Chapter 49: The First Time Eiravelle Saw Qazaethel

Both Xelvyn and Eiravelle stayed near the Golden Thread, the shimmering boundary that separated the demon realm from the divine. The air here was different from the deeper parts of the demon realm—less oppressive, less heavy with the scent of sulfur and ash—but it still carried an unfamiliar quality that made Eiravelle’s skin prickle with unease.

She had been here for hours now, though time seemed to move strangely in this place, stretching and contracting in ways that made it difficult to track. The sky above them was a perpetual twilight, neither fully dark nor fully light, and the ground beneath her was cold and hard, a stark reminder that she was far from anything she had ever known.

Xelvyn’s other monsters guarded the area after they had successfully relocated the omegas back to Solkanaia. Eiravelle had watched them go, had seen the relief and confusion on their faces as they crossed the border back into familiar territory. Some had looked back at her with questions in their eyes, clearly wondering why she wasn’t following them, why she had chosen to remain behind in a place that most people in the divine realm considered a nightmare made flesh.

She hadn’t been able to explain it to them, hadn’t been able to put into words the desperate, clawing need she felt to never return to that place again. How could she explain that the divine realm, with all its beauty and light, had been the source of her greatest suffering? How could she make them understand that the demon realm, for all its darkness, had shown her more kindness in a few hours than her homeland had shown her in a lifetime?

Now she watched as Xelvyn settled herself on a makeshift chair formed by a bended grotesque monster. The creature had positioned itself without complaint, its massive body curved in a way that allowed the Demon Lordess to sit comfortably on its back.

Eiravelle had seen many strange things since crossing into the demon realm, but this—this casual use of living creatures as furniture—was something she couldn’t quite accept. It felt wrong in a way she couldn’t articulate, a violation of something fundamental that she had always believed about the value of life.

When another grotesque monster bended before her, following orders from Xelvyn to serve as Eiravelle’s makeshift chair, she felt her stomach turn with discomfort. The creature was large and imposing, its skin was a mottled gray-green, its features were twisted into something that would have made her scream in terror just days ago.

But now, seeing it submit so completely, so unquestioningly, she only felt a deep sense of wrongness. It had done nothing to deserve this treatment, had committed no crime beyond existing in a form that others found useful.

"Come on, omega. Sit down." Xelvyn’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Eiravelle could hear the strain of worry beneath the command. "I don’t want you straining yourself."

Eiravelle politely shook her head, her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to sit on the creature’s back, couldn’t participate in something that felt so fundamentally degrading. "I’m okay, Demon Lordess." 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

The words came out steadier than she felt, but she knew her discomfort must have shown on her face because Xelvyn’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her with an intensity that made Eiravelle want to shrink away.

The Demon Lordess had been watching her closely ever since they arrived at the Golden Thread, and Eiravelle couldn’t quite figure out why. She was nobody, a disgraced omega with nothing to offer, and yet Xelvyn treated her with a carefulness that bordered on reverence.

"Do you find this monster ugly that you refuse to sit on its back?" Xelvyn asked, and there was something in her tone—not quite accusation, but close enough that Eiravelle felt her cheeks flush with shame.

"N-No..." Eiravelle faltered, her words are catching in her throat. She didn’t want to offend the Demon Lordess, didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the protection she had been offered. But she also couldn’t bring herself to use a living creature as furniture, couldn’t accept that such treatment was normal here. "That’s... That’s not..."

She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find the words to explain the conflict raging inside her. The monster beneath her remained still, waiting, its eyes were fixed on some point in the distance as if it had learned long ago not to expect kindness from those it served.

There was something in its posture that spoke of years of submission, of a spirit that had been broken so thoroughly that it no longer remembered what it felt like to be free.

Xelvyn sighed, and Eiravelle could see the frustration building in her expression. The Demon Lordess was not used to being contradicted, that much was clear, and Eiravelle’s refusal to simply obey was clearly testing her patience.

But there was something else there too—something that looked almost like respect, as if Eiravelle’s stubbornness had earned her a measure of the Demon Lordess’s regard.

"Can someone less grotesque become a chair for our lady?" Xelvyn called out to the other monsters, her voice was strained with worry and annoyance that the creatures she had with her were the grotesque goblins and demons of this realm.

Eiravelle immediately shook her head, her hands are rising in a gesture of refusal. The thought of another creature being summoned, of more monsters bending and twisting themselves to accommodate her comfort, was unbearable. She would rather sit on the hard, cold ground than be the cause of more of this servitude. "N-No. No need, I’ll just sit on the ground."

She lowered herself to the ground before Xelvyn could argue, the cold seeped through her thin dress and the same cloak she got from the alpha who got her pregnant, but still, it makes her shiver.

The monster that had been waiting for her looked confused, its head tilting as it watched her settle onto the hard earth. It didn’t seem to understand why she would choose discomfort over the use of its back, and Eiravelle felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. It had been trained to serve, had been taught that its only value lay in its usefulness to others, and now it didn’t know what to do when someone refused that service.

"And you expect the sovereign of Solkanaia to find you in that state?" Xelvyn demanded, her voice was sharp with something that might have been concern. "And what? She’ll think I am mistreating you?"

Eiravelle blinked, completely confused by the Demon Lordess’s words. Why would the sovereign care about how she was treated? Why would anyone of such importance waste their time worrying about the comfort of a disgraced omega? "Why would the sovereign do that?"

The question hung in the air between them, and Eiravelle watched as Xelvyn’s expression shifted through several emotions—exasperation, disbelief, and finally something that looked almost like pity. The Demon Lordess looked away, her gaze was fixed on some distant point beyond the Golden Thread, and when she spoke, her voice was quieter.

"I didn’t expect you to be this naive..."

Eiravelle felt a flash of indignation at the words, her brow was furrowing in disagreement. She was many things—disgraced, foolish, perhaps even pathetic—but she wasn’t naive. She had seen too much of the world’s cruelty to be naive. She had learned long ago that people’s intentions were rarely as they seemed, that kindness often came with hidden costs, and that trusting the wrong person could destroy everything you held dear. If anything, she had learned to be too suspicious, too guarded, too quick to assume the worst of others.

"Why do you think she’s going to close all borders and portals just to look for you?" Xelvyn continued, her voice was carrying a weight that made Eiravelle’s irritation falter. "Surely, you’re someone important to her."

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t make sense. Eiravelle shook her head, a small, confused movement that betrayed her bewilderment. "That would be impossible, Demon Lordess. I never met the sovereign before."

It was the truth—she was certain of it. She had spent her entire life in Solkanaia, had lived through years of shame and isolation, and never once had she crossed paths with the sovereign. The idea that someone so powerful, so distant, would care about her fate was absurd.

The sovereign was a figure of legend, a being so far removed from the life of an ordinary omega that Eiravelle couldn’t even imagine being noticed by her. The sovereign had armies to command, realms to rule, decisions to make that affected the lives of thousands. What possible interest could she have in one disgraced omega?

Xelvyn looked away, and Eiravelle saw something flicker in her expression—uncertainty, perhaps, or frustration. The Demon Lordess was clearly trying to understand something, trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit, and Eiravelle got the sense that she was missing something important.

"I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear to me that the sovereign harbors interest towards you."

Eiravelle looked down at her own body, at the plain dress that hung loosely on her frame, at the hands that had known more labor than luxury. There was nothing interesting about her. Nothing that would make a sovereign take notice. She was just a disgraced omega with a broken past and a child growing inside her, and no one—least of all someone as powerful as the sovereign of Solkanaia—would waste their time on someone like her.

"There’s nothing interesting about me," she said, and her voice was quiet but firm. "I highly doubt that the sovereign will even glance at my direction." She paused, considering the only explanation that made any sense. "I think what you want to say is that maybe my sister, Arielle, asked the sovereign for help once again to look for me."

Arielle. The thought of her sister brought a fresh wave of pain, a reminder of all that she had left behind and all that she had lost. Arielle had always been the strong one, the one who protected her, the one who refused to give up even when everyone else had.

It would be just like Arielle go to the sovereign, to beg for help, to do whatever it took to find Eiravelle and bring her home. Arielle had always believed in her, had always seen something worth saving even when Eiravelle couldn’t see it herself.

But even as she said the words, Eiravelle knew something was off. She could feel it in the way Xelvyn was looking at her, in the careful way the Demon Lordess was choosing her words. There was something she wasn’t being told, some piece of the puzzle that was being withheld. And that knowledge settled in her chest like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable.

"Whatever," Xelvyn finally said, and Eiravelle could hear the dismissal in her tone.

She sighed and sat down on the ground, facing the still-bended monster who continued to wait for her to sit on its back. The creature’s patience was almost heartbreaking, its willingness to serve despite receiving nothing in return. Eiravelle looked at it, really looked at it, and saw past the grotesque exterior to something else—something that made her chest ache with a strange, unexpected sympathy.

"Mister, it’s okay," she said softly, her voice was gentle. "You can sit down too."

The monster looked confused, its eyes were darting between Eiravelle and Xelvyn as if unsure how to respond. It was clearly not used to being spoken to in this way, not used to being treated with anything resembling kindness. Eiravelle watched as it looked to Xelvyn for guidance, and she saw the Demon Lordess watch them both with an unreadable expression before coldly nodding her permission.

The monster slowly shifted its position, lowering itself to the ground and turning to face Eiravelle. Even seated, it was massive, its head level with Eiravelle’s chest, and she could see the thick muscles beneath its mottled skin, the sharp claws that could tear through flesh, the teeth that could crush bone. But there was something vulnerable in its eyes, something that made Eiravelle feel a rush of emotion she couldn’t quite name.

"You guys looked scary," she said, and a small giggle escaped her lips despite everything. "But it turns out you guys don’t hurt others without a reason."

The monster tilted its head, clearly not understanding her words but seeming to sense her intent. It was a strange thing, she thought—to be sitting here, in the demon realm, laughing with a creature that most would consider a nightmare. But there was something about this moment that felt right, that felt more honest than anything she had experienced in years.

"They’re still monsters," Xelvyn said, and there was a note of warning in her voice. "But more civilized and disciplined." She paused, and when she spoke again, there was something different in her tone—something that sounded almost like confession. "The monsters outside Vartuahry are violent, and my goal is to change that."

Eiravelle nodded, understanding dawning on her. The Demon Lordess wasn’t just a ruler—she was a reformer, someone who was trying to create something better out of the chaos that had existed before. It was an admirable goal, even if the methods seemed strange to Eiravelle.

"But do you really have to treat them harshly just because they look like this?" Eiravelle asked, her hand rising to gently pat the monster’s head beside her. She felt it lean into the touch unconsciously, like a dog seeking its owner’s affection, and her heart clenched at the simple neediness of the gesture. "Don’t you think they’re a little cute for being obedient?"

Xelvyn’s expression was one of complete disbelief, her eyes widening as if she couldn’t comprehend what she had just heard. "Why do you care so much about them now?" She demanded, and Eiravelle could hear the annoyance in her voice—but also something else, something that might have been curiosity.

"I was just saying..." Eiravelle said, her voice was thoughtful as she continued to pat the monster’s head. "They’re also beings with feelings."

The monster leaned closer, its eyes half-closing in contentment, and Eiravelle felt a warmth spread through her chest. She had always been this way—able to see past appearances to the heart of things, able to find beauty in places others overlooked. It was a trait that had gotten her into trouble before, had led her to trust people she shouldn’t have trusted, but it was also a trait that made her who she was.

"Maybe you can treat them with a little regards for their existence?" She suggested, and her voice was soft but sincere.

Xelvyn watched the interaction between Eiravelle and the monster, her expression was shifting through several emotions that Eiravelle couldn’t quite read. There was something in her eyes—something that looked almost like wonder, or perhaps recognition. As if she was seeing something she had been looking for without knowing it.

This omega is different from the others I met.

The thought ran through Xelvyn’s mind unbidden, and she found herself unable to look away from the scene before her. Eiravelle was unlike anyone she had ever encountered—an omega who had been stripped of everything, who had every reason to be bitter and cruel, and yet who still found it in herself to show kindness to a monster. The Demon Lordess cleared her throat and sighed, forcing herself to respond.

"Fine, whatever you say."

The words were dismissive, but there was no heat behind them. Eiravelle giggled, and the sound was so unexpectedly light, so genuinely happy, that Xelvyn felt something shift in her chest. The omega continued to giggle with the monster beside her, her fingers are tracing patterns on its rough skin, and the creature seemed almost to glow with contentment.

The moment stretched, peaceful and strange, until Xelvyn heard a strong sound in the wind—a sound that cut through the stillness like a blade. She looked up at the sky, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon, and then she saw it: a golden fire dragon flying toward their direction.

She already knew who it was.

The dragon descended with the grace and power of a creature born to rule the skies, its scales gleaming like molten gold in the dim light of the demon realm. The air around it seemed to ripple with heat, and the monsters nearby stirred uneasily, sensing the presence of something powerful and dangerous.

Xelvyn rose from her makeshift chair, her posture straightening, her expression becoming guarded.

As Qazaethel descended and changed into her human-like form, Eiravelle’s breath hitched. She watched the transformation with wide eyes, watched the golden scales fade into skin, watched the massive dragon become a woman of imposing presence and undeniable beauty. But it wasn’t the transformation that stole her breath. It was the face.

Qazaethel’s face.

Eiravelle felt the world around her narrow to a single point, felt everything she had known and believed shift on its axis. That face—she knew that face. She had seen it in her dreams, had felt it against her skin in the darkness of night, had carried the memory of it in her heart even when she had tried desperately to forget.

"Xelvyn," Qazaethel commanded, her voice was leaving no room for negotiation. "Hand Eiravelle to me."

Xelvyn was about to speak, her body was tensing with the need to protect the omega she had promised safety. But before she could form the words, Eiravelle’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"You..."

The single word was barely a whisper, strained and broken, filled with a disbelief so profound that it seemed to echo through the space between them. Eiravelle stared at Qazaethel, her eyes were wide, her face were pale, and her entire was body trembling with the force of emotions she couldn’t begin to process.

"You’re that alpha." The words fell from her lips like stones, heavy and devastating. "You’re the alpha of my child."

Both Xelvyn and Qazaethel turned to look at Eiravelle, their confrontation were forgotten in the wake of her revelation. Xelvyn’s expression was one of shock, her plans and negotiations momentarily forgotten as she processed the implications of Eiravelle’s words.

But it was Qazaethel’s reaction that held Eiravelle’s attention—the way her features softened, the way her eyes filled with something that looked agonizingly like guilt and longing.

Qazaethel saw the conflict and pain in Eiravelle’s eyes—the betrayal, the confusion, the desperate need for answers—and felt her heart ache with a ferocity that stole her breath. She had imagined this moment a thousand times, had rehearsed the words she would say when she finally found Eiravelle, but now that it was here, all she could do was stand there, frozen, drowning in the weight of her own mistakes.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid, and in that silence, the truth hung like a blade waiting to fall.