Prologue

They will never understand. Not fully.

Not even Kleo.

She will hate me when she learns the truth.

One million dead.

They whisper that number like it means something—

something nobler than extinction.

As if mourning matters more than survival.

They speak of betrayal. Of cowardice. Of broken oaths.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

But what they refused to see—what they always refuse to see—

is that Demana was already burning.

Pride made death easier than survival.

Easier to curse the dark than preserve a spark.

So I betrayed them.

I lied to the ones I loved.

I orchestrated our salvation in secret.

I chose the living over the dead.

And now… she walks again.

The child we placed in the hands of time—

hidden in the folds of exile.

The Arch Demana.

They’ll call it fate.

The return. The timing. The blood awakening.

But it wasn’t fate.

It was me.

And with every heartbeat… I would do it again.