FROST
Chapter 117: Hybrid: A Child Woven from Grief

Chapter 117: Hybrid: A Child Woven from Grief

Asmaros blinked at Caspian like he had just declared the moon was made of soup.

"I’m sorry?" he said slowly, squinting as if trying to read a cursed manuscript. "You mean to tell me—Eleana. Your Eleana. The same Eleana who once tried to poison me with cinnamon tea because I told her braids were outdated. She gave birth to the demon child we’re talking about? And not with you, Caspian—oh no—but with Yami? Yami as in—" he spun on his heel dramatically, arms flailing toward the sky, "the Sulking Demon Yami?!"

Estes raised a polite finger like a patient tutor correcting a misinformed toddler. "Sorrow Demon, Your Highness. Technically speaking, Yami is classified under—"

Asmaros waved a dismissive hand so aggressively it nearly created a wind tunnel. "Shush! Same thing, Estes. Same thing! ’Sorrow,’ ’Sulking,’ ’Mildly Depressed with a Flair for Cloaks’—they all end up writing poetry about dead ravens in the rain. Let me have this."

He spun back to Caspian, face painted in exaggerated disbelief. "You’re telling me that emotionally constipated, tragic novella of a demon managed to woo Eleana into producing a child? What did he do? Read her sad haikus until she swooned?"

Caspian blinked. "I mean... probably. I wasn’t there. Technically, I probably am, but he must have done it without my knowledge."

"You always say that when the drama gets juicy," Asmaros accused, jabbing a finger at him. "You weren’t there when Lady Farlene turned into a frog either, and don’t think I didn’t notice your pond at the time got suspiciously frog-shaped lily pads."

Before Caspian could retort, Asmaros whirled on Estes again, suddenly remembering he had royal duties to pretend to fulfill.

"And you!" he barked, causing Estes to straighten like a soldier caught slouching. "I thought I told you to tell the maids to bring my dear, tragically half-dressed rival the finest wine in all of Eldem!"

Estes blinked. "But Your Highness, you did not—"

"I just did," Asmaros snapped, dramatically fanning himself with a non-existent fan. "And now you’ve heard it with your own ears. Go along now, chop chop!"

Estes looked from Caspian—still shirtless, slime-speckled, and radiating dethroned-kingly annoyance—back to the overly dramatic king currently swanning around his own throne room like a peacock on stage. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Very well. I shall inform the maids."

"Make sure it’s the bottle that glows!" Asmaros called after him. "Not the one that screams when uncorked—that one’s for enemies."

Caspian scratched his head, looking around at the high gothic arches and dramatically unnecessary chandeliers. "How do you run a kingdom like this?"

Asmaros grinned. "With flair, panic, and just the right amount of passive-aggressive wine."

The moment Estes vanished into thin air with the signature pop of magical obedience, the atmosphere shifted like a dropped curtain. Asmaros exhaled sharply, and for once, the theatrical gleam in his eyes dulled into something startlingly... sincere.

"Tell me," he said, folding his arms as he leaned slightly against his throne, "you didn’t drag yourself all the way through the Cambion provinces just to retrieve a child that isn’t even yours, did you?"

His eyes narrowed. "And worse—a child born of violence, wrapped in chaos, and likely prophesied to start some aimless, melodramatic war?"

Caspian didn’t answer immediately. His shoulders sank, the usual arrogance melting into weary honesty. "I know," he muttered. "I know all that. But... Eleana. She cared for that child. He’s her flesh, her blood..." A long breath slipped past his lips. "But that’s not even the strangest part."

His jaw tensed. "Aside from the part that I was indeed forced to retrieve the child; otherwise, I won’t be getting my Kingdom back—"

"What?! You mean you got dethroned?!"

Caspian shrugged. "K-Kinda? But it’s temporary until I bring the child back home."

Asmaros’ eyes squinted once again. "Uh~ now I see why. I thought you were just truly acting like a hero again. I’m disappointed, but anyway. Please continue."

Caspian rolled his eyes. "So, the reason I came here in your Kingdom, personally, is because something doesn’t add up. The child—he doesn’t emit demonic mana. Not like the others. A friend of mine—a cambion—confirmed it. Even Estes couldn’t make sense of it. But here’s the problem—the child has my magic. Not Eleana’s. Mine. Celestial thread. And demonic. It’s both. But the celestial thread? It’s unmistakably mine."

Asmaros tilted his head, the usual sarcasm replaced by curious stillness. "That’s... uncomfortable," he muttered and blinked. "Just a guess, though—was Eleana already pregnant before Yami allegedly..." he paused, choosing his words with surprising delicacy "...violated her?"

Caspian’s brows pulled together. His voice dropped. "She was," he whispered. "She told me our baby... must have been gone. Before she got pregnant again. With his."

A silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating—probably because someone is lighting demon incense nearby and it’s burning Caspian’s heavenly lungs.

Asmaros didn’t speak right away. He simply looked down, then to the side, then finally, quietly, shook his head. "I doubt that," he murmured. "It doesn’t add up."

He looked back at Caspian with an odd gleam in his eye—half dread, half revelation.

"This is just a hunch, mind you. I haven’t seen Eleana for so many years so I can’t really tell. But maybe... maybe Yami didn’t violate her at all. Maybe he... only cursed her. I mean it’s not a better thing, but you get the point."

Caspian blinked. "Cursed?"

Asmaros pushed off the throne with a sigh and paced a few steps. "Yami’s not just a Sorrow Demon as far as I’ve heard about him. He is sorrow.

He feeds on grief. Bends emotion like it’s silk. If he found Eleana already broken, mourning the loss of her unborn child, he wouldn’t need brute force. No. He’d just twist her pain. Reopen the wound. Turn what’s dead into something worse—something living, but wrong."

A beat passed. Caspian’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"I’ve only seen it once in my years as a demon," Asmaros added darkly, eyes narrowing. "A twisted form of resurrection. The curse makes you think you’re carrying a different child. But what grows inside you... is a fusion. Something old, something new. A hybrid built from borrowed souls."

Caspian inhaled sharply, his eyes wide. "You mean... the child is mine? And Yami... he resurrected him inside Eleana? But—how? How is that even possible?"

Asmaros, for once, didn’t grin. Instead, he raised a single, elegant finger and began pacing with the slow deliberation of someone about to deliver a lecture no one asked for but everyone needed.

"Well, technically," he said, "there are only two things we demons can’t do: one, read your mind directly—because free will and all that celestial nonsense—and two, bring the dead back to life."

He spun theatrically on his heel. "So, when a demon is said to resurrect someone, it’s not really resurrection. It’s... reconstruction with flair. Like gluing together a shattered vase using soup."

Caspian blinked. "Soup?"

"Shush! I’m making a metaphor," Asmaros waved him off. "The point is—if a demon brings something back, it doesn’t return with its original soul. That’s forbidden magic, ancient stuff, crusted in curses and sealed away for a reason. What you get instead is usually a soul soup—stitched together from multiple dead souls. Sometimes, though—rarely—you get just two components."

He held up two fingers solemnly. "The original soul... and half of the caster’s."

Caspian stared at him.

There was a long pause.

And then Asmaros dropped the bomb with a little smirk and a shrug. "So, if the later was the answer then congratulations. You and Yami might both be the kid’s father. How modern."

Caspian froze. "W-What?"

"You heard me," Asmaros said, clearly enjoying the unraveling horror on Caspian’s face. "In terms of celestial threading and magical imprint—must be yes, the child got yours. Probably the damaged, moody part. And then there’s Yami’s mana laced in, which explains the walking Sorrow aura."

Caspian’s eye twitched. "You’re saying my dead son was—what—stitched back together like some sad quilt and now has Eleana’s face, my mana thread, and Yami’s trauma complex?!"

"Well, that or he’s a walking existential crisis in a toddler’s body," Asmaros shrugged again. "Hard to say, really. Depends on which half of you two dominates his bedtime tantrums."

Caspian buried his face in his hands. "Is it okay if I curse in a demon castle?"

"I’d suggest therapy," Asmaros said cheerfully. "But given your family history, maybe just a helmet. And chains. Anyway! Shall we go meet your magical, emotional bomb-child, or would you prefer to faint dramatically so I can check the little chaos gremlin myself?"

Caspian, still shirtless and clutching what little dignity he had left, placed a hand over his bare chest as if trying to shield his very soul. "L-Let’s just go..."

"Fantastic!" Asmaros chirped, and in a blink, he vanished—only to reappear directly in front of Caspian, his grin borderline unholy. Caspian didn’t even have time to flinch when a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Come now," Asmaros said with a gleam in his eye. "Teleport us to your cursed little miracle. I want front-row seats to whatever divine-demoniac toddler mess you’ve gotten yourself into."

Even Asmaros’ raven-black hair seemed to pulse with excitement, flicking about as though each strand were giving a standing ovation.

Caspian groaned. It wasn’t the exasperated kind. No, it was the soul-weary. With a dramatic flick of his hand, a ring of runes formed beneath them and pulsed once.

Both of them vanished with a low crackle of magic.

And precisely one and a half seconds later, Estes reappeared in the chamber with an armful of the Kingdom’s finest wine, his robe slightly singed from wherever he had just bargained for them. He glanced around, holding up a decanter like a peace offering.

"Your Highness, I found the—oh..." He blinked. "Where are they?"

Silence.

Then a guard coughed softly and gestured at the vacant spot on the floor still smoldering with celestial sigils.

Estes sighed deeply, as if this wasn’t the first time he had been left behind mid-chaos. "Of course," he muttered. "Abandon the elf with the wine. Classic."

He looked at the wine in his arms, then at the empty room.

"Well. More for me."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.