Two Worlds, One Destiny

Azeron froze in his tracks, the deep, commanding voice reverberating through his mind like a dark echo.

"The girl's soul belongs to me."

The words lingered, chilling him to his core. He glanced at Lyra, who was several steps ahead, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword as she scanned their surroundings for danger. She had no idea of the storm raging within him.

"Are you coming or not?" Lyra called, her voice sharp but laced with urgency.

Azeron forced himself to move, though his steps felt heavy. The voice—his father's—was a reminder of the cruel reality he couldn't escape. Zevaris had sent him here with a mission: to claim a pure soul. And now, it was clear who the target was.

Lyra.

He clenched his fists, dark energy flickering around them for a brief moment before fading. No. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

But what choice did he have?

"Keep up," Lyra said as she ducked into an abandoned building. The structure was crumbling, its walls scorched and windows shattered, but it offered a temporary refuge.

Azeron followed her inside, his senses heightened. The air was thick with tension, and he could still feel the residual presence of the creatures they had fought.

Lyra leaned against the wall, catching her breath. "This world… it's worse than I thought."

"You're not from here, are you?" Azeron asked, breaking the silence.

Lyra hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I was summoned here. By some ancient artifact, or so they told me." She looked at him, her expression hard to read. "And you? You're not like the other demons I've fought."

Azeron looked away, unsure of how much he should reveal. "It's complicated."

"Everything's complicated," she muttered, sitting down and resting her sword across her lap. "But if we're going to survive this, I need to know I can trust you."

Azeron felt the weight of her words. Trust. Could he even trust himself?

Before he could answer, the building trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the faint sound of footsteps echoed from outside. Lyra sprang to her feet, her sword glowing faintly as she prepared for another attack.

"They're back," she whispered.

Azeron closed his eyes, focusing on the approaching presence. But something felt off. These weren't the same creatures from before. The aura was… familiar.

"Stay here," he said, stepping toward the entrance.

"Are you insane?" Lyra hissed. "We don't even know what's out there!"

"I'll handle it," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Lyra stayed back, her grip tightening on her sword as she watched him leave.

---

Outside, Azeron was greeted by a figure cloaked in shadows. The air around them seemed to ripple with darkness, and their eyes glowed a faint crimson, much like his own.

"So, this is where you've been hiding," the figure said, their voice smooth and mocking.

Azeron narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The figure chuckled, stepping closer. "You don't recognize me? I'm hurt, little brother."

Azeron's breath caught. Brother?

"Ah, so Father didn't tell you," the figure continued, their tone dripping with amusement. "I'm Malrik, your elder sibling. And I've come to ensure you don't mess up your first mission."

Azeron tensed. "I didn't ask for your help."

Malrik smirked. "Oh, I'm not here to help. I'm here to make sure you follow orders. You know what you're supposed to do, don't you?"

Azeron's jaw tightened. "Stay out of this."

Malrik's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "You don't get to give me orders, Azeron. If you fail, Father will have both our heads. So, let me make this simple for you."

He stepped closer, his presence oppressive. "The girl is your target. Take her soul, or I will."

Azeron's fists clenched, dark energy swirling around him. "I won't let you touch her."

Malrik laughed, a cruel, hollow sound. "How noble. But you can't protect her forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to make a choice."

With that, Malrik vanished into the shadows, leaving Azeron alone under the blood-red sky.

---

When Azeron returned to the building, Lyra was pacing, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

"What was it?" she demanded.

"Nothing we can't handle," he lied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Lyra frowned but didn't press further. "We need to move. If those things find us again, we won't stand a chance in this place."

Azeron nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Malrik's words echoed in his mind, a grim reminder of the choice he would soon have to make.

As they stepped back into the desolate streets, Azeron glanced at Lyra. She walked with determination, her sword at the ready, unaware of the danger that now followed them.

How long can I protect her? he wondered.

But deep down, he knew the real question wasn't whether he could protect her.

It was whether he could protect her from himself.

---

To Be Continued in Chapter 4: The Weight of Loyalty.