Ramiel pushed open the door of the modest two-story home, the faint smell of roasted chicken drifting out from the dining room. Laughter echoed through the hallway—familiar, grating laughter.
At the table sat his uncle, Henry Carter, broad-shouldered with thinning hair, wearing his usual self-satisfied smirk. Beside him was his wife, Linda, who was fussing over their children with pride swelling in her voice.
Their son, Kyle, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed like a young king. He was already a registered C-rank hunter and made sure everyone knew it. His sisters, Melanie and Sophia, were D-ranks, and the way their mother praised them you'd think they were S-rank legends.
"Eat more, Kyle," Linda urged, placing another helping of meat onto his plate. "You need the strength for your next raid. A real hunter has to keep his body in top shape."
Kyle smirked. "Yeah, unlike some people in this house." His eyes flicked briefly toward the doorway where Ramiel stood.
Melanie giggled. "Don't tease him, Kyle. It's not his fault he's… useless."
Sophia covered her mouth, laughing. "A freeloader who can't even awaken. What kind of man is that?"
The table burst into laughter again. Not one of them offered him a seat. Not even a glance of acknowledgment.
Ramiel said nothing. He simply walked past them, their laughter trailing behind him like flies buzzing in the dark, and went to his room.
Inside, he shut the door and pulled out the worn leather bag he had kept slung over his shoulder. Setting it on the bed, he carefully untied the straps.
The glow hit instantly.
Three mana crystals tumbled onto the blanket, their faint light casting sharp edges across the room.
Mana Crystals. Worth fortunes in every city across the world. Harvested only from beasts and creatures within the gates. Hunters risked their lives for even one fragment.
He had three.
And not just ordinary ones.
The first glowed pale blue—mana grade, the most common but still worth a small fortune.The second pulsed faintly gold—Frey grade, rare and valued among alchemists.The third was pitch-black with veins of red lightning streaking inside—Dark grade, the rarest of the three.
Together, they would fetch over ten million dollars.
Ramiel stared at them for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
They could mock him. They could laugh. It didn't matter. He wasn't the weak boy they remembered as a cousin. .He wasn't even the same soul. He was Ramiel now. The name destined to challenge Heaven and Hell alike.
He had trained this fragile body to the peak of its human limits, all without awakening. His real power—the lightning that once shook realms—remained sealed, but it was only a matter of time.
And now, with the money in hand, he could finally leave this house.
Ramiel packed the crystals back into the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped quietly down the hall. The laughter from the dining room still carried through the walls, but he didn't spare it a thought.
Tonight, he would find a house agent. Tonight, he would begin again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the depths of Hell, far beyond the burning valleys of Pride and the war-crimson plains of Wrath, lay a kingdom draped in emerald flame — Eidryn Spire. It was a place of mirrors and illusions, a domain where envy fed like a parasite on ambition. No soul entered without feeling their desires sharpen into hunger, and none left without leaving a piece of themselves behind.
There, upon a throne wrought from shattered glass and shifting reflections, sat Lythara, Envy of the Cadre of Ten.
She moved like a whisper, every tilt of her head soft, almost delicate — yet behind her pale green eyes burned a gnawing hunger, as if she were never satisfied with the world before her. The mirrors at her feet reflected not only her form but fragments of distant worlds, and it was within these rippling visions that she froze.
"...How curious."
Her voice carried both silk and venom. In one shard of glass, she saw the faintest flicker of lightning — not ordinary, not human. Something half-suppressed, buried in a fragile shell of flesh, but it pulsed with a rhythm she knew too well.
Ramiel.
Not as he was, but as something veiled. Cloaked in mortality. Hidden where he should not be.
For centuries she had known the quiet in his absence. And now, a ripple… a whisper in the fabric of power that only envy could sense, for envy was always watching what others possessed, and what they tried to hide.
She leaned forward, lips curving into the faintest smirk. "So… the Djinn stirs again. But the fools above haven't noticed. Not even Lucarion."
She thought briefly of alerting the rest of the cadre, but envy was selfish by nature. Why share what could be claimed first? Why reveal what might one day be her advantage?
The mirrors shivered as she rose, her dress flowing like liquid night. "No, I will see for myself"
Her hand grazed the air, tearing reality as though it were fabric. A crack opened, leaking a faint green glow. She stepped through without hesitation, leaving Eidryn Spire behind.
The world shifted. Cold night air, the faint buzz of city lamps, the smell of car smoke and human life greeted her senses. Her eyes narrowed in faint disgust at the mundanity, but she was here for one reason.
The trail led her to a modest two-storey suburban house, the kind that wore a smile of family warmth but hid pettiness and cruelty inside. The door, unremarkable, was closed — but she could already taste the faint residue of the one she sought.
"Ramiel…" she whispered, almost savoring the name.
And there, outside the house he had just left behind, Lythara stood waiting.