The Strix estate sprawled across a continent, a fortress of stone, steel, and cultivation-tech, with towers that pierced the clouds and courtyards wide enough to host armies. Even at dawn, the city beyond gleamed under the sun, rivers reflecting light like molten silver, mountains cutting jagged silhouettes into the horizon. Within the heart of this empire, a single figure commanded attention without a word.
Zerath von Strix, barely three years old, sat in the private courtyard reserved for the heirs of supreme families. His posture was unnaturally straight, his limbs still yet poised. His obsidian-black eyes, flecked with faint red glimmers, scanned the courtyard with an intensity that unsettled even the most seasoned attendants. Birds froze mid-flight as he observed them; dogs lingered at a cautious distance, ears twitching nervously. The aura that clung to him, faint yet tangible, carried the weight of Primordial Dominion Physique, hinting at a presence far beyond his years.
[Nyx] "Observe everything. Every movement, every hesitation, every heartbeat counts, Zerath. Even at three, dominance begins with perception," the system whispered inside his consciousness, guiding his nascent awareness.
The child's hands rested lightly on the ground. The faint tattoos on his back and arms pulsed subtly, a manifestation of the Primordial Dominion Physique. They were imperceptible to the untrained eye but radiated a sense of latent strength that those nearby instinctively recognized. Zerath did not fidget, cry, or demand attention. He simply existed—and in that existence, the courtyard itself seemed to respond, bending subtly to his will.
A small group of visiting heirs from other families approached, curious about the Strix heir they had heard so much about. One boy, confident and cocky, stepped forward, holding a small toy sword. "Let's play!" he announced, voice brimming with bravado.
Zerath's gaze measured him carefully. Every step, every breath, every twitch of the boy's fingers was cataloged. Then, with deliberate calm, Zerath tapped the boy's shoulder with a small hand. The boy froze, sensing an invisible weight pressing down, an awareness that this child was far from ordinary. Hesitation overtook bravado, and he instinctively stepped back.
[Nyx] "Do not act without purpose. Let them reveal themselves first. Strength is measured by their response, not your motion," Nyx reminded him, her voice efficient and unwavering.
A girl from another supreme family approached next, offering a small charm. She smiled nervously, thinking she could test the child. Zerath reached for it, brushing her hand lightly. Instantly, a subtle ripple of energy emanated from him. The girl's eyes widened; a wave of instinctual caution overtook her curiosity. Something in this child, even now, signaled dominance and control.
[Nyx] "Even as a child, your presence can shape perception. Influence begins before words or strength," the system explained, observing every heartbeat and micro-expression.
Time passed, yet Zerath did not grow restless. While other toddlers ran, cried, or demanded attention, he remained seated, his eyes calculating, body calm. His small movements were purposeful. A tilt of the head, a flex of a finger, a subtle shift in posture—all communicated dominance without aggression. Even the attendants noticed the unsettling precision, whispering among themselves, unsure whether to admire or fear him.
The mother entered the courtyard then, radiant and strong. She knelt beside him, smoothing his dark hair, murmuring gentle words of affection. Zerath leaned into her touch slightly, a small smile curving his lips. It was a warmth reserved only for her—a protective, measured, and intelligent love that already hinted at the man he would become.
[Nyx] "Bonding and love are strengths, Zerath. Protect what you cherish. It will temper your instincts and enhance loyalty later," she instructed.
The father observed silently from a shaded terrace above. His gaze was sharp, calculating, yet not without pride. Zerath's subtle displays—the calm precision, the patience, the early influence over peers—were exactly what a Strix heir needed. Even at three years old, he understood the essence of control, perception, and strategic observation, the core of Gun's personality distilled into toddler form.
Other toddlers tried to approach, testing limits. One attempted to snatch a toy from Zerath. He did not scream or strike; instead, he merely placed a tiny hand over the toy, eyes meeting the other child's. The silent assertion of dominance caused the child to hesitate, unsure of how to react. The toy remained untouched, yet Zerath had conveyed control, authority, and the first taste of fear—all without forceful action.
Even the animals around sensed it. Birds hesitated mid-flight, dogs lowered their heads, and a stray fox paused, sniffing the air with unnatural caution. The courtyard, so vibrant with movement, had slowed in the presence of the Strix heir.
As twilight approached, the sun casting long shadows across endless terraces, Zerath remained seated. Not idle, not passive—he was observing, calculating, learning. Nyx whispered within his mind:
[Nyx] "Remember, Zerath. Every reaction you provoke is a lesson. Patience, observation, and subtle influence are the first steps toward mastery. Even as a child, you have shown the instincts of a predator."
For Zerath, the lesson had already been absorbed. Every twitch, every heartbeat, every gaze of those around him had been noted and processed. Power was not only measured by brute strength; it was measured by perception, influence, and control. Even at three years old, he understood that.
The courtyard fell quiet as the other toddlers were escorted away. Zerath remained, calm and upright, a miniature predator surveying its domain. Even as the moonlight reflected off distant mountains, one truth was undeniable: the heir of the Strix family, the future of the most powerful supreme family in the Primordial War World, had already begun his path to absolute dominance.
And even as a toddler, those who saw him—even from afar—could feel it: the predator had returned, and the world would bow, slowly and inevitably, to him.