Chapter V

Enevol.

A world of sublime beauty concealed beneath a veil of Kafkaesque mystery.

A realm that wore a crown forged from labor, obedience, and suffering—a burden unjustly placed upon the heads of those known simply as the Commoners.

They existed beneath everyone.

Beneath the Overseers.

Beneath the Demon Lords.

Beneath the Great Houses.

The Commoners were an oppressed people, regarded as inferior by those who governed their lives, despite having built the very foundations upon which Enevol stood.

Across countless subterranean cities, men and adolescent boys labored endlessly within immense networks of mines, surrendering their strength, their health, and often their lives in pursuit of gold and wealth they would never be permitted to possess.

Every swing of a pickaxe enriched a system beyond them.

Every life lost beneath the earth became another silent contribution to the prosperity of the Great Houses.

Women and young girls labored with equal relentlessness.

They prepared meals for the miners, transported water through the caverns, tended to the injured, maintained the underground settlements, and ensured that the machinery of Enevol’s society never ceased to turn.

The Commoners were not merely the lowest class.

They were its foundation.

And foundations were never expected to rise.

Those appointed to oversee them were known as Administrators.

Administrators were Commoners by birth, separated from the rest only by a shared mutation: heterochromia, the presence of two differently colored eyes.

Yet that single difference became the justification for an entirely separate existence.

Those born with the mutation were removed from their communities and trained in a location unknown to ordinary Commoners.

There, they are taught specialized methods of management, surveillance, calculation, and discipline.

More importantly, they were taught superiority.

Their education instilled within them the belief that they had been born to govern those from whom they descended. They learned to view their fellow Commoners not as family, neighbors, or equals, but as resources requiring structure and control.

For the rulers of Enevol understood something fundamental.

Hope was power.

It was a force born within the mind—a flame that, when properly cultivated, could inspire obedience more effectively than fear alone.

Hope could be rationed.

Redirected.

Manipulated.

And, ultimately…

Controlled.

Yet there was one truth known to every Commoner from childhood until death.

The Demon Lords of Enevol.

Living weapons of mass destruction wielded by the Great Houses.

Only six could exist at any given time.

Three served House Galan.

Three served House Erembaur.

Every Demon Lord began life as a Commoner before being chosen at eighteen through an ancient occult ceremony known as the Hexturnal Enlistment.

To be selected was to abandon humanity.

The chosen were transformed into beings of unimaginable strength, capable of commanding supernatural flame, crossing the skies, destroying commoner militia, and reshaping entire landscapes through their Styled Abilities.

They were celebrated as sacred guardians.

Feared as monsters.

And owned as weapons.

Ordinarily, a new Demon Lord was chosen only after an existing one died.

History, however, had recorded five occasions when all six Demon Lords perished within the same conflict.

Whenever such a catastrophe occurred, the natural order of succession collapsed.

The realm then entered a state known as the Hexturnal Irregular.

During this rare and ominous event, six new candidates, selected simultaneously—three from the territory of House Galan and three from the territory of House Erembaur.

Gender held no significance.

Any eighteen-year-old Commoner could be chosen.

To some, the simultaneous ascension of six Demon Lords represented renewal.

To others, it was an omen of calamity.

The Great Houses had ruled Enevol for three thousand years.

In all that time, only five Hexturnal Irregulars had occurred.

Now the sixth was approaching.

And the six teenagers chosen by it would usher in the age of the Seventh Generation of Demon Lords.

Far to the south, upon an ivory throne, sat the forty-fourth ruler of House Galan.

King Victorian Galan.

Throughout the realm, he was known as the Silent One.

His reign had become infamous for its severity.

Within Galan territory, productivity was law, and gold production stood at the center of all existence. Mining shifts grew longer with each passing cycle, while quotas rose beyond what exhausted bodies could reasonably achieve.

Compassion was dismissed as weakness.

Rest was treated as waste.

Efficiency was valued above life itself.

Victorian rarely raised his voice.

He did not need to.

His silence carried the weight of an executioner’s blade.

Across the northeastern cape, seated upon a magnificent throne carved from blue pearl, ruled the forty-fifth King of House Erembaur.

Donte Erembaur.

His court called him the Wise Old Owl.

Compared to his Galan counterpart, Donte’s policies were regarded as progressive. Commoners within Erembaur territory were occasionally invited to propose improved mining practices and develop innovative methods of extraction.

Their suggestions were heard.

Some were even implemented.

Yet the appearance of participation did little to change the truth of their existence.

The miners of House Erembaur still labored until exhaustion within sprawling cavern cities. They still sacrificed their health in pursuit of gold they would never own. They still lived and died beneath the authority of a royal bloodline that benefited from their suffering.

The methods of the two kingdoms differed.

The outcome did not.

House Galan ruled through relentless pressure.

House Erembaur ruled by allowing its laborers to believe they possessed a voice.

Both kingdoms prospered from the same truth:

The wealth of the Great Houses had been constructed upon the backs of the Commoner people.

A people who continued to wait for providence.

A people taught to believe that endurance would one day be rewarded.

Following the War for the Gold Vein, life within the cavern cities gradually returned to its merciless rhythm.

Pickaxes once again struck stone.

Metal carts rolled through crowded tunnels.

Furnaces burned.

Men, women, and even the rare adolescent Administrator traveled between settlements, overseeing the countless underground communities the Commoners called home.

The deaths of all six Demon Lords had shaken the realm.

But the mines did not stop.

The quotas did not lessen.

Gold did not mourn.

On the rare occasions when Commoners were granted respite from their labor, they spent their precious hours gathered around something both miraculous and deeply unsettling.

Viewing screens.

Mounted upon the walls of every home, these devices connected even the most isolated cavern settlements to the authority of the Great Houses.

Through them came announcements.

Instructions.

Celebrations.

Warnings.

And doctrine.

Three days after the War for the Gold Vein, every Commoner in Enevol gathered before them.

Families crowded into dim rooms.

Children sat between their parents.

Elders leaned forward, their weary faces illuminated by the screens’ pale glow.

Then, without warning, triumphant brass fanfare thundered across the realm.

The walls trembled with its majesty.

The Hexturnal Irregular had begun.

Children gasped and clung tightly to their parents as chills raced down their spines.

Mothers wept in silence, uncertain whether their tears came from pride or terror.

Fathers stood rigidly, suppressing emotions they had long been taught never to reveal. Yet many embraced their sons and daughters with a tenderness reserved only for moments that felt larger than life itself.

Somewhere among those families were six eighteen-year-olds whose lives were about to end as they knew them.

No one knew who.

Not yet.

Across the territories of House Galan, the monochrome screens flickered.

The image of a striking young monarch appeared.

King Victorian Galan sat perfectly still.

His flawless complexion contrasted sharply against the long ebony hair cascading beneath an immaculate white crown adorned with crimson gemstones.

His features were refined and graceful, possessing an almost ethereal beauty while remaining unmistakably masculine. Even through the black, white, and gray of the broadcast, his enormous eyes appeared as dark and endless as midnight.

He was the Silent One.

Victorian Galan.

Forty-fourth King of House Galan.

Throughout the territories of House Erembaur, another sovereign appeared.

King Donte Erembaur possessed the unmistakable bearing of a man who had watched generations rise, labor, and disappear beneath his rule.

His polished bald head reflected the pale light of the screen. A long pepper-white beard flowed across his chest like woven silver, while every wrinkle upon his face seemed to carry the weight of history.

He was the Wise Old Owl.

Donte Erembaur.

Forty-fifth King of House Erembaur.

Though separated by kingdoms, the two monarchs now stood together upon the two highest points in Enevol.

The borders dividing their territories held no authority over this ceremony.

For the Hexturnal Irregular belonged to the entire realm.

Victorian and Donte began to speak.

Their voices emerged simultaneously from every viewing screen, merging into one perfect proclamation.

“Long before the founding of Enevol…”

“…the souls of the Great Houses existed.”

“When the Gods of the Universe granted us life, they entrusted our Houses with a sacred gift.”

“A power created to preserve order throughout the realm.”

“That gift…”

“…was the Demon Lords of Enevol.”

“Sworn to serve and defend the Great Houses.”

“Sworn to preserve peace between our territories.”

“Sworn to offer the ultimate sacrifice…”

“…in honor of the Great Houses.”

The final words had scarcely faded when every light throughout Enevol extinguished at once.

Darkness swallowed the cavern cities.

Children screamed.

Adults reached blindly for one another.

Then—

BOOM.

A deafening impact rolled through the subterranean realm.

Stone walls trembled.

Dust fell from cavern ceilings.

The viewing screens flickered back to life.

Upon every screen appeared a single number.

In Galan territory, it burned crimson.

In Erembaur territory, it glowed sapphire.

10

A low tone filled every home.

It was deep enough to be felt within the chest.

The number changed.

9

The pitch rose.

8

The sound vibrated through stone.

7

Through flesh.

6

Through bone.

With every descending number, the tone climbed higher. It became sharper and more invasive, as though something unseen were drilling directly into the minds of the Commoners.

5

Parents pulled their children closer.

4

Some began to pray.

3

“This is it!”

A man shouted from within one of the countless cavern homes, his frightened face illuminated by the ghostly light of the screen.

The countdown continued.

2

The tone became almost unbearable.

1

Then...

Silence.

Every sound vanished.

No voices.

No machinery.

No movement.

For one suspended moment, the entire world seemed to stop breathing.

Thick letters spread across every viewing screen.

ZERO

Cries of terror erupted throughout the cavern cities.

They rose from thousands of homes at once, joining into a single anguished voice that echoed beneath Enevol.

Every Commoner understood what the countdown meant.

Somewhere among them…

Six young lives were about to be chosen.

Six sons or daughters would be stripped from their families.

Six Commoners would cease being human and rise as the Seventh Generation of Demon Lords.

And before the Sixth Hexturnal Irregular reached its conclusion…

Many more lives would become tribute to the will of the Great Houses.