A deafening crack of thunder split the night, rattling the Kira Estate as though the heavens themselves were raging.
Rain lashed at the windows in unending sheets, drowning out the hurried footsteps and frantic shouts within.
"Her mana is destabilizing! She won't last much longer!"
On a bed soaked with blood and sweat, Abigail Kira writhed, her screams ragged, each one weaker than the last.
Her face, pale and glistening, twisted with agony as convulsions tore through her body.
The storm outside howled, echoing her pain.
"AAAHHH!" Her cry rose, swallowed by the thunder.
Seven doctors encircled her, their hands glowing as they cast spell after spell, faces set in grim desperation.
Magical experts layered barriers around the bed, straining to contain the wild force that poured from within her womb.
"The child's mana is consuming her!" one shouted over the roar. "It's like a poison to her, uncontrolled and growing stronger!"
"Then deliver the child early!" barked an elder from the doorway, his expression carved in stone. "Lady Abigail must live. If she dies, House Kira dies with her!"
"But the child-" a doctor began.
"I don't care!" the elder snapped. "Do it now!"
The lead physician hesitated only a moment before giving a sharp nod. "Prepare the mana field. We deliver now. There is no other way."
Lightning flared, throwing their fear-stricken faces into stark relief. The chandelier above swayed dangerously.
Another scream tore itself from Abigail's throat as the induction spell ignited, wracking her body with unbearable force.
"Push, my lady! Just a little more!"
Her strength faltered. Her voice thinned. For one breathless moment, the room fell silent,
Then
WAAAAAAHHHH!
The newborn's first cry shattered the air like an explosion.
"What, what is happening?!"
A tidal wave of mana burst from the infant, hurling a doctor across the chamber. He struck the wall with a sickening crunch and crumpled lifeless to the floor.
"Shield up!" a mage roared, throwing up a barrier, only for it to splinter instantly under the next wave.
The room dissolved into chaos.
Curtains ignited in azure flame.
Steel instruments sagged and melted. The air itself shimmered with unbearable heat.
"His mana, it's uncontrollable!" a nurse shrieked, her skin cracking under the waves of raw mana.
Another doctor lunged forward, desperate to hold the child. The instant his bare hands touched the newborn, his flesh blackened, smoke hissing from his mouth as he was incinerated from within. He collapsed in a smoldering heap.
"Don't touch him without mana skin! You'll die!"
Abigail lay motionless, unconscious, her life dangling by a thread. Blood spread beneath her, staining the sheets.
Still, the child's cries rang out, each one loosing another devastating wave that cracked the stone walls and sent fragments raining from the ceiling.
"Contain him!" the head mage bellowed, but his order was meaningless. Barriers rose and broke in the same heartbeat.
At last, a trembling nurse mustered the strongest mana skin she could conjure. Teeth gritted, she scooped the newborn into her arms. Even so, pain contorted her features as his mana seared against her defenses.
Her gaze flicked to his face, and froze.
"His eyes…" she whispered in horror. "They aren't human."
The storm raged on outside, thunder and rain pounding as though nature itself bore witness.
When the infant's cries finally weakened, the devastation remained.
The chamber was blackened and ruined, the walls scarred with silhouettes of fire and shadow permanent imprints of lives lost.
Abigail survived, though unconscious, saved at the cost of those who had tried to protect her.
And in the nurse's shaking arms, the child whimpered softly, his unnatural eyes dimming as his violent mana finally ebbed.
---
Life of Nero Kira was Unique for sure.
Born in thunder and blood, his very first cry had shattered walls, snuffed out lives, and etched fear into the hearts of men who should have been his protectors.
To some, he was a calamity wrapped in swaddling cloth .
And yet…
Five years had passed since the night the Kira estate nearly crumbled under a newborn's cries.
And the same " monster," as some had dared to call him, had grown.
Though his power had only become more unruly with age, it manifested less in destruction now and more in mischief.
For all his strange maturity and prodigious strength, Nero was still just a child.
"Where could my little knight be hiding?"
Abigail's playful voice rang through the Vermillion Estate's garden, her words softened by the rustling leaves and the perfume of roses.
She crouched low beside the bushes, pretending to search. "Hmm… perhaps behind this tree?"
From the shade of a towering oak, Nero stifled a giggle, his bright eyes peeking out before quickly retreating.
A faint ripple of mana betrayed his excitement, a shift in the air so subtle only Abigail could catch it.
"Ah-ha!" she spun suddenly, pointing straight at him. "Found you!"
But Nero was already gone, darting out from his hiding place with surprising speed. His laughter rang out, light and unrestrained, as he bolted across the grass.
"Too slow, Mother!" he taunted, a smirk curling his lips that looked far too old for a boy of five.
"Too slow?" Abigail gasped in mock offense, hands on her hips. "We'll see about that!"
She gave chase, her steps light and quick, her smile brighter than it had been in years.
The stern Magic Knight was nowhere to be seen only a mother, chasing her son beneath the sun.
Nero cut sharp turns, weaving between flowers and trees with uncanny precision, as if the garden itself bent to his movements.
On the porch, Lady Vermillion watched with a knowing smile. "You've got your hands full, Abigail. He's every bit as slippery as his father once was."
Beside her, little Mereoleona sat bundled in a blanket, her flushed cheeks betraying the fever that kept her still. She pouted, arms crossed. "I wanna play…" she muttered.
"Soon, darling." Lady Vermillion stroked her fiery hair with gentle fingers. "When you're better, you'll show him how fast a Vermillion can be."
Suddenly, Abigail stopped in the middle of the garden. "Time's up! I must be going now, Nero."
The boy slowed, his laughter fading. He padded back toward her, expression unusually serious for someone his age. "Okay, Mother," he said quietly.
Abigail knelt to meet him eye to eye, her hands steady on his small shoulders. "You were so quick today. I'll have to be faster next time, won't I?"
His lips curved into a faint smile. "I'll always be faster, Mother."
Her laugh was soft, almost wistful, as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll hold you to that." Straightening, she cast one last look toward Lady Vermillion before turning toward the gates.
Nero's gaze lingered on Abigail until she vanished beyond the gates. For a moment, he stood frozen, small fingers curling at his sides. The warmth of laughter that had filled him only breaths ago drained away, leaving his face curiously blank, too still for a child of five.
Lady Vermillion felt the change immediately. Her smile faltered, a shadow of hesitation crossing her features as she watched him turn back.
That bright little boy who had giggled under the oak tree was gone, replaced by a figure whose eyes seemed incomprehensible, whose expression carried no trace of the joy that should belong to him.
Her heart ached at the sight. Children were meant to pout, to cry, to cling when a parent left but Nero only walked back with steps too measured, too heavy, his face void of emotion.
"Come here, Nero," Lady Vermillion said gently, patting the spot beside her, as though coaxing the child back from whatever hollow place he'd retreated to.
He hesitated, just long enough for her chest to tighten, then obeyed, climbing onto the porch with deliberate slowness.
Mereoleona tugged at his sleeve, her fever-flushed face turned toward him. "Why'd you stop playing?" she asked, her small voice soft and unsure.
"There's no one else to play with," Nero replied. His tone was simple, but empty in a way that unsettled her,too matter-of-fact, as though he had already accepted loneliness as natural.
Lady Vermillion forced a tender smile, though her heart twisted.
She guided him closer until his head rested in her lap, her fingers threading through his dark hair. As she stroked gently, his mana pulsed faintly at her touch, restless, but stilled under her hand like a pond calming after a storm.
Mereoleona pressed her cheek to his arm with a faint murmur. "Me too…" she whispered, drifting into sleep.
Nero didn't move, didn't even blink for a long moment. Only when his breathing slowed did his body finally surrender to rest.
Lady Vermillion looked down at the two of them, her hand lingering in his hair. Wonder softened her expression, but sorrow weighed it down.
"Such remarkable little ones," she whispered, voice trembling as much with awe as with grief. Her eyes lingered on Nero's peaceful, emptied face. "And yet… they're still children. They should be allowed to remain children…Why must a child suffer like this."
The words faded into the still garden, where the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong could not quite drown the heaviness in her chest.
---
It would be tough to understand Lady Vermillion without understanding the kind of life Nero leads.
The daily life of one Nero Kira was unlike that of any other five-year-old in the Clover Kingdom.
As the sole heir of the main bloodline of House Kira, one of the three most important noble clans, duty was carved into him from birth.
Yet the burden of his name paled beside the greater curse he carried: a body overflowing with mana so immense it made his existence more a struggle than a childhood.
His days were carved into fragments.
Two hours with his mother, an hour of rest in the Vermillion estate, and on rare occasions, stolen moments playing with little Mereoleona and spend some time with Lady Vermillion.
She was still a child in truth, fiery and untamed, while Nero's own innocence had already been stripped away.
Most of his hours were claimed by study, training, and endless observation, until his face learned to settle into a mask no boy his age should wear.
Abigail knew. Of course she knew. But what could she do? Even as her heart ached at the sight of his cold, weary eyes, she told herself this was the right path, that forcing him forward, molding him into something beyond human, was the only way to keep him alive. And, bitterly, she was right.
For what had happened at his birth was no isolated case.
As Nero grew, so too did the monstrous tide of mana inside him. It began with the second incident, barely after he had learned to form his first words.
His small body weakened, his veins turned an unnatural blue, and his mana spilled from him in torrents the healers could neither halt nor understand.
Three days he lingered like that, trembling, his life poised on the edge. Then, without warning, the flood broke.
The Kira estate was torn apart in an instant. Twelve doctors, seven magic knights, and the nanny who had cradled him since infancy were obliterated, their bodies erased by nothing more than the sheer release of his mana.
When the dust settled, a portion of the proud Kira estate lay in ruins, and at its center was a child no longer crying, but silent, his glowing eyes staring into a world that already feared him.
Even before Nero could grasp the meaning of fear, he came to know it intimately.
Not within himself, but in the eyes of others.
The deepest, ugliest fear, etched into the faces of the very people he lived with, the ones who should have held him close.
He didn't understand it then. He didn't even know what those stares meant, those eyes that bored into him amidst the smoldering ruin of the Kira estate.
But instinctively, he felt it, that whatever he had done, whatever he was, it was something inhuman.
It's something so hard to imagine.
Anyone child or adult would have given anything to be Nero Kira.
To be born into a life others could only dream of: draped in wealth, armed with might, and surrounded by influence.
The three pillars of survival and power in this world had been his since birth, delivered to him like an inheritance from the heavens themselves.
A "blessed life," they would call it.
A life without want, without struggle.
But what words could ever capture the truth?
For Nero, it was not a life of blessing but of burden.
Before he could even grasp the meaning of innocence, he had come to understand something else entirely what it meant to be inhuman.
He had seen it reflected in the eyes around him, the eyes of strangers, kin, and even those who claimed to love him. Where other children learned joy, fear, and wonder, Nero learned the twisted shades of dread, awe, and quiet horror.
Even his own mother, Abigail, who held him with tenderness, who chased him through gardens, who kissed his brow as if nothing in the world mattered more, was not free of it. She loved him, yes, fiercely so.
And yet… behind her affection, behind every soft smile and warm embrace, there was something she could not hide. A flicker. A glimmer.
Nero could never discern why. He was too young to name it, too young to understand the contradiction of being both cherished and dreaded in the same breath.
But he felt it.
He always felt it.
But He had learnt to live with it.
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Power Stones and Reviews please