past them, some already wounded, others carrying children or possessions.

  Behind them, battle cries mingled with screams of pain. Azreth risked a gnce back and saw the first human warriors breaching the vilge perimeter. Even at a distance, the Padins were unmistakable in their gleaming white armor inscribed with golden holy symbols. Divine light surrounded their weapons, and where they struck, demon flesh withered and burned.

  "Don't look," his mother ordered, but it was too te.

  Azreth had seen enough to feel something stir deep within his mind—a memory trying to surface. For an instant, the scene before him seemed to invert, as if he were watching from the other side. He saw himself—no, not himself, but someone wearing simir white armor—leading the charge against demonic defenders.

  The disorienting vision passed as quickly as it had come, leaving him nauseated and confused.

  They reached the healing cave, and Myranna ushered him inside. The small chamber was carved into the hillside, its entrance partially concealed by dense thorny vines that parted at her touch. Inside, shelves lined with potions, dried herbs, and magical implements created narrow passages through the space.

  "Stay here," she instructed, quickly gathering supplies into a bag. "I must help the wounded. The humans won't find this pce."

  "No!" Azreth grabbed her arm. "It's too dangerous. I heard Father—they're here to kill everyone."

  His mother's expression softened. She knelt before him, grasping his shoulders. "Listen to me, Azreth. Our people need a healer now more than ever. I cannot hide while others suffer."

  "Then I'm coming with you," he insisted. "I can help carry supplies, tend minor wounds—"

  "No." Her voice was firm. "You must stay safe. You're..." She hesitated, then touched the star birthmark on his palm. "You're special, my son. More special than you know."

  Before he could argue further, voices approached outside—human voices, speaking the common tongue of the human realm.

  "Check every cave and crevice," ordered a deep voice. "These demons are clever at hiding their young."

  Myranna's eyes widened. She pushed Azreth toward the back of the cave, where a natural crevice formed a tight hiding spot behind her workbench.

  "In there," she whispered urgently. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear, do not come out until you're certain all humans have gone."

  "Mother, please—"

  "Promise me!" she hissed.

  "I promise," he said, tears welling in his golden eyes.

  She pressed her forehead to his in a traditional demon gesture of affection. "You have always been our greatest blessing," she whispered. "Remember who you are."

  With that cryptic statement, she helped him squeeze into the crevice, then covered the opening with a heavy tapestry used to divide the cave during complex rituals. Azreth huddled in the darkness, barely breathing, as footsteps entered the cave.

  "Well, what have we here?" came the same deep voice from outside. "A demon witch's ir."

  "Just a healer's cave, by the look of it," Myranna replied in accented but clear human speech. She had always had a talent for nguages, teaching Azreth both demonic tongues and human common speech from an early age.

  "A demon who speaks our nguage," another voice observed. "Unusual."

  Through a tiny gap in the tapestry, Azreth could see his mother standing tall before three human intruders. Two wore the white and gold armor of Padins, while the third—a woman with short brown hair—wore the gray robes of a Church Schor.

  "I've treated human traders who cross the Scar," Myranna expined calmly. "Knowledge serves healing, regardless of species."

  "Fascinating," said the female Schor, examining the shelves of potions. "Some of these formutions are quite sophisticated." She turned to the Padins. "We should take samples for study before destroying the rest."

  "Where is your family, demon?" demanded the lead Padin, a heavily muscled man with a scar across his jaw. "Our scouts reported a male and a child living with you."

  "Fighting or fled," Myranna replied, her voice steady despite the fear Azreth could sense radiating from her. "I stayed to gather supplies for the wounded."

  The Padin stepped closer, his hand resting on his sword hilt. The divine energy emanating from the weapon made the air shimmer. "You understand why we're here?"

  "To kill us all," Myranna said simply. "Though I don't understand why. This vilge has never raided human settlements. We trade peacefully at the Hanging Cities."

  "Trade?" The Padin ughed harshly. "Is that what you call it when you barter in souls and blood magic?"

  "That's not—"

  "Enough." The Padin cut her off. "The Divine Texts are clear: 'Suffer not the demon to live.' Your very existence corrupts our world."

  From his hiding pce, Azreth bit his lip to keep from crying out. His mother stood alone against three humans who clearly intended to kill her, yet she remained poised, dignified.

  "If you believe that," she said quietly, "then you know nothing of corruption or its true sources."

  Something in her words made the Schor frown. "What do you mean by that?"

  But before Myranna could answer, shouts came from outside the cave. "Padin Gareth! We've found their warriors regrouping by the eastern ridge!"

  The lead Padin—Gareth—turned toward the entrance. "We'll finish this quickly." He nodded to his companion. "Burn it all. No traces left."

  The second Padin raised his mace, divine energy crackling around its head. "And the demoness?"

  Gareth drew his sword. "The usual."

  What happened next unfolded with horrifying speed. As the Padin's bde arced toward his mother, Azreth saw Myranna's hands fsh in intricate patterns. Not attacking, but rather activating something—a complex magical working he'd never seen before.

  Blue energy erupted from her fingertips, enveloping the cave in swirling patterns. The humans shouted in arm as magical force pushed them back toward the entrance. The shelves nearest to Azreth's hiding pce glowed with sudden power.

  "Protection sigils," the Schor gasped. "She's had them prepared all along!"

  "Clever witch," Gareth snarled, fighting against the magical pressure. "But not clever enough."

  With a mighty effort, he pushed through Myranna's magical barrier, his divine weapon cutting through her defenses. Azreth saw his mother's face—not afraid, but determined, focused on maintaining the spell that was keeping the humans from discovering his hiding pce.

  Gareth's sword plunged forward, and Azreth had to stuff his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming as the bde pierced his mother's chest. Blood—darker than human blood, almost bck—spattered the cave floor.

  But Myranna didn't fall. Instead, she grabbed the Padin's wrist with one hand, holding him in pce while her other hand completed a final magical gesture. Her eyes bzed with blue fire as she whispered words in an ancient demonic tongue:

  "By blood and sacrifice, shield what is precious. By mother's love, conceal what must survive. Until the cycle ends, let none discover."

  A pulse of magic exploded outward. The humans were thrown backwards, out of the cave. Myranna colpsed to her knees, the sword still embedded in her chest. With shaking hands, she pulled it free, a terrible wet sound accompanying the action.

  "Mother!" Azreth whispered, preparing to break his promise and emerge from hiding.

  "Stay there," she gasped, somehow hearing him despite her fading strength. "The spell... will hide you... but only if you remain still."

  Outside, the Padins were recovering, picking themselves up from where they'd been thrown.

  "Burn it," Gareth ordered, his voice tight with rage. "Burn it all to ash."

  The second Padin began an incantation, divine fire gathering around his upraised hands. Myranna, with the st of her strength, crawled toward a shelf of potions. She reached up, her bloodied fingers closing around a small red vial.

  "Remember who you are, Azreth," she whispered, looking directly at his hiding pce. "Both sides of you."

  Then she hurled the vial at the cave entrance just as the Padin released his divine fire. The resulting explosion was deafening. Rock and debris filled the air as the cave entrance colpsed, burying Myranna and sealing Azreth inside.

  Choking dust filled the small space. Through tears and terror, Azreth waited for the humans to dig through the rubble, to find him, to finish what they'd started. But the sounds outside eventually faded—footsteps retreating, voices growing distant.

  When he could bear it no longer, he pushed aside the tapestry and crawled out. The cave was dark, the magical lights his mother maintained now extinguished. The entrance was completely blocked by fallen rock, only small gaps allowing air to filter through.

  "Mother?" he called, his voice breaking.

  In the dim light filtering through the rubble, he found her. Myranna y still among the fallen shelves and scattered healing supplies, her blue skin already growing ashen in death. The wound in her chest no longer bled—her heart had stopped pumping long minutes ago.

  "No, no, no," Azreth sobbed, gathering her cool body in his arms. "Please, no."

  But no amount of pleading would bring her back. His healer mother, who had devoted her life to saving others, was gone—murdered by humans who saw her as nothing but a monster to be eliminated.

  Hours passed. Azreth remained beside his mother's body, grief eventually giving way to a hollow numbness. Outside, he could occasionally hear distant sounds—shouting, explosions, the csh of weapons. The human raid continued throughout the vilge.

  As night fell, a new noise drew his attention—scraping and digging at the cave entrance. Azreth tensed, preparing to face human attackers, but when the rocks finally shifted, it was his father's crimson face that appeared in the gap.

  "Azreth!" Krozath called hoarsely. "Are you in there?"

  "Father!" Relief flooded through him. "I'm here! But Mother... Mother is..."

  The warrior demon tore at the remaining rubble with desperate strength, creating an opening rge enough to squeeze through. When he saw his mate's body in his son's arms, he froze, his red eyes widening in disbelief.

  "No," he whispered, falling to his knees beside them. "Myranna..."

  He gathered her gently from Azreth's arms, cradling her against his chest as a keening wail of grief escaped him—a sound so primal and agonized that Azreth had to cover his ears.

  When the terrible cry finally subsided, Krozath looked at his son with hollow eyes. "Tell me what happened."

  Through tears, Azreth recounted everything—the Padins, his mother's sacrifice, the magic she had cast at the end. As he spoke, he noticed for the first time that his father was severely wounded. Deep gashes across his torso and arms leaked dark blood, and one of his horns had been partially severed.

  "You're hurt," Azreth said, reaching for one of his mother's healing salves that had survived the destruction.

  "It doesn't matter," Krozath replied. "The vilge is lost. Most are dead or scattered. I only survived by..." His voice caught. "By hiding among the fallen until the Padins passed."

  Something about those words triggered another fragment of memory in Azreth's mind—a fsh of lying among corpses, watching boots walk past, feeling terror and relief mingled together. But the memory wasn't his own, couldn't be his own.

  "We need to go," Krozath continued, gently ying Myranna's body down. "The humans are making a final sweep for survivors. They'll return here eventually."

  "We can't leave her," Azreth protested.

  "We must," his father said grimly. "But first..."

  From his belt, Krozath removed a curved ritual dagger. With steady hands, he cut a lock of Myranna's hair and a small piece of the bloodstained fabric from her tunic. These he wrapped carefully and pced in a pouch, which he handed to Azreth.

  "To remember," he expined. "And for rituals of vengeance, when you're older."

  Azreth clutched the pouch, a terrible coldness spreading through him. "The humans who did this... will they be punished?"

  "Not by their kind," Krozath said bitterly. "They consider this holy work. But one day, perhaps by our hand."

  He helped Azreth to his feet, then paused, listening intently. "We must go now. Take only what you can carry quickly."

  Azreth grabbed his mother's healer pendant and a small bag of her most precious herbs—knowledge that shouldn't be lost. As they prepared to leave through the opening Krozath had made, his father suddenly stiffened.

  "They're coming back," he whispered. "I can smell their blessed steel."

  Through the gaps in the rubble, flickering torchlight appeared, growing stronger. Human voices approached.

  "Check this cave again," came a familiar voice—Padin Gareth. "Something doesn't feel right about that demoness's st spell."

  Krozath looked at his son, decision crystallizing in his eyes. "There's no time. You must go alone."

  "What? No! I won't leave you too!"

  "Listen to me." His father gripped his shoulders. "There's a back way out—a narrow tunnel Myranna created for emergencies. It begins behind that stone." He pointed to a seemingly solid wall at the rear of the cave. "Press the rune carved there, and it will open. The tunnel leads deep into the forest."

  "Come with me," Azreth begged.

  Krozath shook his head. "I'm too rge for the passage, and too wounded to run far. But I can give you time."

  Before Azreth could protest further, his father pressed his forehead against his son's in the traditional gesture, then whispered, "Live. Remember. And one day, understand."

  With that, he pushed Azreth toward the back wall and turned to face the partially blocked entrance. Drawing himself up despite his wounds, Krozath summoned fire to both hands—not the controlled fmes Azreth had inherited, but roaring infernos that illuminated the cave with hellish light.

  "Go!" he commanded.

  Tears blinding him, Azreth found the rune his father had indicated and pressed it. A section of the wall slid silently aside, revealing a dark, narrow passage. He looked back one st time to see his father gathering his power for a final stand.

  "Demon!" came Gareth's voice as the Padins began clearing the remaining rubble. "In the name of the Holy Church, prepare for judgment!"

  Krozath ughed—a terrible, rage-filled sound. "Come then, humans. Come taste fire and death!"

  The st glimpse Azreth had of his father was of the demon warrior unching himself at the entrance in a suicidal charge, his body wreathed in fmes as he prepared to sell his life dearly.

  Then Azreth was crawling through the narrow tunnel, his mother's pendant clutched against his heart, his father's sacrifice burning in his mind. Behind him, he heard shouts, explosions, and one final, defiant roar cut terribly short.

  He emerged deep in the Shadow Forest, far from the vilge. In the distance, columns of smoke rose against the twilight sky, marking where his home had stood. All around him, the forest was eerily quiet, as if even the predators that normally prowled the shadows were hiding from the human invaders.

  Alone, orphaned, Azreth huddled at the base of a gnarled tree. Grief threatened to overwhelm him, but something else was happening in his mind—something unprecedented and frightening. The trauma of losing his parents, of witnessing such violence, had cracked a seal deep within his consciousness.

  Memories that weren't his own began to surface. Disjointed images fshed behind his eyes: a farm with golden fields under blue skies; training with a gleaming sword; a beautiful woman with golden hair and a gentle smile; five companions standing together against a monstrous figure on an obsidian throne.

  "What's happening to me?" he whispered, clutching his head as the foreign memories assaulted him.

  Then came the most disturbing vision of all—himself, but not as a young demon. Instead, he saw a human man with the same seven-pointed star birthmark on his palm, wearing white armor trimmed with gold, leading warriors against demon settlements. Burning homes. Hunting survivors.

  Kael. My name was Kael.

  The thought came with such crity that Azreth gasped. It made no sense—he was Azreth, son of Krozath and Myranna. Yet the name resonated through his being with undeniable truth.

  "Both sides of you," his mother had said with her dying breath. Had she known? Had she somehow sensed what y dormant within him?

  The memories receded as suddenly as they had come, leaving Azreth trembling and confused. But something had fundamentally changed. A door once sealed was now cracked open, allowing glimpses of a past life to bleed into his present consciousness.

  As night fully descended on the forest, the young demon curled around his grief and his newfound confusion. He was Azreth, a demon child who had just lost everything. But he was also, somehow, Kael—a human hero from another life.

  And for the first time, he understood the cruel irony of his existence. The vilge had been destroyed by Padins—warriors just like he had once been. His parents had been sughtered by humans fighting demons—a battle he had once led from the other side.

  Innocence, like his childhood, was now irretrievably lost. What remained was a being caught between worlds, carrying memories of both predator and prey, hero and monster.

  As he drifted into exhausted sleep, one thought crystallized with perfect crity: the cycle of violence between humans and demons was more complicated than either side understood. And somehow, impossibly, he had experienced both perspectives.

  That knowledge would either destroy him or make him uniquely capable of something neither demons nor humans had achieved in centuries—understanding the enemy by having been the enemy.

  In his dreams that night, Kael and Azreth began a conversation that would continue for years to come.

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