The silence in the Valley of Ashes was unlike any silence Lidow had known. It wasn't peaceful. It was heavy — like the world was holding its breath. He stepped through the shattered archway, ancient runes glowing faintly beneath his boots. This place was forbidden. That made it irresistible.
A voice in his head whispered, "Not yet."
But curiosity burned hotter than fear.
He reached the center of the ruins — a collapsed shrine, older than heaven, older than hell. Something pulsed beneath the stone. Not light. Not shadow. Something else.
His hand moved on instinct. He touched the blackened relic half-buried in the ground. It responded — a faint hum, a whisper not in words but in emotion: surrender.
The world around him lurched.
A ripple of pressure shot through the air, cracking the ancient stone, twisting the wind into shrieks. Lidow stumbled back — but then he heard it.
A second heartbeat.
Not his.
From behind, a figure stepped through the smoke. Cloaked in black, wreathed in flickers of infernal energy, silent and impossibly still — except for his burning eyes.
Shadow.
"Did I not say," Shadow's voice was low, calm, terrifying, "never come here?"
Lidow froze. He had never seen his father like this — not in training, not in anger. This wasn't rage. This was something far colder.
"I didn't mean to—" Lidow began, but the relic behind him flared again.
Shadow's aura exploded.
The ground split around his feet. Flames rose from cracks in the earth. Darkness coiled around his form, taking shape — blades, wings, shadows of long-dead kings whispering his name.
"You touched it," Shadow said, stepping closer, voice like thunder beneath the world. "You let it see you."
Lidow stepped back. "I didn't know—"
"No," Shadow snapped. "You didn't. That's the problem."
He raised his hand. The relic quivered — then shattered into dust under invisible pressure. The valley went still.
The aura faded.
Shadow stood over him now, looking not angry — but wounded.
"You are not ready," he said quietly. "You carry my blood. Her light. But you do not carry our pain."
Lidow's fists clenched. "Then teach me."
Silence. Then… a sigh.
Shadow turned away, cloak trailing embers. "Tomorrow. We begin again."
-Next Day
Valaria wakes first, always. The black sun hasn't risen, but the emberlight of the citadel pulses gently across the chamber walls. She turns, watches Shadow sleep beside her — or rather, lie still with eyes closed. He rarely dreams anymore. If he does, he never tells her.
She brushes a hand across his shoulder. Even asleep, his body is tense. The King of Hell doesn't get peace. Not even in rest.
She stands, wraps her robe around her, and walks barefoot through the obsidian halls. The castle was rebuilt to be beautiful — yet it always feels like a mausoleum.
She watches from a high balcony as Shadow trains Lidow. Their blades clash like thunder. Flames twist around their feet. Lidow moves like lightning — but he's still reckless. Still soft in the center.
Shadow says little, but his strikes speak volumes. Every blow is a lesson. Every parry is love in the shape of war.
Valaria grips the railing.
He's pushing the boy too hard.
She walks the last living patch of nature inside the Citadel — cursed roots and starlight-pale flowers. She kneels beside the water basin, gazing into the reflections.
She sees her face. Her past. The wings she gave up.
The war cost her everything holy — except love. That's what remains. Love for a demon-king who was once a broken boy. Love for a son who might yet save them all, or lose himself trying.
The generals speak of politics. Of territories. Of whispers beyond the infernal gate. She listens, but says little. She's a symbol here — not a ruler.
Only Shadow's voice matters in this room. Still, when his eyes meet hers across the war-table, he softens. Just slightly. Enough for her to know: he still listens.
The three of them dine in silence. Lidow scarfs food between glares. Shadow barely eats at all.
Valaria speaks gently, asking about training. Lidow scoffs. Shadow shrugs.
She hides her sadness behind a sip of wine.
Is this family? Or just survivors pretending?
She walks the highest tower alone. Beneath her, the hellscape burns as it always has. Above, stars flicker between veils of fire.
She speaks to no one. But she prays.
Not to Heaven. Not anymore.
To balance. To peace. To a day when her son no longer carries the burden of two worlds.
Shadow returns late. Smells of sweat and old power. He lies beside her, silent.
"You're too hard on him," she whispers.
"He's not ready," he says.
"And he never will be if all he knows is war."
A pause. Then: "He's like you," Shadow murmurs.
She smiles in the dark.
"He's like us."
They fall asleep. Not in peace — but in each other's gravity, drawn together like stars before collapse.