The stench of burnt flesh still lingered in the air.
Loyaid Floyen stood motionless amidst the ruins of what once was his peaceful home. His legs trembled. Not from fear, not anymore—but from the sheer weight of it all. The screams had faded. The blood had dried. But the silence… the silence screamed louder than any demon ever could.
He had not cried. Not even when he found what was left of Sukasa—her ashes, not even bones. All that remained was her pendant, the one she always wore tucked behind her robe. He now held it tightly in his fist, its scorched metal digging into his palm, but he didn't let go.
"If I ever have another life… I will live it quietly," he had once told himself.
But peace had been taken from him—again.
Three days had passed since the attack. No one came. No one sent a search party. No one from the main Floyen family cared enough to check.
It was on the fourth day, when a distant scout from the capital's border patrol finally stumbled upon the remains of the villa and alerted the nobility.
Two days later, a sky chariot arrived. Gilded, bearing the crest of House Floyen—a serpent of flame coiled around a royal crown. Inside stood the man Loyaid hadn't seen in almost a decade.
Dion Floyen.
His father hadn't aged much. Still sharp-eyed, still regal in his crimson cloak embroidered with ancient glyphs. His magic pulsed like a silent storm. He stepped down from the chariot, not with urgency, but with controlled coldness—like a general inspecting a failed outpost.
Behind him walked Reliana, his daughter. She looked almost the same—ice in her gaze, elegance in her step. Her light blue robes shimmered like water in moonlight, and a sapphire staff rested in her gloved hand. The air around her felt colder when she looked at her brother.
And then came Airen, the heir of Floyen. Proud, confident, his black and gold attire adorned with sigils of both Light and Dark magic. He walked past the ash-covered steps without flinching. Not a word. Not a question. Just cold indifference.
Dion surveyed the ruins in silence. Then he looked down at the boy standing alone, dust and dried blood on his torn clothes, hair messy, face pale.
"You survived." His tone was unreadable.
Loyaid said nothing.
"Explain what happened."
Loyaid looked up. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Demons. The Twelfth Commander... attacked. Everyone is gone."
Reliana scoffed. "How convenient that the trash is the only one who survived."
Loyaid didn't react. He just stared blankly at her. He had no energy left for pride. No strength for anger.
Dion turned his back. "Clean this up," he told the knights behind him. "We're leaving."
▪️Return to the Capital
The skies were dark when they returned to Imperium, the capital of the Human Empire. Towering spires of silver stone pierced the clouds. Magical runes floated in the air, guiding sky chariots and patrolling arcane guardians. The great Grand Mage Tower stood at the center like a divine pillar, its beacon of light touching the heavens.
But Loyaid didn't look at the city.
He sat silently inside the chariot, clutching Sukasa's pendant. His eyes remained fixed on nothing. His body swayed with the motion of the flight, but his mind was elsewhere.
Why did they send the Twelfth Commander?
That level of power should not have been used for a rural attack. Unless... it wasn't just about conquest. Unless the Demon King still remembered him.
"If you are ever reborn…"
Those words echoed in his soul.
He had sealed his mana for peace. But peace was no longer an option. Not anymore.
At the Floyen mansion, nothing had changed.
The grand halls, laced with golden chandeliers and elemental runes. The enormous portrait of Dion, flanked by his two prodigy children. No picture of Loyaid. No mention. To the family, he had long been erased.
When they entered the main hall, maids lined up and bowed. Not to him.
Dion addressed the gathered staff coldly. "Loyaid will stay here until further notice. Prepare a guest room."
Guest.
Not son.
That night, Loyaid sat alone in his chamber. Smaller than the others. Cold stone walls. No warmth. No fire.
He sat by the window, watching the stars.
He had not wanted this.
He had wanted a garden. A small cottage. A few books. People to laugh with.
Instead, he was once again at the heart of power and politics. Surrounded by eyes that saw him as weak. He had no mana. No sword. No title. And yet… he had survived what no other noble could.
His fingers trembled as he unsealed Sukasa's pendant. A memory crystal was hidden inside. He pressed it gently.
A soft light emerged, showing a flickering image—Sukasa holding baby Loyaid in her arms, laughing, singing a lullaby.
Tears formed in his eyes. Slowly. Silently.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."
▪️The Stirring
That night, Loyaid dreamt.
But it wasn't a dream.
He stood in a blackened void. Endless. Empty.
A voice spoke.
"You were the light of humanity once."
"You sealed yourself to live in peace."
"But your soul remembers what your body cannot."
A light appeared—then another. Then dozens. Hundreds. All the spells he had cast in his past life. All the lives he had touched. All the deaths.
Then the last vision: the Demon King, cloaked in shadows, smiling.
"So you're back, Max Van. Let's play again."
Loyaid gasped and awoke, drenched in sweat.
His room glowed faintly. Not from lanterns—but from the pendant.
He looked down.
His hands were glowing.
To be continued...