It wasn’t that he was unwilling to settle for mediocrity. If life had continued on peacefully, his eldest brother, Carl, leveraging his status as the firstborn and the prestige he’d accumulated among the nobility, would have smoothly ascended the throne as Whitman IV. It would have had no effect on Alek’s own life.
He might have been granted a fief in some corner of the Southern Territory, far from the center of power. He would have become a nobleman living a life of leisure, spending his days peacefully with his beloved amidst vineyards and lavender fields, occasionally returning to the Royal Capital for festivals to offer his blessings and tribute to his brother, the King.
But they never, ever should have gotten entangled with those Demon’s Claws from the Abyss, the ones reeking of sulfur. They had allowed the entire White Horse Kingdom—this land he so deeply loved—to be enveloped in the terrifying shadow of Demons and a web of conspiracy.
Carl, his once-promising elder brother, was goaded on by the Demon’s Claws to launch a palace coup. He committed regicide to ascend the throne, while his second brother, William, declared his own "Wiseman Dynasty" in the distant Northern Territory.
The once-mighty Kingdom that had united the North was torn apart in a matter of months, engulfed in the flames of war.
He could never forget the year he turned eighteen. At the Harvest Festival ball, he’d met Isabella Soron, the second daughter of the Soron Count’s family from the Southern Territory. She was like a shy yet passionately blooming tulip, and she had quietly stolen into the tranquil lake of his heart.
She had the soft features characteristic of women from the south. Her long, chestnut hair glowed warmly in the candlelight, and her azure eyes were as clear as the purest lakes outside Falan.
She wasn’t adept at the disingenuous pleasantries of court life, but she was intimately familiar with poetry, painting, and the Kingdom’s ancient architectural history, speaking of them as if they were treasured family heirlooms.
That night on the balcony, bathed in moonlight with the faint sound of joyful music in the distance, they spoke in hushed tones about the sonnets of the poet Whitman and the fragrance of summer grapes on the Soron estate. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her eyes bright and sincere.
Alek remembered. Not long before the coup, Isabella had quietly taken his hand. They were in the gardens behind his residence, under a trellis thick with wisteria, and she had whispered with concern, "Alek, the mood in the Royal Capital has grown very strange lately. My father wrote from the south; he said he’s heard many odd rumors... You have to be careful. Whatever happens, please, don’t leave Falan."
At the time, Alek had dismissed her fears, thinking she was being overly anxious. But seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, he solemnly agreed to her request and remained in Falan, forgoing a return to the Royal Capital to meet with the old King.
And so, when the Kingdom was later plunged into earth-shattering turmoil—when the Royal Capital fell, his father was killed, and his two brothers took up arms against each other—Alek survived. Far from the eye of the storm and holding no real power, he was left unharmed.
He had even prepared for the worst: he would completely renounce his claim to the throne and hole up in the old capital of Falan. Relying on the lingering influence of his mother’s family and the potential support of Isabella’s family in the south, he would quietly bide his time, waiting for the chaos to finally die down. Then, he would pledge his loyalty to the victor in exchange for a place of peace for himself, Isabella, and his household.
But a few days ago, Isabella died.
She died in his residence, at the hands of an Assassin sent by a political rival. Her blood stained the carpet in his study, its glaring red a cruel mockery and a stark warning.
’Why? Why did they have to kill her?!’
’He had already humbled himself to the lowest point, surrendering nearly all his political ambition. All he wanted was to live a quiet life with the woman he loved. So why did his high-and-mighty brothers, those enemies lurking in the shadows, have to keep hounding him? Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Why wouldn’t they spare innocent Isabella?!’
Alek clenched his fists, his nails digging so deeply into his palms that they drew blood. The sharp pain was nothing, not even a fraction of the agony tormenting his heart.
A silent scream raged within him. Memories, sharp as blades, cut into his sanity again and again, rekindling the fires of his rage until they burned away even his fear of Demons.
Isabella was dead. The last of his naive hopes died with her. He no longer had the time or inclination to sort out right from wrong.
The endless pain and guilt over Isabella’s death, the fear of the invisible pressure from his brothers, the helplessness he felt at the Kingdom’s growing instability... all of it coalesced, transforming into a single, blazing inferno of rage.
’He would have his revenge!!!’
For the sake of this crumbling Kingdom, for the sake of the fallen Isabella, he needed power. He needed enough power to earn a seat at the table where the Kingdom’s fate was decided, not to be a mere pawn who could only listen from the corner, waiting to be sacrificed.
Even if it meant striking a bargain with a Demon, even if he would only shine for a moment like a firework of destruction in the night sky, he would sell his soul. He would gamble everything he had to make them witness the wrath of Falan!
And so, through the few but utterly loyal secret channels left to him by his mother’s family, he learned something. A powerful Demon, the Iron Cavalry Demon Yax, had escaped from Storm Fortress. He was now active near the Stormlands and apparently looking for "partners." Using the last of his clandestine contacts, Alek risked everything to reach out to this visitor from the Abyss.
He chose the basement of a remote manor, an inheritance from his mother’s family, to perform the bloody ritual that would decide his fate—and perhaps the fate of the entire Kingdom.
...
But as Alek was lost in his inner turmoil, he had no idea that the imposing, powerful Yax standing beside him was, inwardly, far more nervous and apprehensive than he was.