CHAPTER 96: CHAPTER 95. THE ALPHA FOR THE CONTINENT

Erevalis Palace

"Get me my cousin, Ardeth. "He shall be the next head of House Kareth," Ashkareth said as he settled onto the Demon King’s throne, his seat groaning beneath his weight as if recognizing the blood that had reclaimed it.

After Ashkareth was cast out of the demon territory, his house was drowned with him, stripped of honor, and cast into shadow. No one dared to reach out or even whisper the name of House Kareth. For years, it was as if they had never existed, buried beneath the silence of fear and the scorn of the council.

But none of them knew the truth. Ashkareth had never severed his ties. In secret, he kept contact with his kin, guiding them from the shadows and waiting for the moment the blood of Kareth would rise again.

While the other forgot, his people built power in silence, weaving wealth, allegiance, and influence like veins of molten iron beneath the surface. For the demon race to bow again, power had to be absolute, and Ashkareth had never forgotten how to command it.

Now, with the throne once again under his hand, the next stage of his reign would begin. The demons would learn that a new order is coming: one alpha for the continent, and above them all, a ruler strong enough to command both fear and loyalty. Roxanne de Borgia, his daughter, would rule as the flame of his legacy.

The first five houses would bend easily. They would kneel, even if it meant breaking their spines, for they still remembered what the wrath of Ashkareth felt like. They already support the wrong king, and since Velmora is using forbidden magic, this act is considered one of the most taboo things to do in Erevalis.

But the last, the House of Orethar, would not fall so easily. Their strength was old, carved from the bones of ancient demons. And their head, Archon Vyrael Drethar, had ruled for more than four thousand years, his name etched in blood across every battlefield.

Convincing him couldn’t be done just by words, especially when House Orethar had always sided with Chronos, a Spirit King most demons believed to be nothing more than a myth. The irony is bitter.

While the rest of Erevalis proudly devoted themselves to Afrit, the Spirit King of Fire, whose flames fueled their wars and shaped their magic, Vyrael and his bloodline had chosen the spirit of time itself.

Chronos was the silent one, the unseen current that even demons feared to acknowledge. His power was not destruction or flame, but something far greater, inevitable. And that made Orethar’s loyalty dangerous.

The power and wealth of House Kareth are what allowed Ashkareth to reclaim the power of the throne of Erevalis so swiftly. His return wasn’t a quiet one.

He burned through the opposition without hesitation, erasing every demon who had sided with Velmora until the scent of ash and blood lingered through the halls of the capital. None in the High Council could deny the evidence brought before them: the sealed reports from the Erengard Empire, the corrupt emperor himself, and the Black Covenant’s own ledgers, each one proving Velmora’s betrayal beyond question.

Ashkareth stood at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the banners of House Kareth hanging once again above the massive gates. The throne is back in his hands again, and Erevalis kneels.

"Summon the council," he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "We move to phase two. I heard my daughter defeated Leonhart and is now returning to Erengard."

"Yes, my Lord," the aide replied, bowing deeply before rushing to deliver the summons. Within minutes, the crimson seal of the king’s order was sent to all seven houses.

The obsidian doors of the council hall opened with a deep, groaning sound that echoed through the vaulted chamber. Shafts of crimson light streamed from the tall stained windows, falling upon the black marble floor carved with the sigil of Erevalis. One by one, the heads of the six remaining houses entered.

At the end of the hall, seated upon the Throne, is Ashkareth, his figure like a dark flame against the backdrop of runed stone. His horns gleamed silver, his eyes reflecting the flickering torches that lined the hall.

When the last of them had taken their seats in the half-circle before the throne, Ashkareth raised one hand. The doors slammed shut behind them with a loud thud.

"Council of Erevalis," he began, his voice deep and resonant, filling the room with the weight of command. "The war for the throne has ended. The blood of traitors has fed the soil, and the power of Erevalis is once again unified under my reign."

No one spoke. The only sound is the slow crackle of fire in the braziers.

Ashkareth leaned forward, resting one arm on the carved armrest of his throne. "But this rule will not remain within the walls of our kingdom. The age of isolation ends today. Erevalis will not hide in shadow while the world above divides and conquers. We will rise again, and we will do it under one name."

The council exchanged uneasy looks.

"I have lost a challenge of ruling under one alpha, Roxanne de Borgia," Ashkareth continued, his gaze sweeping across each of them. The room is now filled with noise of disbelief.

"I submit to her to be a ruler who will unite not only the demons but also all the races in the Kaliendor continent." He paused, letting the silence stretch long enough that even the embers seemed to still. "She’s now the Alpha of Kaliendor."

The hall erupted.

"What?" Kaelith Nareth shot to his feet. "Your mixed-blood daughter?"

Seraphelle Vaelith’s eyes narrowed. "You intend to place a hybrid over us?"

"She’s Ashkareth’s blood," Thalos Moravine said calmly, his tone laced with warning. "She carries the blood of Ashkareth. That alone makes her more demon than most of you."

"Watch your tongue, Moravine," Lirien Selvarin hissed. "Your sister’s failure still burns in our memory."

Before any of them could continue, Ashkareth’s power surged. The air turned heavy, pressing down on their chests. Flames crawled across the floor in a slow, deliberate spiral, stopping just short of the council seats.

"Anyone who doubts my blood," he said quietly, "may step forward and challenge it."

No one moved.

Ashkareth’s gaze then shifted to the far end of the table, where Vyrael Drethar sat in silence. The Drethar’s head’s silver hair gleamed like frost, his crimson eyes calm, unreadable. Everyone had been waiting for him to speak. The head of House Drethar rarely came to council, and when he did, his words shaped kingdoms.

At last, Vyrael lifted his gaze. "I agree," he said simply. His voice carried through the chamber, calm and certain. "I will follow the ruling under the Alpha Roxanne de Borgia."

The words fell heavy into the silence. Even Ashkareth froze, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, unable to mask his surprise. He had prepared himself for resistance, for a bloody confrontation with Vyrael, yet instead, the oldest demon in Erevalis had yielded without hesitation.

The tension rippled through the council. No one breathed. Even the flames in the braziers seemed to dim, as if pausing to listen.

Corvessa Thornveil, the elegant matriarch of House Thornveil, blinked in disbelief. "You... agree?" she asked softly, her voice almost trembling.

Vyrael turned his gaze towards her, his expression unreadable, ancient, and patient like the earth itself. "I agree," he repeated, this time slower. "Because that Alpha possesses something none of us can challenge. Her wife—the spirit bearer—holds the power of Chronos himself. Together, they could unite this continent under their will." A murmur rose among the council members, low and uncertain, but none dared to speak further.

Vyrael’s crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the candlelight as he continued, "Chronos gave a fragment of his essence to her. That power is not something that can be measured nor fought. It’s the force that binds memory, existence, and time itself. Anyone who would stand against her would stand against the flow of eternity."

"And Ashkareth’s blood is mixed with spirit bearer royal blood. That much is very precious." Vyrael continues.

Ashkareth’s expression hardened, his voice low and wary. "You knew my mate is a spirit bearer?"

"Of course," Vyrael replied, a hint of weary amusement in his tone. "You think the Drethar, who has watched centuries of rulers rise and fall, would not know? If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t merely have been exiled, Ashkareth. You, your wife, and your daughter would have been hunted and extinguished before she ever reached adulthood."

Ashkareth leaned back in his chair, studying him, realizing now that Vyrael’s silence all those years had not been indifference but protection. "You kept them away from her," he murmured, almost to himself.

Vyrael inclined his head. "Mixed blood always calls fear. But power like hers calls destiny. I ensured none of these proud fools"—he gestured lazily to the others—"had the chance to interfere. You may call it mercy or simply foresight. Either way, your daughter lives because some of us still remember what true power means."

No one spoke after that. The chamber felt colder, the air heavier. The council bowed their heads, one by one, in acceptance, not out of loyalty, but out of understanding, out of fear. The two alphas, the king and the oldest demon alpha, have spoken.

Ashkareth exhaled slowly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Then it seems the old monster still has teeth."

Vyrael smiled faintly. "Teeth enough to keep your enemies quiet, my king."