Year 1470 —
Amongst the humans, there were winged creatures that stood above all others. Appearing like angels, they were called Seraphs and worshipped in Salestas. Their white wings meant power, and wingless humans were nothing but mere dust.
Or in this certain case, ashes.
Hades Valentine stood before the inferno with an icy cold gaze, uncaring of the heat and danger. The light of the blaze washed over his pale features, gilding his lashes with blood red fire. The flames rose like living red waves, engulfing the entire village of humans and smothering their cries for help.
Humans made it too easy for him. It was almost boring, how they were so small and fragile.
But someone interrupted his silent enjoyment. His gaze narrowed in annoyance. His knight, Apollo, had dared to interrupt him.
"Milord, forgive my forwardness," Apollo knelt as he spoke, "You are far behind the appointed time to see His Highness."
"I know. I don't plan to see him," Hades answered with a slight grin, as if he was ready to spread carnage in contrast to his otherworldly beauty.
"A mere prince wishes to have me at the beck and call to abide by his orders. He must have forgotten who I am."
Apollo privately agreed. Prince Cyril was the newly appointed crown prince, crowned only because his half-brother had died. To exercise his authority, he often demanded Apollo's master to pay respects to him, forgetting the fact that Hades was not a man that anyone could simply order around.
Not even the King could ever control his master. So how could Cyril?
"He won't be pleased," Apollo lamented, only to hear a deep chuckle coming from his master.
"Apollo, it seems you have forgotten something," sang Lord Hades with a grin that pulled the sides of his red lips. He turned around, shifting his cloak to reveal the black wings that were covered underneath. Under the moonlight, his luscious inky feathers were bathed in a silvery glow. Paired with his ethereal handsome face, it gave the impression that he was an angel whose purpose was to take lives.
An angel of death.
"You should never worry whether someone is pleased by my actions," he said, languidly, almost like a sigh, "Only worry when I am displeased by theirs. There is no one in this world whose favor I need but my own. Understood, Apollo?"
His words rolled out with a casual elegance, as though he hadn't just watched a whole village burn to the ground.
"Let us see what that foolish crown prince does next," he murmured, a faint smile excitedly tugging his lips. "I cannot wait to watch him humiliate himself further. Now, we leave."
He turned toward the carriage nestled beneath the oak tree. The rest of his men rose in unison, saluting as it drove off. "Have a safe journey, Milord!" they called, their voices united and disciplined.
Far from the burning village, on the opposite side of Salestas, a young winged man paced restlessly in one of the palace drawing rooms. His silver-blue wings twitched with irritation. He bit down on his lower lip until blood welled out, stealing a furious glance at the clock before stomping the floor in frustration.
When his anger boiled over, he smashed the crystal glass on the table, sending shards across the floor.
A startled maid rushed forward to clean up the mess, only to have the prince step on her hand, crushing her fingers beneath his sole. He snapped at the butler, who kept a blank expression while Prince Cyril raged.
"Where is he? Where is Hades?!" the prince demanded, "Didn't you send the decree? Didn't you summon him to the palace to see me?"
The elderly butler could only shake his head inwardly. He was used to the whims of the royals but what Cyril was doing was different. Out of all the lords in Salestas that he wishes to control, he had chosen Hades Valentine.
Hades, the only black winged Seraph of Salestas, was always avoided by others. But his strength was undeniable. His presence forced many kingdoms down to their knees, granting Salestas their current glory. So how could someone that even the King couldn't control be under the thumb of a young prince like Cyril?
After all, it was known that anyone pressing Lord Hades's buttons would cause their own demise. The late King knew it, but Crown Prince Cyril was still green and wet behind the ears. He didn't know that ordering the realm's most fearsome being, as though he was a mere servant, would lead to his death.
"I had summoned the Lord, Your Highness, and I made sure that the decree had been accepted," the butler answered, "But as you are aware, Lord Hades isn't someone who follows the rules."
"Yet he came to see my late brother whenever he wished. What is it that Eamonn could do that I could not?!" Cyril tightened his grip on the glass in his hands, before throwing it across the ground. It shattered, hitting the quivering human slave girl in the corner of the room. The human slave girl began to bleed, but she dared not utter even a single word, suppressing the sound of pain that was about to escape from her mouth.
"Your Highness, quell your anger," the butler pleaded as he knelt to the ground.
"How can I quell my anger when Hades dares to look down on me?!"
Cyril raked his fingers through his golden hair, wings trembling violently behind him. The brilliance of his long white feathers seemed to hiss with his fury, a living echo of his rage.
Since ascending to the throne, Cyril had known power was not granted freely. It had to be seized by bending the seven Lords of Salestas under his wings. It had been no simple task. Each of the seven Lords was proud and uncontrollable. And yet, through unrelenting effort, Cyril had brought more than half to his side.
Except for one obstacle.
Hades Valentine.
Lord of the Northern Salestas, he was set apart not only by his immense power but by the shadow of his wings, black where all others shone white. For years, he had been shunned as cursed. Cyril, like many, had dismissed him at first. Surely such a stain among seraphs would submit when the majority stood united. Surely even he would bow.
But Hades had not bowed. He simply stood apart, disregarding Cyril as if he had never once existed in his line of sight.
And that, Cyril could not forgive.
"That defective, cursed wretch dares to defy me?!" His voice cracked. "How dare he! He is nothing but a black-winged. He exists to obey me!"
Cyril's lips split beneath his teeth, blood beading at the corner of his mouth. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, fury consuming him until each breath burned.
No matter the cost, Hades would break. He would bow. And he would never again look down on the Crown Prince of Salestas.
"Your Highness—!" The butler stumbled forward, fear etched across his face at the sight of blood.
"He isn't perfect, is he?" Cyril's lips curled into a wide grin, madness flickering in his eyes. "There is one flaw, one weakness he cannot hide. He still lacks a soulmate."
"Your Highness…?" The butler stiffened, unease creeping into his voice. "A soulmate binds a seraph's very soul. It is no trivial matter."
"Exactly." Cyril's laughter was low. His blue eyes darkened, sharp with malicious ideas. "That is why no one can touch him, why no one can control him. But once he has a soulmate, once that bond becomes his chain, he will learn what it means to be weak. And if I hold that chain… Then even Hades will kneel. He will be nothing more than an obedient mutt at my heel."
The butler's stomach turned. He bowed his head to hide the terror on his face. To shackle Hades Valentine was no triumph, it was suicide. A creature like Hades, a creature from the Valentine Household whose members had never been able to be controlled.
And Cyril, the foolish and arrogant Cyril, believed he could succeed where heaven and hell had failed?
The butler said nothing. He was old enough to know words would not save Cyril from ruin. Instead, he lowered his gaze and prayed. For Salestas. For the realm. For whatever soul would be cast as Hades's "weakness."
What kind of soulmate could ever charm the lord of black wings?
No—this scheme was no chain for Hades. It was only impending doom for Cyril.
"I have an order—" Cyril declared, his grin widening. "A ball. Yes, a grand ball! Summon every maiden of Salestas! Human or seraph, noble or common, so long as they are unmarried. We will fasten a shackle around that cursed seraph. Make it the most dazzling ball of the century!"
One week later, dawn stretched pale light over a quiet human town. At a modest cottage, the clang of a mailbox broke the silence.
A young girl stepped out with a yawn, brushing hair from her face. She reached into the iron box, checking for any letters only o then froze at the creamy texture of an envelope.
Her eyes widened. "Mama! Mama!" she cried, clutching the envelope to her chest. "It's from the castle! A royal invitation!"
The seal of Salestas gleamed red against ivory. To her, it was a dream—a promise of luxury.
But the envelope was more than lace and promise. And though the girl did not know it yet, every maiden who received that seal had been drawn into the storm surrounding Hades Valentine.