“Yula, are you alright?” Her grandfather spoke. His hands slowly clasped around her hands. His is massive in comparison.
“I’ll be fine as long as it doesn’t happen again.” She spoke with a pained expression.
“Here, we must treat the burns immediately.” He rushed to his cabinet and began pulling out vials of oils and ointments, mixing them into a refined medicinal mixture. Quickly, he applied it to the darkest of red burns first. She tensed briefly, but the numbing agent in the medicine quickly cooled the pain away.
“Stupid girl, never do that again.”
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.”
“Hmph! But you have a dwarf’s spirit; I can respect that.” A hardy laugh bellows from his throat.
“I don’t know if others would see that. But I am glad I at least got something from you.”
“Indeed. You are in no shape to go out; rest while you can, and don’t touch anything with those burns. I don’t need you to hurt yourself again.”
“Where are you going?”
“This boy is Caleb Aris, is he not? The lord overseeing this village. I know we aren’t fully residents of this place, but as a dwarf, it is my pride to at least report this. I’ll be back with someone, so make sure the place isn’t messy. And fix that hair! I told you; you are too pretty of an elf to look like a dirty old dwarf like me!” He slams the door and grumbles in the distance. Yula couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“Well, it should take a bit of time. Hmph, he could have at least bandaged my hands.” Annoyed, Yula wrapped her hands to cover and protect her wounds before she carefully began to tidy the small little hut and workshop they had set up. She cleaned up her hair and even had enough time to clean the sweat off the young boy lying on the table.
Her grandfather couldn’t waste time putting him in bed and quickly applied medicines and bandages to his wounds. He couldn’t do much for the broken ribs, but he didn’t want to hurt him further by moving him. Yula looked at the young boy and began to notice the color of his hair.
“White hair… My mother once told me of someone important long ago who had white hair that caused a lot of trouble… I wonder…” Yula, a curious young elf, quickly searched every one of the books they had with them. She didn’t find the one from her childhood, but she did find a book about the Demon King and his Lords origins.
She began reading to pass the time; she had read quite a bit for what seemed like hours—finding instances of a prophecy the church and the royal family told. The context and statements were shrewd and forced perspectives but held some interesting details.
“A child born under the curse will rise as the King of Demons. His hair white as the moon, the moon which the Demons praise, will domain over the kingdom of demons. Diabolus, the realm of Demons, will be the throne for the future King, and his reign of darkness will loom over the age of man.” Yula recited the statement from a record keeper of the church. The words were written plainly and showed depictions of a white-haired figure, black markings across his face and entire body. Sat upon a throne made from crystallized blood. The figure loomed with an ominous presence.
“The Demon King…hmm.” Curiosity plagued her, and she couldn’t help but quickly peek under the bandages on his head to see if he had any markings; none could be found. She slowly looked at his arms and chest, but before she could examine him any further, a loud bang knocked on the door, which caused her to startle, dropping the book to the floor.
The door opened to reveal her grizzled grandfather with, a servant woman with red hair, and a knight. They both were slightly out of breath from running across town to reach this hut. Yula stared, quickly picked up the book, and placed it to the side.
“Where is he? Where is Lord Caleb!” Celia demanded. Her long fangs bared, and the demonic blood within her veins boiled. Her crimson eyes blazed in the dimly lit hut. The sun was already setting, and she was a vibrant fire in the dark evening.
“Compose yourself; these people rescued our Lord. Be grateful he isn’t dead.” Eckhart withheld any excess emotion, but deep down, he was concerned for Caleb even if he didn’t realize it himself.
“We did our best to make him comfortable and taken care of. However, we could only do enough,” Yula spoke softly. Celia hurried to Caleb and stayed by his side.
“Who did this? Who were cowardly enough to attack.”
“It was the guild party, The Phantom Blades, I think they are called. Caleb, he allowed me to escape for my safety. I only wished that I arrived sooner with my grandfather to save him, but by the time we arrived, he was lying on the ground, beaten and bloodied.”
“I’ll kill them… Every single one of them!” A crack whistled in the air. Celia’s claws started to protrude from the tips of her fingers, sharp like a dagger; they were deadly. The bones in her hands tensed up, and her strength proliferating out of control.
“Celia, enough.” Eckhart placed his hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath but still showed her malice.
“Thank you for taking care of him. I’m sorry, but this matter is now bigger than you realize. It would be in your best interest and ours if you stayed out of this affair.” Eckhart spoke to Yula. His eyes were respectful of the two who cared for Caleb.
“I agree with you, sir. My granddaughter and I won’t cause any trouble about this.”
“I appreciate your cooperation; I am Commander Eckhart, a knight in service and loyal to the Aris family.”
“An honor to meet someone as exquisite as yourself, sir; I am Gorg Anrai, and this is my granddaughter, Yula.”
“Gorg… That name is familiar.” Eckhart begins to ponder in thought.
“I’m sorry, but I believe the boy needs you more than I do.”
“My apologies; thank you once again. We shall tend to him right away.”
Eckhart carefully lifts Caleb from the table and carries him out of the hut; Celia follows behind. Yula and Gorg stay behind and look at each other, a dark and sinister look on their faces.
“Grandfather, I’m sorry-“
“Save it… It was bound to happen…”
“What if they discover who you are?”
“It’s not like it’s happened before, my dear. However, I think we don’t have much to fear.”
“Grandpa?”
“Nothing, if the name Gorg Anrai sets them off, I will live with that for the rest of my life. Yula, I don’t regret taking you in, but I am a dwarf; we take pride in our names whether we want to or not; it is in our blood to keep the name we earned.”
“Even if that name is cursed?”
“Yes, even if it is cursed. Even if it is the worst cursed name a dwarf has ever achieved in history… I will wear the name Gorg, the Devil Maker, for as long as I live…”
