The room was drowned in shadows, the only light a faint red glow from a cracked crystal hanging above. A round stone table sat at the center, scarred with claw marks and old burns. Eleven cloaked figures sat around it—five on each side, and one at the head.

The leader leaned back in his chair, tall frame hidden, only the outline of his jaw sharp against the glow. His presence pressed on everyone, quiet but heavy. He didn't need a name—his aura alone screamed command.

On the left, five women sat. On the right, five men.

The first to speak was a woman with long, glossy nails tapping lazily against the table. Her cloak slipped slightly, revealing the curve of a smirk and eyes that gleamed purple. Her voice was thick, sultry, dragging on every word.

"Mm~ well," she purred, "the summoning went off smooth, didn't it? My Onee-chan always makes an entrance. Selvara Nel Asto Nystovara has never disappointed anyone… has she?" She giggled, tilting her head, twirling a strand of her white hair around one finger.

This was Lazira Nel Asto Nystovara, Selvara's younger sister. Every breath she took dripped with seduction, and her habit of biting her lower lip whenever she said her sister's name made the others roll their eyes.

Beside her, a small-framed girl hunched her shoulders, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, eyes down. Her voice was tiny, stammering.

"I-I think… I think the summoning was dangerous," she whispered. "But Selvara's strong… sh-she'll handle it. Venya too. Um… r-right?"

This was Esyra Velithra Morvayn, the shy one. She always fidgeted with her sleeves, never looking anyone in the eye for long.

Next to her, a tall woman leaned back in her chair, legs spread, arms crossed behind her head. She kept bouncing one knee, restless energy spilling everywhere. Her voice was loud, rough, and teasing.

"Tch, boring meeting talk again?!" she barked. "C'mon, admit it—Selvara's a beast, but I'd have wrecked that palace way faster. She gets all the glory 'cause she looks pretty when she fights. Damn unfair."

This was Thyria Zan Drakmor, the tomboy with a grin that screamed trouble. Always tapping her foot or bouncing, like sitting still was torture.

The fourth woman sat straight, hands folded politely on the table. Her smile was soft, eyes warm despite the cloak's shadow. When she spoke, her voice carried a gentle kindness that didn't belong in this room.

"Please don't speak like that," she said softly. "Selvara fights with purpose. She carries our pride too, you know. I… I believe in her."

This was Meyla Saren Valorth, the kind one. She always gave supportive words, always tried to calm the storm of voices around her.

And last, the fifth woman. She sat with arms crossed and eyes closed, not moving a muscle. Her silence was sharp enough to be louder than the others. She only tapped one claw against the arm of her chair—slow, rhythmic, deliberate.

This was Zyssha Krynn Velshar, the silent one. When she spoke, which was rare, her words carried weight.

On the other side, the men.

The first leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in his hand. His grin was sharp, cocky, his teeth flashing. His voice was smooth, bold, dripping confidence.

"Selvara's flashy, sure," he said, chuckling. "But if I were there? Hah. Every woman in that palace would've fallen for me before the fight even started."

This was Drazik Veylor Tharnok, the bold one. Always grinning, always leaning forward, eyes scanning like he was flirting even with the shadows.

Beside him sat a demon with his arms locked tight, posture rigid, eyes like steel. His deep voice rumbled like a warning bell.

"This is not a game," he said flatly. "Selvara and Venya were chosen because they fit the plan. Reckless boasting changes nothing. Results matter. Nothing else."

This was Morvath Ahn Torvigar, the stern one. He had a habit of drumming two fingers on the table in exact rhythm, like he measured time itself.

Next was a man with his chair tilted back dangerously, balancing on two legs. He kept flicking a coin between his fingers, smirking. His tone was playful, almost singsong.

"Eh, don't be so uptight, Morvath. If she pulls it off, great. If she screws it up, that's funny too. Either way, we win. Life's more fun when you don't choke on rules."

This was Kaelith Orven Drosmar, the playful one. Always tilting chairs, juggling things, fidgeting like a kid.

Beside him, a man slammed his fist against the table so hard cracks spread through the stone. His voice was a roar, sharp and venomous.

"Selvara? That weakling should never have gone! It should've been ME! I'd have slaughtered those humans without mercy! Every second wasted is a disgrace to our kind!"

This was Vorrak Den Zathrosk, the angry one. His habit was obvious—always pounding his fists until the table broke, always spitting venom about humans.

The last on that side sat slouched, arms hanging loose, his hood tilted so low it shadowed his entire face. He toyed with a dagger, spinning it across his knuckles like it weighed nothing. His voice was strange—calm but slippery, hard to place.

"You all talk too much," he muttered. "Win, lose, bleed—it's all the same in the end. I'm just here to see who laughs last."

This was Xerath Malvorn Kezreth, the unpredictable one. His quirk was unsettling stillness, except for the endless twirl of his blade.

At the head, the leader raised a hand. Silence rippled instantly. His voice was deep, cool, carrying weight without effort.

"Enough."

Every demon shut their mouths.

The leader's tone cut like iron. "The summoning succeeded. Selvara and Venya were sent. The palace should already be in ruins. That was the plan."

Vorrak snorted, slamming the table again. "Should've been me!"

Lazira giggled, licking her lip. "Oh~ but hasn't my Onee-chan always delivered? She's beautiful when she kills. I bet right now she's bathing the palace in blood."

Morvath's fingers tapped once. "She has no room for failure."

Thyria barked a laugh. "Heh! If she fails, I call dibs on finishing the job."

Kaelith flipped his coin, catching it lazily. "Bet she wins. Easy money."

Meyla smiled faintly, whispering, "I believe in her. She'll come back safely."

Zyssha said nothing, only tapped her claw.

The leader leaned forward, voice steady. "Selvara was chosen for a reason. Venya obeys only her. You would've failed."

Vorrak growled low, but the leader's gaze silenced him.

Then—three soft knocks echoed against the heavy door.

The room froze.

The leader's voice rumbled. "Enter."

The door creaked open. A cloaked female demon stepped in, kneeling immediately. Her breath shook.

"My lord… I bring report."

The leader's eyes narrowed. "Speak."

Her voice trembled. "We have been defeated."

The table erupted.

"WHAT?!" Vorrak roared, slamming his fists so hard the table cracked further.

Thyria jumped up, slamming her boot on the chair. "No way she lost! She's too stubborn for that!"

Morvath's jaw clenched. "Explain. Now."

The messenger swallowed. "We were winning. The generals held the line… but a man appeared. The Child of Prophecy."

Gasps shot across the table.

"The… Child?!" Meyla whispered, eyes wide.

Kaelith actually stopped spinning his coin. "Now that's interesting…"

Xerath twirled his dagger faster, muttering. "Heh. That makes it fun."

Lazira froze. Her smirk faltered. "And m-my… my sister? What about Selvara?!" Her voice cracked, desperate.

The messenger's tone dropped. "He calmed Venya… with a touch. Like a pet. And then… during the fight…"

Her hands clenched. "He kissed her. And she… she let it happen."

Silence.

Then—

"LIAR!!!" Lazira's scream ripped through the chamber. She shot up, claws flashing, tears spilling from her eyes. "You're lying! My Onee-chan would never—never let some filthy human touch her lips!"

She slammed her fist into the table. Stone shattered, splitting down the middle. Dust burst into the air.

Her shoulders shook violently, tears dripping off her chin. "Don't you DARE make up things about her… She belongs to me—our family—our people! She'd never… she'd never choose an human!"

The others sat in stunned silence.

Vorrak snarled, spittle flying. "That cursed human! I swear, I'll rip his heart out with my bare hands!"

Morvath's voice was tight. "If this is true… then the prophecy is moving."

Meyla covered her mouth, eyes glistening. "Selvara… kissed…? Oh no…"

Thyria slammed her boot down. "I KNEW I should've gone instead! Damn it!"

Kaelith smirked faintly, though even he looked shaken. "Guess we've got ourselves a main character, huh?"

Xerath chuckled low. "He kissed her… stole her from under your nose, Lazira. Hilarious."

"SHUT UP!!" Lazira screamed, tears streaming, lunging across the broken table, claws flashing toward Xerath.

The leader's voice boomed. "ENOUGH."

The weight of his tone slammed into the room. Everyone froze. Lazira collapsed to her knees, clutching the stone, sobbing quietly.

The leader's voice stayed calm, cold. "Selvara has fallen. The Child of Prophecy is real. This does not end here. We move again."

The shadows thickened as every demon fell silent, the only sound Lazira's broken sobs.

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END OF CHAPTER : 115 : SHADOWS AT THE ROUND TABLE!

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