The air above Silpatra's northern borders was thick with anticipation, like water waiting to pour over a cliff. From the high towers of the Demon King's citadel, a figure cloaked in shadows watched the lands below. His eyes were sharp, unnatural, reflecting a deep hunger for knowledge and destruction alike. Rumors of a child moving through the villages had reached him: a boy who was quiet, strange, and lethal. Kael. The name whispered in every frightened corner, though few could pronounce it without a quiver.
The Demon King's fingers tapped against the cold stone railing, slow and deliberate, as if the rhythm itself could measure the coming chaos. The creatures that scurried across Silpatra's lands below were the smallest signs of his attention, mere pawns compared to the one he sought.
"Interesting," he murmured in a voice that seemed to coil and twist through the air like smoke, "so the Relic Prince moves unseen. A boy, and yet..." His gaze sharpened. "A storm waiting to speak."
Far below, Kael was still in Biwa. The village had recovered from the last skirmish, but the scars remained—charred timbers, broken carts, the scent of iron lingering in the air like a stubborn shadow. He wandered through the streets, blade sheathed, hands occasionally brushing against the stone walls, as if testing their strength. Villagers paused to watch him, half in awe, half in fear, unsure whether the boy was guardian or harbinger.
Jade followed, exasperated as always. "You're lucky I don't smack you for wandering alone," she snapped. "Do you even realize how many eyes are on you? You're basically a target painted in broad daylight."
Kael's stomach growled, low and melodious, an almost musical note in the quiet aftermath. He patted it absently. "Better than starving," he muttered. His gaze, however, kept moving. Every shadow, every flutter of movement across rooftops, was cataloged and measured. The Demon King's presence was not visible to him, but the threads of tension in the world were, like currents in a river that only Kael could read.
Meanwhile, in the high chambers, the Demon King considered the boy's movements, connecting threads that no one else could see. "So he fights alone," he whispered. "No formal training, yet strikes with precision. Such instinct..." His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps the rumors do not exaggerate. Perhaps this child is more than he appears."
Back in Biwa, Kael practiced small movements. He spun his blade lightly, testing the balance, imagining strikes, observing how shadows bent and twisted as his weapon moved. Each flick of the wrist, each pivot of the body, trained his perception, sharpened his reflexes. He was unaware that every action he took—every step, every turn—was being monitored, evaluated, considered by a mind centuries older and colder than any human's.
"Kael," Jade called, tension threading her voice. "We need to prepare. There's more coming. I can feel it."
Kael merely nodded, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The humor that clung to him, stubborn and unshakable, was part of the charm, part of the danger. He didn't need to speak long sentences; his presence alone communicated threat, readiness, and a subtle, unnerving unpredictability.
High above, the Demon King leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. His mind churned, considering options, calculating risk, and mapping out possibilities. Cassian, the Sagittarius Knight, had already begun carving a legend across the northern territories, a name that would be feared, whispered, and eventually revered. But Kael was different. Kael was… unpredictable. Dangerous. A wild current in an otherwise controlled flood of conflict.
He thought of Cassian for a moment, the Blood Driver at his side, aura flowing like a river of red steel. The Sagittarius Knight was disciplined, unstoppable in open combat, and lethal in the same breath. Yet even Cassian, for all his grandeur, lacked the strange, chaotic potential that the Relic Prince carried.
Below, Kael's training became almost meditative. He imagined battlefields, the arcs of steel, the hum of weapons slicing through the air, the momentum of weight and mass. His mind absorbed every lesson unconsciously, even as his stomach continued its relentless complaints. Jade barked orders to the villagers, but Kael's hands did the work; the humor of it, the absurdity, was in the timing—he moved with the precision of instinct and the casualness of a child rearranging toys, only the toys were flesh and iron.
A small creature crept near the walls, daring, foolish. Kael's eyes flicked to it. The strike was instantaneous, a gentle tap of steel, and the creature was nothing but a shadow on the ground. He didn't celebrate. He didn't hesitate. And somewhere, high in the citadel, the Demon King smiled a little, the expression foreign and eerie on his cold face.
"Yes," the voice murmured into the dark. "He is alive. He grows. And I will see him fall—or become something I cannot yet comprehend."
Kael's presence in Biwa that day was both a lesson and a warning. The villagers saw only a boy protecting them. The creatures saw a predator unbound. And the unseen watched, waiting, calculating, noting the boy's potential as both a weapon and a wild card.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky bruised with shades of purple and blood-orange, Kael finally sheathed his blade. Jade exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief. "You survive, somehow, every day," she muttered. "Every. Single. Day."
Kael's grin was subtle but unbroken. "I have to," he said simply. His eyes, however, reflected the distance beyond the village, the things he could not yet see but instinctively understood. The Demon King had noticed, and the world would not be the same for long.