R
ain lashed against the windowpane. Outside, thunder roared like a war drum echoing through the clouds. Inside the orphanage's dimly lit attic, Ahriman sat alone, unmoving. Only the flickering glow of a single mana lantern illuminated the dust in the air around him. The world outside raged, but the true storm brewed within him.
Cross-legged on the stone floor, he turned the brittle pages of a thick leather-bound tome. The book, salvaged from a broken shelf, contained information about soul contracts — binding rituals where humans linked with magical beasts, spirit familiars, or even, rarely, other humans. The practice was common among nobles and military mages.
But nothing in the book mentioned demons. Not one word.
"So this isn't forbidden… it's just unknown," Ahriman thought."They simply don't know someone like me can do it."
He glanced out the window. Rain traced long, cold lines down the glass. His reflection stared back — sharp eyes, dark hair, calm face. But behind that face… something else moved.
Inside his soul, hidden in the void between breath and thought, the demon rested — bound, silenced, changed.
Once a middle-class demon, now no longer demonic.
When Ahriman had crushed its resistance and forced it to submit, he had unknowingly transformed its very essence. It had lost all trace of demonic mana, replaced instead by the normal mana that flowed through Ahriman's own soul. Now, it was bound to him — not just by force, but by nature. And when he had sealed the ritual, he blacked out… forgetting everything about the technique used.
Only the results remained:
The demon obeyed.
It could be summoned with a single phrase: "Come forth."
And it had grown twice as powerful, now ranked as a low-high class being.
Most of all… it had called him "king."
He hadn't expected loyalty. But the title settled oddly in his chest — not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.
Despite his age, Ahriman rarely engaged with other orphans. He kept to himself, walking like a shadow along the edges of the halls. If someone bumped into him, they were quick to apologize. If they didn't — he made sure they did. An older boy had once mocked him; Ahriman broke the boy's nose with calm precision.
The caretakers whispered in worried tones.
But Ahriman listened. Always listening.
The city of Xaiver bustled outside the orphanage walls. Known for its organized economy and respectable magic academies, it was considered a good place to be born. Other cities — Ahjelia, the main capital, and Endoirt, the fortress city — were more dangerous. One city, rarely spoken about, lingered at the edge of Ahriman's memory: The City of the Unknown Hero.
He didn't know why it drew his attention… only that it did.
And he had learned to trust those instincts.
From the shadows of his room, he sharpened his hearing. Two caretakers stood outside his door.
"He gives me chills.""He's not normal. The others are afraid of him.""Maybe we should notify the mages' guild. Just in case."
He let the words pass through him like wind through dead leaves. They didn't matter.
[Ahriman's POV]
What are my goals?
Not salvation. Not power for its own sake. Not to rule or protect.
No… my true goal is to never be helpless again.To never kneel again.To never be bound by fate again.
I will decide what I become. And if this world tries to break me… I will break it first.
There is no room for mercy in the path I walk. Only certainty.
Without realizing it, his emotions surged. His control slipped.
Mana began to leak — a silent, suffocating force that pressed against the walls. The lantern flickered violently. The air thickened like oil. If another child had walked in, they would've collapsed under the sheer weight of it.
Then, a voice came — not aloud, but inside his mind. Calm. Familiar.
"My liege.""You are losing control. Your mana leaks like the breath of an ancient terror. Reign it in."
It was the demon. Its voice was quieter than before, less monstrous, more… respectful.
Ahriman closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. With practiced precision, he pulled the mana back into his soul. The pressure vanished instantly.
"...Thanks," he muttered under his breath.
"It is my honor to serve."
There was no malice in its voice now — only loyalty. That surprised him more than anything else.
Once, it had tried to possess him. To steal his body. Now, it rested quietly like a guard dog made of smoke, waiting at the gates of his soul. A tool… yes. But also something more.
Not quite a friend. Not quite a pet.
Something in between.
He looked down at the book again. Soul contracts with beasts required rituals, bindings, consent, and mana compatibility. He had done something similar, but purely through instinct. And though the method was now sealed away in his own forgotten memories, the results stood before him:
A demon turned into a loyal soldier.
A mana boost three times his natural amount.
A power no mage in this city could detect — unless he let them.
And more than anything else…
He remembered his first reincarnation now — fragments of a time when he had trained as a necromancer. He didn't remember who he was then, or what he wanted. Only the cold logic of spell circles, the pulse of undead energy, the structure of death magic. His Earth life — the second one — was clearer. But the necromancer's discipline had rooted deep inside him.
Ahriman closed the book and leaned back in his chair, listening again to the rain outside.
The demon's voice came one more time, softer now.
"Do you regret it?"
"No," he said aloud, staring at the ceiling. "You're mine. That's all that matters."
Down in the common area of the orphanage, children sat near the hearth, whispering.
"He talks to himself, you know," one of the younger boys murmured, hugging his knees. "I heard it. Like he's speaking to something that isn't there."
Another scoffed. "So? My brother used to do that too."
"No," a girl cut in, eyes wide. "It's different. When he does it, the air goes cold. I was near his room once… and I swear I saw my breath."
Someone else leaned forward. "They say he doesn't sleep. That he just sits there, eyes open, watching the shadows crawl on the ceiling."
"That's stupid. Everyone sleeps."
"Then how come the rat problem stopped ever since he moved to the attic?"
A silence followed. Even the older kids looked uneasy.
One boy whispered, "My cousin's a mage apprentice. He says some people can bend spirits. That maybe Ahriman's one of them — that maybe something's living inside him."
Another girl crossed her arms. "I don't think he's evil. Just… weird."
"Yeah, well," a final voice added, "weird things are the first to get hunted down in this world."
And with that, the circle grew quiet, as thunder rolled again above them.
a/n to tired for another chap gn