Parallel Memory

Chapter 581: The devil kings Palace

The palace was no longer what Lilith remembered. Once a place of majesty—grand marble floors, towering spires that gleamed with infernal power—it now bore the cold efficiency of a fortress under Aamon’s rule. The faint smell of iron lingered in every corner, mingled with the sharper tang of blood. Devils in blackened armor patrolled the corridors with military precision, their eyes glowing with the sickly hue of forced loyalty.

Zero kept close to the shadows, every movement economical, silent. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, but he didn’t draw it. A drawn blade meant noise. And noise meant death.

Lilith’s steps were lighter than his, almost ghostlike, though hesitation flickered in her every glance. She had walked these halls before, but back then, she was a child. The palace had been alive with ceremonies, servants, and the subtle dread of being too near power. Now, those fragments of memory guided her in strange ways—down passages no guard seemed to notice, through crumbling side corridors whose walls still bore faint scratches from another age.

"The prison..." she whispered, pausing at a fork where two corridors stretched into silence. "It should be beneath the lower keep. Aamon may have reinforced the entrances, but he wouldn’t have risked moving the former king elsewhere. Keeping him close means keeping control."

Zero’s eyes scanned the branching halls, sharp and calculating. His senses were taut like a bowstring; every flicker of movement, every muffled footstep of a distant guard, every fluctuation in the air pressed into his awareness. He nodded once, letting Lilith take the lead again.

They descended deeper, and with each step Lilith’s heart tightened. The further they went, the colder the air became, as if the palace itself exhaled frost from its ancient bones. Torches flickered in iron sconces, throwing twisted shadows across cracked stone.

Lilith pressed against the wall as a squad of devils marched past—helmed soldiers carrying long spears tipped with cursed steel. Zero’s fingers brushed the air, ready to silence them, but she shook her head, guiding him to a narrow alcove where they waited, hearts beating in measured rhythm, until the footsteps faded.

Her hand lingered on the wall, tracing a scar in the stone. "I remember this... I was small when I saw it last. A servant dropped a tray here. They punished him for it." Her voice faltered, but she forced it steady. "The prison is close."

Zero studied her in the dim light. She carried the weight of old wounds here, the kind that never healed. But there was something more—a strange softness hidden beneath her tension, the remnants of a childhood spent in the very halls now twisted by war.

Lilith let her hand fall from the wall and walked on. Memories rose unbidden, sharper now that she was within these walls.

There had been days when the palace wasn’t filled with soldiers. When it wasn’t a place of fear. Her father—stern to others but never to her—had filled it with music and laughter. Entertainers came from across the domain, filling the grand halls with stories, songs, and dances. Servants had bustled through the corridors not with grim discipline, but with warmth, often slipping her sweets when her father wasn’t looking. She remembered hiding behind marble pillars to watch the entertainers perform, and clapping until her small hands hurt when fire-dancers spun flames in perfect arcs.

Even without her mother, who had never been there since the day she was born, Lilith had not felt unloved. Her father had made sure of it. He had been both king and parent, strict yet gentle, shielding her from whispers that her birth had come at a cost. He would sit with her in the evenings after council meetings, his massive frame bent to fit her small world. Sometimes he told her stories—of the realms before devils had risen, of the old battles that shaped their people. Other times, he simply let her talk, his heavy hand resting on her hair in silent comfort.

She smiled faintly, though the expression hurt. "He never let me feel the absence of a mother," she murmured, half to herself. "He gave me everything. Made the palace feel alive."

Her voice grew quieter, as though speaking too loudly might wake the ghosts of the past.

"I used to play in the gardens. They were wide and full of flowers, even though no one believed such colors could grow in the Devil’s Domain. Father had them planted for me, said they would remind me that beauty wasn’t reserved for other races. I wasn’t allowed beyond the palace walls... not until much later. But back then, I didn’t care. The gardens were my world."

Zero listened without interruption. He knew she wasn’t speaking for his sake, but because the memories demanded a voice before the darkness swallowed them.

"Sometimes," she whispered, "there were festivals. I would sit by his side on the high seat, watching the entire palace glow with light. Jugglers, dancers, even beasts tamed for spectacle... the air would feel alive. I remember thinking nothing could ever harm us. That this palace, this family, would stand forever." Her steps slowed, her hand brushing against the cold stone of the stairwell. "But it didn’t. The moment I left for the mission in the Human Domain, everything changed. Everything I thought eternal crumbled."

Her words hung heavy in the air, weighed down by guilt and longing.

Zero’s gaze stayed forward, though his voice was low. "You were a child. What happened wasn’t yours to bear."

But Lilith’s jaw tightened. She carried it anyway. She always would.

They slipped into a stairwell spiraling downward. Damp air rose to meet them, heavy with the stench of confinement. The walls grew rougher, unpolished, marked by chains that still clinked faintly with the echoes of past prisoners. A faint red glow pulsed at the bottom—wards of confinement, old enchantments meant to keep even devils from breaking free.

Lilith froze on the last step. Her breath caught. "This is it," she murmured, voice trembling between certainty and fear. "The prison is just ahead."

Zero’s gaze followed hers. At the end of the corridor, heavy iron doors loomed, etched with sigils that pulsed faintly like veins of fire. Two guards stood before it, not armored soldiers this time but towering figures with wings furled tight against their backs—elite wardens, chosen to watch over the most dangerous captive.

Zero’s hand drifted to his blade. "We’ll need to be silent. Quick. If they sound an alarm..."

"I know." Lilith’s eyes hardened. For the first time, the memories that had weighed her down seemed to sharpen her resolve instead of clouding it.

The prison where the former devil king was locked away was within reach. But every step forward was a risk, and Zero knew one mistake could shatter their mission—and with it, the fragile hope of turning the war.