Son of King Arthur is a Demon

I told myself I didn't miss the fire.I repeated it every day, like a ritual.

But it was a lie.

A lie I needed in order to survive.

I was nothing more than a ghost now. A prince without a crown, a demon without flame. Soldiers no longer chanted my name. Generals no longer bowed their heads. The strategist who once made the heavens tremble was gone.

The respect I had fought so hard for? Gone too.

All that remained… was a single ember.

And a promise.

That night, the sky was heavy, overcast. As if even the stars refused to shine for me.

I had slipped into the palace's abandoned greenhouse. A forgotten place, choked with weeds and thorns. It was where I went… when the weight became too much. When the Pendragon name suffocated me. When Gareth's blows reminded me I didn't belong.

I sat down among the wilted plants. My breath calm. Eyes closed.

I didn't summon the fire.

I listened.

It was an old method. A lost technique of the Hell mages. Feel before calling. Watch before commanding.

I had tried it for weeks.

Nothing.

But that night… something shifted.

A chill.

Not on my skin inside.

A current.

Faint. But real.

I raised my hand, palm open to the sky.

And I whispered:

"I am the child of ash. Heir to the forbidden fire. I do not beg... I claim what was stolen from me."

Nothing.

Then… a spark.

Tiny. A faint, deep violet glow. Barely there.

My heart skipped.

I didn't breathe.

I stared at that fragile, flickering thing floating just above my fingers.

It wasn't my fire.

It was weak. Cracked. But alive.

I slowly closed my fingers around it, afraid of breaking it, of losing it. A fear I didn't even recognize.

I was no longer a demon general.

I was just a human child.

But for the first time since my death… I wasn't alone.

Then came the pain.

Brutal.

A wave of fire inside me, like my veins were rejecting this unfamiliar energy.

I fell to my knees, gasping, hands clenched against the ground.

"Not yet... not now..."

The fire went out.

But it had answered.

And that was all I needed to know.

I spent the next few days in silence. Alone.

I didn't need to watch Gareth anymore. I already knew him. His anger, his weaknesses, his limits. He no longer mattered. Not yet.

What mattered now… was me.

My body. My limits. This new fire, uncertain but growing inside me.

Every night, I returned to the greenhouse.

And I repeated the vow that had carried me through life.

"You don't fear the flames when you were born in the ashes."

The words became rhythm. A pulse.

And little by little, the fire returned.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't mine.

But it was something deeper. Darker. A heat born from this body's bitterness… and my soul's pain.

One night, as I stepped outside the greenhouse, a figure appeared in front of me.

An old woman. Silent.

Probably a servant I had never noticed before. She held a lantern, and her pale blue eyes gleamed like slivers of dawn, cutting through the dark.

"You're too young to handle that kind of fire," she murmured.

I froze.

She stepped forward, slowly.

"But you don't have a child's eyes either," she added with a faint smile, revealing a small gap between her front teeth.

People used to say that smile marked the wandering souls. Those who saw beyond the world. Bearers of forgotten truths.

I said nothing.

Her gaze lingered on me almost soft.

And for some reason, my throat tightened. Like a silent memory deep inside me recognized her. Like she had once mattered. Deeply.

There was something familiar about her. Not her face, but her presence. A quiet warmth one you don't notice until it's gone.

Then, gently, she leaned down and placed something in my hand.

A black stone, engraved with a symbol I didn't recognize, set in metal and hanging from a chain.

It was smooth and warm, as if it had long rested against someone's skin.

"They used to call it an anchor stone," she whispered.

"The old ones used it to channel the essence that force in you, boiling, born from pain and rage. It doesn't work like it used to, but it'll help you hold yourself together. To keep that sorrow and anger from swallowing you whole."

I stared at her, heart pounding in my chest, afraid she'd disappear if I blinked.

She studied me one last time. And in the silence between us, I felt as though she, too, recognized someone inside me.

Then she turned and walked away, without a sound.

As her silhouette vanished into the dark, I found the strength to call out.

"What's your name?"

"Olga," she said.

Her voice echoed softly and lingered long after she was gone.

Since that night, I've kept the stone close to my heart.

A fragile tether.

A memory but also a warning.

That this new fire…

Was nothing ordinary.