Raya's POV
The voice had a name.
I didn't know it yet — but tonight, it spoke with weight. Not like a whisper meant to test me, or a murmur meant to soothe. This time, it came as a declaration.
"Raya."
The sound slid through the room like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
I stiffened, breath catching. My fingers dug into the mattress as my heart began to pound — not wildly, but steadily, like it already knew resistance was pointless.
"You know me now."
"I don't," I said, though my body betrayed me. A shiver ran down my spine, deep and involuntary. "I don't know you."
"You will."
The air changed.
Not colder — heavier. As though the room had been sealed, cut off from the rest of the world. Shadows gathered in the corners, thickening, stretching in ways light should not allow.
And then I felt him.
Not with my eyes.
With my mind.
A presence took shape — tall, immense, restrained by something unseen. He was not made of flesh, yet he occupied space. Not made of shadow, yet darkness bent toward him. It was as if reality itself acknowledged him as something it had no authority over.
"I am Azriel," the voice said.
The name struck me like a memory I had never lived — sharp, echoing, ancient. My chest tightened as if something inside me had finally been named too.
Azriel.
"I have waited for you," he continued, "longer than your blood remembers."
My back hit the wall as my legs gave out beneath me.
"Why?" My voice trembled. "Why are you in my head?"
"Because a vow was made," Azriel said calmly. "And vows, in my world, do not fade with time."
I swallowed hard. "Your world?"
"The Underworld," he replied. "Not the one humans imagine. Not fire and chaos. Order. Law. Dominion."
My skin prickled.
"My father rules it," Azriel continued. "Kalasur — Lord of Pacts, Keeper of Oaths. He does not forgive broken promises."
The name felt heavy. Final.
"Your great-grandfather feared him," Azriel said. "Feared what would happen when his bloodline crossed our territory. So he offered something of value."
My hands clenched.
"A future," Azriel said. "A life. You."
The words crushed the air from my lungs.
"No," I whispered. "That's not possible."
"You were not sold," Azriel corrected gently. "You were pledged. There is a difference."
I slid down the wall, hugging my knees, shaking.
"What does that even mean?" I asked.
"It means you were promised as a bridge," Azriel said. "A human bound to a demon prince — not as conquest, but as proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That love between realms could exist without destruction."
My stomach twisted.
"Before you," Azriel continued, "there were others."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Human brides," he said quietly. "Chosen. Prepared. Claimed."
"What happened to them?" I whispered.
Silence followed — not avoidance, but restraint.
"They could not endure eternity," Azriel said at last. "They lost themselves. Some fled. Some resisted. Some broke under the weight of what they were never taught to carry."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"And you?" I asked. "What were you supposed to do?"
"I was meant to claim you," he admitted. "To bind you fully. To present you before my father as proof that humanity could survive our world."
"But you didn't," I said.
"No," Azriel replied. "Because I watched you grow."
His voice softened.
"I watched you feel too deeply. I watched you carry pain that was never yours to begin with. And I realized — if I forced you, you would become just like the others."
My chest burned.
"So you waited," I whispered.
"Yes."
"And you think that makes this better?" My voice cracked. "That you let me suffer?"
"I did not cause your suffering," Azriel said. "But I learned from it. And somewhere in that waiting… I fell."
The word sat between us — dangerous, heavy.
"You love me," I said.
"Yes."
Tears spilled over before I could stop them.
"And Aaqib?" I asked suddenly.
The presence shifted — subtle, controlled.
"He is human," Azriel said. "Bound by time. He offers comfort, not understanding."
"He loves me," I said fiercely.
"I do not deny that," Azriel replied. "But love does not erase vows older than kingdoms."
A sharp ache bloomed in my chest.
"You said something before," I whispered. "About Dharan."
The shadows stirred.
"Your memories are closer than you think," Azriel said. "In another life, you wore a crown. You ruled Dharan — not as legend, but as law."
My breath hitched.
"That story," I said slowly. "It's in Abba's study. The book with the missing pages."
"Yes," Azriel said. "And you have not read the parts that matter."
My pulse thundered.
"Tell me," I demanded. "Tell me everything."
Azriel was silent for a long moment.
"There are truths," he said finally, "that once spoken cannot be unlearned."
"I don't care," I whispered.
"You will," he replied. "But not tonight."
The presence began to withdraw, the room lightening inch by inch.
"Azriel," I said urgently. "Wait."
"I will always wait," he answered. "That is what I do."
Before he vanished completely, his voice brushed my thoughts one last time:
"Next time, I will tell you why Dharan fell… and why my father fears what you were."
Then the room was silent.
But my heart wasn't.