Azarel Vireon | EL PACTO

The library was silent. Not the everyday silence of forgotten shelves, but the silence that feels like bated breath. As if the walls knew something you didn't. As if the air itself was waiting... for something to break.

It was dawn. Outside, the storm pounded against the windows as if trying to warn whoever remained inside. But the lights remained on in just one corner of the forbidden wing: A dusty lectern held a book that shouldn't exist.

The tome had no title. Nor an author.Just aged leather, marks etched deep within… and a slimy feel, as if its surface were faintly throbbing.

And then it fell. A drop.

A drop of blood.Small. Innocent. Just a sting in the finger. But it was enough.

The book absorbed the liquid instantly, as if it were hungry. The runes glowed red, the floor creaked like a broken bone, and the air thickened. The seal was broken.

On the Throne of Silent Fire

There was no time. Only an eternal abyss of black marble and crimson sky, wrapped in living smoke and forgotten chains.The palace walls weren't built, they were invoked. What lived there didn't answer to gods or demons, because Azarel didn't belong to any kingdom. He was a kingdom.

Her body rested on a throne of bone carved with the broken promises of a thousand generations. Her hair, as black as the last night of the universe, fell over her bare shoulders. And her eyes... , her eyes were fire contained behind broken glass.

He had been asleep. Not from tiredness. But from being stuck.

A pact sealed centuries ago kept him contained… until someone, someday, invoked his true name with the only language that never lies: blood.

And someone had done it.

A single drop, but enough.

Azarel didn't get up immediately. He allowed himself to feel. The new warmth in his veins, the echo of the reactivated bond, the innocent soul that now trembled in the forbidden corridors of her palace. A human. A small, weak creature. But with something more… something in his blood resonated with ancient force. With desire. With hunger.

He smiled slowly.

"After so long..." his voice wasn't spoken, but felt. As if the air on the plane had become thick, humid, sensual. "Someone called my name."

He stood up.

Every step made the dark tiles tremble. As he passed, the walls glowed a faint red. Creatures Formless figures hid among the pillars. The palace celebrated its awakening. The columns trembled as if they were flesh. The doors opened before him, like trembling lovers.

In the center of the main hall, right above the summoning circle, she lay.

Still unconscious. Still fragile.

Azarel stopped a few feet away. Not out of pity. But out of desire. Watching her was like watching a dancing flame before deciding whether to extinguish it… or let it burn.

—“So young... so alive.” —“And with no idea of the price.”

His eyes scanned every curve, every shadow of her body. But it wasn't a physical desire that first inflamed his chest. It was the bond. That connection primitive that only occurs when two souls touch on different planes.I could already feel her fear. Her doubts. Her confusion. Soon I would hear her voice. Her warmth. Her name...

"The creature came to me without knowing it…" Azarel whispered with a crooked smile, his fangs flashing in the gloom. "Or perhaps you always knew it was looking for you?"

She moved. A slight gesture. A sigh.

Azarel didn't touch her yet. The first contact had to be on her terms. Not out of force, but out of necessity.When she opened her eyes, it would be for him. When she spoke, it would be before him. And when she begged, as everyone did sooner or later… it would be for him.

"Wake up, my dear..." he said at last, as the circle closed around them. "This world will never let you go again."

And then, without touching her, he marked her.

A red line slowly drew across her collarbone. It wasn't a wound. It was a promise. The pact was already made. The blood had sealed it.

Azarel Vireon, the eternal, the cursed, the lover of the forbidden… had returned.

And he wasn't going to let her go.