"Why she's called the Blood Demon you ask? Well... She's like a demon in battle, and the rivers run red with blood when we do her laundry after the battle." - Desi, camp follower for the loyalist army during the Al-Shan Civil War

“And we presume there is nothing we can say to change your decision at this point.”

Such was said by Xain Haroone, Emperor, Protector, and sole Ruler of the entirety of the Al-Shan Archipelago. It was not a question, more a resigned statement of fact delivered in the tone of voice of a child who sulked, which was not far from the truth.

As rare a sight as it was, the Emperor looked and acted his age for once, all of sixteen tender years, barely a Human child who just entered the beginning throes of adulthood by most recognitions, one forced, matured and learned beyond his years by the civil war that had raged for longer than he had lived, sure, but in the end, still a child who barely outgrew his childhood days.

A child that felt completely unenthusiastic of the prospect of separation from the figure that has simultaneously served as his Guardian, his General, his Advisor, his Mentor, his Savior, and as close to a Mother as the child had ever known in his short life.

Said figure stood tall in the audience chamber, barely ten steps away from the emperor’s throne, far too close compared to what most imperial protocol would demand, yet nobody in the room seemed to pay much heed to that fact.

Everyone in the room knew of her.

More than half of the Generals and other military officers in the room owed their life to her. Some on multiple occasions even.

Most of the current civil officers knew her personally, mostly from the days when they all served as tutors to the young then-heir to the throne as the civil war raged around them.

A figure better known by the moniker both her enemies and allies called her by due to how she fought on the field of battle.

Celeysria Ambervale, The Blood Demon.

Among the mostly Human populace of the Al-Shan she stood tall, easily half a head or more taller than the average man, courtesy of her Half-Elven heritage, one that mostly manifested in her height, her slender frame, and the normal sized, yet pointed ears.

As was the norm among any with Elven heritage, her features would be considered aesthetically pleasant to most, though said features were marred by the many criss-crossed scars that were visible on both her face and arms, with many, many more hidden beneath her simple tunic and pants.

And that assumed one had not found her unnaturally pale complexion, snow-white hair, and the way her red eyes seemed to shine a downside.

“You know this day has been long in the making, Xain.” She said, as she addressed the emperor directly by his name, a grievous breach of protocol that would normally be considered lese-majeste in most any other place, yet simply ignored by even the most traditional, stuck-up official present in the audience hall. Though perhaps not without some exasperated sighs and rolled eyes.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

“The Oath is fulfilled, and I’ve been here more than a human lifetime already. About time to close the book on this chapter of history, so to speak.”

So said, Celeysria stepped forward and wrapped up the young emperor in a warm, loving hug, and patted his head with one hand, much like how a mother consoled their sulking child.

A sight that warmed the heart, though for the many military officials present one they felt weirded out by, as they had mostly known her as the Blood Demon, the Scourge of the Battlefield, the berserker who would charge straight through the enemy lines and not return until she was very literally bathed in blood, both her own and her enemies.

The same person who’d come out of many a battle with injuries that would have killed any normal person, yet looked none the worse for wear. Their minds knew it was mostly due to her magical prowess, yet with how rare Blood-attuned mages are in the archipelago the sights they have seen still implanted a healthy dose of fear in their minds - alongside their copious amounts of respect to a comrade with whom they have shared life and death on many occasions.

The Oath mentioned was something that only the archivist had known of, as it had been made by Celeysria’s father to an ancestor many generations removed from Xain more than a century ago, an oath to repay the kindness shown when the travelling Elf washed ashore on the archipelago with little more than the clothes on his back due to the bad luck in that he had been on a ship that caught a particularly bad storm at sea. An oath to render what aid they could, should one day the Haroone lineage ever fall into danger regardless of the source.

An Oath that Celeysria felt was due for repayment when the previous emperor - Xain’s Grandfather - was assassinated by his own cousin who then assumed the throne and tried to eliminate the main branch of the family to which Xain belonged to, an act which plunged the archipelago into a Civil War that lasted four painstaking decades.

When she managed to reach the survivors, only one royal descendant was left alive - all because she had not been present in the capital when the coup happened - the youngest princess, a sickly girl nobody had much hope for.

She was left to live life contentedly at one of the royal family’s vacation houses on a different island, free to do what she liked, until she became the last of her line and thus the one everyone loyal to the family wanted to put on the throne.

For what it was worth, Princess Dinah acquitted herself remarkably for the role she never hoped for, or even wanted. She became the loyalist’s shining beacon of hope, with Celeysria - a long time friend of the princess to begin with, as a humble herbalist prior to the civil war - her trusted advisor and general.

Yet for all that, Dinah was always a frail, sickly girl. Fell in love late in life, to a brave man who passed away on the battlefield unaware of the life sired between him and his beloved princess.

To give birth was always a risky proposition, much less at a relatively advanced age, and while Dinah survived the birth of her son Xain, complications from the birth claimed her not even a year after.

Leaving Celeysria as one of several who took on the job to raise the orphaned child while she fought the civil war at the same time.

“The war is over. The usurpers all lay dead, that much I have seen to personally, and I trust your ministers enough to know they will not treat you wrong in my absence.” She muttered, as she still absentmindedly rubbed the child-emperor’s head - who quietly cried into her bosom - with one hand.

“I have never seen the lands beyond the archipelago, the lands my father has told me of, from the waterfalls of Madginfjord to the dunes of the Navata, and now that you are in safe hands, and the Archipelago knows peace, you can do without me, kid.”

“So I’ll be retiring from your service before old Halmout there busts a capillary from my breaches of protocol.” She added with a smirk, if a somewhat melancholic one, on her face.

Halmout Mansoor was the current Prime minister of the Al-Shan Empire, an old man with sparse beard and moustache, all grey with age, who currently just shook his head and sighed loudly.

Celeysria had known the old man for decades, and while their personalities often clashed, they held respect for one another's competence in their respective fields.

"At least please accept a parting gift from us." Xain said, his eyes still red from how he quietly cried into Celeysria's chest. On his gesture a young page strode forward and passed a small, ornate box to the child-Emperor, which he then gave to Celeysria. "We beseech you keep this in a safe place, and open it not until seven days have passed. Please know that no matter what, you shall always have a place to call home here."

Celeysria cocked an eyebrow at the strange request, but paid it little heed, and wrapped the child-Emperor in another hug as they said their farewells.