CHAPTER 2: INFANT REALITIES
Location: Valcraven Estate, Shadowfall
Time: One Month After Birth
The first thing Lucian learned about being a baby: everything was frustrating.
His mind held the strategic knowledge to plan multi-realm invasions, but his body couldn't even roll over. He remembered spells that could shatter mountains, but his vocal cords produced only gurgles and cries. He'd once commanded legions of demons, but now he was at the mercy of a wet nurse named Matilda who smelled of lavender and milk.
This, he thought during another diaper change, is a special kind of hell.
"Look at those eyes, my lady," Matilda cooed, swaddling him with practiced efficiency. "So serious for a little one!"
Lady Seraph smiled from her resting chair. "He's always watching. Always thinking. Sometimes I swear he understands every word we say."
You have no idea, Lucian mused.
He'd spent the first month conducting experiments. First, his physical limits: minimal motor control, terrible eyesight (though improving daily), and a digestive system that seemed designed for maximum inefficiency. Second, his magical capacity: the Mammon's Mark on his hand responded to his will, but the output was pathetic—barely enough to create a shadow the size of a coin.
But the third experiment yielded interesting results.
Memory Retention: Complete.
Mental Processing: Adult-level, though hampered by underdeveloped brain structures.
Soul Perception: Intact. He could sense other souls within about ten meters.
Which is how he knew when Mammon visited.
---
Location: Valcraven Estate, Study
Time: Afternoon of Day 31
Lucian lay in a bassinet near his father's desk, pretending to sleep while listening.
"...unprecedented, Aiden," said a smooth, rich voice. Mammon. In human form, he appeared as a middle-aged merchant with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes the color of gold coins. "The Mark awakening at birth? There's no record of this."
Duke Aiden Valcraven poured two glasses of shadow-wine. "The priests say it's a sign of great power—or great danger."
"The priests worship a lying god," Mammon said dismissively. "But they're not wrong about one thing: your son is... different."
Aiden's shadow—a living extension of his power thanks to their bloodline—twitched nervously. "His eyes. Sometimes they look at me like he's evaluating battle strategies."
Mammon chuckled, but it sounded strained. "Let me see him."
Lucian felt Mammon approach. The Archduke's soul signature was unmistakable—avarice given form, gold threaded with lingering loyalty. Mammon had betrayed him during the final coup, yes, but Lucian had felt the hesitation. The regret.
And now you're here, Lucian thought. Watching over my reincarnation. Sentimental fool.
A large, warm hand touched his forehead. Mammon's magic flowed—subtle diagnostic spells that would be undetectable to most mages.
Lucian decided to test something.
He focused on the Mammon's Mark on his hand. Not to activate it, but to make it recognize. The Mark was Mammon's creation, after all—a bond between their souls.
The Mark glowed faintly.
Mammon's hand jerked back as if burned. His breath caught.
"What?" Aiden asked, immediately alert.
"Nothing," Mammon said too quickly. "Just... powerful darkness affinity. More than even you had at birth."
But Lucian had felt it—the shock of recognition. Mammon knew. Or at least suspected.
"Will he be safe?" Aiden's voice dropped. "The other houses are already talking. The Ignitias have a daughter showing fire affinity at three months. The Thunderbornes' boy summoned a lightning spark last week. They'll see Lucian as competition."
Mammon's voice hardened. "Let them. The Valcraven bloodline predates their dragon-pact ancestors. We served the true rulers of darkness long before Lumina's sun-worshippers built their first temple."
True rulers of darkness. Lucian stored that phrase. His human family had a history connected to the Abyss. Interesting.
"Aiden," Mammon said quietly, "there are rumors from the capital. The Church of Ellyon is pushing for stricter 'demon purity' laws. They want all children with abnormal dark affinity tested."
Aiden's shadow stretched, covering Lucian's bassinet protectively. "They won't touch my son."
"Not while I breathe," Mammon promised. And Lucian felt the truth in those words. This was no mere political ally—this was a guardian keeping a centuries-old vow.
Why? Lucian wondered. What debt do you owe my family, Mammon?
The conversation turned to trade agreements and border taxes. Lucian let his attention drift, practicing subtle magic exercises. He could:
1. Extend his shadow sense about two meters
2. Detect soul signatures (Mammon's was brightest, followed by Aiden's)
3. Store tiny amounts of darkness energy in his Mark
4. Understand all spoken language perfectly
The last was both blessing and curse. He understood the nurses gossiping about which guards they fancied. He understood the cook complaining about the price of shadow-root. He understood his mother singing lullabies about "the gentle night" and "stars that watch over dark-born children."
It was... domestic. Alien.
In his previous existence, his childhood had been war. First as a minor demon fighting for territory, then as an Archduke conquering layers of the Abyss, finally as a Devil God forging a realm from chaos. He'd never known lullabies. Never known a mother's touch that wasn't meant to manipulate or control.
Seraph Valcraven loved her son. Genuinely, unconditionally.
Weakness, part of him whispered—the part that remembered betrayal. Attachment leads to vulnerability.
But another part—the 5% that remembered loneliness across millennia—watched Seraph's gentle smile and felt something unfamiliar.
---
Location: Valcraven Estate, Gardens
Time: Week 6
Lucian's first outdoor excursion was a strategic revelation.
The estate sat in a valley perpetually twilight, thanks to magical wards that filtered sunlight. Shadow-trees with silver leaves whispered secrets to those who could hear. Darkflowers bloomed in shades of violet and deepest blue.
And the shadows here were alive.
Not metaphorically. The Valcraven bloodline had nurtured this land for centuries, and the darkness had taken root. Lucian could feel it—the estate's shadows recognized his Mark. They reached for him like old friends.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Seraph murmured, pushing his pram along a gravel path. "Our family has tended these gardens since the first Valcraven swore allegiance to the Night."
Lucian reached a tiny hand toward a particularly deep shadow beneath a statue of some ancestor. The shadow stirred, stretching to brush his fingers.
Seraph gasped. "Aiden! Come see!"
The Duke appeared from behind a hedge, his own shadow stretching ahead of him. "What is—"
He saw the shadow caressing Lucian's hand. Saw how it didn't just darken, but shaped itself—forming tiny tendrils that wrapped gently around infant fingers.
"Shadow affinity," Aiden breathed. "Manifesting at six weeks. By the stars..."
"Not the stars," Seraph corrected softly. "The spaces between them."
Lucian concentrated. The shadow was eager, responsive. He willed it to form a simple shape—a circle.
The shadow obliged, coiling into a dark ring around his wrist.
Aiden knelt, his face a mask of awe and fear. "The records say the first Valcraven could command shadows like extensions of his body. But that was before the Dragon Pact, before magic faded..."
Magic didn't fade, Lucian thought. It was suppressed. By Ellyon's followers.
He released the shadow. It lingered for a moment before melting back into the garden's tapestry.
"Don't tell anyone," Aiden said to Seraph. "Not even the other dark nobles."
"But the Ignitias—"
"Are dragon-blooded, not shadow-touched. They serve the crown. We... we serve something older."
That night, as Lucian lay in his crib, he replayed the incident. His shadow manipulation was crude, infantile—but it proved something crucial: his power could grow. It wasn't static at 5%. The Mammon's Mark was a conduit, and this world's darkness was fuel.
He just needed time. And training.
---
Location: Valcraven Estate, Night Nursery
Time: Week 8
The dream began like all the others: the throne room, the betrayal, the explosion.
But this time, it continued.
Instead of waking as the rift opened, Lucian found himself floating in the void between worlds. And he wasn't alone.
"Brother."
The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Lucian (in his dream-form, appearing as Azazel in his prime) turned.
Astaroth floated nearby, but not as Lucian remembered him. The Archduke of Sloth appeared diminished, his power barely a flicker.
"You're weaker than I expected," Lucian observed.
Astaroth's dream-form flickered. "The reincarnation was... turbulent. I'm anchored, but the human body is limiting. You?"
"5% retained. Maybe 0.1% accessible."
Astaroth laughed bitterly. "From gods to infants. What poetic justice."
"Status report," Lucian said, falling into old patterns.
"The human is named Aaron Lumis. Second prince of Lumina. Dragon-blooded, ironically. Good cover—no one suspects darkness in the royal family." Astaroth's form solidified slightly. "I'm working on time magic manipulation. The human brain can't handle much, but I've managed minor temporal perceptions."
"Lilith?"
"Already in position. She took over a child's body five years ago. She'll be ready when we reach the Academy."
Lucian processed this. Their network was forming. "The traitors?"
Astaroth's dream-form darkened. "Active. I've felt Satan's scouts near the capital. Belial is consolidating power in the Abyss. They think you're dead, but they're hunting remnants."
"Let them hunt ghosts," Lucian said. "We have time. Years before we're a threat."
"About that." Astaroth hesitated. "The human sister—Celestia. She's... bright. Painfully bright. Her light magic is already manifesting. When she's near, it hurts."
Lucian remembered the reports: the princess born the same night. Ellyon's chosen, if the priests were to be believed.
"Keep your distance," Lucian ordered. "And monitor her. She may be a key piece."
"Understood." Astaroth's form began to fade. "The dream-link is draining. I can maintain this once a month, maybe less as we age and our human brains develop."
"Then make it count. Next contact, bring tactical assessments of the capital's defenses."
Astaroth saluted—an old Abyssal gesture. "For the true throne."
"For the true throne," Lucian echoed.
The dream dissolved.
---
Location: Valcraven Estate, Main Hall
Time: Week 12
The first real threat came disguised as a blessing.
Archpriest Valerius of the Church of Ellyon visited with three acolytes, all wearing white robes that hurt Lucian's shadow-attuned eyes. They'd come to "bless" the newborn heir of a major noble house—standard procedure, but the timing was suspicious.
"Your son has a remarkable aura, Duke Valcraven," Valerius said, his voice oil-smooth. He held a holy symbol that glowed with soft light. "May I?"
Aiden's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Of course."
The Archpriest approached Lucian's crib. Up close, Lucian could smell the magic on him—sanctified light, prayer-energy, and something else... something hungry.
The holy symbol glowed brighter as it neared Lucian. The Mammon's Mark on his hand pulsed in warning.
Detection magic, Lucian realized. He's not here to bless. He's here to scan.
He did the only thing he could: he cried. Not a normal infant cry, but a scream that made the shadows in the room quiver.
Seraph immediately scooped him up. "He's frightened of the light!"
Valerius's eyes narrowed. "Most children are comforted by Ellyon's grace."
"Most children aren't shadow-touched," Aiden said sharply. "Our family has always been sensitive to... certain energies."
The Archpriest's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. The Night's children have their own path." He made a blessing gesture anyway, light washing over Lucian.
It burned. Not physically, but spiritually—like acid on his demonic soul-remnants.
Lucian concentrated on his Mark, on the tiny reservoir of darkness he'd been storing. He formed a shield, thin as parchment but enough to blunt the worst of the holy energy.
Valerius frowned slightly. His detection spell had found something, but Lucian's reaction had been perfectly infantile. The evidence was ambiguous.
After the priests left, Aiden stormed to his study, Lucian in his arms.
"They know something," Aiden growled to Mammon, who'd arrived through a shadow-path. "Or suspect."
Mammon examined Lucian. "The shield was clever. Crude, but clever."
Aiden blinked. "Shield? He's a baby—"
"He's your son," Mammon said meaningfully. "And the Mark is awake. He has instincts."
Lucian met Mammon's gaze. The Archduke's golden eyes held a question: How much do you remember?
Lucian held the stare, then deliberately reached for Mammon's finger. His tiny hand gripped with surprising strength.
Mammon's breath caught. When Lucian released him, there was a faint shadow-stain on his skin—a mark that faded after a few seconds, but carried a message in Abyssal script:
Patience.
Mammon's eyes widened. Then he laughed—a genuine, relieved sound. "He'll be fine, Aiden. More than fine."
That night, Lucian lay awake, considering. The Church was suspicious. His powers were developing but painfully slow. His allies were in place but limited.
And somewhere out there, seven Archdukes thought him dead while plotting their own ascensions.
Let them plot, Lucian thought, watching moonlight filter through his nursery window. Let them build their empires and make their alliances.
I am a god in a cradle.
I have time.
I have a family that protects me.
And I have a vengeance that will shake three worlds.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time since his rebirth, slept peacefully.
---
END OF CHAPTER 2