Chapter 9: 9 Zerthik

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9: Zerthik 9: Zerthik The Pact with the Dragons Kairan was six years old then, and his solitary travels through the Abyss had taken him as far west as the Sanguinarii, where the Extras rested.

No demon ventured there: the weight of even a single wingbeat from those colossi could sweep away an army.

But Kairan walked there as if strolling through a garden.

He was stopped by Zerthik himself, the Dragon Emperor, the colossus who ten thousand years earlier had knelt before Kharmul, who descended from the sky before the child with a roar that shook the expanse.

His head, as large as a hill, lowered until it was level with the small being who had dared to desecrate his realm.

“What do you seek, demon?” The dragon’s voice was thunder in the language of the Extras, Azrofnir.

Kairan replied in the same language with a perfect accent.

“I try to understand,” he explained.

“You are the ultimate force of the Abyss, yet you remain here, silent, for ten thousand years.

Why does a power like yours agree to wait?” Zerthik remained silent for a long time.

No demon had ever spoken to him like this, nor had ever spoken his language.

And above all, no demon had ever asked him a question instead of a demand.

“Because waiting,” the dragon finally replied, “is the greatest strength there is.

Anyone can strike, little one, but only the powerful know how to hold back.” Kairan nodded slowly.

“Then we are alike.” Zerthik, the millennial colossus, did something he hadn’t done in ages.

He laughed, a laugh that raised sandstorms for miles, engulfing everything in its path.

“You’re strange, demon cub.

You speak my language, you look me in the eyes without trembling, you listen to me and understand as no demon could.” He lowered his head further, until his golden eye, as large as Kairan himself, was a hand’s breadth from the child’s face.

“I will remember your face, and when the day comes when the Abyss needs our strength, perhaps I will remember your words too.” From that day on, something was born between the child prince and the Dragon Emperor that no demon had ever had: the respect of a creature who respected no one.

Kairan, as she returned to the Dark Tower, thought that one day that bond would be important.

She couldn’t imagine how important, but meanwhile she felt it, loud and clear.

One day, between childhood and adolescence, the two brothers spoke for the last time as brothers.

They were seven years old.

Misael had found Kairan on the highest terrace of the Black Tower, where the wind from the Abyss blew strongest, and where Kairan loved to sit alone, contemplating the gray sky.

“Why do you always come here?” Misael asked, sitting next to him.

There was no hatred in his voice, only the curiosity of a child trying to understand the brother he loved but didn’t understand.

Kairan didn’t turn around.

“Because from here you can see the clouds.

And beyond the clouds, there’s something.” “What?” “I don’t know yet, but one day I’ll find out.” Misael remained silent.

Then, in a low voice, he said, “I want the throne, Kairan.

I want to be emperor.

And I want you to be by my side when that happens.

Not against me, but by my side, forever.” For the first time, Kairan turned to look at him.

There was something sad in her blue eyes, something a seven-year-old shouldn’t have felt.

“I can’t promise you that, Misael.” “Why not?” “Because you want the throne to rule, and I don’t believe in rule, but in balance.

And one day, these two things will collide.

Not because we want it, but because it’s who we are.” Misael clenched his fists.

“Then change who you are!” “And you?” Kairan replied calmly.

“Would you change who you are for me?” Misael didn’t answer.

He knew the answer: no.

They stood in silence, side by side, two children on the highest terrace of a kingdom of darkness, while the wind carried the distant rumble of the Crest of Dareth, one of the occult places that most fascinated the two princes.

For one last moment, they were just two brothers.

Then Misael rose and left without a word.

Something between them had been sealed forever.

Kairan remained alone, staring at the clouds, and thought that perhaps the saddest thing about his gift was not seeing the future.

It was seeing it and not being able to change it.

Another year had passed.

The twins were now eight years old, and their bodies, like their knowledge and their strength, had grown immeasurably.

There was something strange in the Dark Tower, something no one dared speak of aloud.

Zaroth’s strength was diminishing, slowly, inexorably, day by day.

The Emperor sensed it, but he didn’t understand: his spells were losing power, his once-stifling aura had faded.

In the corridors of the Tower and in the cities of the Abyss, some demons were beginning to sense it.

In the shadows, something was beginning to stir, but more on that later.

At eight years old, Misael was now able to create more than ten monsters at a time, subjugating them to his will.

He gave them temporary names, trained them, used them, and, at the end of each session, destroyed them all.

He didn’t do it out of cruelty or discipline.

In his opinion, a weapon shouldn’t outlive its wielder.

Kairan had done something even more astonishing: he had learned every martial art he could find in books.

Demonic techniques, first and foremost, but also the countless human martial arts preserved in the volumes his father had brought back centuries before from the Realm of Men: from Judo to Krav Maga, from Aikido to the most brutal combat disciplines, to styles so ancient they no longer bear written names.

He studied them all, made them his own, and at just eight years old, he mastered them better than warriors who had dedicated their entire lives to them.

At eight, Kairan was already terribly strong, much stronger than Misael.

Yet, alone among all the royals of the Abyss, he never boasted about it.

Misael, on the other hand, did nothing else.

He knew he was the heir to the throne: there was nothing evil in Kairan and, therefore, in the eyes of the kingdom, nothing that made him worthy of ruling a world of demons.