FROST
Chapter 119: Nixroth’Vael Zeir’malun

Chapter 119: Nixroth’Vael Zeir’malun

Caspian gasped, twisting sharply in the direction Seravine had run. His chest tightened, his breath caught when he felt something in the air had shifted.

It was subtle at first—like the snap of a cord pulled too tight. But then came the weight... an eerie stillness that blanketed the clearing like fog. The winds stilled for a moment, then gusted with unnatural force, shaking branches and scattering brittle maple leaves into the air.

The child in his arms whimpered. Then stilled. His wide, dark eyes didn’t blink, fixed on something unseen. Caspian’s brows furrowed.

The child felt it too.n aura—once wild, fiery, desperate—had... stopped.

Not vanished. Not entirely. But no longer burning. And then, beneath the slow drift of falling leaves, he appeared.

Asmaros stood at the center of the clearing, framed by the dying violet shade of twilight and the trees mourning with rust-red foliage.

The wind caught the edge of his cloak, sending it fluttering like a shadow trying to flee his figure. In his hands, he carried something familiar—Caspian’s cloak. Worn, frayed at the edges, stained in places from adventure... and just moments ago, it had wrapped around Seravine’s trembling form.

Now it hung limply in his grasp, weightless and empty.

Caspian’s breath hitched. "W-Where is Seravine?" he asked at once, voice raw, hopeful—but fragile.

Asmaros didn’t answer.

He only stared down at the cloak as if it were the last remnant of a dream. Slowly, reverently, he lifted one hand and peeled it back—unwrapping it like the shroud of something sacred.

In his other palm rested a small orb, no larger than a plum. Dark violet and black swirled within its glassy surface, like ink and smoke dancing in slow, eternal struggle. At times, the violet pulsed—soft, dim, like a dying heartbeat. It shimmered faintly, as if holding onto the very last flickers of a soul.

Caspian’s heart sank to his knees.

"W-What did you do?" he choked, stepping forward. "What the hell did you do?!"

"What I had to," came the quiet reply.

Asmaros didn’t meet his eyes. His voice, usually commanding, proud, and arrogant, was now laced with a pain Caspian didn’t know this demon was capable of. Each word fell slowly, soaked with weight, like a confession from a man already mourning himself.

"There was no other way," he continued. "Her time... it was running out. I could see it unraveling around her. Any more... and she would’ve faded into nothing."

"So you sealed her?" Caspian barked. "That’s your solution?! Freeze her in time? Lock her in a sphere like some forgotten relic?"

His voice cracked, furious. "You—You know what sealing means, Asmaros! You know what it does! It’s no better than death! She’s trapped in there!"

The orb pulsed once, weakly, as if in answer.

"I know," Asmaros murmured.

His lips trembled. The lines on his face, once masked by demonic grace and kingly authority, now carved deep by regret.

"But it was that... or watch her vanish between heartbeats."

His fingers curled slightly around the orb, but not too tightly—never too tightly, as if afraid to crush what little of her remained.

"I just..." he whispered, "I just can’t lose her."

Caspian stood still.

And for a moment, he hated Asmaros. Hated his power, his pride, his impossible choices. Hated how even now, even after sealing the woman he obviously cared for a lot, he looked like a broken man trying to pretend he had done something merciful.

"But you did," Caspian said, softer now. "You already lost her."

The wind blew again, slow and solemn, dragging the leaves across the earth like sighs of the fallen.

"I know," Asmaros replied.

Then he sank to one knee, the orb still cradled in his palm like the most precious thing he’d ever touched. His gaze never left its swirling core, as if by sheer will, he could reach through the magic and bring her back.

Caspian tightened his grip on the child.

"She’s in there. Conscious?"

"I don’t know," Asmaros admitted. "The seal isn’t mine. Not entirely. I had to draw from what was left of her pact... twist it... hold it in stasis. It’s the only way to keep her soul from collapsing."

"You’re stalling time," Caspian said, realization dawning. "Not reversing it."

Asmaros nodded once. "That means..." Caspian swallowed, "She’s still dying. Just... slower."

The demon king finally looked at him. "Yes." And then silence.

A long, miserable silence.

Then, from within the orb, a shimmer flickered—soft, almost imperceptible—but there. Like a breath. A whisper. A flick of gold within the black.

Seravine.

"She’ll hate you for this," Caspian said.

"She already does," Asmaros whispered.

"But you’ll still keep her sealed?"

Asmaros shut his eyes, grief pressing into every word. "Only until I find who she sold her days to and buy them back. She couldn’t tell me who, it must have been part of their deal. Until I undo what she gave up to save others... and to run from me."

He brought the orb closer to his chest, resting it there—where his heart once beat stronger.

"She is not a thing to be saved in pride. But I will beg. I will trade. I will bleed every kingdom dry if it gives her one more day."

Caspian didn’t answer.

There was nothing to say.

Only the wind answered them both, carrying with it a faint whisper—maybe from the orb, maybe from the forest, or maybe from a woman locked between time and silence.

Asmaros stood again, turning away with the orb close to his heart.

"I’m going to fix this."

Caspian only watched him go. And this time, he said nothing.

Asmaros heaved a long, bone-deep sigh. His shoulders slackened as if the act of sealing her had drained the last ounce of resistance from his ancient frame.

Then, quietly, with a flick of his fingers, he began weaving symbols into the air—elegant, silver-lined runes that shimmered with restrained power. They hung suspended in a slow, circular motion, forming a lattice of protective magic.

The orb, still pulsing faintly with that violet-black light, lifted gently from his palm. It hovered for a moment, weightless in the center of the sigils, then began to fade—fading, not vanishing, like a setting star slipping beyond sight but not memory.

"She’ll be safe for now," Asmaros murmured, barely audible. And then like flipping a switch, the grief vanished from his expression.

He turned to Caspian with a sharp grin, eyes glinting like he’d just come back from a wine tasting and not from sealing the love of his life in temporal suspension.

"Soooo..." he sang, rolling his shoulders with newfound bounce. "Lemme see my godchild!"

Caspian blinked.

Asmaros hopped toward him.

Like. Hopped. A few times, his cloak and hair bouncing behind him.

Caspian instinctively took a step back, arms curling tighter around the confused child whose eyes blinked up at the demon king now doing a spin with jazz hands.

"I—I didn’t even give you permission to be his godfather yet!" Caspian said, voice pitched between a grimace and alarm.

"Oh don’t be ridiculous," Asmaros huffed, waving a dismissive hand through the air as if godfather titles were mere technicalities in the bureaucracy of fate. "I told you the possibilities of his orginin, didn’t I? Yes? Well then. My claim stands, your honor."

He was already looming over the baby now, squinting as though trying to read the child’s soul through his eyelids. The infant let out a small hiccup.

"Ahh such beautiful eyes," Asmaros cooed, dramatically placing both hands over his heart. "Like a star birthed in the depths of eternal shadow."

Caspian narrowed his eyes.

"Stop being weird."

Asmaros ignored him entirely. "Now then," he declared, finger raised, "what shall we call this tiny divine spawn of chaos?"

Caspian opened his mouth to answer, but too late.

"I propose—Nixroth’Vael Zeir’malun." He posed, hand on hip, as if he’d just unveiled a masterpiece at an art exhibit. "In short, Nix. Strong, mysterious, carries ancestral gravitas with a hint of cosmic dread."

The baby blinked slowly.

Caspian stared.

"He’s going to grow up thinking he’s an ancient deity."

"Oh please, let him dream. I mean, he could be. After all, Yami’s dark magic runs through his blood. And you might have already known the demon of sorrow already existed probably older than your father, King Luscious," Asmaros sniffed, dramatically wiping an imaginary tear.

"Nixroth’Vael Zeir’malun, Son of Lunar King Caspian, and Queen Eleana, with a touch of Yami—it rolls off the tongue perfectly damn! It’ll send shivers down his enemies’ spines. Just imagine him in a duel."

"Imagine him filing celestial taxes with that name," Caspian muttered under his breath.

"Oh ye of little vision." Asmaros turned to the child again, now gently poking the baby’s cheek with a clawed finger. "You’ll thank me one day, little one. When the stars burn out and the worlds collide, your name shall echo in prophecy and petty gossip alike."

The baby sneezed.

"Look! He agrees!" Asmaros grinned.

Caspian buried his face in one hand and groaned, gently bouncing the child against his shoulder. "So, what should I tell the High Court about this situation?"

Asmaros straightened, posture suddenly regal, placing a firm—almost solemn—hand on Caspian’s shoulder. "Just tell them I’ll visit the Lunar Kingdom to personally explain everything... with all my vast, intricate, centuries-old demon knowledge."

Caspian didn’t even blink. "You’re banned from the Lunar Kingdom."

There was a pause.

Asmaros’ smile tightened into something sheepish. "Ah. Right. That time with the ambassador’s pet basilisk." He gave a nonchalant wave. "Such overreaction."

Caspian raised an eyebrow. "You turned it into a five-headed goose."

"It bit me."

"You walked into its nest."

"I was looking for a snack!"

Caspian exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly regretting asking in the first place.

Asmaros sighed and glanced at the soft orb-lit sky beyond the trees, the faint echo of runes still dissolving into the air. "Then tell them..." He offered a small, tired smile—one that, despite the quirk of his lips, couldn’t hide the weight behind his eyes.

"...it’s complicated."

Follow current novels on freewe(b)novel.c(o)m