Chapter 119: Embers Beneath the Roof
Chapter 119: Embers Beneath the Roof
Ignivar stepped through the wrought obsidian gates of his estate just as the skies above the Hellfire Territory cracked open.
A meteor screamed downward, trailing molten light like a wound torn into the heavens.
Ignivar didn’t pay it any mind. Meteors were very common in the Hellfire Territory, after all. He simply watched as the protective wards flared to life.
Runes embedded into the estate’s perimeter ignited in a lattice of crimson and gold. The meteor struck the invisible barrier with a deafening boom, splintering into flaming debris that scattered harmlessly across the shield before dissolving into ash midair.
The wards dimmed after that, and silence returned. Ignivar didn’t understand why his own territory had to be one constantly in fights and the most dangerous one when he was normally a peaceful demon.
He exhaled slowly and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as if meteors falling on his home were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
He crossed the grounds at an unhurried pace, shoes crunching faintly against blackened stone paths warmed by the earth beneath. His home rose ahead—an elegant sprawl of dark stone, arched windows glowing with inner firelight, its architecture severe but unmistakably refined. Power lived here, but so did restraint.
He could just imagine how comfortable his bed would be. In fact, the bed was calling to him right now, whispering soft words like come to me. Take a rest.
Okay, so maybe the bed wasn’t really saying words like that, but Ignivar imagined it was.
He had just walked through the door when a figure waited.
The gargoyle demon straightened immediately, folding his vast stone-gray wings neatly behind him. He wore a tailored black suit that somehow did not clash with the ridged plates of his shoulders or the faint cracks of molten lava that ran through his skin like veins. His horns were polished, his posture impeccable.
A gargoyle demon like Marrok, but not exactly the same. Ignivar had no idea why the gargoyle demons in the Hellfire Territory were different from the ones in other territories.
Other gargoyle demons didn’t have molten lava running through them, but then again, he gave up on trying to understand the territory.
"My lord," the gargoyle said, bowing deeply. "Welcome home."
Ignivar inclined his head. "Thank you, Xanibir."
Xanibir was old—even by demon standards. His stone eyes had seen wars Ignivar had only read about. And Ignivar wasn’t old himself. Xanibir had once stood at the gates of the old capital beside Marrok himself, back when titles were earned in blood rather than ceremony. As butlers went, Xanibir was terrifyingly competent.
Ignivar took a few steps past him, then stopped.
Xanibir was still bowed.
Slowly, Ignivar turned back. "What’s wrong?"
The gargoyle hesitated—just a fraction too long.
Before Xanibir could answer, Ignivar felt it.
A shift in the air. It wasn’t hostile, it wasn’t predatory at all, and that was why he stiffened. Hostile energy he could handle. Predatory energy, yes. But this was just... normal. Nothing of the sort at all.
His gaze lifted toward the grand staircase curling up from the entrance hall—and then he saw her.
She descended with unhurried grace, every step measured and deliberate, as if the house itself had been built to frame her approach. The light caught along the silk of her dress, deep ember-red with subtle gold threading that clung to her curves like it had been tailored by desire itself.
Fox ears rose elegantly from her hair, twitching faintly as if already attuned to his presence.
Eight tails flowed behind her—long, lush, and unmistakable. The rightmost tails were tinged with fire, their tips glowing faintly, embers drifting lazily to the marble floor before vanishing.
Her hair fell in waves of reddish-brown, swaying with each step, catching the light like polished copper.
Ysera.
Ignivar swallowed.
"I... wasn’t aware you’d be here," he said, his voice betraying none of the sudden tightening in his chest.
She stopped a few steps away from him, eyes flicking over his form with sharp, knowing precision. Then she hummed softly.
"You smell like ash and paperwork," she said. "Long day?"
Ignivar huffed despite himself. "You have no idea."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You were with the King."
It wasn’t a question.
"Yes," Ignivar replied. "Regarding the traffickers."
Her expression sharpened instantly. "You caught them?"
He nodded. "We thought we had."
"Thought? I don’t understand."
"The Queen intervened," Ignivar said carefully. "She said it needed to be ended properly. Nipped at the root."
Ysera’s ears drooped almost imperceptibly. "So... more work."
"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "She took charge. She is doing the work along with Zorathys."
Her eyes widened in genuine shock. "She did?"
"Yes."
"How," Ysera asked slowly, "did she even manage that?"
Ignivar exhaled. "I don’t know. All I know is..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The King likes the Queen."
Ysera stared at him in shock.
"You’re joking."
Ignivar shook his head. "Absolutely not."
"...Really?"
He nodded once. "Yes."
That did it.
Her expression shifted into something unreadable—surprise layered with curiosity, interest sparking behind her eyes like flint striking stone.
"I’d like to meet her," Ysera said finally.
"You will," Ignivar replied. "The introductory ball will be held soon."
She smiled faintly. "Then I suppose I’ll behave."
He hesitated, then gestured toward the inner hall. "Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Join me."
She glanced at him sidelong. "Just because we spoke today doesn’t mean we’re back together."
Ignivar sighed. "Ysera—"
She raised a hand, cutting him off. "Our child is in the castle. He’s been asking for you."
Ignivar’s brow furrowed. "He has?"
"Yes." Her voice softened just a fraction. "I’ll come get him when he’s ready to leave."
Ignivar knew that would likely be in a few hundred years, since he also hadn’t seen his son for that amount of time.
A knot formed in Ignivar’s chest. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
"This is your home."
She laughed softly—a sound with no humor in it. "It hasn’t been for a while now."
Silence settled around them.
"What will it take," Ignivar asked quietly, "for you to come back?"
Ysera smiled at that. It was a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
She didn’t answer him outright.
Instead, she lifted her hand, red light curling around her fingers.
Ignivar’s breath caught. "Ysera—"
But he was a second too late.
In the blink of an eye, she vanished, the air snapping shut where she’d stood. The warmth she’d carried lingered only for a heartbeat before fading.
Ignivar stood there, staring at empty space.
He didn’t even have time to mourn the fact that he had just seen and spoken to his wife after what felt like two thousand years, even if it was really just two days.
A loud crash echoed from deeper within the house, followed by an excited, far-too-powerful voice.
"Daddy!"
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of something expensive being incinerated.
Ignivar closed his eyes and sighed.
"Xanibir," he said wearily.
"Yes, my lord?"
"...Order new rugs. Seems we’ll be replacing these ones... again."