Painted War

Chapter 3

Carson awoke at eight, just like he always did. Dressed in a gray shirt that was loosely tucked into his black pants, he waited for his evening date. The moment he finished, like clockwork, a young girl flung open his door with a giggle and ran into the drawing room of his chambers. Her gray face stretched with the biggest smile, and black ringlets bounced around her face before falling down her back. A small single gold horn stuck up in the middle of her forehead in scaled layers. She had Caim's dark orange eyes, less bright than Marbos' but far more alive. A pang came to his chest, but the moment she ran up to his leg and hugged him, it was gone.

"Uncle Carson!" she cheered. "Let's hurry and paint before you leave!"

"Only if you play piano for me." Carson laughed, patting the girl's head. Something he had always done because he remembered how warm the touch was when Eae had done it. She nodded, letting go and twirling once. Her yellow and blue dress fanned out around her. She wore the finest, and since she was Caim's daughter, she was technically the kingdom's born princess. She ran off to the door, and Carson followed, watching the gleeful girl.

The day Caim's death was learned of by his wife, a part of her snapped. Apparently, she was as dependent on her husband as he was on her. Both suffered emotionally before they met. She had been born close to the border before the treaty and had suffered greatly from the Angels that often killed any Alter Demon who even got close to their lands. She never told anyone but Caim about what happened to her, so when he passed, she receded into herself and locked herself away in her room. It was horrible if only because Dalia lost both her parents that day. She needed someone to latch onto, and just like Axel was the doting brother for him, Carson would be the doting uncle for her. until she was able to understand her mother's pain. Though, he was always surprised by how gleeful the girl was despite everything.

Eae had also lost both her parents. When he first met her, they were still alive, but it wasn't long after that when they had died. Her father was on the battlefield with her mother at his side. Their deaths were heard by all, and King Gabriel didn't take it well. He had been raising his brother's daughter for him because he couldn't pull the man off the battlefield. Praise of how the Princess held her head high at their funeral spread across the kingdoms. Even the Alter King and Queen attended the funeral. As a child, Carson had asked his father about her when they returned from the funeral. His father had told him that she had smiled at them the next day before they left. Then she asked about the boy she had met. Father had told him that she smiled brightly when she heard he was well. But still, that was so long ago, and she didn't seem to really remember him now.

An hour passed, and he sat before the painting he had stopped that day on the border. The only reason he chose to join the patrol on the Divine Land's border was to find a new place to paint. He could still remember the Delter Demons looming over her bloody body. The way they cackled with their glowing eyes, sword raising to end her.

It was all luck. Luck that they took their time to kill her. Luck that his men had heard the battle and came to tell him. But what was truly lucky was that the Delter had sent the rest of their legion ahead to chase down the Valkyrie she had ordered to retreat. He was able to dispatch the three unaware Demons quickly with his bow and ran to her side.

His brush slowed, and the piano music faded. He got lost in that panic he felt back then. The images of her small bloody body crumpled on the ground. Her white wings fully tainted red. Her gold skin pale from blood loss. The fear he felt at the thought of her dying. Someone who was practically a stranger. The pure primal need to get her to safety.

Tapping at the door jarred him, and he dropped the paint-stained brush, leaving a smudge of green paint right on his thigh. The music stopped, and Carson cursed, looking down at the oily stain of green marking his pants. Standing up with a distracted curse, he turned to head to the door and then froze. He could feel the presence at the door. Angels always felt different than Demons. Their very presence was either warm or cold, depending on the person and their emotions. It was a pressure that always followed unless they hid it, and outside the door was an Angel. He just didn't know which. Dalia got up and rushed behind Carson. His morph took shape, and another knock sounded.