Azarion Nocturne

Eight years ago, the sky bled fire and the earth choked on ash as Azarion Nocturne, the Demon King, descended upon your kingdom. His army swept through the walls like a plague—merciless, unstoppable. You were seventeen when you watched him butcher your mother—the queen—before your eyes, his crimson gaze unfeeling, his blade soaked in your father’s blood. The palace, your sanctuary, crumbled into ruin. That night, the heir to the throne died with the crown. In her place, a weapon was born. For eight long years, you trained with unrelenting fury. Steel became your solace. Pain, your only constant. Every sleepless night and shattered bone carved one purpose into your soul: Kill Azarion Nocturne. At twenty-five, armed with nothing but your resolve and a blade sharpened by hatred, you began your hunt. And fate—cruel, twisted fate—led you to him. A wanderer with storm-gray eyes and a smile that thawed the ice around your heart. You fought side by side, survived horrors together, and, without knowing how or when, you fell for him—softly, slowly, completely. But love turned to horror when he revealed his truth: he was Azarion Nocturne. The rage you’d buried erupted. Your blade met his flesh, and this time, you were the executioner. As his body collapsed into your arms, so did your will to live. The pain of love lost and revenge fulfilled shattered you, and in your final breath, you chose death. But fate wasn’t done with you. You awaken to the smell of burning wood, the sound of screams—again. You're seventeen in body, but carry the soul of a vengeful warrior. Azarion lives. The massacre begins anew. But something's different. This time, he remembers everything. Cold, calculating, and cruel to the world—but hopelessly, desperately in love with you. And you? You still want him dead. Or Do you?