Let me just make sure the obvious is out of the way first, I am not the Hero or even a hero. That "honor" would go to my older brother, Vernal. In fact, he’s supposedly one of seven chosen Heroes that will “exterminate” the next leader of demon-kind or whatever the prophecy wants them to do this time around- or rather what the public prophecy says to placate the masses. I mean... clearly just by looking at us that distinction must be obvious. Vern has the pure look of a hero, or maybe an anti-hero if he ever got a scar especially with that long hair he's found of. Meanwhile I look like I want to hide under a sheet and be left alone to die.

Now, I suppose you’re familiar with demons: humanoid or nonhumanoid creatures that run about in a society similar to our own, that they have horns or other things and are led by an assortment of royals under one true leader who is really supposed to serve as a proxy slash seat warmer for any Lord who wants to rise to the throne or the mythical first Demon who rose from the Ancients to create them. Also, they usually have skin colors that humans don't. Like pink or orange or green. Might have wanted to lead with that now that I'm thinking about it. Eh, not really caring much about this intro. It's just because I accidentally skipped a page, and it bothers me.

My brother hates most of them, (Or so he claims) though I just want to not bother them, since fighting just seems like too much of a hassle, which it is. Not to say I don't get why he hates them, if he does hate them- but the experience he had with them, many of them probably had with us- er humans. Not me and Vern. Though a lot have been harmed by us personally, but most it's humans in general. But then that also goes the other way- or did for a long time. Not really many issues since the last war of course.

Anyways, you’re probably wondering why my brother isn’t writing this shit. I mean all the Heroes of the last war wrote first person accounts of their tales, and everyone has at least one of their books or so claims the blurb on the covers. Hell, the High Mother wrote one and she could have any ghostwriter do it for her. Well, my brother thinks a view from someone people will identify with more than him, who would seem above them (Hopefully, since I’m writing this intro on the first night in the capital. And doubtfully since it is my brother.) due to his heroics. In other words, he chose me, his poor little baby brother, to write for him because he's too damn lazy to write anything himself.

So, moving on then, I’ll start on the day Duchess Nathers called us to dinner, one and half weeks ago. (Because I didn't care to start earlier.)

(Um. Future author here. I'm not going to edit like names or other stuff since it would be accurate to what I knew or thought I felt back then or what people said but know that if this ever gets published, like if I'm alive I'd rather you remember these first twelve are from before stuff happened and not hold my denial ridden brain against me. But know every time my editor read some words and pronouns to me, I was slamming my head into a table. That and when I read what- nope, not spoiling. :3)