The Nameless Heir
Chapter 78: “Tell Me,What Is It You Desire?”

Chapter 78: “Tell Me,What Is It You Desire?”

After the chant ended, the shadows rose.

They wrapped around them, sealing the contract. The demon king ring pulsed, signaling that the contract was successful. Then it sank into his chest, merging with his heart. Slowly, her once bright red hair darkened, its edges now touched by shadow.

She tilted her head, her gaze meeting his, then tilted back down to the spot the ring sank. She placed her hand onto his chest, then looked up at Kael.

"Will you be okay?"

The words made his chest tight. He was no fool. He knew she was worried. He could see it in her eyes, her face.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for a moment. His breath was steady. His eyes calm.

"Everything will be okay," he whispered.

Then he kissed her.

Their shadows merged behind them, still flickering with faint energy.

When they finally pulled apart, he kept his hand on her cheek, gazing into her eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

But she didn’t say anything back, so he reached out, scooped her off her feet, and floated above the Underworld. He stretched out his hand, pointing at all the channels below.

"You see those?"

He turned, her eyes drifting across all the small channels in the Underworld.

"Yes. They all travel to the River Styx."

She turned to him, furrowing her eyebrows like she was wondering why he was showing her this.

"I know what the River Styx is. I’m not stupid."

His lips curved softly. That made her nostrils flare, just as he looked at her—a reaction Kael found oddly cute.

He met her eyes. He clutched her closer to him while they were still floating.

He gave her a slow smile.

"Sunshine," he said softly, "you’re the only thing that lights my path."

He leaned in, his voice low.

"And if you wanted to... you could turn that light off."

She froze. Her eyes widened. She tried to say something, but Kael kept talking, staring at the place where he fought Khairon, the ferryman.

He pointed at the spot, his voice quiet—like he was remembering something that never stopped haunting him.

"You see... when I came here to save my father..."

He gestured toward the boatman in the distance, jaw clenched.

"I fought him. That day, I drank the water of the River Styx."

He paused, a distant, empty stare.

"Like my mother... how she ate the fruit of the Underworld and became bound."

He pointed at the place he drowned, a distant, empty stare full of painful memories.

"I drank the water of the River Styx."

He took a calming breath.

"And now I’m bound by it."

"As long as the river runs... I can never die," he said, with a light tone in his voice.

He gave her a slow nod, like he’d accepted his fate.

"There are ways... but they’re rare."

Then he looked at her. His gaze was soft. Warm. Gentle. Like it was full of something deeper.

"Only your fire can evaporate the water here."

"Only you can choose when I—"

Her hand rose and covered his mouth gently, stopping the words before they could finish.

The fear behind them was too much.

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close—not out of fear... but love.

"Let’s go back," she said softly.

He placed her in bed and sat beside her, close enough to run his hand down her hair, making sure no nightmares could come near her.

Slowly, her lips curled into a warm smile while she slept, like whatever dream she was having held something gentle.

Warm.

His eyes darkened.

"Time to get back to work."

He walked outside, his mother waiting for him in the palace grounds, surrounded by all the undead soldiers.

He turned to his mother.

"Thank you."

His voice was quiet, measured. He carried no smile.

He raised his hand, and the throne erupted from the ground beneath him—stone grinding against stone as it rose. He sat down, leaned forward, and said nothing at first. His eyes moved slowly across the area, scanning each face in silence, like he was looking for something. Something he desired.

Then he finally spoke.

"All of you... stand."

His voice was low, but it carried—controlled, precise.

No shouting. No emotion. Just command.

"I need warriors," he said, his eyes sweeping across them. "And I need leaders."

"This is a test. Show me what you’re truly capable of."

He rose into the air, slowly, shadows rippling beneath him. One hand lifted toward the sky, fingers curled like he was dragging something ancient into motion.

"This is your moment. Prove your loyalty."

His voice deepened, sharper now.

"Tell me what you desire."

Silence.

Then the first of them knelt. Another followed. Then a third.

One by one, the undead bowed, the air heavy with submission.

And Kael... said nothing.

He just watched—like a god weighing souls.

Then he snapped his fingers.

All the soldiers were instantly swallowed by a dense sphere of shadows—trapped, sealed, silent. Like a cocoon.

His voice cut through the darkness, calm and absolute.

"Those who escape first... will be chosen."

He hovered above them, gaze sharp.

"A being so powerful, even minor gods will fear your name."

His eyes narrowed.

"If your desire is strong—you’ll have no issue."

Moments passed. Then hours.

And finally... one of the spheres cracked.

An undead Roman soldier stepped out.

He looked around, realizing he was the first to emerge.

A wide smile spread across his face.

He moved through the shadowy cocoon, arms crossing and uncrossing as he walked—nervous, alert, while scanning the area.

When he came before Kael, he hesitated.

He couldn’t make eye contact.

"Good job," Kael said.

The soldier opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Kael’s mother laughed softly behind him, watching the way her son’s presence silenced even the dead.

Kael stepped forward, gaze steady.

"Tell me," he said. "What is it that you desire?"

The soldier looked down.

"Revenge."

"Oh?" Kael tilted his head to the side.

"Revenge... against who?"

The man’s jaw clenched. His throat tightened.

But he forced the words out anyway.

"Those who killed... and took my country."

Kael’s eyes lit with something wicked—something ancient.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t joy.

It was power—raw, uncontained, echoing across the palace grounds like thunder in a tomb.

"I will make that wish come true."

The ground beneath the soldier cracked open.

Chains burst upward, slithering around his legs, his arms, his chest—wrapping him in cold metal like the Underworld itself was claiming him.

The soldier gasped as the last link coiled around his mouth.

Just before it sealed, he whispered:

"I don’t care what I become... as long as they fall."

Kael raised his hand.

The chains pulled tighter.

The man was lifted, suspended in the air, wrapped like a mummified weapon—still. Waiting. Sealed.

A curse made flesh.

Bound by desire.

And ready to break free.