Belial tried to recall that promise...faint now, like an old melody he once knew by heart. It stirred at the edge of his thoughts as if whispering to him across the years, in a voice carried on the winds of memory.
It had been during a sunset that looked like the sky itself had been dipped in honey and rose. The kind of evening that made everything feel still, as if time paused to admire the beauty of it all.
He remembered standing there at the top of the hill behind their old home. The grass was warm beneath his bare feet, the air full of the scent of blooming lilies and the distant hum of crickets preparing for nightfall.
And then—there was his father.
Nero stood tall, his back turned to the sun, his figure awash in its golden light. His hair, as dark as a starless sky, shimmered with hints of blue when the wind caught it just right. Belial had always thought his father looked like someone out of a dream—a hero who had stepped out of a storybook.
That evening, however, Nero had looked different. Not weaker. Not sad. Just… distant. Like he was already halfway gone, holding back something vast and heavy that Belial didn't yet understand.
Belial had been younger then, no older than seven. His cheeks were still soft, his body slight, and his eyes wide with the kind of wonder that hadn't yet learned disappointment. He stood there, holding his favorite action figure—a hunter clad in silver armor with one hand raised high, gripping a tiny sculpted star. His other hand was clenched around the soft fabric of the maid's sleeve who stood beside him, the his caretaker who always stayed by his side when both parents were out and about.
Nero turned at last, his eyes meeting Belial's. There was a warmth in them—a fierce, fatherly fire that seemed to pierce through the coming dusk.
He walked toward him and knelt down slowly on one knee so that their eyes were level.
"Father…" Belial began, his voice small and uncertain. "How long will you be leaving us this time?"
Nero smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He reached up and gently tousled Belial's hair.
"Don't worry, Little Star. Just a few weeks this time. Then we can play again, alright?"
Belial's grip on the action figure tightened. "But… why can't I come with you, Father? I've been practicing! I can run fast now! And I can climb trees without falling... most of the time."
His father chuckled, a low, soft sound like distant thunder. "You've gotten stronger, huh?" He tapped Belial's chest with two fingers. "But this is something only I can do. Maybe next time, alright, kiddo?"
Belial pouted, his eyebrows furrowed with frustration. "But what can I do when you're gone? Everything will be really boring!"
Nero seemed to pause then, his gaze lifting toward the horizon. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the earth. After a thoughtful moment, he looked back at his son and said,
"How about you make me a promise?"
Belial blinked. "A promise?"
Nero nodded. "Listen a promise is something sacred, who ever breaks a promise is worthless...Scum even! So While I'm gone… I want you to protect everyone. Especially your mother. And your soon-to-be sister, too."
Belial tilted his head. "Soon-to-be?"
"She'll be arriving soon," Nero said with a grin. "You'll be a big brother."
Belial's eyes widened. "Really? A sister?"
"Yup. So you've got to be strong, alright? You'll be the man of the house while I'm gone."
Belial looked down at the action figure in his hand. The hunter seemed to stare back at him, fearless and noble. He bit his lip.
"What about the bad kids?" he asked quietly. "The ones who always throw dirt at the fence or call me weird names…"
"Especially the bad kids," Nero replied without missing a beat. "They need protecting too, even if they don't know it yet."
Belial considered that, his small brows knitting together as he thought it through.
Then, with a nod that was far too serious for someone his age, he looked up.
"I promise," he said, planting a hand over his chest. "I'll protect everyone."
Nero's eyes shimmered slightly as he reached forward and pulled his son into a hug. He held him close, arms wrapped tightly around his small frame as if memorizing the feeling.
"That's my boy," he whispered.
The moment stretched on, quiet and golden and tender. Even the wind seemed to hush, as if honoring the vow spoken beneath the sinking sun.
When they parted, Nero stood, ruffled Belial's hair one last time, and turned toward the waiting transport down the hill. The maid gave a silent bow and returned to the house, leaving the boy alone on the hill.
Belial watched as his father's silhouette grew smaller, darker, eventually becoming one with the shadows of the twilight.
Belial woke with a jolt, breath ragged and body slick with sweat. His heart pounded like war drums in his chest, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. His hands trembled as he pressed them against his temples, as if trying to keep his skull from splitting apart. The pain was sharp—intense—as if something inside him was trying to claw its way out.
He gasped, choking back a sob, as fragments of memory flared behind his eyelids. It was like someone had opened a door he hadn't known was locked. And through that door, a storm of memories came crashing in.
That sunset.
That voice.
That promise.
Belial curled forward, clutching his chest. It hurt—more than he wanted to admit. Remembering that time from his childhood was like digging through glass. The images were jagged, blinding. The emotions, once so gentle, now felt raw and exposed. Why it caused him so much pain, he couldn't understand.
It was just a memory. But somehow, it tore at him like a wound that had never healed.
Still, as the storm began to pass, he forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Slowly, the tremors faded from his hands. The tears still clung to his lashes, but the weight in his chest grew more bearable. He leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling above him, the dim flicker of torchlight casting dancing shadows across the walls.
And then he remembered.
That was the start of it all—the promise.
Protect everyone.
His father had said it so easily, kneeling down on that hill with the sun behind him. A promise wrapped in warmth and strength, spoken by a man who carried the world on his shoulders but still found time to kneel for his son.
Nero had been a man of his word. His vows were sacred, and his honor, unshakeable. He never broke a promise. Belial had admired that more than anything. As a boy, he had wanted nothing more than to grow into the kind of man his father was—the kind who stood between others and danger, who kept his word not just when it was easy, but when it hurt.
So Belial had done the same.
Even now, after everything—after the blood, the betrayal, and the bitter truths—he still clung to that promise. He held it close, buried deep inside his soul where no one could steal it. It was part of what kept him moving, even when he no longer understood the road he was on.
It was why he was like this now.
He wasn't his father—he knew that. Where Nero had been calm and composed, Belial was wild, raw, volatile. He carried fire in his veins and shadows in his heart. His path had been rougher, shaped by war and regret, by choices that never came easy.
And yet, through all of it, he had never broken that promise.
Not when others begged him to give up.
Not even when the Demon King—the one who was supposed to be their shield, their savior—abandoned his vow and let the people suffer.
No, Belial would not falter.
If the king failed, he would stand.
If the realms were left to rot, he would still protect them.
He had kept his word, even when no one else did.
Even if the people he protected never saw him.
Even if they forgot his name.
Even if they locked him away.
That so-called "protection" the rulers offered—isolating him from the other realms—was nothing but a gilded cage. They called it safety. They called it balance. But it was a prison.
And what good was protection… if the people weren't free?
Belial sat up slowly, his muscles aching, but his resolve solidifying like stone. His fingers brushed against the old hunter figure beside his bed—the same one from his childhood, worn but whole.
His father's voice echoed again in his mind.
Promise you'll protect everyone.
Belial's eyes narrowed.
"I still do, Father," he whispered into the quiet. "Even now."
And as the flickering torchlight danced across his face, a new fire lit behind his eyes—not just the fire of pain, or rage, or vengeance… but something older.
Something sacred.
A promise.