Prologue
To most, he was known as a ruthless king, towering above all beings. To others, he was known as an ally, a friend, a guardian.
As one who has reached the pinnacle of this world, everything seemed so small, so meaningless. The ground beneath him, the mountains that stretched for miles, even the skies that seemed to have no limits—it could all disappear as easily as he breathed.
However, not even he could tamper with the destiny of fate—the fate of life and death.
The King of Demons, also known as The Heavenly Demon— King Karnus. There was a time when hearing his name was enough to strike fear into those who opposed him. However, that time had passed.
King Karnus rose from his seat, the weight of time pressing against him. He turned around to see his little apprentice running towards him, his small figure barely visible in the darkness of the cave.
Clutching the side of his hand, it seems he had cut himself during his training earlier.
"Are you alright?" Karnus asked. His voice was usually strong and commanding, yet when it came to this little boy, he couldn't help but have an underlying instinct of concern.
"I'm fine, grandfather," he replied. However, his expression would say otherwise. A hint of frustration was mixed with those of pain and pride, as he strived to become better. Stronger. Like his grandfather.
Karnus moved quickly to his side, kneeling before him. His small horns—a reminder of the blood that ran through his veins—twitched in response. His face flushed, visibly embarrassed by the warmth of his grandfather's care. There were a few subtle cuts, no cause for major concern. However, they were enough to remind him of the harshness of the path he wished to follow.
With a flick of his wrist, the little boy's wounds started to close.
"Thank you, grandfather," he mumbled while looking away.
"Don't push yourself too hard, little one. Strength doesn't come from simply training until you break; you must also know when to rest," Karnus said.
He was so young—perhaps even too young to be so eager to fight. But Karnus saw a younger version of himself in him. The same fire he once had, the same goal of proving oneself.
The boy looked up at him. "But I need to get stronger, grandfather. They won't wait for us to prepare ourselves."
"They?" Karnus repeated. He'd known the boy was curious and couldn't help but listen in on conversations he had with others, but this—he was too young to be asking these questions.
His eyes dropped to the floor. "The humans… the elves… the dwarves… all of them. Why do they all think we are evil? Did we do anything bad for them to hate us?" the little boy asked.
Such a curious soul, his eyes filled with anticipation for an answer. Unknown to him, his words struck a memory Karnus had once tried to forget.
"They hate us because it's easier than trying to understand," he replied, his voice thick with a bitterness he long tried to swallow. "They call us evil because that is all they know. A story told for generations, a lie they have been taught to believe."
"But, grandfather, you don't seem evil to me. Neither do Mom or Dad, nor any of my friends that I play with," as his voice was filled with the innocence of youth.
Karnus placed his hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently. His horns were still small, his fangs still dull. But one day, just as they will grow, so will the weight of his responsibility. He didn't need to understand just yet, but one day, he will.
"You are right," the king said quietly. "I don't believe any of us are truly evil, yet the world will make sure we'd never get the chance to prove otherwise."
The boy looked at him, confusion written all over his face. "But if we're not evil, then why does everyone fight us? Why do they all want us gone?"
King Karnus sighed, the sound low and heavy. This was what he had feared. It was a question he had asked himself many times over the centuries. But no matter how many times he asked, he could never come to an answer.
"Because it's easier to fight what they fear than to understand it. If they tried to understand, they'd see the enemy wasn't all that different—and that is a truth too cruel for them to bear."
They both stared into the fire, filled with only the sounds of embers cracking and the glow of the full moon. His small hands gripped his sword as his young mind struggled to understand the weight of this world's history, one that his grandfather tried to shield him from.
Finally, he spoke again.
"Will it ever end, grandfather? Will they ever stop hating us?"
Karnus looked into his innocent eyes, full of hope and glimmer. It seems this conversation was still far too early for him. However, his words evoked a strange emotion—a small spark inside the king, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
He sighed, looking down at the fire. "I don't know, child. Maybe one day, there will be someone who will rise. Someone who can see beyond the generational lies, someone who questions the very existence of this world."
A silence stretched between them as the boy's eyes slowly started to close, evident in his exhaustion. Karnus moved to his grandchild, as he wrapped him in his cloak, bringing him closer to the warmth of the fire.
As the boy drifted off to sleep, he himself continued to stare into the flames. Reaching out, he placed his hands over the fire, casting a shadow over his scars—marks not from age, but from the centuries of conflict he had endured.
The question continued to echo in his mind.
"Why do they all think we're evil?"
He put his face in his hands as he let out a heavy sigh. Karnus knew that even if he figured out the truth, it would not matter. Not only would the world not care for it, but age was catching up to him, as he was no longer able to carry that kind of burden.
"Maybe someone will come," he murmured. "Someone with the ability to shake up the world, not through the sword, but through their words."
For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to hope. However, his people were dying, vanishing in silence. Forgotten, erased, their stories used as a stepping stone for the legends of their enemies.
King Karnus could only pray that fate would answer his pleas before the last of his kind faded into dust.