Chapter 64: Chapter 63. Spirits Bearer
Wyndham Territory, Viscount’s Estate
While the Viscount and his wife remained trapped within the imperial palace, held there by the emperor’s command and unable to return home, their two children, Ian and Rose, had managed to slip through the chaos. Against all odds, they successfully followed the Borgia envoy and reached the Wyndham estate.
It took them a week to arrive. They had fled the capital in haste, with imperial guards posted at every checkpoint under Dietrich’s orders to stop the Borgia envoy from leavingthe capital. Yet none of the emperor’s knights could truly stop them. They all knew what it meant to stand against the Grand Duke of Borgia, and more than that, they feared her more than they feared their emperor.
For years, Roxanne de Borgia had hidden her true strength, concealing her full dominance behind a polite smile and the pretense of obedience. She had played her part as the emperor’s cousin, the mixed blood, and the cursed bloodline of the royal family, tolerated but never respected.
She allowed Dietrich to believe he was the stronger alpha, that she was the one born to stand beneath his shadow, even when everybody knows that she was always the stronger one. But that illusion had died the moment she learned the truth.
When Roxanne discovered that Dietrich’s assassins had not been sent to subdue her but to steal her omega, her bonded mate, her Vivianne, something in her snapped. The patience, the restraint, the silent pretense that had once chained her—all of it burned away. Now, there’s no need to hide.
As the Borgia’s carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Wyndham estate, a shadow swept across the courtyard. The air shifted, heavy and electric. Then, from above, a pair of massive black wings unfolded, stretching wide against the gray morning sky. The force of their movement stirred the trees and sent the guards staggering back in awe.
Gasps rose from the servants. The scent of power filled the air, raw, ancient, and untamed. On the rooftop of the mansion stood two figures, haloed in the light of dawn. One is a tall man with wings dark as midnight, his arms wrapped protectively around the woman beside him. Her hair glimmered like molten gold, her eyes glowing faintly with amethyst fire. Even from a distance, there’s no mistaking them.
Princess Morwenna de Erengard and Ashkareth, the former Demon King of Askareth, are Roxanne’s parents. For a long moment, the sight of them, together, unhidden, and whole, is enough to stir the feelings in Roxanne’s heart.
Then she smirked. "Hah! Show off as usual, aren’t you!" Roxanne called up toward them, her voice ringing through the courtyard.
Morwenna’s laughter drifted down like the soft chime of silver bells, light and musical, echoing off the Wyndham estate. A deeper, darker rumble soon followed, rolling like distant thunder; it was Ashkareth’s laughter, rich and unrestrained. Together, their voices seemed to fill the world, the melody of heaven and the growl of hell harmonizing as one.
The two descended from the roof of the Wyndham estate, wings of black flame folding behind Ashkareth as his boots touched the ground. Beside him, Morwenna walked with unearthly grace, her golden hair catching the faint sunlight and scattering it like molten threads of gold.
Her violet eyes glowed softly beneath the shadow of her hood, alive with both power and kindness. Even in simple travel garments, her regal bearing shone through, the effortless poise of a woman who had once ruled the nobles in the empire and defied them in the same mannerism.
Morwenna de Erengard, the golden princess who forsook the throne for love, carried herself like both queen and warrior. The faint scent of wild lupine followed her, mingled with the chill of moonlight, a reminder that she was once the empire’s brightest star.
Yet beside her stood Ashkareth, her equal in every sense: the former Demon King of Askareth, whose name had once sent armies trembling. His presence is immense, the sheer weight of his power pressing against the world itself. His black outfit fit like a second skin on his bulky figure, and his sharp, hornlike markings crowned his head like a living throne of obsidian. His eyes, red as burning coals, softened only when they turned toward Morwenna and his daughter, Roxanne.
Where Morwenna is radiant and golden, Ashkareth is dark and terrible, a living embodiment of chaos and command. And yet, when they stood side by side, there was no clash between them, only harmony. Theirs is a balance born from love that has defied both races, a bond so strong it became legend.
As they drew closer, Vivianne felt her breath catch. Her fingers tightened around Roxanne’s arm as she stared at the pair, her heart trembling. In her past life, she had only ever heard stories of Princess Morwenna, the radiant omega who shattered every rule, the woman who refused to be bound by royal expectations or divine law. They said she was stronger than any alpha of her time, wiser than any emperor before her.
And now, here she is, more breathtaking than any tale had dared to describe. Her gaze is both fierce and gentle, the kind of power that could cradle a child or crush an empire. No wonder Roxanne asked for her wisdom before she decided whether to destroy the empire or not.
Then her eyes shifted to the man at her side, and Vivianne’s breath nearly stopped. Ashkareth, the strongest Demon King in history, the conqueror of nine hells, the one whose roar had once split the skies, is now standing before her. But he wasn’t the terrifying monster from legend. His expression, softened by amusement, made him seem almost human... almost warm.
"They’re my parents," Roxanne said quietly, her voice touched with pride and a hint of teasing.
"I can see that," Vivianne replied quickly, though her tone betrayed her awe.
Her response made Ashkareth laugh, a great, booming sound that made the air tremble. His laughter carried both amusement and approval, and when he looked at Vivianne, his crimson eyes gleamed with delight.
"Oh, dear daughter," he said, his deep voice rolling like molten stone, "you’ve found yourself a cute wife."
Morwenna chuckled softly beside him, linking her arm through his. "Cute, yes, but I can feel the fire in her too," she said, her bright purple eyes resting fondly on Vivianne. "Our daughter always did choose strength wrapped in gentleness."
Vivianne froze for a moment, startled when she caught the gleam of Morwenna’s eyes, deep, luminous violet that shimmered like starlight trapped in crystal. "Your eyes..." she whispered. "They weren’t purple in the palace portraits."
Morwenna smiled faintly, though there’s something ancient and knowing in her gaze. "Because they wanted to bury my origin," she said softly. Her hand rose with grace, fingers brushing beneath Vivianne’s chin, guiding her to look up and meet her eyes fully. The touch is gentle, but her presence is majestic and unyielding. "The Spirit King’s bearer," she whispered after she saw Vivianne’s eyes.
"You’re the one who made the monsters grow restless in Dreadfang." Ashkareth’s deep voice rumbled approvingly behind her, like distant thunder echoing through mountains. "She’s special, indeed," he said, his molten-red eyes narrowing with curiosity.
Morwenna turned her head slightly, her golden hair catching the firelight like a living halo. "You heard that, Afrit?" she said aloud.
A sudden pulse of heat swept through the courtyard, rolling like a heartbeat made of flame. The air shimmered, and from it rose a towering inferno that twisted into form: shoulders, limbs, and a blazing crown. The Fire Spirit King, Afrit, emerged in all his terrible glory. His body was made of molten stone and searing flame, his core pulsing with the brilliance of a newborn sun. The ground beneath him cracked, glowing red as embers scattered like fireflies around his massive frame.
His voice burned through the air, neither sound nor speech but something felt in the soul, a presence that demanded reverence. The fire curled around him like a cloak, and every flicker of it seemed alive, whispering his will. His eyes, twin voids of firelight, turned toward Vivianne, seeing not her flesh but the spirit that dwelled within.
Afrit bowed his blazing head slightly toward Morwenna, the flames dimming for a breath in acknowledgment. "So this is the one," his voice rumbled through the heat. "The chosen of the winds and the water."
Vivianne could barely breathe; the heat didn’t burn, yet it filled her lungs like living fire. Every part of her trembled, not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of standing before something divine.
Morwenna smiled softly, lowering her hand from Vivianne’s chin. "He approves," she said, her eyes glowing brighter for a fleeting moment. "And Afrit never gives praise lightly."
Ashkareth chuckled behind them, crossing his arms. "Then it’s settled," he said. "Our family just got a little more interesting."