Hell, but there were some that I knew had never stopped looking and made it their personal mission, like Williric Zepar.He was a high-ranking Duke of Hell and ruled over demons such as the succubus and incubus alike. But on Earth’s realm, he was one of the Enforcers who ruled over the West Coast of Canada.It was said that the only reason he accepted the title was for the sole purpose of finding his fated Siren. A man obsessed, and with a singular focus on finding her. Yet no one knew exactly how he was spending his time trying to accomplish such a task. Only that he believed ancient bloodlines to be the key.
I couldn’t help but wonder if all his efforts were for nought, seeing as time seemed to play a factor. As this was obviously the year for their discovery and for Zepar’s sake, I hoped his patience and faith in the Fates paid off.
Because there was power in hope, but I wasn’t foolish enough to let it be wielded against me like a weapon. It was not envy that stung, for I liked those who had found them well enough to acknowledge their fortune without resentment. But that did not mean that acknowledgment was not tainted by something colder, more corrosive, a doubt that gnawed quietly at certainty.
Because I knew, deep down, that I had never believed myself worthy of such a thing. Boundless power, yes. Infinite authority, certainly. But Sirens were not rewards for monsters, and I had long since accepted what I was. Whatever pride my father took in me, whatever approval Hell granted, there were lines that even Gods did not cross lightly.
So why now, when the fate of the world was already in motion? The prophecy wheels turning with the arrival of the King of Kings’ Chosen One. Why this woman, whose face I still didn’t know? Why that name, if it didn’t belong to a Siren? But more than that…why me… when I had convinced myself such gifts were not meant for creatures like me?
Regardless of my doubts, it was a pandora’s box that needed to be opened.
One named Shadowmere.
A name that plagued my thoughts and tried to consume me whole.
Vor’s voice faltered, just briefly, and I realized with a sharp flash of annoyance that I had missed the beginning of his report entirely. That, more than anything, snapped my focus back into place.
Distraction was dangerous, and I did not intend to allow it to take root. At least that was what I told myself. But then, I should have known that when dealing with the Fates, they had a tendency to fuck with even the best laid plans.
Vor fell silent, the faint pause deliberate rather than uncertain, and that alone was enough to draw my full attention back to the present. I did not need to look at him to know he was waiting for permission to continue. He had learned long ago how to measure his words when addressing me, how to pace them so they did not invite displeasure. Especially when in front of others, where he was not permitted to speak freely. I wasn’t exactly known for my patience or easy acceptance of mistakes. But then, I was known as Hell’s judge, after all.
“You have my attention,” I said calmly, letting him know he could resume or, in this case, start once more from the beginning. His head inclined a fraction in acknowledgment before he continued.
“There has been a breach, my lord.”
The word should not have interested me, as breaches were dealt with swiftly and without much incident. Their outcomes were rarely memorable. My domain was layered in safeguards, wards woven through the very stone of the building. Blood-bound thresholds designed to turn away those who did not belong. Most never made it past the outer limits.
“And yet,” I replied, already knowing there was more.
“You stand before me, making me question why it is not my head of security that does so in your place,” I pointed out, this time granting him a look, one he felt making him shiver before lowering his head.
“Yes, my lord.”
He did not elaborate immediately, and I allowed the silence to stretch, watching the way it settled into the space between us. Vor had always understood the value of restraint. When he spoke again, it was with careful precision.
“A human entered the club.”
Now that certainly drew my interest.
“A human,” I repeated, my voice neutral, though something subtle shifted beneath it. Mortals did not simply wander into my domain by accident, not without invitation or intent.
“And?”
“She claims to have summoned a bound creature,” Vor paused before continuing.
“According to Torin, she spoke of a goblin.”
The word landed with more weight than it should have. Not because of the creature itself, but because of the human…a girl.Because of the thought I had just dismissed moments earlier. I remained still, my expression unreadable, despite how my thoughts ignited, and I did the very thing I told myself I wouldn’t be foolish enough to do… Fucking hope.
But I also understood why now it was Vor who was informing me of this. As it was clear the moment Torin had found himself faced with a mortal claiming to have with her the presence of a Supernatural… well, there was only one way to be sure she was speaking the truth.
“And you found no trace of it?” I asked, assuming as much given his tone.
“No, my lord,” he replied, and I leaned back slightly against the throne, fingers resting idly along the arm of bone, carved with sigils older than the city of Hell that once housed them.
Vor’s blindness did not hinder him in the ways mortals assumed. He did not see life as flesh and movement, but as presence. As a distortion against the veil. Supernatural beingscast shadows he could feel, a weight that pressed against his senses.
Mortals did not.
