Page 36 of Of Night and Blood: Special Edition

“Well Bellamy is the general of our armies. He sees things differently than the rest of us.” Information I had not yet known. I liked this demon, if only for his big mouth. “Since you are completely new to it, we will start slow. Focus on getting you strong, then we can add in classic stances. From there I will teach you how to actually fight and eventually add in a weapon or two,” Henry explained as he pulled on a plain black tunic.

Why had it taken him so long to find that? It looked like every black shirt sprawled on the ground.

“Are you not afraid that teaching me to fight will make me more dangerous?” I asked, curious if he had similar opinions to Lian.

He dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand, a gesture he seemed to use often. Were all demons so boisterous and bold? No one, not even Nicola, had an aura like his. Energy and charisma seemed to ooze out of him, seeping across the floor and latching onto me. Next to him, I felt admittedly less aggressive and stressed.

“You need to learn this stuff to protect yourself, relying on your magic as if it is infallible is ignorant and risky. Besides, you being dangerous does nothing to hurt us. Hopefully you will figure that out soon enough,” he stated offhandedly. More nonsense, more half-truths. Seemed common among the beings of this realm, though Henry was decidedly more forthcoming when he wanted to be.

“For some reason, I feel you will not be elaborating further,” I stated, eyebrows raised. Henry chuckled, but did not deny the statement. Predictable. “Does that mean you forgive me for manipulating your mind earlier?” I asked, not making eye contact.

After a moment of silence, I peeked up through my lashes to find him looking over at me, his expression incredulous.

“You are a moron if you think that is true, but you are not so bad from what I can tell. You just need to let loose a little,” he said. The way he phrased it sounded almost scandalous. “I would love to help you loosen up any time you would like, little brat.” Yep, definitely inappropriate.

I shook my head at Henry, scoffing.

Looking around more intently, I noticed the interesting choice of furniture and decorations, which stood in great contrast from the rest of the home. The room around me was full of pastels. Blues, greens, yellows, reds, purples. So much color that it went past overwhelming. Despite the little rhyme or reason to it all, the décor managed to remain perfectly cohesive.

Not a single piece of furniture matched. The dark brown wood of his bed was the direct opposite of the light, raw color of the dresser. His desk was bleached white as if exposed to the sun too long, matching the driftwood on the beach outside. I saw another sort of table in the far-right corner, stained with smudges of color. He had a large open wooden case that held weapons of different sizes and types, which proved he was a good choice for a trainer. Above us, at least a dozen balls of demon light floated midair, the addition of the black ceiling seemed to mimic the night sky.

The rest of the room was just as chaotic.

One wall was completely covered by a tapestry that was the most gorgeous color of blue, as if the thread was dyed with ink pulled from the sky on a clear summer day. Running horizontally across the fabric were three black rings overlapping one another, joined. In the center of the middle ring was a white star that glowed like the floating demon light.

The colors among the other walls came from paintings. These were similar to those hung in the hallways, the sight challenging my previous assumptions regarding animosity between Bellamy and Henry. I stood, walking over to the wall that held the exit, where the story depicted seemed to start. Within clouds rose two hands, a ball of light and a ball of darkness hovering above them. In the next, rain fell from the cloud, both onyx and white droplets, as if the light and darkness were blessing the ground below. Mortals, it seemed, were dancing under the water, hands in the air and smiles on their faces.

I slowly rotated in the room, taking in the tale of sorrow without fully understanding. I was far too encompassed to notice Henry approach me from behind, but when I made the full circle there he was, watching.

“Would you like to hear the history aloud?” he asked, his voice hinting at the emotion under the bravado. I nodded, and he began.

“Everything that makes us special, came from Stella, the goddess of the Above. She loved the innocence many mortals possessed—the sort of genuine love and joy that had long since been missing from the gods. From her hands she rained her power down on us, giving the mortals of this realm the ability to wield the raw magic from the light of the sun and the dark of the moon. From then on we were identified as either Suns or Moons. With this came the blessing of long life. Our sigil represents the ring of light on the left, the ring of darkness on the right, and the ring of demon kind in the center, with the Star of Stella at the heart of it.” Henry’s voice became haunting as he spoke, calling to me.

“At first, everything was blissful. Our kind thrived as we mastered the gifts Stella gave to us. But that all changed when a goddess fell in love with the demon king.” At that, I gasped.

Henry’s mouth tilted down, his eyes half closed. A sign of the turn the story would take.

The painting depicted a beautiful female with wild ebony locks and equally dark eyes. Her full lips were a bloody red, and she wore scraps of gold that barely covered her voluptuous curves. She was reaching down from the clouds towards what appeared to be a mortal, but must have been the demon king. His tall and muscled frame was covered in a white blouse of sorts, the sleeves tight fitting. It was open at the center, the ties hanging loosely down the front. His jaw seemed to be carved of marble, sharp and fierce. His ears poked out of his brown hair, the smooth arch surprising me.

I pulled my eyes off of the mural to zero in on Henry’s ears, which were…round. Stella gifting the mortals magic did not change what they truly were, mortal. Strange that she would so cherish them, enough to sacrifice a portion of her magic. It seemed rather foolish, honestly. But if this were true, then their magic did not come from the Underworld—from evil—but from the blessing of a god.

“Asta was enamored with our king, Zohar. Their love story was rather tragic, as her mother, Stella, forbade her from ascending the prince to be with her in the Above. It was not that Stella did not see greatness in the king. She loved us all dearly, and he was the strongest Sun that walked the world. More than that, he was an incomparable monarch, bringing rest to our kind as we integrated with the other beings in the land. He was not a god though, and his power was miniscule in comparison, as it was merely a gift from Stella herself, a scrap of her magic distributed amongst us all.”

I remained silent, taking in the tragedy of loving what you cannot have. Of fighting a world which wishes to tear you apart.

“Asta was set to be married to another god who was powerful in his own right. An incredible match, but not her love. So, one evening, as she peered down at her lover below, she made the decision to run. That very night, Asta wed Zohar under the veil of twilight, becoming queen of our realm. Our kind rejoiced, so very proud that a god would choose our honorable king as her husband.” I smiled at Henry’s words, but his own face remained forlorn. This was not the ending it seemed.

“Her mother was intent on letting her go, simply banishing her from returning, but the other gods wanted retribution for the way she slighted her godly betrothed. Many months passed, and Asta became pregnant. The day she gave birth, Stella appeared to her, celebrating the birth of her grandson. Joy seemed to be in abundance that day, but the very next, the gods took their vengeance.” My eyes went wide, because I had a feeling I knew how this would end.

Henry grabbed my hand and tugged me to the last wall, and a small sob left my mouth.

The painting was of Zohar, his brown hair soaked in thick, red blood. It was pooled all around him as he lay lifeless on the floor, Asta pictured in a fit of rage and sorrow, screaming up at the Above with her hands on his open chest, now without a heart. Stella watched from the sky, a silver tear streaming down her golden cheek. It was gory and horrific. I reached up to my own chest, as if it too were being ripped open.

I realized after a moment that I was accidentally tapping into Henry’s emotions as well when I felt sudden rage mixing with a deep sadness. I looked over at him to see a single tear running down his face, just like Stella’s. I squeezed his hand, wanting to comfort him in some way, despite not knowing him.

“Their son possessed the magic of his father as well as his mother. His dual magic passed down the royal line, becoming a symbol of not only the strength of demon kind, but of love. Every heir born since has wielded both,” he stated, grief pouring from him.

I wanted to ask for further details of Asta, Bellamy’s ancestor, but it seemed rude to pry any more than I already was. Plus, I was rather certain Henry would not tell me. Or could not. I silently considered the possibility that Bellamy had not descended from fae, but had instead gained the power to harness the elements from Asta.

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