Rain lashed against the Yamazaki estate like the world itself was trying to warn them. Thunder rolled across the misty hills, shaking the massive stone walls, rattling the windows, and echoing through the sprawling halls of the bloodline fortress. On a storm-laden night, under the harsh strobe of lightning, a child was born — and the world seemed to take notice.
The midwife gasped, her hands frozen over the infant. Nurses whispered in hurried tones. Even the Yamazaki elders, hardened by decades of cultivating warriors, leaned forward, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
The baby's eyes opened — piercing, sharp, unnatural. Black irises flecked with gold caught the flashes of lightning, reflecting a mind far older than three days could allow. Every breath, every movement was deliberate, measured. It was as if the child was already observing the world, calculating, judging.
"Zerath," the father muttered, pride and caution mingling in his voice. The name carried weight, as though it had been chosen not merely for identity but for destiny.
From the first days, Zerath displayed behavior no ordinary infant could manage. While other babies cried at shadows or shivered in discomfort, he watched. He followed movements with unnerving precision. When the rain thundered against the roof, he did not flinch — he tilted his head, tracking the vibrations, processing the patterns.
By the age of one, he could grasp and manipulate objects with a focus far beyond normal. A rattle, a small toy, a wooden cup — all became subjects of analysis, experiments in strength, balance, and dexterity. The nurses grew uneasy. The elders whispered in the corners, unsure whether to marvel or fear.
By age two, Zerath had begun to move with precision that startled even his parents. He would climb the furniture, exploring every shadow, every corner, every crevice of the nursery. Not out of curiosity like other children — he tested boundaries. Each fall was measured, each recovery calculated. His small frame bent and twisted in ways that seemed almost unnatural, yet he emerged unscathed.
By three, Zerath's presence was unmistakable. His gaze carried weight, as if he already understood the intentions of those around him. Even his parents noticed it: a child whose mind and body never rested, whose instincts and awareness far outstripped his age. He did not play as other children did; he observed, he learned, he tested — constantly seeking, constantly growing.
And so, from the very moment of his birth under the storm, Zerath yamazaki began his life as a predator. Not merely a child, not merely an heir, but something far more terrifying — a being who would challenge limits, bend the world to his instincts, and leave a trail of awe and fear in his wake.