Thamuz stopped at the threshold of the room, holding back the urge to run and embrace his father. The memory of the incident with his right hand kept him frozen, forcing him to keep his arm hidden behind his back as if it were a dangerous weapon.

“Love, please, leave Thamuz and me alone for a moment,” Tawnylon requested as he shifted with difficulty on the bed to face his son.

Aolani nodded silently. Before leaving, she wrapped her son in a brief maternal embrace, and the sound of the door closing echoed with finality in the room.

“Come closer, son. Take that chair and sit in front of me,” Tawnylon instructed, his piercing gaze searching for something in Thamuz's face.

With cautious movements, Thamuz took the chair his mother had occupied moments earlier. He placed it at a prudent distance from the bed, close enough to converse but far enough to feel safe.

“I’m glad to see you’re recovering, Father,” Thamuz murmured, keeping his right hand firmly hidden.

Tawnylon didn’t respond immediately. His eyes studied his son as he rested his arm on his legs. After a moment that felt eternal, he extended his hand with the palm up.

“Show me your right hand,” he ordered, his voice serious and authoritative.

“My hand? Why do you want to...?” Thamuz protested, pulling his arm back even further.

“Give it to me!” Tawnylon’s roar echoed against the walls with an intensity Thamuz had never heard in his father’s voice.

Trembling, Thamuz slowly extended his right arm. He shut his eyes tightly, bracing for the horror to repeat itself, but something was different. When he felt his father’s touch, he opened his eyes in surprise. His hand remained still as Tawnylon examined it, even when he pressed it against his chest, just as he had on that fateful day. But now, the hand was inert, as if it had never harbored a will of its own.

“It doesn’t move anymore,” Thamuz whispered in relief.

“That’s why I needed to see it,” Tawnylon replied, releasing his son’s hand. “Tell me what happened that day. I can’t believe you simply wanted to take your father’s life.”

Thamuz felt his throat dry up. His mind desperately searched for a way to explain the unexplainable without mentioning the demon that had tormented him since his awakening.

“I don’t know how to explain it without sounding insane, but I beg you to try to understand me, Father,” Thamuz began, closing his eyes as he searched for the right words. “Everything that’s been happening to me... I think it’s the work of a demon or some entity beyond my understanding. It talks about a pact we supposedly made, although I can’t remember it. That agreement... transformed my right hand into something capable of taking the lives of those I love the most.”

“I see... a demon that makes contracts,” Tawnylon murmured, struggling to sit up in bed. He hobbled over to the window, where the northern lights danced in the night sky. “What you’re saying isn’t as unreal as you might think. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Really? What do you mean, Father?” Thamuz’s voice trembled with curiosity.

“Do you remember Zarakel?” Tawnylon kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. “After everything he’s done to us, I’m sure you do. But before, we were friends. Not as close as Armesto and I, but you could count on him in any situation.” He paused, as if the words weighed heavily on him. “I’ve told you before why he hates me so much, for humiliating him in combat. But that time, I saw something different in him: his skin was an unnatural gray, darker than that of any yhamak born with such a color. His appearance had become grotesque, just as you see him now. After I defeated him, a source revealed to me that he had made a pact with a demon in an attempt to defeat me.”

“A pact with a demon? Like the one I described?” Thamuz leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with recognition.

“Exactly. An ancient and mysterious one,” Tawnylon said, crossing his arms behind his back. “Its name is unknown, as are its true powers. That’s why Zarakel looks so different from us, especially with those tentacles sprouting from his back.” He turned to face his son. “Now the question is: what kind of demon resides within you?”

Thamuz stroked his chin thoughtfully. On the rare occasions the demon manifested to torment him, its appearance was unmistakable: a floating skull with skeletal arms, empty, dark eye sockets where eyes once existed, and horns as long as his forearm. Its raspy voice sounded like the whispers of tormented souls.

“I don’t know, Father. It’s simply been there,” Thamuz replied. “Its appearance is cadaverous, as if it’s nothing but bone. When it speaks to me, it only mocks me and everything that’s happened. Though... once it mentioned something about pushing my limits, making me run from here to the city.”

Tawnylon visibly shuddered.

“That’s impossible,” he objected, trying to hold onto logic. “The city is nine hundred kilometers away. You’d need a carriage pulled by an exceptional beast to cover that distance. And at that speed, your legs would have exploded from air friction.”

“The demon said exactly that,” Thamuz lowered his gaze. “It said that a few more seconds, and my legs would have exploded. Now the question is... how do I get rid of it?”

“Don’t even think about it,” the demon's voice echoed in his head, cold and menacing. “We have a deal, remember? As long as it stands, I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with you. Even if I have to kill your entire family and force you to commit atrocities. Best save that thought for your dreams.”

The demon’s words reverberated in Thamuz’s mind like a poisonous echo, silencing him as a shiver ran down his spine.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“According to the writings of our religious leaders,” Tawnylon began, stepping closer until he stood directly in front of his son, “when someone makes a pact with a demon, there is only one way to break free: death. A painful death that takes the demon down as well.” He paused, his voice faltering slightly. “But you’re my son. I would never wish for you to die that way. I wouldn’t wish for you to die at all. You’ll have to learn to live with this curse. Perhaps you can even use it to your advantage, directing those abilities against those who threaten your life.”

The demon’s laughter rang in Thamuz’s ears, a triumphant cackle that sent chills to his very bones.

“Let’s change the subject, son,” Tawnylon suggested as he returned to his bed. “I don’t want to burden you with anguish just as you were celebrating my recovery. What were you doing in the city?”

Thamuz shifted in his chair, crossing his arms and whistling softly as he organized his thoughts.

“First, I went to a sort of market. There were so many people shopping, and what caught my eye was a stall run by a boy selling jars with essences,” he said, instinctively touching his right arm, as if searching for something that was no longer there. He remembered the sling his mother had made, along with his merchandise and his pouch of pamtan. “I had them right here.”

“You must’ve dropped them on the way. Go on,” Tawnylon encouraged.

“After that, I met Korro. I’ve never introduced him to you, but he’s a criminal Narek and I met on my first visit to the city. He’s much calmer now; he destroyed his own gang,” Thamuz explained, astonishment evident in his voice. “We went to see the spaceship that had landed on the outskirts. It was gigantic, Father, immense. And there were beings from another planet, completely different from us.”

“A spaceship?” Tawnylon’s eyes gleamed with nostalgia. “I used to see them as a child with my father. They’d come randomly: every five years, ten years, three years... But they always brought wonders: jewels from other worlds, mystical or technological artifacts that seemed like pure magic. Once, I got your mother a gift from one of those ships. I think she still keeps it at home.”

“What kind of gift was it?” Thamuz asked with childlike curiosity.

“A necklace of precious gems that glowed under the light of our moons,” Tawnylon smiled. “Each gem shone with a different color: red, blue, and yellow. Colors as beautiful as your mother. Though I had to give it to her in secret; back then, she was still a princess and had trouble with her father.”

"Going back to my story," Thamuz continued, "we encountered Narek and his girlfriend on the spaceship. She had an altercation with Korro and ended up crying next to Narek. I don’t know if they’re still here, but they’re probably upset with me for hanging out with him."

"If you say he’s a gang leader, then he’s a criminal," Tawnylon’s voice grew stern. "I’d be upset too if you kept that kind of company. But I trust you won’t become like that, at least not while I’m alive."

"Of course, Father. I’d never disappoint you like that," Thamuz assured, crossing his arms. "Korro invited me to his house and offered me something called funadortel. It was like a glass jar where he put powder and dried leaves to burn and inhale. It knocked him unconscious."

"I suppose you tried the funadortel too, considering you disappeared for two days, as your mother told me," Tawnylon let out a soft chuckle. "You need to be more careful with that stuff. Small puffs and exhale quickly, like you’re eating something hot. That’s how you best enjoy the flavor."

"You know how to use it? You surprise me," Thamuz cleared his throat before continuing his tale. "With my first puff, everything around me faded. Reality distorted in unimaginable ways, my head spun until I blacked out. I woke up at someone’s house, where they helped me and guided me through my confusion."

"You were lucky someone helped you," Tawnylon remarked, reclining on his bed. "Otherwise, you’d be wandering the streets, babbling and stumbling."

"Although there’s something Korro mentioned that intrigues me," Thamuz lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "Father, with all your years of experience and knowledge, answer me: what exactly is a conqueror? Korro talked about it, but I want to know your version."

Tawnylon abruptly turned his head upon hearing that word. "Conqueror," so simple yet laden with meaning, especially when tied to power.

"A conqueror, you say?" he mused, searching for the right words. "A conqueror is someone who claims things as their own. Imagine that through various methods, you make an entire planet yours. That’s a conqueror."

"Fascinating," Thamuz murmured, stroking his chin. "Has there ever been a conqueror on this planet?"

"Only one, a hundred years ago, when I was eighty," Tawnylon’s eyes drifted into memory. "Ankheru, known as 'the blue tide.' He was taller than I am, and his spaceships... the one you saw in the city would be insignificant by comparison. He came to claim our planet. He could have easily taken it with the arsenal of his ships, or even on his own, in a matter of days. But he gave us a chance to fight."

"How was that?" curiosity gleamed in Thamuz’s eyes.

"Ankheru was passionate about one-on-one combat," Tawnylon began. "He built a combat arena and asked us to bring our strongest warrior. I was young then, experienced in shamonak with several victories, but I wasn’t ready for an event of that magnitude. The king khumulak summoned the most powerful among us."

"Who was it?" Thamuz asked eagerly.

"My master, Vixkard," Tawnylon’s voice filled with respect. "Once, he fought me and left me incapacitated for two months. Back then, he was invincible, with hundreds of victories and unparalleled strength. On the day of the battle, Ankheru introduced his fighter: a pale, bald being with four eyes and a trench coat that seemed fused to his skin, though it swayed in the wind. From the stands beside the arena, I witnessed something extraordinary," Tawnylon’s tone grew animated with the memory. "My master attacked with all his might, while that diminutive being evaded every strike, moving his hands in strange ways, turning my master’s attacks against him. The battle dragged on until my master’s legendary endurance prevailed, defeating Ankheru’s fighter with a series of decisive blows."

Thamuz sat enthralled by the story, imagining the titanic battle in his mind. Suddenly, a detail caught his attention, a name that echoed in his memory.

"What did you say your master’s name was?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Vixkard," Tawnylon replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I think I found him in the city," Thamuz stretched in his seat, unaware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "He was short, blind, with gray hair and a beard. He seemed to have some back trouble because he walked with a limp."

The change in Tawnylon was instantaneous. He rose from the bed as if struck by lightning, his strength returning in a surge. With heavy steps, he strode to the window, leaning against the frame with such force that the wood groaned under his weight. His teeth clenched as he processed the information.

"Vixkard... is in the city, isn’t he?" his voice emerged as a menacing growl, laden with an emotion Thamuz had never heard before.

"Y-yes... why?" Thamuz stammered, noticing the transformation in his father’s demeanor.

"Tell me, Thamuz," Tawnylon pressed harder against the window frame as if trying to crush it in his grip. "Do you want to go back to the city? It’ll be a good time for us to spend together, father and son. Besides... I need to pay a small visit."

"Yes, I’d like that," Thamuz replied in a faint voice, trembling under his father’s gaze—a gaze that seemed to accuse him of a crime he didn’t understand.