The courtyard was silent.
The stones, blackened by a thousand years of screams, now stood quiet under a sky that never saw stars. Only the dull glow of infernal light shimmered above. And in the center stood a boy—barefoot, breathing hard, fists clenched.
Lidow.
His chest rose and fell like a storm barely contained. The memory of the bounty hunters was still fresh. The taste of fear, the blur of his own power. He hadn't understood it. The light had burst from his palms. But so hatte auch der Schatten.
Opposites. At war. Inside him.
Across the yard, leaning against a pillar carved from obsidian and bone, stood Shadow. Robes flickering like they were alive. The air around him whispered.
"Again," he said. Not harshly. Not softly. Like the word weighed worlds.
Lidow nodded. Sparks gathered at his fingertips.
He punched forward.
A surge of golden flame lit the courtyard—but halfway, it was swallowed by a claw of black smoke, twisting into a jagged arc. The magic cracked mid-air, tearing itself apart.
He stumbled back. "It won't listen to me," Lidow muttered.
"It won't," Shadow said, walking slowly toward him. "Not yet. Because you are trying to command two kings… without being one."
He knelt before his son. For a moment, the dread king of the Hells was just… a man.
"You carry my fire," Shadow said. "And her light. But if you let them clash—they'll devour each other."
"So what do I do?" Lidow asked, voice trembling.
Shadow raised a hand. The air around them grew dense. Then—he snapped his fingers.
From the darkness stepped a twisted beast—fangs, eyes like hollow suns, wings of iron. A creature from the outer pits.
Lidow flinched.
Shadow stood tall again. "You do not ask what to do. You act. You let the fire burn—but you guide it."
The beast charged.
Lidow froze—then screamed as his hands lit up. Light and dark again. This time, he didn't choose. He let both come. They met in his chest, wild, violent… and something new ignited.
Not flame. Not shadow. Something in-between.
He thrust his palm forward—and the creature shattered into dust.
Silence.
Shadow didn't smile. But something in his eyes softened. "That… was the first step."
Then a voice broke the stillness:
"Enough!"
Valarie. She had watched from the gate, hands clenched at her sides. She stepped forward, golden eyes furious.
"He's a child, Shadow. Not your weapon."
Shadow turned, slowly. "He is our child. And he will be hunted—for what he is. I won't let him die unprepared."
Valarie's voice trembled. "Then teach him to live, not just to fight."
Lidow looked between them—power still glowing on his skin. He didn't understand everything yet. But something in his heart burned for both of them.
The war between shadow and light had shaped a boy.
But what came next… would shape a king.
The sky above the obsidian towers of Malroth had turned a quiet gold, streaked with crimson — the kind of dusk that didn't promise rest, only a temporary silence before storms. Shadow stood at the edge of the balcony, his dark cloak brushing the scorched stone. Below him, the city pulsed — demonic, alive, and eerily peaceful.
Behind him, Valaria leaned against the archway, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon. "He's growing stronger," she said quietly.
Shadow didn't turn, but he nodded. "Lidow has the hunger."
"Like you did."
"No." He looked down. "Like both of us did. But it's… gentler in him. Brighter, somehow."
They watched the sun begin to dip beneath the black ridges. The quiet was broken by hurried footsteps. Lan appeared in the doorway, panting. "He's gone."
Valaria's face tightened. "Gone?"
Lan nodded. "Took a blade. Said he needed to understand his power. He left alone."
Shadow's jaw clenched. He vanished in a blur of ash and smoke.
Lidow ran. Not out of fear, but with purpose. The forest near the mortal gate shimmered with whispering light, and in the silence between worlds, he stopped. Breathing hard. Listening.
He could feel it again — that burn. Not just Shadow's darkness. Not just Valaria's golden flame. Both. Alive. Roaring through his chest.
A voice echoed in the trees.
"You're early."
Lidow turned. A figure in silver armor stood across the glade, half-shrouded by vines. "I was sent to test you."
"I didn't ask for a test," Lidow said.
"It doesn't matter. You carry what should never have been born. Light and Shadow were meant to end each other — not breed."
Lidow raised his blade. "Then I'll rewrite what was meant."
The figure struck — fast, blinding. But Lidow moved. Faster than instinct. Shadows curled around his hands, light burst from his palms, and in that instant, the glade exploded in colorless fire.
Far above, Shadow watched from the high branches, unseen. He did not intervene.
He only whispered to himself, "Burn, little flame. Burn until they see who you are."
And he vanished again.
The wind over Obsidian Reach carried no sound.
Not the echo of steel. Not the roar of war. Only silence.
Shadow stood at the highest spire of the Black Citadel, the edge of his cloak fluttering like torn parchment in the wind. His hands were clasped behind his back. Below him, the hellish lands glimmered faintly with subdued fire — calm for now.
"Do you think he's ready?"
Valaria's voice, soft but firm, came from behind.
Shadow didn't turn.
"No," he said after a pause. "But he will be."
They watched the horizon together — where no sun ever rose, where the sky forever bled rust and ash. Yet even here, peace had roots. Small ones. Fragile.
Like Lidow.
The boy sat alone in the training courtyard, clutching his side. Blood stained the edges of his shirt — from the bounty hunter's blade hours before. His fists trembled not from pain, but from shame.
He had frozen.
He had almost died.
And still, no one scolded him.
"Why didn't he call for me?" Shadow finally asked, his voice lower now, more human.
Valaria placed a hand gently on his arm. "Because he wants to be more than your son."
Shadow's eyes narrowed. "He is more."
Below, Lidow stood again.
He pressed his palms together. A flicker — light in one hand, shadow in the other. They sparked, clashed, repelled. He gritted his teeth, tried again.
Shadow and Valaria watched in silence as their son struggled — not with strength, but with balance.
"He needs to understand what this power means," Shadow muttered. "It's not just magic. It's inheritance. It's legacy."
Valaria smiled faintly. "Then let's teach him more than war."
That night, Lidow was silent at dinner.
The grand table felt too large, even though only three plates were ever used. He picked at his food, eyes dull, the fire in them dimmed.
Shadow set his fork down.
"Do you know why the blade of a demon stings less than silence?" he asked.
Lidow blinked. "What?"
"Because pain makes you move," Shadow said. "But silence makes you question if you ever should again."
Valaria gave him a look. Shadow shrugged.
"It's okay to be afraid, Lidow," she said, kneeling next to the boy. "But next time — let fear speak. Don't let it eat you."
Lidow looked between them. "Am I… failing you both?"
"No," Shadow said instantly. "But you are not done."
He leaned forward, his voice lower, sharper — the voice of the King of Hell.
"You carry the weight of two thrones. One that burned the world. And one that tried to save it. That kind of burden doesn't break you, Lidow. It defines you."
Later that night, when the halls were quiet, Shadow stepped into the chamber of mirrors.
One by one, he lit them with fragments of his power — each showing a different realm, a different threat. Angels gathering again in the clouds. Ashvar's survivors lurking in ruins. Old beasts stirring beyond the edges of maps.
Shadow sighed. "Peace never lasts."
From the doorway, Valaria watched him.
"You think we'll need to prepare him… sooner?"
He nodded. "There's no prophecy. No chosen one. There's only blood, fire, and choice."
She stepped beside him and whispered, "Then let him choose. Not because of us… but despite us."
In the darkness of the tower, Lidow stood quietly in the garden. His palms still glowed — light and shadow, circling each other like twin wolves, untamed.
He looked up at the sky — at the stars that never moved.
And for the first time, he whispered a name not given to him.
"My name is Lidow."
The wind stirred.
Something… listened.