The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride-Chapter 258: The Fae Judgment Day.

The sacred aura in the room surged, pulsing with such potency that Ren instinctively held her breath. It shimmered like divine mist, swirling and condensing, until it struck Kai’s back with force. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading along his brow, muscles tightening as the light pierced the deepest layers of his aura, into his core.

Minute by minute, the magic cleansed the sticky darkness wrapped around his soul core, burning it. The herbs did not burn or flare, but glowed steadily, resolute and silent, like guardians delivering salvation until they vanished, and were consumed.

It took an hour. An hour of stillness, silence, and relentless concentration.

Lady Gillia’s skin was pallid by the end, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, but she didn’t waver. Pride lit her face, refusing to show the exhaustion that clawed at her bones. When the room’s thick magical presence lifted and faded, she exhaled deeply and let her hands fall to her sides.

"I did it," she whispered, a victorious smile blooming on her lips. "All my years of study... it was worth it."

Overwhelmed, Ren stepped forward and embraced her. Her emotions rushed to the surface.

"Thank you. I’ll never forget this. I promise, I will return your kindness one day." But the moment was shattered.

Lady Gillia’s expression dimmed. She gently pushed Ren back, eyes narrowed, not in offense, but in bitter honesty.

"Then let that favor be this," she said coldly. "Leave this realm tomorrow. And do not return."

Ren blinked, caught off guard.

"I... I’m sorry?"

"I accept your gratitude," Gillia replied, turning away. "But my lover doesn’t want you here. And I obey his will."

The words cut sharply. Ren stiffened, taken aback by her bluntness, by how clearly Lucieth’s name hovered unspoken between them.

Kai rose, sliding an arm around his wife’s waist protectively. Gillia’s eyes flicked to him, and in that fleeting glance, Ren saw it: the jealousy. The ache of a love unreturned, at least not like this. It seemed Lucieth wasn’t soft toward his concubines.

"No need to be this harsh," Agara interjected with a frown.

But the Fae healer only tossed her black hair and strode from the room without another word, regal, cold, and undeniably wounded.

Ren exhaled slowly. "She loves him. I understand. I love you too." She turned to Kai, her smile tired but true.

Agara offered a small nod, agreeing with her opinion. "I’ll go. Rest well before we leave at dawn, that is the judgment moment."

When the door shut, peace finally returned. Ren and Kai changed into their nightclothes, their bodies weary from emotion and magic. As they settled into bed, Kai pulled her close, his voice a breath against her forehead.

"I love you more, wife. I feel good now. I can feel our babies."

She smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. "I know. They can feel you too."

The night held them in quiet warmth, two souls finally unshackled from the shadows of the past.

~*~

The next day.

Standing in the throne hall of the Fae, Ren swallowed at the sight of the other two High Faes, her younger uncles. True-blooded and ethereal, they carried the unmistakable mark of the Fae lineage. They were handsome and intimidating, cloaked in ancient magic, but not like Lucieth. Lucieth stood apart, his presence sharp as a blade and cold as winter mist. He was the only son of two fallen saints: Xakiel and Lillieth. But even so, Lucieth had never reached the brilliance of his elder stepbrother, Azrael.

Ren’s eyes flickered to Hector, standing quietly beside Agara. His expression was unreadable, but something in his gaze revealed quiet sorrow.

"Can you imagine that? Hector is my brother... and my uncle’s grandson," she whispered into Kai’s mind.

"That is hilariously complicated," he answered dryly, his voice still hoarse from the healing. There was no humor in it, only fatigue. So much had happened.

Agara moved forward, gently pushing the King of Alvonia in a wheelchair, majestic in bearing despite the weariness weighing on his body.

The throne hall was magnificent. Walls carved of crystalline stone glittered faintly, alive with drifting light. The throne itself looked like solid glass sculpted by time and magic, towering and fluid in shape, echoing the architecture of the palace around them.

As the procession halted before the throne, the Fae King stood. Eyes gleaming with ancient power, he raised one hand, and the hall fell into reverent silence.

"Let us begin."

"Today, I, Xakiel Al-Gathiran, the fallen Saint of the Winged-Al-Gathiran kin bring you to justice, Benkin D’Orient."

His voice rang like ancient thunder, steady and absolute. The silence in the throne hall was suffocating, no one dared to breathe.

"You deceived my daughter and married her. You let her die... and sent us her ashes." He descended from the steps of his throne, each word echoing like a final blow.

"Give me one reason to spare you with mercy."

Benkin did not flinch. Though his body trembled and his face bore the ruin of pain and time, his voice was steady.

"I do not seek mercy," he exclaimed. "I deserve the retribution of this judiciary."

He did not elaborate. There was no strength left for pleas. Pain had taken root in every inch of him, gnawing at the marrow of his bones, and he was ready, for the end, for peace, for reunion.

Xakiel nodded once, a gesture of quiet wrath and deep grief.

"Alright then," he spoke solemnly, "I condemn you to your end. To be released from the pain."

Ren’s spine stiffened. Her knees wavered.

This was it... The way her father would end.

Her tears streamed hot and uncontrolled, her breath caught between sobs she tried to hold back. She almost fell to her knees, but then she saw it.

A small smile. A flicker of serenity in her father’s weary eyes.

Don’t beg, that smile told her. Let me go with dignity.

The weight of his life and his sacrifice fell upon her, yet that one look gave her strength.

The Fae King rose from his throne. Without another word, Lucieth handed him a lash shimmering with starlight and sparkle. Xakiel lifted it and struck the air.

A brilliant formation of blue light flared to life above Benkin, an ancient rite of release. The judgment had begun.

The pulsing energy absorbed something deep from within his body, something tied to his dragon magic core, his being. It was painful, searing, soul-deep, but at the same time, it was oddly light. So light, it became difficult to breathe, like his soul was slipping free of its anchor. Benkin welcomed it.

Yes, he thought. Take me. Let me be ash. Let me join her. His fingers twitched. Then one leg shifted. The pain... was gone.