Kingdom of things forgotten

The kingdom of things forgotten

Sophie snatched the key to the portal, her jaw set. “Come on,” she urged her sisters, “you’re really going to let fear win?” They shook their heads, backing away like she’d just suggested jumping into a pit of snakes. “Suit yourselves,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

The portal wasn’t like the others, this one was a black spinning wheel etched with strange symbols, framed by twisted black branches. It pulsed with a cold, eerie light, like a mirror reflecting nothing but darkness. Without hesitation, Sophie stepped through. A shiver ran down her spine, sharp and unexpected. She wasn’t alone. Turning slowly, she saw him—a man who looked like he’d been ripped from some twisted story. Bare-chested, his olive skin etched with ancient symbols, his dark hair falling messily over his unblinking black eyes. He was tall, human looking, built like he could break her in half without trying, and he stood there with confidence that made her stomach flip. “Well, this is new,” she muttered under her breath. The air around them crackled, and despite the chill, warmth spread through her. Oh, she felt it all right, this wasn’t subtle. This was a damn lightning strike.

Sophie had wandered through plenty of realms, but so far, not a single guy had caught her attention. No sparks, no tingles, no butterflies, nothing. Her sisters kept insisting she’d know it when she felt it, but Sophie wasn’t convinced. “Maybe I’m just broken,” she muttered to herself once, though she quickly dismissed the thought. She wasn’t weird; just different. Always knew.

He stood there. He stood alongside the skeletal horses; their red eyes fixed on her. Her focus was solely on him, with everything else fading into a blur. A bit of dust swirled in the space between them.

“Hi, Sophie,” he said, voice smooth and serrated. “What are you doing in my kingdom?”

She froze. His markings glowed faintly, alive somehow. He spoke like he knew her. And yet, she wasn’t afraid.

“I come in peace,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “How do you know my name?”

His smile held centuries. “I know more than your name.” Her cheeks flushed despite the cold.

In person, she was even more stunning, her long light brown hair cascading down her back and her green eyes twinkling with her smile. She radiated light in this dim setting, and once again, he found himself holding his breath.

“Come,” he said, gesturing to a skeletal horse draped in black. “We’ll talk.”

She hesitated—then mounted on it.

They rode through the dark. Not silent, but alive. Shadows moved. Watched.

A fortress loomed—black stone, crawling with strigoi and demons. The creatures howled when they arrived. Servants bowed, fanged and hollow-eyed.

In the bone-carved throne room, he sat with ease, draped like a shadow across his seat. She stood; arms crossed.

“Sophie,” he said, leaning forward. “Why are you really here?”

"Boredom. Fairylands are nothing compared to this," Sophie remarked as she glanced around the throne room. The demons positioned behind the throne appeared to be carved from stone, remaining utterly still.

He laughed—low and unexpected. Then barked at a strigoi servant something guttural. A mirror was dragged in. Massive. Unearthly.

He rose, offered his hand. She took it, letting him lead her to the second throne. When she sat, it pulsed beneath her—crimson light seeping from its cracks.

The mirror tilted. Her reflection changed: dress now dark and sleek, edges glowing red, ribbons turned to smoky threads. Her face? Sharper. Stronger. Like she belonged.

He watched her absorb it all. Her eyes narrowed; lips lifted in a slow, dangerous smile.

“Well, Sophie?” he asked, voice velvet. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” she said, voice steady with new fire. “This... feels right.”

“Good.” He leaned back; satisfaction etched into every word.

A servant arrived with two glasses, red liquid swirling inside.

Abrax lifted his. “You ready to see what this place can really do?”

“Maybe,” she said, swirling hers. “But first—what is this place? And what do I call you? ‘King’ seems a bit... formal.”

“This is where the lost and restless come. And I’m Abrax. King of winged demons, strigoi, shadows, and whisperers of the dead.”

Black wings unfurled from his back—huge, obsidian, impossible.

Sophie stepped closer. She reached out, touched one. Her fingers brushed shadow incarnate.

Lifting her glass, she smirked. “Guess I always knew I had a dark side.”

She drank.

It hit hard. The world has sharpened. She laughed—a sound that trembled on the edge of a scream.

“I’m alive,” she whispered. “I feel... death. Desire. Power.”

Abrax watched her change. The subtle shift in her posture. Her presence. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“King Abrax,” she said, eyes gleaming. “How do you know me?”

He gestured. She followed.

They walked through torchlit corridors, past relics of chaos and power. He pushed open an ancient door to a room of mirrors.

He pointed to one.

“I found you there,” he said softly. “I watched you. Waited. Knew you’d come.” “Punishments back home?

Nah. Just chores.” She shrugged. “I’ve stolen that key so many times. They never learn.”

He studied her, wanting to say more. Instead, he leaned in. She tilted her head, daring.

He kissed her. Hard. Like he’d been waiting across lifetimes.

It wasn’t sweet. It was a claim. And when she kissed him back, it wasn’t hesitation, it was acceptance.

“You good?” she asked, lips parted.

“Oh, I got what I wanted.”

She frowned. “What was that about?”

He bowed slightly. “Forgive me, if I overstepped.”

She stepped in and kissed him again, slower, arms locking around him. It was timeless. Weightless.

“Sophie,” he murmured, touching his forehead to hers.

He offered his hand.

“Want to see the kingdom from above?”

Before she could answer, his wings lifted them into the sky. She clung to him, laughing—a sound ripped from freedom itself.

Below, the land twisted—dark rivers, jagged peaks, pale lights flickering in windows.

“Does the sun ever rise here?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “But where’s the fun in that?”

They landed on the side of the jagged rocks of a dark mountain. He didn’t let go right away.

“I have to go back,” she said softly, fingers on his cheek. “But I’ll return.”

“Then take this.” He slipped a leather cord around her neck, a droplet of red glinting like fire. “So, you don’t lose your way.”

She kissed him once more. “Wish I could stay.”

“You could.”

She laughed. “Yeah? Let’s just break every rule then.” Rules? she thought Who invented these rules? Was it those who are afraid of the unfamiliar? Who decided that darkness is bad, that I'm different, and that I should feel different? Rules? They're meant to be broken, especially when you're on a quest for love. But perhaps I'm the one who's broken. Why am I so attracted to the darkness? What will I find there? Sophie's mind was racing, adrenaline coursing through her as she contemplated the unknown. They called her untamed because she wouldn't follow their rules. But then again, she broke every rule imaginable in her pursuit of love.

He held her hand until the last possible moment, watching her vanish through the portal. He stood silently, wondering if she was aware that demon blood coursed through her veins. Yet, she appeared so innocent, almost delicate. Despite this, he understood the truth and sensed it deeply. Wonder if she felt the same way.

Back in Fairyland, everything felt... weird.

Her sisters rushed to her.

“Where have you been?” Julia cried.

Leyla narrowed her eyes. “Wait. You changed your hair?”

“Maybe,” Sophie said, twirling a flower.

Julia’s eyes went wide. “You’re in love.”

Sophie shrugged. “Could be. He’s... interesting.”

Leyla scoffed. “Who’s the poor bastard who thinks he can handle you?”

“I can’t tell you,” Sophie said, smiling slyly. “It’s forbidden.”

Both sisters paled.

Julia whispered, “What rule did you break?”

Sophie twirled the flower. “Oh, just the laws of existence.”

Their gasps made her laugh.

Far away, Abrax stared into the mirror, eyes fixed on her. He'd known for a long time, his love for her. She wasn’t done with him. And she wouldn’t have spoken of him—unless it mattered.

Huut stormed in. “Sir, problem.”

Abrax locked the door behind him. “Speak.”

“They’ve declared war.”

Abrax sighed. He thought of her; helped. Not to calm him, just to focus.

“North?” he asked.

“North,” Huut confirmed.

Moments later, they took flight.

Two days later, the skies above the northern wastelands churned with thunder and smoke. The wind carried screams—some louder, some not.

From a ridge of black stone, Abrax and Huut surveyed the battlefield.

“They’re in formation,” Huut growled, scanning the horizon. “A thousand, more. Seers say they’ve dug up a war-behemoth from the old catacombs.”

Abrax rolled his shoulder, flexing the wing that had once torn through a god’s ribcage.

“A thousand,” he echoed. “Piece of cake.”

He reached for his sword—an obsidian curve of serrated hell-iron—and slung his morning star across his back. The weapon glowed faintly, whispering to the dead.

“Release the shade hounds,” he said.

A horn blew—a long, guttural note—and the battlefield shifted.

From the cracks in the stone, hounds poured out, made of smoke and bone, eyes burning like dying stars. They howled as they raced forward, snapping through the first wave of enemy scouts like paper dolls.

Then Abrax took flight.

He dove into the fray, wings slicing the air, a dark meteor crashing through the front line. His sword sang. One strike cleaved a strigoi knight clean in half. The morning star followed, crushing a giant’s helm into pulp.

The enemy was ready—but they were not prepared.

A blood forged warrior charged; steel fused with cursed sinew. Abrax met him with a grin and slammed him down with a shockwave that cracked the earth.

Lightning split the sky.

A necrotic priest raised his staff, eyes milky with undeath. He hissed, “Demon King!” “Return to the pit!”

Abrax threw his sword like a javelin—impaling the priest through his cursed heart. The corpse exploded in the bloom of black ash.

“Your pit is mine,” he spat.

The battle swelled. Screams echoed across the field as Abrax carved through a dozen more. Blood soaked his arms. His wings were tattered at the edges, but he pressed on relentlessly.

And then—Morton.

The warlord stepped through fire, wielding a flail of burning bones. His face was marked with frost tattoos, his left eye burned blue.

“So, the devil himself shows up,” Morton snarled.

“Ready to die?” Abrax asked, circling him.

“Not today,” Morton roared—and lunged.

Their weapons collided with a thunderclap. Sparks flew. Morton’s clawed gauntlet slashed across Abrax’s arm, tearing flesh to the bone. He staggered; teeth bared.

But the pain only made him angrier.

He caught Morton’s wrist, crushed it, then slammed the morning star into his chest once, twice—three times.

On the third, Morton cracked. Not just bone—but soul.

The enemy commander collapsed in a heap of molten armor and broken magic.

Abrax stood over him, panting, blood streaming down his arm. Shadows curled around his feet, whispering his name.

He dropped to one knee, the adrenaline burning out.

Huut appeared behind him, blood-spattered, one horn cracked.

“What of the prisoners?” Huut asked.

Abrax didn’t look back.

“Throw them in the dungeons,” he growled. “Let the bone crows pick through the dead.”

He stood, dragging his sword, already turning away.

“I need to get back.”

Sophie couldn’t sit still. She paced the edge of the glimmering pool in the heart of the fairy gardens, bare feet silent on the moss. The moon hung high, silver and distant, but the unease in her chest grew heavier with each passing minute.

Something was wrong. Not just wrong—deeply wrong. Like a string inside her had gone taut and frayed, vibrating with danger. Abrax.

She did not need permission.

There was a sensation, like a dull ache; she couldn't understand why she felt such a strong bond with him. It was as if something was drawing her in. She tried to push thoughts of him, but his face always returned to her mind, his eyes gazing at her as if she were a precious find, and she couldn't shake it off.

In the meadow, the grass whispered under her as she knelt. Her pendant, the one he’d given her—flared warmth against her skin as she activated the portal. The black spinning wheel appeared, and the dark mirror portal surged into the night. The fabric of the world tore open.

She stepped through.

The demon king’s throne room yawned before her, cavernous and quiet. Shadows flickered along stone obsidian columns, and the ever-burning flames in the torches hissed as if breathing.

It was too quiet.

“Abrax?” she called, voice echoing.

She felt him before she saw him—his presence curled around her like heat. She turned.

He kissed her. No hesitation. His wings wrapped around her, softly.

“You came back,” he murmured. There was strain in his voice. Pain, too.

“Yeah,” she said. “Something is wrong. I felt it.”

Her eyes dropped to his arm.

“It’s fine. Just a scratch,” he said too fast. His skin burned hot, hotter than even a demon should.

“That’s poison, Abrax. Even immortals die from that.”

His hand curled around her waist, possessive. “You care what happens to me?”

“Obviously,” she snapped. “I felt you hurting, so I came.”

They held each other for a heartbeat, then she stepped back. “Let me see it.”

He peeled off his shirt. There were more marks than she remembered. And more muscle, which was not helping her concentration.

Stay focused, Sophie.

The wound pulsed with dark magic. She pressed her hand to it. “This is going to hurt. Hold onto me.”

His lips quirked. “Trying really hard to hold onto you already.”

Two weeks have passed. Sophie returned to the meadow, leaving messages in flowers. Miss you. Then a heart. Abrax watched it all in his mirror, chest aching.

She pressed her back against the cold stone wall of the corridor, heart hammering as the key to her deception slipped from her fingers. Every soft torch‑lit shadow whispered her betrayal. She’d turned away from her sisters—had abandoned them with nothing but whispered excuses—and guilt gnawed at her, a living thing under her ribs. Yet something bolder than regret had seized her heart, and in the end, her feelings for him tipped the scales. Sophie exhaled, rolling her shoulders free of tension. She stepped through the dark mirror portal without looking back, aware of the cost she would bare.