The war between humans and demons had raged for over a century.
Villages burned under demonic raids. Mountains were split by holy swords. The world had long since forgotten what peace even sounded like. Heroes were born and buried like seasons, but one name echoed louder than any:
Seraphina Dawnblade, the Radiant Hero.
Chosen by the sacred blade Solastra, clad in divine armor, and gifted with the voice of angels, Seraphina had turned the tides of war again and again. She was hailed as the Kingdom's greatest hope—perhaps its last. Wherever she stepped, monsters trembled and demons fled.
All but one.
Lucien, the Demon Lord of the Abyss, stood at the peak of the underworld's throne. He commanded legions, wielded forbidden magic, and was the last of the Pureblood Demon Kings. Stories called him merciless, a beast in human skin.
But stories lie.
They met on the battlefield. Not in words, but in blades. And in the moment their weapons clashed, the world shifted.
Seraphina expected hatred. Fury. But what she saw in Lucien's eyes wasn't rage.
It was sorrow.
And he saw it in hers too.
They fought often, always alone, always ending without a victor. Then once, they didn't fight at all. They simply talked.
And kept talking.
In ancient ruins lost to time. In twilight valleys under stars. As enemies. As warriors. As two weary souls who no longer believed in the righteousness of war.
Seraphina laughed for the first time in years. Lucien, who had never known peace, learned what warmth was.
They fell in love in the cracks between war.
It was foolish. It was dangerous. It was real.
And then Seraphina became pregnant.
She kept it secret from the kingdom. Lucien vanished from the demon realm. For nine months, they lived in hiding—together, building a fragile dream. In a cottage by a lake unseen by maps, Seraphina gave birth to a boy with silver hair and eyes that shimmered like both sun and moon.
They named him Rael—"the one between."
For a while, it was enough.
But peace is a fragile thing. And secrets, no matter how carefully guarded, rot in the dark.
The kingdom found out. Spies. Whispers. Betrayals. The High Priest declared Seraphina a defiler. A heretic who had lain with evil and birthed the world's undoing.
The King, once her friend, ordered her immediate execution.
Lucien, away securing a safe route for their escape, never returned in time.
Seraphina ran.
With Rael in her arms and swords on her heels, she fled through fire and shadow, heart pounding as betrayal closed in. Her wounds were many. Her strength, fading.
She reached the edge of the forest. Blood soaked her tunic.
And with trembling hands, she wrapped her son in her cloak—white silk now stained red—and hid him in the hollow roots of a great tree.
She kissed his forehead, brushing back his silver hair.
"You are loved. More than the stars. More than the gods. Live… even if I can't."
Then she turned, sword in hand, and faced her pursuers.
They say she didn't scream when they struck her down.
They say she smiled.
Lucien arrived an hour too late.
He fell to his knees where the blood had dried, where the earth had burned, and he screamed—so loud the birds fled and the skies darkened. He never found Rael. He believed him dead.
The world believed the child never existed.
But in the arms of a humble villager who stumbled across the bloodstained forest, a silver-haired boy opened his eyes and cried.