Chapter 509: Quillan Kingdom

Demon Territory — Quillan Kingdom, Night

The throne room was vast, lit by floating orbs of pale violet flame that hovered near the ceiling like captive stars. Five thrones lined the raised dais at the far end, each carved from obsidian and veined with crimson gold. Four of them were occupied.

The central throne held a figure who needed no crown to announce his authority. Long, unruly white hair spilled over his shoulders, and massive curved horns rose from his head like a crown of bone. His eyes were molten gold, half-lidded with a boredom that made the air itself feel heavier. He sat with his right fist pressed against his cheek, leaning lazily against the armrest.

Thalor Morvath. The Demon King.

To his right sat a man with small horns and thin-rimmed glasses, his posture calm and composed. Fenrir Malkavier, the First Heavenly King. Beside him, a woman with flowing pink hair and striking orange eyes, delicate wings folded against the sides of her head. Nerissa Quenlar, the Second Heavenly King. Across from them, a shifting, amorphous figure of translucent slime that never quite held the same shape twice. Sylas Kalidorn, the Third Heavenly King.

The fourth seat, beside Sylas, was empty.

Thalor’s golden eyes drifted to that empty throne. His voice came out slow and low, carrying the weight of someone who was not used to waiting.

"So. What of Deiora?"

Fenrir adjusted his glasses, the small lenses catching the violet light. His voice was calm, measured, like a scholar presenting a report.

"He was defeated."

Thalor’s expression didn’t change. His fist remained pressed against his cheek.

"I know that. I’m asking how."

Fenrir didn’t flinch. He continued in the same even tone.

"According to the survivors, a group of outsiders blocked the white demon troops. One of them confronted Deiora directly. Deiora awakened his Ancient Demon Blood during the fight. It wasn’t enough."

Nerissa leaned forward slightly, her orange eyes narrowing. Her voice was soft but sharp.

"Awakened his blood? And still lost?" She tilted her head, the little wings at her temples fluttering once. "That’s not like him."

Sylas shifted in his seat, his slime body rippling like water disturbed by a stone. When he spoke, his voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Maybe he got arrogant. He always did like to talk before finishing a fight."

Fenrir glanced at him. "He also lost the White Demon."

Thalor’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice was still calm, but there was an edge beneath it now.

"And what kind of opponent could push Deiora that far?"

Fenrir straightened in his seat, his expression carefully neutral.

"According to the witnesses, the one who defeated him carried an aura like a dragon’s. There were two others with him. An arachnid woman, and..." He paused, just for a breath. "Isolde Draven."

The room went still.

Thalor’s fist slowly lowered from his cheek. He sat up, his golden eyes sharpening for the first time since the meeting began. His fingers curled around the armrest of his throne.

"Isolde Draven," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like something long buried. "You’re certain?"

Fenrir nodded once. "The witnesses were clear. I cross-checked the reports myself. The information is reliable."

Nerissa’s composure cracked. She stared at Fenrir, her orange eyes wide with disbelief.

"Is that true? The Vampire Queen, back in the demon lands?" She pressed a hand against her chest, the little wings at her temples fluttering uneasily. "Why would she return now, of all times?"

Sylas’s form shifted, his translucent body stretching and reshaping until a single arm extended from his mass, pointing toward Fenrir.

"Hold on," he said, his voice echoing from every corner of the room. "You said she was with outsiders. The same ones who defeated Deiora?" His slime body rippled, colors swirling beneath the surface. "That doesn’t make sense. Isolde wouldn’t ally herself with strangers. Not unless something forced her hand."

Thalor’s golden eyes shifted toward Fenrir.

"What do you make of it, Fenrir?"

Fenrir adjusted his glasses, the thin frames catching the violet light of the floating orbs. He was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"It’s possible that Isolde has returned because she’s found something worth returning for." He paused, his gaze meeting the Demon King’s. "Or someone."

Nerissa frowned, her orange eyes narrowing.

"Someone? You think she’s allied herself with these outsiders willingly?"

Fenrir nodded slowly.

"That would be the most logical explanation. The Isolde Draven we know wouldn’t lower herself to follow a stranger unless she had a reason." He folded his hands on his lap. "And if she’s traveling with the same group that defeated Deiora, then that reason may be connected to them."

Sylas’s slime body rippled, reforming into something vaguely humanoid. His voice echoed from every direction.

"You’re saying the Vampire Queen has found a new master?" A low, gurgling laugh escaped his shifting form. "That’s rich. The proud daughter of Vladislav Draven, bending her knee to some dragon-blooded outsider."

"I didn’t say master," Fenrir replied calmly. "I said reason. There’s a difference."

Thalor listened in silence, his expression unusually calm. His fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne.

"Regardless of her reason," he said slowly, "her return complicates things. The Thanatos Faction will see this as an opportunity. They’ve been waiting for a chance to drag the Draven name back into the fold."

Nerissa’s wings fluttered nervously at her temples.

"You think they’ll try to approach her?"

Fenrir nodded, his expression unchanged.

"That’s likely. But the Luminaris Faction won’t sit idle either. And the noble houses have already begun splitting among themselves to prepare for what’s coming." He paused, his glasses glinting. "If Isolde Draven has truly returned, both sides will want her. Whether she wants them or not."

Sylas let out a wet, gurgling sigh. His body rippled, reforming into a loose, humanoid shape that slouched in his throne.

"I don’t get any of this," he said, his voice echoing from every corner of the room. "Factions, nobles, politics. It’s all so exhausting. They keep forcing things I never asked for."

Nerissa lifted one hand and idly twirled a finger through the air, a faint trail of violet light following her fingertip.

"That’s because your influence keeps shrinking, Sylas." Her orange eyes glinted with quiet amusement. "You’ve only got yourself to blame. Maybe if you actually built your own faction, you could compete with the other two instead of complaining about them."

Sylas’s slime body shuddered, and a sound like a wet raspberry echoed through the throne room.

"Build a faction? I’d rather melt into a puddle and stay there."

Nerissa smirked. "That’s exactly what I mean."

Thalor’s golden eyes drifted between them. His voice came out low, with just enough weight to cut through the bickering.

"Enough. Don’t make things more complicated than they already are."

They immediately fell silent obediently.

Thalor let the quiet linger for a moment, then leaned back into his throne, pressing his fist against his cheek once more.

"Fenrir. Keep watching Isolde Draven. I want to know where she goes, who she travels with, and why she came back." His golden eyes narrowed. "And I want to know everything about the dragon who defeated Deiora."

Fenrir bowed his head slightly.

"Understood."

Thalor’s gaze drifted once more to the empty throne beside Sylas.

"And when Deiora wakes up," he added quietly, "I’ll want to hear the story from his own mouth."