To me, the world has always been a badly tuned instrument. Everywhere I looked, I saw the cracks: the uneven stones of the street, the frantic fumbling of servants, the sour, flat notes in a courtier's flattery. I didn't choose this role; I was simply the only one capable of fixing the mess.
"Shoulders back, Adel. You are more than a boy. You are the blade that will cleave the dark."
My father's voice was a sledgehammer. I can still feel the Ritual Hall - the way the frozen marble bit into my bare feet. I remember the scholars crowded around me, their brass instruments clicking as they measured every inch of my skin. That was the day they branded me with the Seal of Superiority. It thrummed with a golden light beneath my ribs, cauterizing everything "extra" - the fear, the doubt, the petty flickers of human weakness. All that remained was a sheer, icy will.
"See these maps, Adel?" My father would point to the bruised, dark stains of the Demon Lands. "There is no law there. Only chaos wearing a mask of beauty. Your job is to bring them our perfection."
I looked at my hands and saw a masterpiece. I didn't need years of training; I felt steel as if it were my own bone and marrow. When I drew a rapier, my opponents looked like wooden puppets twitching on strings. It wasn't arrogance - it was logic. When you are born at the peak, there is no point in pretending you are at the bottom.
The day we set sail was a fever of noise and dust. The crowds at the harbor were a roaring beast, their cheers grating on my nerves. I walked the pier toward the frigate Triumph, my "astral silver" armor catching the sun until it blinded. Exactly five hundred paces from the carriage to the deck.
I didn't look at the faces. Why waste a glance on shadows that vanish the moment you turn your back?
"Five hundred steps," I remarked to my mentor. "And not a single soul worth noticing. This world is a rough sketch. I am the one who will finish it."
As I boarded, the crew scrambled out of my way, recoiling from the raw power bleeding off the Seal. I made my way toward the stern, eyes scanning for any flaw in the ship's order, when I saw it - a smudge on my path.
A boy was sitting on a pile of filthy sacks. He looked utterly unremarkable, dressed in a shirt of rough hemp. His face was so plain it was almost forgettable. He was just... there, peeling an apple with a rusted knife, not even bothering to look up as I neared.
I swept past him. The hem of my gold-stitched cloak brushed his knee, but I didn't slow down. To me, he was a splinter on the deck, a stray water barrel - a background detail beneath my notice.
But for a split second, our eyes met. His were blue - the startling, empty blue of a clear sky. There was no awe in them. No fear. Only a terrifying silence.
"Weigh anchor!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the harbor air. "Course for the Demon Lands!"
The ship groaned into motion. I stood at the bow, the salt wind whipping my hair. I was Adel von Granz. I was the world's light, and I was sailing toward my throne. I knew, with absolute certainty, that the darkness would break before me - simply because I commanded it to.