The past was a wound that never closed.
Kol stood frozen, his body trembling as memories surged through him, crashing like relentless waves against his mind. His breathing was heavy, the weight of his sins pressing down on him like an unmovable stone. Lisa held him tightly, her warmth grounding him in the present, but it was too late—he had already begun to drown in the past.
His story was not one of heroism. It was built on blood, betrayal, and ruin.
Years Ago
Kol had once been nothing more than a nameless boy, scorned and spat on, a child born into the lowest ranks of demon society. The blood of kings flowed in his veins, but his family was trapped in the filth of the slums, forgotten by history. He had nothing. No power. No name.
Until the witches came.
They whispered in his ear, their voices sweet as poison, telling him of the Mark of the Eternal Crown burned onto his chest. Telling him that he was meant for more. Telling him that the Demon King's throne was his by right.
And like a fool, he believed them.
Kol sought power—any power that would let him rise. He knelt before the witches, bartering away pieces of himself in exchange for a strength that would let him crush the world that had spat on him.
But there was a price.
Kill the Demon King. Take his throne. Become the ruler of the Demon Realm.
It seemed simple enough. He had trained with the power granted him by the witches. He was ready.
But he was wrong.
The night of the assassination was supposed to be perfect. Kol had infiltrated the Demon King's palace under the cover of darkness, his body thrumming with power, the witches' magic coiling through his veins.
And then—his blade met flesh.
The Demon King roared, blood spilling from the wound Kol had carved into his side. The throne room erupted into chaos, guards flooding in from every side. But Kol was fast. He was strong. He was winning.
Until he heard a voice.
A scream.
He turned—and his world shattered.
His younger brother stood there, wide-eyed, blood pouring from his chest. A wound Kol had not meant to strike, but had anyway. The boy had followed him, wanting to help his older brother, not knowing the weight of what Kol was trying to do.
Kol reached for him, but it was too late.
His little brother collapsed, lifeless.
Everything fell apart after that. Kol hesitated. And in that moment, the Demon King struck back. Kol was nearly killed, forced to retreat, leaving his brother's corpse behind.
Kol ran like a coward.
And the Demon King made sure his family paid the price.
When the Demon King called for Kol's parents, they did not beg. They did not cry. They were forced to kneel in the center of the capital, an entire kingdom watching.
They were beheaded where they knelt.
And Kol could do nothing but watch from the shadows as his mother and father's blood stained the ground.
The Demon King made a show of it—of what happened to traitors, of what happened to those who tried to challenge the throne.
Kol didn't weep. He didn't scream.
But something inside him broke.
That night, he made a decision.
He would burn it all.
Kol returned to the only ones he had left—his older siblings.
He told them what had happened, but not the full truth. He twisted his words, letting rage guide their grief. He told them the system had failed them. That their family had been murdered by the laws of the Demon Realm. That the only way forward was war.
But he never told them about the witches.
He never told them about the bargain he had made.
He never told them that this was his fault.
And they believed him.
Dain, the eldest brother, the strongest, was the first to agree. Orin and Valen, the twins, followed without hesitation.
Only Elizabeth hesitated.
But in the end, she too followed him.
They sold their souls for power.
And they burned the Demon Realm to the ground.
Fueled by magic and vengeance, Kol and his siblings tore through the realm like a storm. Cities burned. Armies crumbled.
And finally, they stood before the Demon King himself.
It was Dain who struck first, his strength unmatched, his blows cracking the throne room walls. The twins moved next, their chains coiling around the king like living serpents, restricting his every move.
Kol watched as the king struggled, his blood painting the ruins of his palace.
Victory was so close.
But then, the Demon King spoke.
And the truth was revealed.
He told them of Kol's first failure, of the younger brother he had killed. He told them of how Kol had tried to kill him once before. Of how their family's deaths were because of Kol's actions.
And Kol's siblings turned on him.
Dain, the brother who had fought beside him, punched Kol with such force that it shattered his ribs.
The twins held him down, their chains wrapping around his body like shackles.
And Dain whispered, voice cold—"You deserve worse than death."
Kol struggled, but he was no longer their leader. He was their enemy.
He fled, broken and bleeding.
But the witches were not finished with him.
Kol knew he was hunted, that his own siblings would never stop chasing him. He had nowhere to go—except to the only person he had ever truly loved.
Lisa.
She was already wounded when he found her, the battle having reached even her doorstep. He did not have time to explain everything.
So he lied.
He gave her the reincarnation spell, telling her it was a healing potion.
He told her to drink it, to accept the magic as much as she could.
But before he could say more—
Dain and the twins arrived.
The twins held kol down and Dain—without hesitation, without a second thought— brutally murdered Lisa before Kol's eyes.
Kol screamed as her blood soaked the ground.
The Mark of the Eternal Crown burned like fire on his chest, igniting a power that he had never felt before.
Elizabeth appeared, furious at her brothers.
She took Kol and vanished.
Leaving everything behind in ruin.
Kol snapped back to reality, his breath ragged, his hands shaking.
Lisa was still in his arms. Alive.
But the past had already carved itself into his soul.
His siblings would never forgive him.
And he would never forgive himself.