Kaelina

The sound of distant drums echoed through the cavernous palace, their rhythm slow and deliberate, like the heartbeat of the underworld itself. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flames of a thousand torches lining the grand hall. Tonight was no ordinary night—it was a celebration. Kaelina sat on her obsidian throne, her chin resting lightly on her hand, as waves of demons filled the hall with their boisterous laughter and guttural cheers. Gifts were paraded before her, each more extravagant than the last. A sword forged in the blood of fallen angels. A vial of captured sunlight. An entire kingdom in chains. She nodded at each offering, her face betraying nothing. The youngest daughter of the Demon King, Kaelina was accustomed to this ritual of excess, this display of power that defined her kind. Yet, deep in her chest, an unease stirred—a quiet rebellion against the expectations that came with her bloodline. Then the air shifted. The room grew quieter, a current of anticipation running through the crowd. Kaelina straightened in her seat as two guards appeared at the far end of the hall, dragging a figure between them. Even from a distance, she could see the faint glow radiating from the figure’s battered form, the shimmer of wings bent and stained but still somehow untouched by the darkness around them. An angel. A murmur rippled through the room. Some demons sneered, others cheered. But Kaelina? She felt an unfamiliar pang—curiosity, perhaps. The guards threw the angel down before the throne, their chains clattering against the marble floor. The angel struggled to their knees, glaring defiantly up at her, blue eyes sharp and unyielding. Kaelina leaned forward, studying the figure before her. She should have felt hatred. Revulsion. Victory. Instead, all she could think to ask was, “Why do they want me to hate you?”