The knock at Azaril's chamber door was unexpected. He had been organizing his supplies for departure, carefully cataloging what he would need for survival beyond the Demon Realm. At the sound, he quickly covered the small pile of travel provisions with a ceremonial cloth.

  "Enter," he called, composing his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression.

  The door swung open to reveal Princess Seraphine, her crimson-gold skin catching the light from the va channels that illuminated the hallway. She entered with characteristic grace, her curved horns adorned with delicate metal chains that chimed softly as she moved.

  "Brother," she said, her voice measured and smooth. "Our mother sent me to see how you fare after the... unpleasantness in the war chamber."

  Azaril regarded his sister with caution. Of all his siblings, Seraphine had always been the most difficult to read. Where Makar was direct aggression and Vexus was calcuted cruelty, Seraphine was subtle and unpredictable. Sometimes she would defend him from their brothers' worst torments, other times she would watch with cool detachment, and occasionally she would devise torments of her own that were all the more effective for their rarity.

  "I fare well enough," he replied, watching her carefully as she glided about his chamber, her fingertips trailing over his possessions. "The Queen's words were clear."

  "Indeed they were." Seraphine paused at his desk, where several ancient texts y open. She tilted her head to read their contents. "Two thousand years is a long time to consider one's pce in the realm."

  "Or to find a pce elsewhere," Azaril said, testing her reaction.

  Seraphine turned to him, her amber eyes revealing nothing. "Is that what you intend? To leave our nds entirely?"

  He shrugged, attempting nonchance. "What would you have me do? Mother spoke in anger, perhaps, but no one will dare contradict her procmation. I am, for all practical purposes, banished."

  "And if I told you she regrets her words?" Seraphine moved closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That she spoke with me privately after the council dispersed?"

  Azaril's pulse quickened, but he kept his expression neutral. This was typical of Seraphine—dangling hope before snatching it away. He had fallen for such tricks too many times in his younger years.

  "What did she say?" he asked, careful not to sound too eager.

  "She worries for you," Seraphine replied, settling gracefully onto a stone bench near the wall. "The world beyond our borders is harsh, especially for a demon who..." she paused delicately, "...has different strengths than most."

  There it was—the subtle reminder of his perceived weakness, packaged as concern. Azaril turned away, busying himself with organizing scrolls on his desk.

  "I've studied the other realms extensively," he said. "Perhaps more thoroughly than anyone in the royal family."

  "Yes, your little academic pursuits," Seraphine said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How fortunate that they might now prove useful."

  She rose again and approached him, reaching into a hidden pocket within her garments. "I've brought you something that might help you through difficult times."

  From her pocket, she withdrew an amulet—a small silver disk etched with intricate patterns, suspended on a fine chain. The metal seemed to absorb and reflect the red light of the chamber in unusual ways.

  "An enchanted amulet?" Azaril asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. Magic items were rare treasures in the Demon Realm, usually cimed as battle spoils and jealously guarded.

  "It will shield you from certain dangers," Seraphine expined, holding it out to him. "And it will... remind you of home."

  Azaril hesitated. Gifts from Seraphine typically came with hidden costs or embarrassing consequences. Yet something in her manner seemed different now—perhaps a genuine concern?

  As he reached for the amulet, he felt a strange sensation at the edge of his consciousness—a subtle pressure behind his eyes that sometimes accompanied strong emotions. With it came a fleeting impression of dual purpose in the amulet: protection, yes, but also something else... something that would connect him to the royal household.

  "A tracking spell," he murmured, almost to himself.

  Seraphine's eyes widened fractionally—the slightest tell that he had surprised her. Then her composure returned, and she smiled.

  "Clever brother," she said. "Yes, it will allow us to know you are safe. Is that so terrible? To know your family can find you if you face true peril?"

  Azaril weighed the amulet in his palm. A tracking spell meant his family could locate him—potentially problematic if he truly wanted independence. Yet the protective enchantment was real; he could sense it intertwined with the tracking magic. Such an item would be valuable beyond the borders.

  "Why, Seraphine?" he asked directly. "You've never shown particur concern for my welfare before."

  She turned away, moving toward the doorway. "Perhaps I recognize that change comes to all realms, eventually. And those who adapt might find themselves better positioned when it arrives."

  Azaril studied his sister's back, noting the tension in her shoulders that belied her casual tone. This was more than simple concern or manipution. Seraphine was hedging her bets, maintaining connections that might prove useful ter.

  "Tell me," he pressed, "did Mother truly send you to check on me?"

  Seraphine gnced back, a rare genuine smile flickering across her face. "She did. Though perhaps not with this particur gift in mind." She gestured to the amulet. "That was my own addition."

  Azaril slipped the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the amulet against his chest. "Then I accept it, with gratitude for both purposes. It's good to know someone might come to my aid if I find myself in true danger."

  "Just remember, brother," Seraphine said, pausing at the doorway, "that knowing where you are is not the same as coming to rescue you. That choice would remain mine."

  "I would expect nothing less," Azaril replied.

  Seraphine nodded, seeming satisfied. "I believe you will surprise us all, Azaril. You always have been... unexpected." With that, she slipped through the doorway, leaving him alone with his thoughts and her dubious gift.

  Outside his chamber, Guard Emberwatch maintained his stoic watch, giving no indication that he had heard anything through the stone door. Seraphine acknowledged him with the barest nod as she glided past, her mind already turning to what she would tell their mother about this conversation.

  Azaril stood motionless for several moments after her departure, fingering the amulet. It was a complex gift—both trap and tool, threat and aid. Much like Seraphine herself.

  He returned to his preparations with renewed purpose. The amulet would come with him, despite its tracking enchantment. It represented something important: even in exile, the connections and complications of his royal birth would follow him. Better to carry them knowingly than to pretend he could sever them completely.

  For the first time since the Queen's procmation, Azaril felt a flicker of anticipation about the journey ahead. He was under no illusions—it would be dangerous, possibly deadly. But it would also be entirely his own path, something no demon prince had chosen before.

  And that, perhaps, was the greatest strength of all.