Chapter 160: The Scapegoat Who Wasn’t Asleep
Chapter 160: The Scapegoat Who Wasn’t Asleep
Ignivar had been in the Hellfire Territory when the letter arrived.
The skies above the territory burned in their usual shades of molten gold and ember-red, clouds drifting lazily like smoldering ash. Rivers of lava carved glowing veins through the blackened land, illuminating towering obsidian structures that rose like jagged crowns from the ground. It was loud there—alive, always crackling, always breathing fire—and yet Ignivar found a strange peace in it.
He had been seated on the edge of a basalt terrace, one leg crossed over the other, his coat discarded nearby, sleeves rolled up as he listened to the small voice beside him.
"No, no," his son said seriously, pointing at a flame sprite—they were known as fireflies—it was hovering too close to the railing. "That one bites."
Ignivar huffed a quiet laugh. "It nips," he corrected, reaching out to flick the sprite away with a lazy snap of fire. "And only if provoked."
The firefly turned to Ignivar and huffed at him before floating away.
His son—Aziren—looked unconvinced.
Aziren was small for a demon child. He was the youngest of the demon noble children. His hair was a darker red than Ignivar’s flames, curling softly around his face, his eyes bright like polished amber. His ears were like his mother’s, pointed at the tips. He sat with his legs dangling over the edge, clutching a carved obsidian figurine Ignivar had made for him years ago during a long council meeting he had skipped.
That was a time when Ignivar and his wife were still on good terms, and not now, when she found it difficult to even be in his presence.
Ignivar wished his wife was here with him, but alas, that would only remain a wish until he could get his act together—at least, that was what she had told him.
He was just enjoying the day with his son when his butler, Xanibir, and a messenger gargoyle from the palace—who had part of his face burning—walked in.
"Your Grace," Xanibir said, bowing.
The gargoyle noticed and tried to copy Xanibir but only succeeded in using its stone wings to hit Xanibir.
It apologized and then tried to help Xanibir up, but it apparently forgot that it was burning.
"It’s really hot here," the gargoyle said.
Xanibir sighed. Lesser gargoyles were a headache. "Your Grace," he told Ignivar, "there is a message from the palace."
He turned to the gargoyle, who just stared at him.
"The letter," Xanibir told the gargoyle.
It tilted its head, confused, then its eyes lit up suddenly.
It immediately handed Ignivar the letter. A part of it was already burned.
That didn’t surprise Ignivar. He took the letter and frowned. It was an invitation from the palace.
Aziren looked up. "Is it bad, Daddy?"
The words blurred for a second as Ignivar’s mind refused to process them.
The date for the Introductory Ball has been finalized.
Ignivar stared.
Once.
Twice.
Then he read it again.
His expression hardened slowly, disbelief giving way to sharp, simmering confusion.
"That’s not possible," he muttered.
Aziren leaned closer. "What is it?"
Ignivar folded the letter carefully, far more gently than he felt. "Something that shouldn’t happen without my knowledge."
Ignivar turned to the gargoyle that had delivered the message but noticed it was already gone, chasing after fireflies even with its body burning.
Ignivar shook his head and turned to Xanibir. "I need to go to the palace."
Xanibir’s brows lifted just a fraction. "Immediately, sir?"
"Yes."
Aziren’s head snapped up. "You’re leaving?"
Ignivar looked back at his son and softened at once. "Just for a little while."
Aziren’s lower lip trembled.
"No."
Ignivar blinked. "Aziren—"
"I don’t want to stay here alone," Aziren said, his voice wobbling dangerously. "You said you were staying today. You promised to spend time with me. Mommy always spends time with me, but not you. I miss you."
His tears were already pouring, and Ignivar’s heart clenched at the sight.
He picked Aziren up and held him close. "I know, okay?" he said softly. "But I have to go. There’s something I must do."
"Then take me with you."
Ignivar inhaled slowly. "I can’t—"
Aziren’s tears increased. He hiccupped as he hit Ignivar’s chest with his small hands.
"Why don’t you spend time with me? Take me with you, take me with you," Aziren cried.
His tears were hot, but Ignivar felt nothing.
He tried everything.
He promised to be quick. He promised to bring gifts. He promised stories, sweets, new figurines— even a young pet Aziren had been asking for and absolutely should not be trusted with.
Nothing worked.
Aziren cried harder, clutching Ignivar’s sleeve with both hands.
"Don’t leave me," he sobbed. "Take me with you."
Ignivar closed his eyes.
"...Alright," he said finally.
Aziren froze. "Really?"
Ignivar sighed. "Yes. Really."
Aziren beamed through his tears.
He gathered Aziren into his arms, the boy clinging to him immediately, arms wrapped tight around his neck.
Moments later, Ignivar teleported to the palace—but something was wrong.
He was supposed to appear in the office, but instead he appeared at the entrance of the hall where Zorathys and Naviel were.
Ignivar stiffened.
Zorathys and Naviel were already staring at him.
"Why are you even in the palace?" they asked at the exact same time.
Ignivar blinked.
Once.
Then he cleared his throat, adjusting Aziren’s weight in his arm.
"I—" he began.
"Are you here," Zorathys interrupted sharply, "because of the date for the introductory ball you set?"
Ignivar froze in shock.
"What?" he asked flatly.
Naviel nodded beside the king, far too eagerly. "Yes. You’re only here because of the date you finalized—without His Majesty’s approval, without even telling the queen, right?"
Ignivar stared at them.
His mind raced.
"That’s absurd," he said slowly. "I didn’t set any—"
Something pinched him.
Ignivar hissed softly and glanced down.
A shadow curled at his feet. But it wasn’t his—this was Zorathys’s shadow, discreet and deliberate. Elyn watched Ignivar with a raised eyebrow, as though she were enjoying what was unfolding.
Ignivar immediately understood what was going on. The shadow wrote play along on the floor in quick succession.
Ignivar exhaled.
So that was how it was. He was apparently the scapegoat now. He never should have come to the palace.
Elyn stepped forward then, her gaze sharp as she took him in—and then flicked to the child in his arms.
"I thought you were asleep," she said coolly.
Zorathys and Naviel spoke immediately, overlapping each other.
"He was obviously asleep."
"Yes, clearly asleep."
Ignivar couldn’t even respond.
Aziren spoke before he could. He shook his head hard.
"My daddy wasn’t asleep," he said loudly, glaring at them. "Why are you lying?"
It was at that point they knew they had fucked up.
Elyn smiled. "Oh really?"