The royal war chamber was smaller than the throne room but more intimidating in its design. Here, no spectators or court nobles were permitted—only those directly involved in military pnning. The circur room featured a massive obsidian table at its center, its surface etched with detailed maps of demon territories and surrounding realms. Lava channels ran beneath the translucent sections, illuminating borders and key ndmarks from below.

  Azaril stood at the chamber's edge, scrolls clutched to his chest. Two weeks of intensive research into Ashroot and other volcanic pnts had yielded promising results. The cultivated specimens in his chambers were thriving, and the knowledge shared by servants from outer settlements had expanded his understanding of survival alternatives.

  He had debated the wisdom of bringing his findings to this meeting. The war chamber was traditionally a pce for raid pnning and conquest strategy, not agricultural innovations. But the food shortage crisis had worsened, according to reports, and Azaril felt compelled to offer alternatives before more warriors were lost in increasingly dangerous raids.

  Queen Morghana had not yet arrived, but his siblings were already present. Makar stood with General Bloodfist, reviewing troop deployments on the eastern border. Vexus lounged in a stone chair, examining a wicked-looking bde with evident pleasure. Drakomir studied the map table intently, tracing potential raid routes with a cwed finger. Princess Seraphine stood apart, her attention seemingly on a scroll of supply calcutions, though Azaril noticed her eyes occasionally flicking to observe the others.

  As Azaril moved further into the room, Vexus noticed him first. "The schor prince graces us with his presence," he announced, drawing everyone's attention. "Come to document how real demons pn for war?"

  Azaril ignored the barb, taking a position at the table opposite Drakomir, who gave him a barely perceptible nod.

  "What are those?" Seraphine asked, gesturing to the scrolls Azaril carried.

  "Research," he replied simply.

  "On what? Ancient battle techniques? Volcano formation? The mating habits of fire lizards?" Vexus snickered at his own wit.

  Before Azaril could respond, the chamber doors swung open and Queen Morghana entered. Everyone straightened immediately, all conversation ceasing.

  The Queen moved to the head of the table, her obsidian-bck skin seeming to absorb the reddish light from the va channels. Without preamble, she addressed General Bloodfist.

  "The eastern territories. Report."

  The scarred general stepped forward, gesturing to the illuminated map. "The situation has deteriorated further, Your Majesty. Human defenses have improved along the entire border. Their new weapons—the liquid fire ballistas and formu-enhanced barriers—have made conventional raids increasingly costly."

  "Numbers," the Queen demanded, just as she had during the court session.

  "Three more raid parties lost in the past week alone. Thirty-seven warriors dead, eighteen wounded severely enough to be combat-ineffective for the foreseeable future."

  A tense silence followed this report. Even Vexus's habitual smirk faded. Fifty-five casualties in a single week was unprecedented in recent demon history.

  "What of the southern approach?" Queen Morghana asked, her voice betraying no emotion.

  Drakomir replied, "The humans have reinforced those borders as well, Mother. They appear to be anticipating our tactical shift."

  "They're learning our patterns," Makar added grimly. "Each raid becomes less effective while costing more warriors."

  "The food stores?" The Queen turned to Seraphine.

  The princess consulted her scroll. "Critical levels in three outer settlements. The fortress reserves will st another two months at current consumption rates, assuming no additional losses."

  Queen Morghana's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—the tell that Azaril had learned to recognize as concern. "Recommendations."

  "A rger force," Makar said immediately. "Overwhelm a single target with our full strength rather than dispersed raids."

  "Target their supply lines rather than settlements," Drakomir suggested. "Less defended, more mobile."

  "Send elite infiltrators to sabotage their weapons before the main raid force arrives," Vexus added, twirling his bde. "I would volunteer to lead such a mission."

  The Queen considered these options silently. Azaril knew this was his moment to speak, though everything in demon culture discouraged offering alternatives to traditional strength-based solutions.

  "We could consider non-raid approaches to food security," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

  All eyes turned to him, expressions ranging from surprise to derision.

  "Expin," Queen Morghana commanded, her amber eyes fixed on her youngest son.

  Azaril carefully pced his scrolls on the table, unrolling the one containing his agricultural findings. "The volcanic soil in our territories can support controlled cultivation of certain pnts, particurly Ashroot. The nutrition yield per area exceeds what we currently obtain through random harvesting, and with proper techniques, production could be scaled to supplement raid resources."

  Vexus ughed outright. "Farming? You propose we become dirt-diggers like those tree-worshipping sylvans?"

  "I propose we diversify our resource acquisition," Azaril replied evenly. "Multiple approaches provide security that a single strategy cannot. The raid reports clearly indicate increasing risk for diminishing returns."

  "The demon way is to take what we need through strength," Makar stated firmly. "Not to grub in the dirt like lesser beings."

  Azaril gestured to the casualty reports. "And how many more warriors will we lose before we consider alternatives? The humans have adapted their defenses. We must adapt our approaches."

  "Adaptation can include improved raid strategies," Drakomir interjected, his tone careful. "Though I admit, securing some food sources within our own territory has tactical advantages."

  Seraphine tilted her head, studying Azaril's scrolls with calcuting eyes. "Where did you acquire this agricultural knowledge, brother? It's not contained in any texts I'm familiar with."

  "Research. Observation. Consultation with those who survived previous famines," Azaril replied, deliberately vague about his sources.

  "You mean servants and common demons," Vexus sneered. "Hardly reliable sources for royal strategy."

  "They survived when raids failed," Azaril countered. "That fact alone merits consideration of their methods."

  The Queen had remained silent, watching the exchange with unreadable eyes. Now she traced one cwed finger along the border markings on the map table.

  "The Sylvan Territories have developed defensive measures as well," she noted. "Their living barriers and root traps cost us twenty warriors in st season's expeditions."

  "The sylvans have agricultural knowledge we could potentially adapt to volcanic conditions," Azaril said, seeing an opening. "Their growing techniques—"

  "You admire the tree-people?" Vexus interrupted, his voice dangerous. "Perhaps you should live among them instead."

  "I merely suggest learning from effective methods, regardless of source," Azaril replied. "Just as we study human weapon designs to counter them, we could study sylvan growing techniques to adapt them."

  General Bloodfist, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "There is precedent for... tactical adaptation, Your Majesty. Three centuries ago, during the Ash Pins campaign, we incorporated enemy ballista designs into our own arsenal."

  "Weapons are not the same as digging in dirt," Makar objected. "One enhances strength, the other admits weakness."

  "Is it weakness to secure your supply lines?" Azaril asked, pushing further than he normally would. "Is it weakness to ensure warriors are adequately fed before battle? Every military leader from King Fmeheart to Queen Morghana has emphasized the importance of resources in warfare."

  Drakomir looked surprised at Azaril's boldness but nodded slightly. "There is military logic in the argument, Mother."

  Vexus smmed his bde into the table, the obsidian surface cracking slightly under the impact. "This is absurd! We're demons. We conquer. We take. We don't pnt seeds and wait for them to grow like patience-addled sylvans."

  "The Sylvan people grow crops in volcanic soil not unlike our own," Azaril continued, pressing his point despite the danger signals. His scrolls contained detailed information he'd pieced together from various sources about sylvan agriculture that might be adaptable. "And the Human Empire has irrigation systems that—"

  "Look at our schor prince!" Vexus interrupted mockingly. "Shall we trade our bdes for gardening tools, brother?"

  Laughter erupted from several of the military advisors present. Even Drakomir's expression hardened at the comparison to other kingdoms.

  Azaril felt the familiar pressure building behind his eyes—his mental power responding to his rising emotions. He forced it down, knowing that any dispy of mind magic would only undermine his position further.

  "We lose demons in every raid," he persisted, gesturing at the casualty reports. "The territories we plunder grow more defended. This isn't sustainable."

  Queen Morghana had remained silent throughout the exchange, her expression unreadable. Now she smmed her fist onto the table with such force that the obsidian surface cracked from edge to edge.

  "Enough!" she thundered, her eyes shifting to blood-red. The room instantly fell silent.

  The Queen rose to her full height, her crown of horns seeming to scrape the chamber ceiling. The temperature in the room visibly increased as her anger manifested in waves of heat.

  "Demons take what they need through strength!" Her voice reverberated off the walls, making the va channels beneath the table bubble and surge.

  Azaril should have recognized the warning signs, should have backed down as he had countless times before. But something in him—perhaps the knowledge of the mind circle's existence, perhaps frustration at watching the same failed strategies repeated—drove him to press on.

  "But there are different kinds of strength!" he insisted, his voice stronger than he had ever used in his mother's presence. "The other kingdoms—"

  Queen Morghana's eyes fred brighter, the crimson glow casting eerie shadows across her obsidian features. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken as her considerable magical presence filled the space.

  "If other kingdoms are so perfect," she said, her voice rising with each word, "perhaps you should live among them! For two thousand years, you are no prince of demons. Perhaps then you'll appreciate where you come from!"

  The procmation hung in the air like a physical thing. Azaril felt as though he'd been struck, though no one had touched him. Around the table, demons looked at each other in shock. Even Vexus seemed surprised by the Queen's outburst.

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Azaril took a step back, then another. He could feel something breaking inside him—not his heart, demons weren't supposed to be ruled by such things—but something fundamental in his connection to this pce, these people, this mother who had never shown him warmth.

  "As you command, Your Majesty," he said quietly, the formal address emphasizing the distance between them.

  He bowed stiffly and backed away from the table, from the silent room, from the Queen whose expression had already shifted from fury to something more complex. But Azaril didn't stay to decipher it. He turned and walked from the chamber, his steps measured until he passed through the obsidian doors.

  Once in the corridor, he leaned against the wall, his breath coming in short gasps. Banishment. His own mother had banished him. Part of him knew it was spoken in anger, that she hadn't truly meant it as a formal decree.

  But another part—the part that had spent centuries seeking her approval and finding only cold assessment—seized on her words like a verdict long expected.

  Two thousand years, no prince of demons.

  A strange calm settled over him. Two thousand years to see the world beyond the demon realm. Two thousand years to learn from the kingdoms he'd only read about in forbidden scrolls. Two thousand years to become something other than the disappointment he'd always been here.

  The pressure behind his eyes—his mental power—pulsed rhythmically, almost soothingly. As if agreeing with his thoughts.

  In the war chamber, the meeting continued in subdued tones. Azaril could hear the muffled voices discussing raid strategies, warrior deployments, the same approaches that had consistently failed. No mention of alternatives, no consideration of his agricultural research.

  He pushed away from the wall and headed toward his chambers. A pn began forming in his mind. He would need supplies. Maps. Disguise enchantments. By dawn, he would be gone—not fleeing in shame, but embarking on a journey of his own choosing.

  For the first time in his six centuries of existence, Azaril felt something like anticipation. His mother's angry words had inadvertently granted him freedom—freedom to explore the other kingdoms, to learn their strengths, to discover if there was a pce where his different abilities might be valued rather than mocked.

  Two thousand years was a long time, even for a demon. But it was also an opportunity. By the time he returned—if he returned—he would no longer be the weakling prince. He would be something else entirely.

  What that might be, he couldn't yet imagine. But for the first time, the future held possibilities beyond endless failure to meet impossible standards of physical strength.

  Behind him, in the war chamber, the council meeting continued. Discussions of raids and warriors and strength carried on as though nothing momentous had occurred. As though the smallest prince's absence would leave no gap at all.