"We are in the demon empire!?"

Kia's voice cracked through the heavy air like a blade striking stone. Her crimson eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and fear flashing across them as she turned toward me. The wind whipped against her hair, carrying with it the scent of sulfur and decay from the sprawling wasteland below us.

The demon empire was not a place where others tread lightly. It's very soil thrummed with malice and hunger alike. And yet, here we were, standing above it, unseen and untouched by any detection.

"Yes," I replied calmly, the faint smile on my lips never fading. "We are."

Kia frowned, her arms crossing over her chest as she turned away. "You've lost it. This place hates outsiders. They hunt people for sport, Azrail. Why would you bring me here?"

"To learn," I said, stepping forward to gaze down at the city that sprawled below — the Gravemourn Stronghold.

From above, the city looked like a dying heart, pulsing faintly in a pool of darkness. The walls, made from blackened obsidian and dried demon bone, shimmered faintly under the red sky. The wind howled through the cracks, carrying whispers of the damned.

Kia's voice grew quiet as she followed my gaze, her earlier anger giving way to unease. "What… is this place?"

"Gravemourn Stronghold," I said softly. "A city where talent comes to die."

Her head snapped toward me. "What does that even mean?"

I turned toward her, my smile faint but knowing. "Come. You'll see soon enough."

With a wave of my hand, the two of us descended, cloaked in my power, unseen by the eyes of any who walked the cursed land. The moment our feet touched the blackened streets, the atmosphere changed.

The air was heavy. Every breath carried the weight of despair, sweat, and blood. The sound of metal clashing echoed through the narrow alleys, followed by the screams of the defeated. Kia flinched when a group of children — no older than ten — ran past, each holding jagged weapons, their eyes hollow yet burning with instinctual fury.

"What are they doing?" she whispered.

"Hunting," I replied. "Surviving. The Gravemourn Stronghold is where the unwanted are thrown. Children from demon families, those who lack power, control, or purpose, are cast here to die. Some call it exile. Others call it training."

As we walked, Kia's gaze lingered on the surroundings. The buildings were cracked and leaning, held together by bone and dark runes. Fires burned in the distance — not for warmth, but to cremate the fallen. The streets were littered with rusted weapons and bones.

And yet, amidst the chaos, there was something more, movement, life, purpose.

Everywhere, young demons fought each other, scavenged for scraps, trained, and bled. The adults, disfigured veterans and lost souls, watched them from the shadows, offering no help, only judgment.

"Every demon here," I continued, my voice calm and deliberate, "was abandoned by their families. Too weak to inherit, too untamed to control. But look at them now, Kia."

She watched as a small boy his horns chipped, his arm bleeding stood his ground against a creature twice his size. He didn't cry. He didn't run. He fought, screaming as he swung a makeshift blade until it dug into the beast's skull. The creature collapsed, and the boy fell beside it, panting, his body trembling from exhaustion.

But before he could rest, two others leapt at him, stabbing him and taking his kill.

Kia gasped, taking a step forward, but I held her arm firmly.

"Don't," I said. "Here, mercy is betrayal. Help someone, and you become their enemy. There's only one rule in Gravemourn survive."

Her expression darkened, her hands curling into fists. "That's horrible… this is just cruelty for cruelty's sake."

"Is it?" I asked quietly. "Or is it truth in its purest form?"

She turned toward me, anger flashing in her eyes, but I continued before she could speak.

"Here, no one cares who your parents are. No one cares about your bloodline or your potential. The only thing that matters is what you can do and what you're willing to give up to live another day."

We walked deeper through the stronghold, passing by a pit where young demons were forced to fight under the watchful gaze of a towering figure — a judge wrapped in chains, his face covered by a bloodstained mask. The fights were brutal, savage even, but the crowd around them cheered — not out of joy, but desperation.

"Why would anyone create such a place?" Kia muttered.

"Because it works," I replied. "This city belongs to the Emoire family, one of the oldest demon clans on the continent. They believe strength only grows when stripped of everything else — privilege, pride, safety. Those who rise from this place become monsters the world fears."

She shivered. "That's insane."

I smiled faintly. "And yet, tell me, Kia… do you think they're wrong?"

She fell silent, her gaze lingering on a young girl — her body covered in scars, her eyes calm as she stood over the corpse of her opponent. The crowd around her roared, and for the first time, Kia saw it — the pride in the eyes of someone who had earned her place, not inherited it.

It was then that I spoke again, my voice softer, almost thoughtful.

"You see, Kia… talent is a double-edged sword. The gifted rise fast, but they fall even faster when the world stops favouring them. They grow addicted to success — unable to fight when things turn hard. But those who crawl, those who bleed and break and rebuild themselves — they become something talent can never match."

Kia frowned. "So… you brought me here to make me feel grateful?"

"Not grateful," I said. "Aware."

We turned into a smaller alley, where the sounds of fighting faded into whispers. Here, the walls were covered in carvings — names etched in demonic script, each glowing faintly. Kia tilted her head. "What's this?"

"The Wall of the Fallen," I said. "Every name here belongs to someone who once entered Gravemourn. Only a handful survived. The rest became part of the city itself."

Her eyes traced the names. Thousands. Tens of thousands. It felt endless.

And yet, among them, a few glowed brighter — those who had survived and left their mark upon the world. Each of them had risen from the ashes of this pit to become legends.

I could see the silence settle in her. The defiance that had burned within her earlier now began to twist — not into submission, but contemplation. She was starting to see.

"Do you know," I said quietly, "that some of the strongest demons to ever walk this world were once called failures? Even the Empire's grand marshal began here. He was born without a single demonic trait. They threw him into Gravemourn when he was six. By the time he was sixteen, he had conquered it. Now, the same family that discarded him kneels before him."

Kia didn't respond. Her expression softened, her gaze distant as we continued walking. The path led us deeper, toward the central district — the Spire of Chains, a colossal black tower that rose from the heart of the stronghold. Around it, blood-red banners fluttered in the hot wind.

From within, the faint echoes of screams and laughter drifted out — the two sounds indistinguishable from each other.

"What happens in there?" Kia asked, her voice a whisper.

"That," I said, my eyes narrowing, "is where those who have survived long enough are tested. The ones who pass leave as warriors. The ones who fail…" I gestured toward the cracks in the ground, where faint whispers echoed. "Feed the city."

Kia shuddered, her gaze fixed on the tower. "That's—"

"—Life," I interrupted gently. "Raw and honest. There are no blessings here, no divine interventions. Only effort, pain, and willpower. And you, Kia… you've had the luxury of never needing to face that."

She turned to me, anger and guilt flickering across her face. "So what, you think I'm spoiled?"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "No. I think you've forgotten what your power means. You've been measuring yourself by how fast others move — not by what you can endure."

Kia looked away, her jaw tightening. The silence between us grew thick, broken only by the distant cries from the fighting pits.

"You brought me here to humiliate me."

"No," I said, my tone calm but firm. "I brought you here to remind you — your worth isn't decided by how much talent you have. It's by what you do with it when everything else is stripped away."

She didn't answer. Instead, she watched the city again — the chaos, the fighting, the survival. Slowly, something began to shift in her gaze.

Maybe it was understanding. Maybe it was pain. Maybe both.

As the night fell over Gravemourn, the fires across the city began to glow brighter, casting twisted shadows that danced across the cracked streets. The sound of the wind was joined by faint murmurs — prayers of those who wanted to live another day.

I looked at Kia, her face illuminated by the eerie red glow, and said quietly,

"Welcome to Gravemourn, Aunt. The place where talent dies… and the will to live begins."

And with that, we continued forward — deeper into the city's veins, where the true lesson awaited.