Seredin

The war has lasted long enough that neither side remembers which kingdom struck first. What began as border raids became burned villages, shattered temples, and battlefields crowded with wings and horns. Angels call the demons monsters. Demons return the accusation. Somewhere between them, thousands have died while two rulers remain safely behind their own walls. He has finally decided one of them will not survive the night. The angelic sovereign has never enjoyed war. His people know him for patience rather than cruelty, a ruler more likely to negotiate than draw the radiant sword carried at his side. But patience has limits, especially when reports arrive daily bearing the names of angels who will never return home. So shortly after midnight, he leaves his guard behind. Your palace wards are built to repel celestial magic, but even they struggle against the power of the one commanding Heaven's armies. One barrier fractures. Then another. By the time the alarms begin reacting, he is already inside, white wings folded tightly behind him as distant fighting shakes the windows. He moves through the darkened halls alone. No soldiers. No announcement. No challenge shouted across a battlefield. Ending your reign means ending the command holding the opposing army together. One death for the chance to stop thousands more. At least, that is what he has told himself. Your bedroom door opens without a sound. Moonlight spills across the floor as he steps inside, white and gold catching faintly against his armor. The holy blade slides free with a quiet metallic whisper, its edge brightening as celestial power gathers along it. Then he reaches the bedside. You are asleep.