He stared into the mirror, fourteen years old in body, yet carrying a presence that seemed to bend the very air around him. Black hair fell in soft waves over a face that could make angels weep and men die from envy. Eyes, a deep, bloody crimson, glimmered with a depth of thought and danger far beyond his age. Every line, every curve of his face seemed sculpted to perfection, yet it carried an aura of menace, intelligence, and amusement.
There was a weight to him, subtle yet undeniable, like the gravity of a small planet pressing on everything nearby. One did not merely see him; one felt him. He tilted his head, scrutinizing himself. So this is the form the world will remember. A boy, innocent in years, yet carrying a presence that makes the air hesitate. Beautiful… yes. Dangerous… yes. Amusing… certainly.
A week. Seven days until the awakening ceremony. Humans called it a ritual, a passage, a way to unlock the latent mana within each child. To him, however, it was trivial, almost laughable. Mana the lifeblood of this world flowed unseen through every living thing. With it, mortals believed they could do anything imaginable, even what could not be imagined. And yet, he had already glimpsed the limits of their comprehension.
This Earth was vast. Half the size of Jupiter, with sprawling lands and oceans wider than dreams. Across it lay five continents, each the cradle of a different species: humans, elves, dwarfs, beastmen, and demons eternal enemies of all others. Two additional races existed, shrouded in myth, their stories lost in time, but that was a tale for another day.
Each species had its own path to awakening. Humans underwent the ritual at fourteen. Skip it, and the world would forcibly awaken the latent mana at fifteen dangerous, brutal, sometimes scarring body or soul. Seven days remained. He had seen the results before, knew the ritual, knew the limits… yet he found amusement in waiting.
His gaze fell to his palm. There, a jagged mark pulsed faintly, writhing as if alive. He recognized the energy instantly. The Demon King's power. Not mana. Not shadow. Not divine light. Something older, something unimaginable, the same force that had once ruled terror over this world. And yet… he did not know why it was inside him. How it had come to reside within his blood, why it clung to his soul, what purpose it served those answers eluded him. The energy was familiar, terrifying, potent… and entirely unknown.
The mirror reflected more than just his face. He studied his posture, his limbs, the slight tension in his hands, the way the air seemed to bend around him, almost yielding. This body was young, twelve, but the presence it carried felt impossible, like some weight in space, something that tugged subtly at reality itself.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. The sound was mundane, ordinary almost laughable against the weight of his awareness.
"Young master… Azriel ," came the soft voice of the maid, polite and careful, "dinner is ready."
He glanced back at the mirror once more. Crimson eyes met black hair, perfect face, impossibly beautiful and impossibly dangerous. He smiled faintly, a curve of lips that carried amusement, menace, and the knowledge of what was to come.