Chapter 15: Destructive pin— Death Thrust
Zephyr stormed through the grand hallways of the Demios estate, his muttered curses echoed against the polished obsidian floors.
"Freaking red-haired bastards. Calling me it? That self-important heir-prince wannabe... tch." His hands were in his coat pockets, head low, steps heavy. "Enjoy your meal?" he mimicked mockingly. "I'll enjoy spitting in your soup next time."
He turned a corner without thinking.
"This whole bloodline thing is trash anyway. Black flame? More like black egos. Bunch of clowns prancing around in robes, thinking they're gods because their ancestors married his sister—"
He didn't realize he had crossed out of the main building and wandered toward the edges of the estate until his feet began crunching over twigs and dirt rather than marble. His rant slowed as the cool air of the forest brushed against his face. A path stretched ahead, lined with tall willows and bone-white lanterns.
Zephyr blinked, finally taking in his surroundings. "Wait... the hell am I?"
He didn't realize he had crossed out of the main building and wandered toward the edges of the estate until his feet began crunching over twigs and dirt rather than marble. His rant slowed as the cool air of the forest brushed against his face. A path stretched ahead, lined with tall willows and bone-white lanterns.
Birds chirped softly overhead. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting the moss-covered floor in patches of gold. He was still within the estate boundaries—he could see the edges of the protective sigils glowing faintly on the trees—but far enough that he could no longer hear the servants or feel the oppressive pressure of his relatives' judgmental stares. He sighed and looked at the sky, what he saw made him fall on his butt.
"The hell wrong with this world".
The sky wasn't blue, not today. It was a bruised violet, the color of twilight deepened a hundredfold. And across this unnatural expanse, etched in firelight, blazed a rune. Not a simple symbol, but a sprawling, complex glyph that seemed to writhe and shift even as he watched, its fiery purple-gold lines pulsing with an inner light. It wasn't a straight line, but a sweeping arc, like a celestial river of molten gold flowing across the heavens. Stars, even in the daytime, peeked through the inky purple clouds that gathered below, their light swallowed by the immensity of the rune above. It felt less like a marking and more like a living thing, a celestial script written in the language of gods, a prophecy burning across the firmament. The air crackled with unseen energy, a palpable hum that vibrated in his bones, a silent testament to the power contained within those fiery strokes. He could see the clouds clearly despite his blurry vision.
He sat there dumfounded. "How the hell is there still white light". Despite the unusual color the daylight was the usual white thin color back on earth.