CHAPTER 3: SHADOW'S FIRST WORDS
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Location: Valcraven Estate, Shadowfall
Time: Month 4
Lucian discovered two things in his fourth month of existence: first, that teething was a form of torture no devil had ever conceived, and second, that the human brain developed at a maddeningly slow pace.
Cognitive development: 40% of adult capacity, he estimated during another sleepless night. Motor skills: barely sufficient to grasp objects. Magical capacity: 0.3% accessible, growing at 0.01% per week.
The numbers were frustrating. At this rate, it would take years to regain even basic combat capabilities. But frustration, he'd learned across millennia, was just unmet potential waiting for a plan.
His current plan involved the silver rattle currently in his grip—a "gift" from House Ignitia, embedded with fire-resistance charms that made his shadow affinity itch.
"Look at him concentrating!" Seraph laughed from her chair. She'd taken to bringing Lucian to her solar during the afternoons, where she managed household affairs while he "played."
Aiden looked up from military reports. "He's examining the enchantment pattern. See how his eyes follow the runes?"
Lucian was, in fact, doing exactly that. The Ignitias' magic was dragon-based—elemental, passionate, raw. Different from shadow magic's subtlety, but principles of energy channeling remained consistent. He traced the flow with his shadow sense, memorizing patterns.
Fire resistance → heat dispersion → energy conversion. Useful knowledge for when he'd eventually face Seraphel Ignitia, the fire princess who according to court gossip was already "sparking tantrums" at four months old.
"Speaking of examinations," Aiden said, lowering his voice. "The Crown's mandated assessment is next week. All noble children with early magic signs."
Seraph's knitting needles stilled. "Lucian isn't even half a year—"
"Mandatory. Prince Aaron showed time perception anomalies last month. The Ignitia girl created a heat wave. The Thunderborne boy's hair stands up during storms." Aiden's shadow stretched anxiously. "They're cataloguing the next generation's power."
Lucian stored the information. Aaron showing abilities already. Reckless, but useful—establishes a baseline of "gifted" children. He'd have to be careful during his own assessment. Show enough to be notable, not enough to be threatening.
"Will Mammon be there?" Seraph asked.
"He's arranging a 'trade delegation' from the northern mines to coincide. But he can't intervene directly."
Good, Lucian thought. I need to handle this myself.
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Location: Valcraven Estate, Training Yard
Time: Day Before Assessment
Lucian's first intentional spellcasting happened by accident.
Aiden was sparring with Kapten Voren, their shadows dancing across the sun-baked earth. Lucian watched from a shaded carriage, analyzing techniques. Human swordplay was... elegant. Inefficient, but elegant.
When Aiden executed a particularly complex maneuver—"Shadowstep," they called it, vanishing from one spot to reappear behind his opponent—Lucian felt it. Not just the movement, but the principle: using darkness as a temporary pathway.
His infant brain made a connection his god-mind had missed: shadow magic in this world wasn't about domination, but transition. Between spaces. Between states. Between light and dark.
He reached for the concept, and his magic responded.
The Mammon's Mark glowed. Shadows in the carriage deepened. And for just a second—less than a heartbeat—Lucian wasn't in the carriage.
He was everywhere shadows touched.
He saw the training yard from five angles simultaneously. Saw the kitchens where cooks prepared dinner. Saw the library where ancient texts slept. Saw the estate's perimeter where guards patrolled.
Then snapped back, gasping with an infant's lungs, milk coming up in a surprised spit-up.
"Aiden!" Seraph cried from where she'd been watching the spar.
The Duke was at the carriage in three strides. "What happened?"
Lucian, still processing the sensory overload, did the only reasonable thing: he pointed at a specific shadow beneath a nearby tree.
Aiden followed his gaze. His eyes widened.
The shadow had taken Lucian's shape—a perfect, miniature silhouette of a baby, complete with details down to the folds of his blanket.
"By the First Night," Aiden whispered. "Shadow projection. At four months."
Seraph touched the shadow-form. It felt cool, solid, real. "Is he... is he still connected to it?"
Lucian concentrated. The shadow was an extension of his senses. He could see through its "eyes," though the vision was monochrome. He willed it to move a tiny hand.
The shadow-hand waved.
Seraph laughed, half-hysterical. "He's waving!"
Aiden's expression shifted from awe to concern. "This changes the assessment. They'll see this as high-tier affinity. The Church—"
"Will see what we show them," Seraph said firmly. "A minor manifestation. Nothing more."
Lucian released the shadow. It melted back into the garden's tapestry, but the connection remained—a thread of awareness he could follow if needed.
New ability: Shadow Projection. Range: 10 meters. Duration: Unknown. Cost: Moderate. He'd need to experiment, but carefully.
That night, as stars pierced Shadowfall's perpetual twilight, Lucian practiced. Tiny projections—a shadow-hand here, a sensing-eye there. Each attempt taught him more about this world's magic:
1. It responded to emotion (frustration made shadows spike, calm made them flow)
2. It required visualization (clear intent yielded cleaner results)
3. It drained physical energy (after fifteen minutes, he was exhausted)
But most importantly: it could grow.
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Location: Solaris Capital, Royal Examination Hall
Time: Assessment Day
The carriage ride to the capital took three hours. Lucian spent them observing.
The landscape shifted from Shadowfall's twilight valleys to sun-drenched plains where golden wheat waved under Lumina's ever-present sun. The difference was more than visual—the very air changed. Shadow energy grew thin, stretched. Light magic thickened, pressing against his senses like a warm blanket he wanted to throw off.
"Remember," Aiden murmured to Seraph as their carriage joined the queue at the capital gates. "He's just a baby who likes shadows. Nothing unusual."
But the guards at the gate wore Ellyon's sun-sigils, and their armor glowed with purification enchantments. One guard peered into the carriage, his holy symbol brightening at Lucian's presence.
"Darkness runs strong in this one," the guard noted.
"He's a Valcraven," Aiden said, voice cool. "It's in the blood."
The guard nodded, but his eyes lingered on Lucian a moment too long.
The examination hall was worse. A circular chamber of white marble, lit by floating orbs of sunlight. At the center stood Archpriest Valerius and three Church examiners. Around the perimeter, other noble families with their gifted children.
Lucian catalogued threats:
House Ignitia: Duke Ignitia held a red-haired baby girl—Seraphel—who was currently trying to set his beard on fire with tiny spark-fingers. Fire affinity: confirmed. Temper: volatile.
House Thunderborne: Count Thunderborne had a blue-haired boy—Kael—who made the air crackle when he cried. Lightning affinity: strong. Control: none.
Royal Family: Queen-Consort Isabella stood with Prince Aaron, who looked bored. But Lucian felt it—the subtle time-distortion around him, like he existed half a second ahead of everyone else.
Then there was Princess Celestia, held by a nurse separate from the other children. Even at four months, she glowed. Literally. A soft golden light haloed her, and when she looked at Lucian, his shadow-sense recoiled.
Light affinity: extreme. Purity level: concerning.
"Welcome, noble families," Valerius announced. "Today we celebrate Lumina's future—the gifted children who will lead our kingdom into a new era of light and prosperity."
Propaganda, Lucian thought. Assessment under the guise of celebration.
The examinations began. Each child was placed on a central dais where detection arrays flared to life, measuring magical affinity, potency, and—Lucian noted—"darkness contamination levels."
Seraphel went first. The arrays flared crimson. "Fire affinity: Tier 3. Dragon-blood resonance: 87%. Darkness levels: negligible." The Ignitias beamed.
Kael Thunderborne sparked so violently the arrays crackled. "Lightning affinity: Tier 4. Storm-caller potential. Darkness levels: low."
Then Aaron.
The moment he touched the dais, time stuttered. The floating light-orbs froze mid-float. The examiners' quills halted. For three seconds, everything stopped.
Then resumed.
Valerius looked shaken. "Time perception: confirmed. Tier unknown. Darkness levels..." He checked the readings, frowned. "Fluctuating. Inconclusive."
Hiding your nature, Lucian thought approvingly. Good.
Then it was his turn.
Aiden placed him on the cold marble. The detection arrays hummed to life, and Lucian felt them probing—light-tendrils seeking his secrets.
He showed them exactly what he wanted them to see:
Shadow affinity: Tier 2 (respectable but not extraordinary)
Darkness levels: Moderate (expected for a Valcraven)
Anomalies: None detected (a lie, but well-crafted)
But as the examination concluded, Princess Celestia began to cry. Not a normal infant cry—a melodic, chiming sound that made the light-orbs brighten.
And her light reached for him.
Unbidden, automatic, her magic extended—a beam of pure sunlight that struck Lucian's chest.
Pain. Burning, cleansing, holy pain.
His shadows reacted instinctively, rising to defend. Darkness coiled around him, meeting light in a crackling conflict.
The examiners gasped. "Light-dark resonance! Spontaneous interaction!"
Valerius's eyes gleamed. "Fascinating. The princess's light reacts to his darkness. A natural opposition."
But Lucian, through the pain, felt something else. Not just opposition. Recognition. Celestia's light wasn't attacking—it was testing. Probing. And finding something familiar.
He met her gaze across the room. Her golden eyes held no infant confusion. They were ancient, knowing.
And scared.
She knows, Lucian realized. Not everything. But something. She feels what I am.
Then the moment broke. Nurses separated them. The light faded. Lucian's shadows retreated, but the memory of that connection remained.
"Note the reaction," Valerius told his scribes. "Princess Celestia shows early demon-detection sensitivity. And the Valcraven heir... shows strong defensive instincts."
On the carriage ride home, Aiden was silent for a long time. Then: "She felt it. The princess felt what you are."
Seraph held Lucian closer. "What is he, Aiden?"
"A miracle," Aiden whispered. "And a target."
That night, Lucian dreamed not of the Abyss, but of golden light. And a voice that wasn't a voice:
What are you?
He answered in the dream, in a language older than gods:
What are you afraid I am?
The light had no answer. Only sadness.
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Location: Between Dreams
Time: That Same Night
Astaroth's dream-form appeared, more solid this time. "The examination. You felt it too?"
Lucian nodded. "The princess. Her light... recognizes."
"More than recognizes." Astaroth's form flickered with frustration. "I've been monitoring the royal archives through time-skips. There are prophecies. About a 'Sun-Born Savior' and a 'Shadow-Born Destroyer' born the same night."
"Ellyon's propaganda," Lucian dismissed.
"Maybe. But the princess's magic is purer than it should be. It's not just light affinity. It's..." Astaroth struggled for words. "It's like she has a piece of something divine in her."
Lucian remembered the burning, the recognition. "We need more information. Can you access the Church's records?"
"Working on it. But Lucian—the traitors. I felt one of them today. In the capital."
Lucian stilled. "Which one?"
"Couldn't tell. Their presence was masked. But someone with Archduke-level power was watching the examinations."
A cold certainty settled in Lucian's dream-form. They weren't as safe as they'd hoped. The traitors were in this world, or could reach it.
"Accelerate the timeline," Lucian ordered. "We need to regain power faster. Starting tomorrow, I begin proper training."
"You're four months old—"
"And you're a time-mage. Figure it out."
The dream dissolved, but the urgency remained.
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Location: Valcraven Estate, Lucian's Nursery
Time: Dawn, Next Day
Lucian awoke with a new determination. The assessment had changed things. He was no longer just a reincarnated god hiding in a baby's body.
He was a player on a board that included:
1. The Church of Ellyon (suspicious, monitoring)
2. The royal family (with a light-princess who might be more than she seemed)
3. Seven Archduke traitors (possibly active in this world)
4. Various noble houses (allies and rivals)
5. His own family (protective but limited)
And he had assets:
1. 0.3% accessible power (growing)
2. Shadow projection ability
3. Mammon's covert protection
4. Astaroth/Aaron as an inside agent
5. Lilith preparing somewhere
Plus one unexpected variable: Princess Celestia, whose light had touched his darkness and found... something.
He stretched tiny limbs, feeling the Mammon's Mark pulse with stored energy. Outside his window, Shadowfall's eternal twilight began to brighten toward dawn.
Step one: Physical development. Need to walk, talk, sooner.
Step two: Magical training. Expand shadow projection. Test limits.
Step three: Intelligence gathering. Through Astaroth, through shadows, through whatever means available.
A soft knock. Seraph entered, her face drawn with worry from yesterday's events.
"Good morning, my little shadow," she whispered, lifting him.
Lucian did something he hadn't attempted yet. He focused on his vocal cords, on the language centers of his underdeveloped brain, and pushed.
The sound that emerged was garbled, infantile—but held recognizable syllables:
"Ma... ma..."
Seraph froze. Tears welled in her eyes. "Did you... Aiden! He spoke!"
But Lucian was already planning. Speech meant communication. Communication meant faster learning. Faster learning meant faster power accumulation.
As Aiden rushed in, laughing with delight, Lucian met his father's eyes and pushed again:
"Pa... pa..."
The celebration that followed was genuine, warm, human. And for a moment, Lucian—Azazel, Devil God of the Abyss—let himself enjoy it.
This is my cover, he told himself. This is my disguise.
But as Seraph kissed his forehead and Aiden's shadow wrapped around them both protectively, another thought whispered:
Or perhaps this is something worth protecting too.
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END OF CHAPTER 3