The Princess Knight

The Beast

It was a few years ago, during one of our lessons with Brother Kaius. My cousin-sisters, Berevreth and Genevive, and I sat in the castle garden, gathered around the old marble table beneath the willow trees. The air smelled faintly of incense and damp stone.

Brother Kaius stood before us, his robe swaying in the breeze.

"Nharoth," he said simply. "Does anyone know what it is?"

Genevive raised her hand, her tone soft but sharp. She began,

"The Nharoth, meaning Shadow of Grief," she began. "It's a shape-shifting demon that steals the faces of the dead, When one meets its gaze, it takes the soul __leaving only an empty shell behind."

At her words Berevreth and I froze mid-whisper, glancing at her. Genevive was the oldest among us, always composed, always knowing more than we did, wise beyond her years. She'd passed almost every test that confirmed her gift, and she took her lessons far more seriously than we ever did.

"A sound answer Child," Brother Kaius said, clearly impressed. "How did you know so much about it?"

"I read," she replied, simple and sure as

He nodded, clearly proud.

He began, voice steady and deliberate.

"One thing the Nharoth can not do is kill a person who refuses to meet its eyes. It simply cannot. That is its nature__it draws its power through the gaze. Without it, the creature is bound, unable to claim a life. But it knows how to make one look."

He paused, voice dropping lower. "It will torment you, twist your flesh, tear at your mind, anything to force your eyes upon its own. Can it cause pain, yes, terrible pain, but it cannot end you… not until you give it your gaze. It steals the faces of the dead, wears them as its own, and thus deceives the living into surrendering their sight."

Berevreth's brow furrowed. "But how does one know it is a demon?" she asked. "You might not even know your loved one is dead or perhaps think you are seeing things."

Brother Kaius nodded solemnly.

"The first sign is not what you see, but what you feel. A heaviness, foreign, unnatural presses upon your spirit. It warns you not to look, but not everyone recognises it. Only those who pray, who train their will against temptation, can discern it clearly,or for certain gifted souls with a natural guard within."

"And by gifted soul you mean people like us?" I asked, my tone mocking as a sly smirk crossed my lips.

He merely shook his head, a faint smirk ghosting across his face. Of course, I always gave him a hard time, and he returned the favour. Truth be told, I quite disliked him, and I'm certain the feeling was mutual.

He continued, unbothered.

"There is another way to know. By saying this word 'In nomine veritatis, manifestare.'" He pronounced each syllable with care, his voice echoing softly through the garden.

He continued after a Short pause like he was studying our expression to see Who knows it

"It means, 'In the name of truth, manifest'. Those words reach into the very core of what a demon is. When you speak them with conviction, it cannot hide, it must show its true form."

He paused for a moment, glancing at the faint traces of smoke still curling from the ground.

"But words alone aren't always enough," he added, his tone low and steady. "You must pair it with something born of the earth__water, soil, or even ash from the earth's own fire . When it touches the creature as you speak the phrase, the truth within it is forced to surface. That's when the mask burns away… and what's left is the thing's real face."

I let out a quiet grunt, rolling my eyes as I toyed idly with the hem of my dress. His lessons always felt like ghost stories meant to frighten children.

He continued, unbothered by my lack of interest.

"Would you like to know a simple way to get rid of the demon?" he asked, his tone shifting slightly as he turned to me.

"Princess Elowen," he called.

But I pretended not to hear. I was already weary of his endless lectures.

He called again, firmer this time__but I ignored him, staring into the garden as his voice began to fade, echoing softly in the corners of my mind.

If only I had listened then…

Perhaps I would have known how to rid myself of the demon standing before me now.

My eyes remained tightly shut as I stood still, trembling. Then a sudden grip, hard and cruel, closed tight around my arm. Before I could even breathe, it threw me against the wall. Pain shot through my waist as I hit the rough stone, the impact stealing the air from my lungs.

Not even giving time to recover__ It seized me again, pinning me there on the wall. I groaned, struggling as its claws dug into my wrist.

"Arrgh!" The pressure was so fierce, I swore I could feel my bones splintering beneath its hold.

Its touch was a sickening mix of strength and slime, its skin rough like sand and stone. The size of its hand alone told me it was monstrous—at least eight feet tall.

And in that moment, I wished I had never forced it to reveal itself. I would have chosen the illusion of my mother's gentle touch over the reality of this horror.

Slowly, it leaned close, so close that I could feel its cold breath brush against my skin.

"Open your eyes," it hissed, voice low and husky__a whisper that vibrated against my cheek, each syllable crawling over my flesh like ice.