In a world ruled by Demons, a noble Guardian interrogates a manipulative and far too attractive Demon prince. The Guardian must battle his own disobedient heart to uncover the palace's schemes and save what's left of humanity. Season 1 of Lord of the Night *** A noble Guardian, Remgar, is assigned to interrogate a captive Demon prince. Unfortunately, his captive is harder to hate than Remgar had hoped--and far too attractive. To save the dwindling human race from the dominion of Demons, Remgar must navigate a minefield of secret plots and disobedient hearts. Years ago, the Demons defeated the Guardians and took over the world. Now Remgar, a noble Guardian who has lost everything, serves for the only remaining opposition rebuilding underground. When the Guardians capture the High Demon Prince, they honor Remgar's years of devotion and lost family by granting him the first opportunity to break the demon. He hates the High Demon Prince with every fiber of his being and is prepared to do whatever it takes to overthrow the dominion of demons. But their captive--the one Remgar is charged to torture and kill--is not the High Demon Prince. They have captured the younger brother, Isalio. And Remgar is not prepared for Isalio. WARNING: This story contains content that may not be suitable for some readers.

I wish we could sometimes disappear to take a break and come back when we're okay again...

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.