1 The Cafe

In Astoria's mystical realm, within the dark crimson fortress of the Fourth Demon King, Azhmael Vyrgoroth, a figure sat regally upon his throne.

This demon bore four mythical horns protruding from his head, distinguishing himself with a striking resemblance to a human, garbed in dark, arcane robes that exuded tales of ancient power.

"Curse that Christoff..." Azhmael muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. His grip tightened on the edge of his throne's armrest.

"He vowed to maintain contact, to correspond every few years, but..." A vein pulsed ominously on his forehead, "But three decades have passed... three fucking decades!!!"

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words and broken promises. After a moment, he exhaled a deep, weary sigh.

"I find myself missing that jesting soul... my one true friend."

His gaze fell upon his two loyal subordinates, who were kneeling before him, beads of sweat trickling down their faces.

"Jaden," Azhmael's voice reverberated through the grandeur of the ancient hall, "Is the sacred portal still unresponsive?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Despite constant surveillance, it remains unresponsive," Jaden said, his eyes meeting the Demon King's.

Sensing Azhmael's dissatisfaction, he hastily added, "The area is kept immaculately clean and is under stringent security."

"Good."

"Your Highness, may I pose a question?" a subordinate ventured.

"What is it, Fredrinn?" Azhmael's gaze was so piercing it felt as though it could bore into one's very soul.

Fredrinn swallowed hard, a shiver of fear coursing down his spine, but he pressed on.

"Who is your friend, Christoff, Your Highness?"

A heavy silence descended upon the grand hall as Fredrinn's words hung in the air. He instantly regretted his audacity as the Demon King's expression remained inscrutable.

"Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness. Do with me as you will."

Azhmael waved a hand, "There's no need. I'll keep it brief, as you two will soon forget it, and I have already relayed this tale numerous times."

"He is the hero who ushered in an era of peace, forged multiracial alliances, triumphed over a colossal eldritch entity once thought invincible, and charmed the Goddess of Purity. And yes," he added, a note of pride creeping into his voice, "I am honored to call him my friend."

The revelation from their Demon King left Jaden and Fredrinn speechless, their jaws slack in disbelief. Their minds struggled to process the enormity of what they had just heard.

Sensing their disorientation, Azhmael clarified, "The reason you cannot recall his name or his deeds is due to the curse that befalls those who vanquish the entity, unless they possess power akin to mine."

The two underlings exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring their shared confusion.

Azhmael sighed, "If only he had left behind descendants."

The grand hall's massive door swung open abruptly, revealing a small, cute girl with long black hair clutching a horse-shaped stuffed toy.

The girl seemed to hover in mid-air, akin to a phantom. Dressed in a gothic black ensemble, she asked, "Father, did you just utter a curse?"

The Demon King swallowed hard, managing a nervous chuckle.

"Hahaha, of course not! Isn't that right, Jaden and Fredrinn?" His eyes glinted towards his subordinates, conveying a silent threat.

"O-oh, yes, it wasn't a curse word, Princess Fayette," Jaden stammered, while Fredrinn nodded vigorously in agreement

"Hmmm..." Fayette scrutinized the trio with an intense, judicial stare. "Alright, I will choose to believe you for now, Father," Azhmael exhaled a sigh of relief as his daughter continued, "Could you inform Sister Viviana that I would like my colorful orb returned?"

A sudden cough seized Azhmael at the mention of Viviana. Fayette tilted her head slightly, her crimson eyes brimming with naive curiosity.

"What's the matter, Father?"

"Ah, it's nothing, my dear," Azhmael deflected, skillfully avoiding his daughter's probing gaze.

"Rest assured, I will do my utmost to fulfill your request."

Fayette's cheeks puffed out in an adorable pout. "If I can't get my colorful orb back, there's no way I'm going with you to the Vyrgoroth Festival," she declared resolutely before floating away.

The moment the grand hall's massive door closed, the Demon King felt true fear for the first time.

Azhmael contemplated to himself, 'I must do something, but... Viviana, eh? My most rebellious and stubborn daughter.'

Suddenly, a shadow materialized.

Jaden and Fredrinn, sensing an imminent threat, morphed instantaneously into monstrous, grotesque demons. Their figures bore no trace of their previous human likeness. They positioned themselves in front of the king, ready to serve as his shield.

"Evelyn," Jaden hissed, his pupils constricting into vertical slits. Blood runes adorned his body, glowing ominously.

"Did you consider the consequences of arriving unannounced?"

Fredrinn, his claws twitching in anticipation, "King Azhmael, I denounce her as a traitor. I will present her head to you."

Evelyn sank to one knee, "The sacred door has glowed."

Without wasting a moment, the demon king Azhmael unfurled his four wings and soared out of the castle, heading straight for the sacred door.

The three were quite shocked by the demon king's action, but they promptly followed in his wake.

***

Deep underground in the Frogolion prison, Azhmael found himself staring at a seemingly ordinary wooden door. To the untrained eye, it was nothing more than a mundane barrier. Yet, for Azhmael, it was a sacred portal, a gateway to a trove of memories.

As he scrutinized its familiar contours, a wave of recollections washed over him. Echoes of laughter, the comforting warmth of companionship, and the delightful flavors of exquisite desserts swirled in his mind.

"Zhael, do you think clowns have a funny taste?" Christoff had once asked, his tone dead serious.

"Sometimes, I wish I could peek into your brain for just a minute to understand how it works," Azhmael chastised, pastry in hand.

This was the very spot where their initial encounter had unfolded. Unconsciously, the corner of his mouth lifted into a nostalgic smile.

His three of subordinates, trailing behind him, found themselves taken aback by his genuine smile, a smile he usually reserved for his family.

"Damn bastard... I can finally slap your face," Azhmael muttered under his breath as he advanced.

Immediately, Jaden, Evelyn, and Fredrinn dropped to their knees before their king, halting his progress.

"Your Highness, isn't it dangerous? You've said before that the unknown consumes anyone who dare enters," Jaden cautioned, his gaze fixed on the ground.

He was well aware of his fate for obstructing the king's happiness, but his paramount concern was his king's safety.

"Please reconsider, Your Highness. You are the most merciful and powerful king of our time," Fredrinn implored, undeterred by potential consequences.

"I stand with them, Your Highness," Evelyn declared.

Azhmael exhaled deeply. "I am well aware of what poses a threat to me and what doesn't," In an instant, the demon king disappeared, standing before a door that, upon opening, emitted a brilliant, radiant light.

"Stay here and await my return," he instructed.

With those words, he advanced through the threshold, the door shutting behind him.

***

*Diiing*

Upon closing the door, Azhmael saw the warm, earthy interior of the shop embrace him, a clue of the past. The exposed brick walls, laid in a symphony of rustic, warm tones, invoked a sense of charm and comfort.

The gentle flicker of vintage filament bulbs, suspended from dark iron chains, created an intimate ambiance. Their warm, golden glow was scattered across the room, casting an inviting aura.

The koffie shop's neatness was impeccable; every detail seemed thoughtfully curated. Polished wooden countertops gleamed under the soft lighting, and gleaming machines stood proudly behind the bar.

A sense of tranquility engulfed Azhmael as the aromatic scent of the shop beckoned him further inside.

As he advanced, he stopped in his tracks, by the sight of a striking man in his early twenties. His long white hair was braided like his father, Christoff, cascading down his back like a river of moonlight. His eyes were like red cosmos sparkling in the vast night sky, just like his mother, Yulia, holding a box while a small snow owl perched on his shoulder.

There was no further questioning as Azhmael uttered, "This… this is their offspring."