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Yes, the monarchy might rise again. Yes, a primal threat stirs beneath the battered temple. But I finally stride forward with my illusions wholly my own, no vow commanding me. And Valentina, newly transformed, stands with me as an equal, a living testament that destiny can be defied.

We vanish into the daylight, forging our path beyond monarchy’s ruin. The contract is gone, replaced by a bond of our own making. The future stands wide open, daring us to shape it.

19

VALENTINA

Istand on the ridge overlooking a rolling stretch of newly awakened forest, dawn’s light spreading in a wash of gold over the treetops. My breathing is still uneven, ribs bandaged beneath a spare tunic I salvaged from an abandoned camp. The lush, mossy ground feels softer than any plush carpet, and the fresh breeze on my cheeks tastes like hope. It's only been two days since the vow shattered and my entire world changed, yet each sunrise feels foreign—like I’ve stepped into a realm I barely recognize.

Malphas crouches a short distance away, sharpening a scavenged blade along a whetstone. His massive form is outlined against the sky, horns curving in sleek arcs. Each pass of the blade sends faint sparks dancing in the early light. He’s quiet, but I see the tension in his broad shoulders easing bit by bit. Without the vow shackling his every breath, his illusions flow with a gentler pulse around him, no longer forced or pained. He glances up, and our eyes catch. A subtle smile touches his mouth, and my heart warms at the sight.

Two days since we destroyed the monarchy’s last anchor. Two days of stumbling through dense woodlands while half-healed. Two days since I survived channeling the Abyss, emerging not as a corpse, but as… this. I lift a hand, letting watery sunlight catch the faint swirl of black runes that still trace my forearm, symbols of demonic power fused with my human flesh. At my temple, I feel the curve of two small horns—new horns—swept back like graceful ridges. My reflection in puddles and streams shows the same face I’ve always had, but my eyes glint with a silver ring, pupils slightly slitted. Part demon, part mortal, all me. I’m still grappling with what that means.

I sense Malphas behind me before he speaks, a subtle shift in the air as he stands. His illusions flicker in my vision, ephemeral ribbons that dance and vanish. He steps closer, heat radiating off his tall frame. “You’re up early again,” he observes. His voice still carries that deep rumble, but now it’s tempered by a softness—like he doesn’t need to posture every second.

I turn, letting the sunrise illuminate his face. He’s imposing—eight feet or so, ebon skin traced by molten lines that no longer spasm under the vow’s lash. His horns, large and jagged, glint with a faint sheen. The broken stump near the tip of one horn remains, a scar from centuries past. His wings droop slightly behind him, healing from the battered days of battle. Everything about him speaks of power reclaimed, tempered by relief. My chest tightens with fierce admiration. “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit, voice hushed. “Dreams, I guess. Hard to settle when everything’s changed.”

He inclines his head, stepping around to stand beside me at the ridge. “Your horns still ache?” He lifts a hand but hesitates before touching my newly formed ridges, uncertain whether I’d welcome the contact.

I bite back a self-conscious laugh. “A bit. Sometimes they feel like they’re too heavy, pulling on my skull. But it’s getting better.” I push my hair aside to let him see, not entirely sure why I want him to. Maybe I crave reassurance that I’m not a monster.

He reaches out, broad claws brushing the small horns with surprising tenderness. A faint spark tingles along my scalp. “They suit you,” he murmurs, echoing the statement he made earlier. His eyes, glowing an intense crimson, reflect warmth I once believed impossible for a demon. “When you channeled the Abyss, I feared you’d vanish. Instead, you wove its power into your flesh. I’m grateful you’re alive.”

A soft wave of emotion crests in me. “It took all I had,” I whisper, swallowing the memory of near-destruction. “I thought the prophecy would demand my life. But something gave way… maybe fate blinked first.”

He scoffs, illusions swirling in amusement. “You did. You refused to comply. That’s what changed everything.” He glances at the forest, the new day unveiling a kaleidoscope of green. “Now, we face a world where the monarchy’s vow is undone, and you stand with horns of your own. There’s an odd symmetry to it.”

His words spark a gentle laugh from me. “I guess so.” I let the forest’s hush wash over me. My entire body aches with fatigue, but a new, subtle energy hums in my veins—Abyss power that no longer tries to devour me. Instead, it resonates as if it belongs.I never asked to be part demon, but I can’t regret it now that it saved Malphas.A wave of gratitude passes through me.

We settle on a fallen log overlooking the slope, the wood spongy with damp and covered in patches of moss. Malphas leans his sword—an illusion-forged blade—against the log. I notice he’s scuffed and bruised, black carapace-like ridges across his shoulders chipped from our battles. But no vow’s compulsion tenses his jaw anymore. His entire posture radiates a cautious freedom.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask eventually, letting the gentle wind ruffle my hair. “We broke the monarchy’s hold, but they’re not destroyed. They might regroup, or something elsemight rise. That quake in the temple suggested a deeper threat underground.”

He exhales, magic flickering with a subdued glow. “We can’t fix everything in a day. I want to reclaim my fortress eventually—I left it to the monarchy’s onslaught, remember?” A shadow of anger crosses his eyes. “But first, we need to recover fully. And you… might need time to adjust.”

I touch the small horns, a self-conscious flush creeping up my neck. “I still don’t know if I can hide these if I wanted. The runes on my arms fade a bit, but my horns… they’re real, not illusions.” A nervous laugh escapes me. “I guess I won’t be passing as a normal human anytime soon.”

He cants his head, molten lines pulsing gently. “Would you want to hide them?”

My heart stutters. “I don’t know,” I admit. “All my life, I was just a Lowtown slave, fully human. Now I’m… half-demon? Part demon?Something.People might fear me or try to kill me. The monarchy’s zealots won’t let it stand if they see me as an Abyssborn.”

A low growl resonates in his chest. “Let them try. I’ll flay any fool who dares come for you again.” He says it with quiet conviction, illusions shimmering. Then, more softly, “But if you want to appear human, illusions might help. I can show you how to weave them so your horns vanish from sight, if that’s your choice.”

My chest tightens, warmth and anxiety churning together. “Maybe,” I whisper. “But… not right now. I want to understand who I am first.”

He nods, respect shining in his crimson gaze. “Then we learn together.”

For a moment, the hush of the ridge envelops us. The sun climbs higher, bathing the dew-drenched leaves in a golden sheen. My mind drifts to how, for so long, we were locked in adynamic of master-slave or demon-human.He saved me from death, I saved him from the vow.Now, those roles don’t fit. We’re two battered souls forging a new path—equals in suffering and triumph.

A faint breeze stirs the illusions around Malphas’s horns, carrying the smell of damp earth and pine needles. I shift closer, letting our shoulders press. My pulse quickens at the contact, memories surfacing of frantic nights when tension drove us to desperate couplings. This time, it’s different—no vow forcing anything, no prophecy demanding sacrifices. My chest flutters with a tender ache.

He senses my shift, illusions glimmering around him. With a slow exhale, he lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair from my temple, avoiding the horn’s base. “You’re trembling,” he remarks, voice low.

I swallow, forcing a grin. “A lot’s happened.” My gaze flicks to his broad chest, rising and falling with each breath. The memory of my body pressed to his surfaces—the wildness that used to define us. But now there’s a gentler undertone. “I keep waiting for another crisis to crash down on us.”

A flicker of sadness crosses his face. “We’ve known only crisis,” he says, illusions dimming. “We deserve a moment without war. Right?”

I nod, meeting his gaze. “Yes,” I whisper. “We do.”