The Demon king's Last oath

The storm had passed, but the silence it left behind was deafening. The estate was in disarray—broken gates, scattered debris, and the bodies of fallen guards now covered in tarps. Servants moved quickly to clean the courtyard, their hushed whispers and uneasy glances betraying the fear that lingered.

Caius stood alone in the ruined garden, his back to the estate. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and ash, and his black hair clung to his forehead from the rain.

His hand trembled slightly as he held it in front of him. The dark flames that had erupted during the battle were gone, but he could still feel their heat, their hunger.

"I've lost control," he thought bitterly. "They weren't supposed to see that."

The crunch of boots on gravel drew his attention. He turned slowly to see his father approaching, his expression unreadable.

The Marquess stopped a few paces away, his sword still sheathed at his side. His dark eyes were fixed on Caius, sharp and piercing.

"Do you have anything to say?" the Marquess asked, his voice calm but heavy with expectation.

Caius met his father's gaze, his own expression calm despite the turmoil inside him. "I did what was necessary."

The Marquess's jaw tightened. "What you did out there… that wasn't normal. That wasn't human."

"I never said I was normal," Caius replied evenly.

The Marquess's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Enough riddles, Caius. I want the truth. What are you?"

Caius hesitated. He had always known this moment would come, but now that it was here, the weight of it pressed down on him like a mountain.

"I'm your son," he said finally. "And I swore to protect this family."

The Marquess's eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you need," Caius said.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Neither spoke, but the unspoken accusations and doubts hung heavily in the air.

Finally, the Marquess exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You've always been different. Quiet, calculating, too mature for your age. I told myself it was just who you were, but now…" He gestured toward the ruined gates. "Now I see it for what it is."

Caius tilted his head slightly. "And what do you see, Father?"

The Marquess hesitated, his expression hardening. "I see someone I don't recognize."

Later that evening, Caius sat in the small study adjacent to his room, poring over a map of the surrounding region. His thoughts were focused on the next step: where to go, how to cover his tracks, how to find the answers he needed.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he said without looking up.

The door opened, and Lady Helena stepped inside, her green eyes filled with worry.

"Caius," she said softly, closing the door behind her. "May I sit?"

Caius nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him.

She sat down, smoothing her dress as she searched for the right words. "Your father told me what happened," she began. "And I… I don't understand."

Caius looked at her, his expression softening slightly. Of all the people in the estate, his mother was the one who had shown him only kindness, no matter how strange he seemed.

"You're my son," she said, her voice trembling. "But… what you did out there, Caius… it wasn't something a child should be able to do."

Caius closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I never wanted you to see that."

Helena leaned forward, her voice pleading. "Then help me understand. What's happening to you? What are you hiding?"

He hesitated. For a moment, he considered telling her everything—about his past life, his oath, the shadows that haunted him. But he couldn't.

"It's better if you don't know," he said finally.

Helena's eyes filled with tears. "Caius, I'm your mother. Whatever this is, you don't have to face it alone."

Caius looked away, his heart aching. "I do. Because if I don't… you'll all be in danger."

Helena reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. "Whatever you are, whoever you are, you'll always be my son. Do you hear me?"

Caius looked at her, his blue eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. "Thank you," he said quietly.

In the training yard, Lucian paced restlessly, his mind racing. His father's silence, his mother's tears, Caius's calm defiance—it was all too much.

He slammed his fist against a wooden practice dummy, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

"You're upset."

Lucian turned sharply to see Julian standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.

"Of course I'm upset," Lucian snapped. "You saw what he did. You heard that thing call his name."

Julian frowned. "And? Caius saved us. If it weren't for him, we'd all be dead."

Lucian shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "You don't get it, Julian. That wasn't normal. That wasn't… human. Caius isn't who we think he is."

Julian stepped closer, his tone firm. "He's still our brother, Lucian. Whatever he is, he's still Caius."

Lucian scoffed, turning away. "You're too naive. One day, you'll see what I mean."

That night, Caius stood by the window of his room, staring out at the darkened landscape. The estate was quiet now, but the tension lingered like a storm waiting to break.

He had made his decision.

"I can't stay here. Not anymore. They'll never stop asking questions, and the danger will only grow."

He turned away from the window, his blue eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

"It's time to leave."