Chapter 45: The Door on the Lake
Chapter 45: The Door on the Lake
The morning sky over the Demon King’s castle was painfully bright—too bright for the three demons currently speed-walking across the castle with the frantic energy of people who knew they were seconds away from disaster.
They’d been walking for hours and still hadn’t found what they were searching for. They decided to go outside the gardens because the door they searched for was famous for having an attitude of its own.
The owner of the room had an attitude too.
They were already tired, but they needed to continue, so they did.
One time, when they had searched for this door, they had found it in the northern territories in a cave filled with beasts even they were scared of.
Apprehension filled them as they continued searching, hoping that the door wasn’t in a dangerous place or in enemy territory.
They moved to the gardens, hoping that perhaps they’d be lucky enough to find it there.
Birds chirped up in the sky. Winged beasts—at least the harmless ones that loved the sunlight—flew overhead happily, and the flowers glowed. A soft breeze rustled the leaves.
It was all very peaceful.
The first demon stomped ahead, tall as a wall and twice as wide. His reddish-brown hair looked like it had been cut in anger. It was haphazard, but it also fit him extremely well.
His muscles strained against his armored vest each time he inhaled. His default expression was a thunderous scowl—so permanent it looked carved into stone. If anger itself had decided to grow legs and walk around, it would’ve been him.
His name was Draeven, and even if he always had a scowl on his face, he was one of the friendliest people in the castle—also one whose most dominant emotion was anger.
The second demon hurried at his heels. He was much smaller, wiry, and jumpy as a startled rabbit. His copper hair stuck up in chaotic tufts, his eyes were too large, and he flinched at every sound like the world was constantly sneaking up on him.
This one was Pith, a low-tier logistics demon whose greatest desire in life was not dying, especially not by the hands of the demon king—whom they were now searching for.
The third walked slightly behind them, because he had common sense. He was tall, with long pale hair the color of moonlit water, and eyes that shifted like a depthless tide. His presence was quiet but felt.
He belonged to the Eldertide lineage. He was a royal, an ancient demon, and notoriously calm until provoked.
His name was Caleth.
And he was uneasy.
"Where is it?!" Draeven barked, kicking aside a perfectly innocent shrub. "Why haven’t we found the door yet?"
Caleth sighed softly. "You know very well that His Highness’s door does not remain in one place."
Draeven sighed. "I know that. I just hope the door isn’t somewhere that requires us to fight other demons or beasts. After everything today, I’m not sure I have the energy left in me to fight anything."
Pith paled. "This is the day we die, right? I always knew it would be because of the King’s door."
"I’m not dying today as far as I’m concerned," Caleth murmured.
They all stopped when they reached the lake in the center of the garden.
And saw it.
Floating above the water, flickering faintly with shadow, was a tall obsidian door—the impossible entrance to the Demon King’s private chambers.
All three demons exhaled in shaky relief.
"There it is," Draeven muttered.
"Thank the under-realm," Pith whispered.
Caleth folded his arms, staring at the door with a deep frown. "It’s on the lake... that means he shouldn’t be disturbed at all, right?"
They fell silent.
Then Draeven slowly turned to Pith.
Pith’s ears flattened. "No."
Draeven shoved him toward the water. "Go open it."
"ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!" Pith shrieked, stumbling back.
"If someone has to die," Draeven said, "better it be you."
"Better be me? Are you out of your mind? I’m not dying—especially not by the High Demon King’s hands!" Pith exclaimed.
While they argued, Caleth gently moved farther away. He adjusted his position and dusted his robes calmly, like he was removing nonexistent dirt.
Draeven and Pith continued to argue, and it wasn’t until Draeven tried to involve Caleth that they realized he wasn’t standing near them anymore.
Draeven scowled. "Why are you so far away?"
Caleth blinked at them. "Because the last time you two argued outside His Highness’s room, he almost incinerated us with unexpected lava. I hate lava."
Pith’s eyes went wide. "Oh—oh yes. Lava was terrible." He shuddered like he’d just remembered how terrifyingly hot it had been.
Neither needed further explanation. They both shuffled to stand next to Caleth at a safe distance.
For a moment, they simply stared at the ominous floating door shimmering above the still lake surface.
Draeven spoke first. "So. Who’s going in?"
Pith opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Not me."
Caleth shook his head. "I respectfully pass. I am not prepared to die today."
A long moment passed. Then Draeven rumbled, "It really would’ve been easier if Ignivar were here."
Both others nodded immediately.
Ignivar—the Fire Royal Demon, one of the Seven Highblood families. The only creature in existence the Demon King didn’t immediately obliterate out of irritation.
"Well," Pith said, "he’s not—"
A burst of heat rippled through the air.
Flames curled upward from the ground, swirling into a vortex of red, orange, and blue fire. They danced, twisted, and then condensed into a tall figure who stepped out with the ease of someone who arrived everywhere dramatically on purpose.
He had a strong jaw, striking features, and height bordering on intimidating. His hair was a living flame: vibrant layers of ember-red, copper-orange, and streaks of blue like the hottest fire.
His eyes glowed molten gold.
He took one look at the three demons and raised an eyebrow.
"...What are you all doing?"
All three demons immediately rushed him like frightened children spotting a favorite older brother.
"Ignivar!!"
"How did you know we needed you?" Caleth asked, relief brightening his features.
Ignivar lifted a hand and they froze instantly.
"What is going on?" he asked.
Draeven swallowed. "We—we need to speak to His Highness."
"It’s already noon!" Pith squeaked. "And he hasn’t come out at all!"
Caleth added quietly, "You remember he was meant to meet with the royals—us—regarding his wife."
"And he still hasn’t shown up, so you guys decided to come to him instead," Ignivar finished.
They nodded eagerly.
Ignivar stared at them.
Then at the door.
Then back at them.
"You three," he said slowly, "are aware of who the king is... yes?"
They nodded vigorously.
"Of course we are."
Ignivar exhaled. "Then why," he asked patiently, "are you here?"
Draeven scowled. "Because this is important! He needs to introduce her to the court. She’s the one who will be doing most of the work now—we need to get to know her."
Pith bobbed his head. "If it weren’t necessary, we would never try disturbing him."
Caleth gestured cautiously toward the door. "We are simply... out of options. So we hoped perhaps you... might try calling him out?"
Ignivar stared blankly. "Me?"
"You’re the only one he tolerates," Pith said desperately.
"And the only one he listens to," Draeven added.
Caleth nodded. "You are... his friend."
Ignivar shook his head immediately.
"Um... you guys are wrong. The king has no friends at all, everyone knows that. I was almost killed the last time I entered his room and tried to make him do paperwork. My son still needs me. Never again."
"My children need me too," Caleth said.
"The only person without a child is Pith," Draeven said, and all eyes turned to Pith, who looked like he was about to evaporate.
"No. No way." Pith made a cross sign over himself. "Ignivar is his friend. Let’s send him instead."
Ignivar sighed deeply. "I am not his friend... The king doesn’t consider me his friend."
Suddenly the door glowed.
Then it rippled, dissolved into black smoke, and vanished entirely.
Out stepped Zorathys.
He didn’t so much walk as emerge, like a creature stepping lazily from a dream. His dark hair was tousled, his ruby eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He stretched, wings flickering in and out of existence behind him, and cracked his neck with the lack of urgency of a man who had slept through multiple life-or-death scenarios.
He blinked at the morning sun.
Then blinked at Ignivar.
Then...
A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face—sharp, tired, and far too pleased.
"Ah," Zorathys drawled, voice deep with sleep. "Hello... friend."