The obsidian spires of the Gremory ancestral seat, Arx Tenebris, pierced the perpetually twilight sky of the Underworld like jagged teeth. Tonight, however, the usual hum of aristocratic power was replaced by a crackling tension that thickened the very air. Servants moved with hushed urgency, their faces pale masks beneath the flickering glow of soulfire sconces. In the heart of the fortress, within chambers warded by ancient sigils that pulsed with restrained power, a different kind of storm raged.
Venelana Gremory, Bael, Duchess of the Gremory and bearer of the fearsome Power of Destruction, was giving birth. Sweat plastered brown hair, darker than abyss, to her temples as she gritted her teeth against a wave of agony far surpassing any battlefield wound. The air vibrated not just with her pain, but with the volatile, barely contained energy radiating from her core - the infamous demonic power of the House of Bael. Midwives, handpicked for their skill and courage, worked with practiced efficiency, their eyes wide with a mixture of professional focus and primal fear. To be near a Bael unleashing even a fraction of their power involuntarily was to dance on the edge of oblivion.
Outside the heavy, rune-carved doors, pacing like a caged beast, was Zeoticus Gremory. Tall, elegant, bearing the sharp aristocratic features of his lineage, he lacked the devastating power of his wife or eldest son. His strength lay in his mind, his political acumen, and the ancient, peculiar magic of the Gremory line - an unnerving, often unpredictable reservoir of Luck. Tonight, his usual composure was shattered. His knuckles were white where they gripped the polished obsidian banister, his gaze fixed unseeingly on the intricate tapestries depicting Gremory triumphs. Each muffled cry from within the birthing chamber lanced through him. He was a Duke powerless to aid the woman he loved in her fiercest battle.
Standing rigidly beside him, a statue carved from moonlight and ice, was Grayfia Lucifuge. Wife of Sirzechs Lucifer, the current Satan and Zeoticus and Venelana's eldest son, she was the epitome of controlled power. Her silver hair was immaculate, her expression as impassive and unreadable as the frozen plains of Cocytus. As Sirzechs's Queen and his most trusted enforcer, she represented the pinnacle of Underworld authority present tonight. Sirzechs himself, bound by the crushing weight of his station and the delicate balance of power his role as Lucifer demanded, was attending to critical matters elsewhere in the newly reformed Underworld government. His absence was a physical ache for Zeoticus, a reminder that even family bonds bowed before the mantle of ultimate power. Grayfia was his eyes, his silent support.
"Grayfia," Zeoticus rasped, his voice strained, "tell me she..."
"The Duchess is strong, Lord Zeoticus," Grayfia replied, her voice cool, crystalline, betraying nothing. "The child comes. It is... turbulent." Her ice-blue eyes flickered towards the door as another wave of Venelana's power pulsed outwards, causing the very stones of Arx Tenebris to groan. The wards flared violently, absorbing the destructive surge. "The Bael power is... reactive."
Zeoticus closed his eyes. Reactive. It was a terrifying understatement. The Power of Destruction, inherited by Sirzechs in terrifying abundance and now manifesting unpredictably in this new child, was a wild beast, especially during moments of intense emotion or stress. Birth was the epitome of both. He sent a silent plea to the nebulous concept of Gremory Luck.
Not now. Protect them. Just... let them be safe.
Inside the chamber, the lead midwife, a grizzled deviless with centuries of experience, gasped. "Head's crowning! Push, Your Grace! PUSH!"
Venelana screamed, a sound that ripped through the wards and vibrated in Zeoticus's bones. It wasn't just pain; it was raw power threatening to erupt. A blinding, crimson light began to seep from under the door, pulsing like a malevolent heart. Zeoticus lurched forward, only for Grayfia's hand, cool and surprisingly strong, to clamp onto his arm.
"Do not, Lord Zeoticus," she stated, her voice cutting through the rising panic. "The wards hold. Interference could destabilize them." Her gaze remained fixed on the door, analytical, assessing the threat level. Yet, a faint tension tightened the line of her jaw. Even the Ice Queen of the Underworld felt the primal dread of uncontrolled Destruction.
Venelana pushed with the last reserves of her legendary strength. The crimson light flared, threatening to consume everything. The midwives shielded their eyes, bracing for an explosion that would vaporize them all.
And then... nothing.
The blinding crimson light vanished. Not faded, not diminished - it was simply snuffed out, like a candle plunged into water. The oppressive, crushing weight of the Power of Destruction evaporated, replaced by an abrupt, profound stillness. The groaning of the stones ceased. The pulsing wards dimmed to a faint, steady hum.
Silence. Thick, disbelieving silence.
Then, cutting through the quiet, came a sound entirely unexpected: a strong, healthy infant's cry.
Zeoticus froze. Grayfia's impassive mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing pure astonishment.
The heavy doors swung open. The senior midwife stood there, her face pale but beaming, cradling a tightly wrapped bundle. She looked utterly bewildered, yet radiant with relief. "My Lord Duke! A son! A healthy son!"
Zeoticus stumbled into the chamber, Grayfia a silent, watchful shadow behind him. Venelana lay back on the pillows, exhausted but radiant, a smile of profound relief and wonder on her face. The air, moments ago thick with the promise of annihilation, felt... calm. Serene, even.
"The power," Venelana whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with awe as Zeoticus rushed to her side. "It surged... and then... it just stopped. Like something... caught it."
Zeoticus looked down at the bundle the midwife carefully transferred to Venelana's arms. He saw a shock of damp, crimson hair, identical to Venelana's and Sirzechs's. The baby's face was scrunched, letting out indignant cries, tiny fists waving. And then, as if sensing his father's gaze, the cries subsided into hiccups. The baby opened his eyes.
Zeoticus gasped. They weren't the blazing crimson of Destruction like Sirzechs's or Venelana's in battle. They were a deep, mesmerizing shade of violet - a color unseen in the Gremory or Bael lines for generations, the color of twilight and deep, calm oceans. And in that moment, Zeoticus felt it. Not power, not magic in the traditional sense, but a profound, almost tangible sense of rightness. A wave of inexplicable calm washed over him, soothing the jagged edges of fear he'd carried for hours. He glanced at the still-glowing wards. Their light was steady, benign.
Luck, Zeoticus thought, the concept solidifying into certainty within him. Gremory Luck. Stronger than ever before. It didn't fight the Destruction... it simply... made it irrelevant at the critical moment.
"My son," Venelana breathed, tracing a finger down the baby's cheek. A tiny hand grasped her finger with surprising strength. "Revas. Revas Gremory." The name, chosen long ago, meaning "Champion" or "Fortune" in an ancient demonic dialect, suddenly felt prophetically perfect.
Grayfia stood slightly apart, observing. Her analytical mind struggled to process the event. The physics-defying suppression of nascent Power of Destruction was unprecedented. Yet, the evidence was undeniable: the calm baby, the unharmed mother, the intact chamber. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the infant, Revas. Logic warred with observation.
Zeoticus, tears of relief and joy shimmering in his eyes, turned to Grayfia. "Grayfia, look at him. Our Revas."
Grayfia took a measured step closer, her expression carefully reset to its usual impassive neutrality. She looked down at the baby in Venelana's arms. Revas had stopped hiccuping. His violet eyes, still unfocused as newborns' are, seemed to drift towards the silver-haired woman. He made a soft, gurgling sound.
Then, Revas Gremory smiled.
It wasn't a reflex. It was a slow, deliberate upturn of tiny lips, a crinkling around those unusual violet eyes. It was a smile of pure, innocent, unadulterated warmth.
Grayfia Lucifuge, the Ice Queen, the unflappable Queen of Sirzechs Lucifer, renowned for her stoicism that could freeze the fires of Gehenna, felt something utterly alien. A strange, unwelcome, yet undeniable tug at the very corners of her own lips. It was faint, microscopic, gone almost before it began, leaving only the ghost of a sensation. But it happened. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched a fraction higher. Her gaze locked onto the baby's, and for a fleeting second, the glacial ice in her own blue eyes seemed to shimmer, not with cold, but with a reflection of that impossible warmth.
She quickly averted her gaze, composing herself with the speed of centuries of discipline. "He is... remarkably composed after such an entrance, Lord Zeoticus, Lady Venelana," she stated, her voice flawlessly even, betraying none of the internal disruption. "Congratulations." She offered a perfectly formal bow.
But Zeoticus had seen it. The almost-smile. The flicker in the ice. He looked at his son, nestled safely against his mother, radiating an aura of profound serenity that seemed to fill the room. A slow, proud smile spread across his own face. Oh, my little Revas, he thought, you've already achieved the impossible. You melted Grayfia Lucifuge. What else will your Luck bring?
The news of the heir's birth, and the whispered tale of the impossible calm that descended upon a chamber moments from catastrophic destruction, spread through the Underworld like wildfire. Gossip focused on Venelana's strength, Zeoticus's relief, and the child's unusual violet eyes. But the true story, the silent intervention of Luck so potent it neutered nascent Power of Destruction, remained a closely guarded Gremory secret. Only Zeoticus understood the true significance. Revas wasn't just another powerful devil heir. He was a confluence of legacies: Bael destruction tempered by Gremory fortune, manifesting in a way never seen before.
Revas Gremory's infancy was a study in contrasts. He possessed the robust health of his Bael heritage, yet his nature was preternaturally calm. While other devil infants might shriek with powerful, destructive tantrums, Revas's displeasure was communicated through quiet fussing or those wide, soulful violet eyes welling up - a sight far more effective at mobilizing the entire household than any magical outburst. His presence seemed to exert a subtle, calming influence. Arguments among servants would inexplicably fizzle out near his nursery. Tense meetings Zeoticus held in the family wing seemed to find smoother resolutions.
The Luck manifested in small, undeniable ways, often seeming like mere coincidence blessed by fortune.
Zeoticus, preparing for an important summit, discovered his ancestral signet ring, a symbol of Gremory authority, was missing. Panic ensued. Servants tore apart his study. Venelana, sensing his distress, brought the infant Revas in, hoping his presence might soothe his father. Revas, propped on Zeoticus's desk, reached out a chubby hand towards a heavy, rarely moved tome on demonic genealogy. When a flustered servant went to move the baby's hand, the book slipped. Nestled perfectly in the hollow space beneath it, where it must have rolled weeks before unnoticed, gleamed the signet ring. Revas gurgled happily.
The Tainted Nectar, A rare, prized bottle of Stygian Nectar, a gift intended for Sirzechs, was accidentally placed near a volatile alchemical reagent in the pantry. The reagent was known to subtly corrupt magical substances. A kitchen maid, tasked with fetching a different vintage, inexplicably felt a strong urge to check that specific shelf. Finding the nectar perilously close to the reagent, she moved it just moments before a minor vibration (caused by a training session in the lower halls) might have jostled them together. Later analysis showed the reagent had been degrading; contact would have ruined the priceless nectar. The maid attributed her action to a "sudden feeling."
As a toddler, Revas escaped his minder during a visit to the castle's outer battlements where young devil cadets trained with controlled energy blasts. He toddled straight towards a section where a ricocheting blast of demonic fire, gone slightly off-target, was about to scorch a patch of ground. A senior instructor, known for his impeccable timing, chose that exact moment to demonstrate a complex deflection technique to a group of students. His practiced gesture intercepted the stray blast mere feet from where Revas stood, blinking curiously at the pretty lights. The instructor had no conscious awareness of the child's presence until after the deflection.
Zeoticus documented these events meticulously in a private journal, his scholar's mind fascinated. This wasn't the brute-force luck of winning games of chance. It was a subtle, almost sentient force, weaving improbable events into a tapestry of safety and advantage. It protected Revas and, by extension, seemed to nudge circumstances gently towards the benefit of the Gremory household. Venelana watched with a warrior's pragmatism mixed with maternal awe. She trained her body back to its formidable peak, aware her second son, inheriting her Power of Destruction, would need guidance Sirzechs hadn't required - Sirzechs's power had been evident and controllable from the start. Revas's Bael power remained quiescent, a sleeping dragon beneath the gentle surface of his Luck. She worried about the day it might awaken and how it would interact with this unprecedented Gremory talent.
And then there was Grayfia.
Her visits, accompanying Sirzechs or on official Lucifer business, became strangely anticipated events in the nursery. Sirzechs adored his baby brother, his crimson eyes softening with an almost heartbreaking tenderness when he held Revas. He radiated immense power, yet handled the infant with exquisite care, his touch gentle, his voice a low rumble of affection. "Look at you, little champion," he'd murmur, tracing the crimson hair so like his own. "Already changing the world with a smile." He saw the potential, the unique blend, and his protective instincts flared brighter than his Power of Destruction.
Grayfia maintained her formal distance, observing Sirzechs's interactions or discussing logistics with Zeoticus and Venelana. But her gaze would inevitably drift to Revas. He seemed to possess an uncanny radar for her presence. Whenever she entered a room where he was, those violet eyes would seek her out. He wouldn't demand attention like other children might. He would simply watch her, a quiet intensity in his gaze.
One afternoon, during a particularly tedious discussion about Underworld grain tariffs that had Grayfia's expression frozen in its usual impassive mask, Revas, now a sturdy one-year-old learning to walk, wobbled away from his nurse. He navigated the legs of chairs and dignitaries with surprising steadiness, drawn like a moth to the silver-haired woman standing rigidly near the window. He stopped before her, looking up at the imposing figure.
Grayfia glanced down, expecting a child to stumble or grab. Revas did neither. He steadied himself, tilted his head back to meet her icy blue eyes, and offered that smile. The one that seemed to emanate pure, uncomplicated sunshine. It wasn't demanding. It was simply... offered. A gift of warmth in the cool, political air.
Grayfia felt it again. That treacherous, unwelcome softening. A flicker of warmth threatening to thaw the permafrost. She steeled herself, refusing to yield. He is an infant. He smiles at everyone. It means nothing.
Revas, undeterred by her lack of response, reached out a tiny hand. Not to grab her robes, but to gently pat the toe of her immaculate boot. A soft, questioning sound escaped him.
It was the pat. The absurd, gentle pat on her boot. Combined with the unwavering violet gaze and the persistent, quiet smile. Grayfia Lucifuge, Queen of the Underworld, felt the corner of her mouth betray her. It lifted. Just slightly. A mere crescent moon compared to Revas's beaming sun, but undeniable. A faint, almost imperceptible curve.
She swiftly turned her head towards the window, feigning interest in the eternally twilight landscape outside Arx Tenebris. Her heart, usually a steady metronome of logic and duty, hammered against her ribs with unfamiliar force. This is illogical. This is... inconvenient.
Zeoticus, pretending deep interest in a tariff report, hid a smile behind his hand. Venelana, catching the exchange, exchanged a look of amused wonder with her husband. Their little Revas, born amidst averted destruction, was quietly, persistently, charming the uncharmable. His Luck wasn't just about averting disaster; it was about weaving connections, softening hearts, creating moments of improbable warmth in the shadows of power.
As Revas grew from infant to toddler, the manifestations of his Luck became more integrated, less like startling miracles and more like the natural, fortunate rhythm of his life within Arx Tenebris. It found lost toys, guided him away from minor scrapes, ensured his favorite fruits were always in season. It made servants smile and guards relax their vigilance just enough to feel human. It drew people to him, not through command, but through an aura of serene benevolence.
He was the Crimson Heir, born not with a roar of Destruction, but under the silent, profound benediction of Fortune's hand. He bore the Power of Destruction sleeping within, and eyes the color of twilight, promising a future unlike any Gremory before him. And he possessed a smile that could, one tiny, determined pat at a time, begin to melt glaciers. The stage was set, not for a traditional demon lord, but for Revas Gremory, the child where Luck walked hand-in-hand with latent power, destined to navigate a path no one could yet foresee. The shadows of rebellion were still distant whispers, but the foundation - this extraordinary child, his unique gift, and the bonds he was already forging - was being laid, brick by improbable, fortunate brick.