He woke up with a name he did not remember choosing, and a hatred that felt older than memory itself.
Now, the battle fell down with the cold winds that passed over corpses.
The red sun faded behind a veil of thick grey cloud, and the mountains slept eternally.
Far from the death of the village, deep within the Noctis Mountains, someone moved to a flow. Only the birds and the insects could know him, but his progress was steady with the breeze. The crevices he crossed all appeared to be a part of him, and he walked the path as if he had walked it ten thousand times before.
He was an old man in robes that could have been from anywhere, with a straw hat that he could have found anywhere, and yet all of it seemingly ageless. A long, pale beard curled up and hung from his chin. When he emerged from a narrow mountain passage, clouds and jagged stone stretched endlessly before him.
Below, on a steep mountain path, someone was struggling forward.
The old man paused.
They had never met. But this was a meeting he had been expecting.
"You are not Shenric," the old man said calmly. "Young man, are you lost?"
He descended the slope with ease and came to stand before a pale figure with tangled dark hair and cold blue eyes. The man wore the robes of a warrior, commanding in design, yet empty. No strength radiated from him at all.
It was the former Leader, stumbling forward on the edge of collapse.
"Are you hurt?" the old man asked gently.
"What's happening to me?" the man groaned. "My entire body… it's changing."
"Sit down. Let me help you."
"I can't remember anything," he wheezed. "I don't even know who I am."
"You're in the Noctis Mountains. Come here and I'll—"
"Get away from me!" the man screamed.
The fury in his eyes made the old man stop short.
"Don't come any closer!"
"I'm only trying to help. You've come from the battle below, haven't you? You need rest."
"Stay back!"
The old man reached out his hand.
"I said get away!"
In a sudden motion, the former Leader formed an energy blade and swung for the old man's head.
Thud.
The blade stopped.
It had struck the old man's open palm, without cutting flesh.
The attacker froze in shock.
"Your energy is very weak," the old man said calmly. "If that's the best you can manage, you won't survive long."
"I—I'm sorry," the man stammered. "I don't know why I did that. I don't even know how I did it. I was just—"
"There is great fear inside you," the old man said. "And fear, given time, becomes dangerous. If you live long enough."
The rage drained from the man's eyes. What remained was confusion, utter and hollow.
"Please," he said quietly. "Help me. I don't understand what's happening."
"You came from the battle," the old man said.
"I think so. I woke up surrounded by monsters in masks. One of them walked past me. There was a dead body at our feet, and... I stabbed someone and ran. I don't know why. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know anything…"
"Then another Shadow Clan has fallen," the old man murmured. "This time… Shenric."
"Shenric?"
The name struck him like lightning.
The image of a severed head flashed through his mind. Pain surged and he clutched his skull.
"What a shame," the old man continued. "I taught Shenric from childhood. I believed he would be different. Perhaps that was my weakness."
The man barely heard him.
Memories surged, too many, too vivid, yet utterly alien.
"You are a puzzle I have not yet come across," the old man said, studying him. "You wear the garments of a Faceless Leader, yet even in appearance you are weak. I sense no Flow techniques, or Axiom energy."
"What does that mean?"
The old man's body turned by itself.
"They'll come soon. You must come with me."
By nightfall, the Faceless Soldiers arrived. But the two had already vanished into a hidden cavern deep beneath the mountains.
Under the mountains, darkness swallowed everything. The only light came from a soft glow in the old man's hands.
"Impressed?" he chuckled.
"How did I do that?" the man asked. "That blade, how did I create it? And how did you stop it?"
"It was energy," the old man replied. "You shaped yours into an offensive form. I shaped mine into defence."
"Energy?"
"The force that makes plants grow and stars burn. Life itself. We are merely vehicles through which it flows."
"I remember now," the man said slowly. "The battle… fire, lightning, smoke. But the masked ones slaughtered everyone."
"Of course they did," the old man said. "This was a battle between different tiers."
"What does that mean?"
"Eat first."
They ate in silence while the old man sensed the world above.
"They'll leave soon. They can't find us."
"Who are they?"
"The Faceless Soldiers. The Vessels of the Lords."
"And the Lords?"
"Humans once learned there was energy, and like humans do, they decided to learn how to master it." the old man said. "From that realization came the hierarchy, the pyramid of the world. At the top of every hierarchy there are masters who are fated to be clawed at from below."
His thoughts paused him.
"Shenric was meant to meet me today," he said quietly. "He had something to give me. But instead… he gave it to you."
"The Eye of Sophia," the man whispered.
The old man smiled. "Yes. Shenric never intended to win. It was a battle between First and Second Tier warriors."
"Explain."
"First Tier are ordinary humans using crude applications of energy. Second Tier possess exceptional potential. They are refined. The Faceless Soldiers are among them. Above them are Third Tier beings, capable of reshaping realms. And above even them lies the Fourth Tier."
"The Lords."
"So they claim."
The old man fell silent.
"There is more beyond that," he said at last. "But that truth is not meant for you yet."
"You mean the Watchers."
The old man froze.
"You should leave tomorrow," he said carefully. "It's too dangerous for you to remain."
"Dangerous? I don't even know what I am."
"You are not of this world."
That night, visions bled into the man's mind, of death and a shadow that wielded it?
Was that shadow the evening of his soul, or was it all he really was?
Why, in those visions, was he dragging himself into such misery?
Who had chosen to set him on this path of bile and blood?
And suddenly, he understood. He understood why the memories were real, but they were not his.
He understood why he had lived a lifetime without living at all.
And as that truth settled, emptiness turned into hatred.
"I have found my truth," he whispered. "I know what hangs over me, and what place I am heading towards."
At dawn, they found the edge of the Noctis Mountains, and horizons of a world beyond.
"This is where we part," the old man said. "Where will you go?"
"I will travel. I will grow stronger."
"And then?"
"You already know."
The old man nodded. "Shenric's final act was brilliance. He could have fled but instead in his final moments he decided to create a being such as you. I will not get in the way of what you are trying to do. But take care. You have lost your power, and there are monsters in this world beyond imagining."
"I will survive," the man said. "I can feel it."
"And one last thing," he added. "What name should I have?"
The old man smiled. "The one who was reborn. Ashar. Yes… Ashar of Noctis."
They shared a quiet smile.
"We will meet again, Ashar of Noctis."
"Why?"
"Because I, too, am not of this world."
For a brief moment, darkness crossed the old man's eyes. Then he was gone.
Ashar stepped forward into the world beyond the mountains, seeing forests, oceans, snowfields stretching endlessly.
Why had he been remade? Why given the Eye?
To save the world?
He looked back on his former life and saw only emptiness.
Save the world?
No.
He would burn it.
He looked at the world and he knew that he would have his revenge.
And so began the story of the monster that Shenric had awoken. This was the start of the legend of the Demon.