“That,” Alora snapped, pointing at it, “is what they chanted at me in the throne room.”
Hadeon followed her gaze as she read the words aloud. Wind rushed and the glyphs pulsed once, dark stone briefly veined with crimson light, then went still. Alora quietly gasped.
His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture stilled.
“It’s an old saying,” Hadeon said, exchanging a look with Calla. “Older than this court.”
Alora crossed her arms. “Then why carve it here in the training yard?”
“Because it is spoken when a claim is made that cannot be abandoned,” Hadeon replied evenly. “It translates to ‘Byshadow and fire we claim’. It means no retreat. No mercy. No survival without victory.” He glanced at her then, red eyes assessing. “It binds those who answer it as surely as the one who speaks it.”
Alora looked back at the words. The chant hadn’t been mockery after all.
It had been a challenge.
And she wondered then, who Rune had been challenging. The court? The Dominions?
“Do demons only live for bloodshed and war?” she asked.
Hadeon did not answer at once, instead passing her a waterskin. As she drank, her gaze caught on the red gem embedded in his pauldron.
Each of the Harbingers had one, though none wore it the same way. Red stones gleamed on Calla’s vambraces, while Deimos wore a single shard dangling from his ear. And now that she thought of it, Rune had one as well. A dark and polished red gem in his signet ring.
Was it a status symbol of his inner circle?
“Violence is not our pleasure,” Hadeon at last replied. “It is our language. For some, like the Wrath Court, it is purpose. We are forged for battle. Raised in it. And when we are chosen, we are branded by it.”
“Branded?” she echoed.
He nodded, his clawed hand landing on the dark tattoos that spanned his arms, chest, and face. They were jagged in shape, perhaps the crest of his kind. “Lord Ira marks his warriors when they have proven worthy. We serve him with blood and blade until the end—no matter what we believe.”
Something lingered under his words, a nuance she couldn’t grasp. Lord Ira must be the Dominion of the Wrath Court.
“Do you …?” she asked. “Believe in him, I mean.”
Hadeon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, usually so hard, flickered with something quieter.
“I believe in order. In defending the realm from what seeks to unravel it.” He looked at her then, really looked. “But belief does not always equal loyalty. And loyalty is not always a choice.”
The air shifted.
Calla watched them intently. Her stillness mirrored Hadeon’s, as if they lived an understanding Alora had not yet been invited into.
“And … are you loyal to Rune?”
Hadeon’s gaze held hers. “My fealty is his.”
It was clear then, that like all demons, the Harbingers were bound to their factions. They served both their king and their lords.
A sword for one.
An oath for the other.
But if Rune and the Dominions one day stood on opposite sides, who would they choose?
Hadeon picked up her wooden sword and tossed it to her as he returned to his position “Let us continue,” hecalled over his shoulder. “This time, try not to hesitate.”
She sighed. “You could at leastpretendto let me win every now and then.”
