A young boy sat atop a rooftop, gazing down at the sprawling city below. Beside him, another boy with blonde hair settled into place next to his black-haired companion.
"Hey Damien, what are you doing up here?" the blonde boy asked, concern threading through his voice as he studied his friend's distant expression.
Damien replied with a heavy sigh, "Just thinking, Billy." His shoulders sagged under invisible weight. "I got a lot on my mind. It's hard living this life, you know? Sometimes you just need to take a breather and clear your head."
Damien turned to look at Billy, his dark eyes flashing with sudden intensity. "But again, you don't know what it's like. You've been rich your whole life—born into comfort and privilege. You have no idea what it means to be poor, to be nothing, to wonder if you'll even matter in this world."
Standing abruptly, Damien's fists clenched at his sides. The words poured out, raw and unfiltered. "You have no clue what it's like to struggle every single day. How could you?"
Billy looked around, stunned by the venom in his friend's words. His mouth opened, then closed again. He wanted to respond, to offer comfort, but the truth was undeniable—he didn't know what that life was like. He had never gone hungry, never worried about where he'd sleep. So he simply nodded, accepting the harsh reality, and turned to walk away.
After a few steps, he paused and called back over his shoulder, "Listen, man, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm right here for you. Always." His voice carried genuine warmth despite the sting of rejection.
Damien sighed as he sat back down, letting his legs dangle over the roof's edge. The city lights below blurred slightly as moisture gathered in his eyes. "Yeah, sure," he muttered bitterly to the empty air. "You're just going to leave me like all the rest, aren't you, Billy? Like everyone else does. At some point, you're no different from them."
Suddenly, a noise broke through his spiraling thoughts. Damien's head snapped toward the door that led to the stairwell. The hinges creaked, and the door swung open fully. A man in flowing white robes stepped onto the rooftop, his presence almost ethereal in the dim light. He was one of those students who claimed to see people's futures—probably just another charlatan looking to take Damien's money. Not that Damien had any to give.
Damien muttered under his breath, exhaustion coloring his tone, "Here we go again." He raised his voice. "What do you want?"
The white-robed man stepped forward, his movements deliberate and graceful. "I have come to see your future, Damien Blackthorn," he spoke, his voice carrying an almost angelic quality that made Damien's skin prickle.
Damien interrupted, waving a dismissive hand, "Yeah, yeah. If I pay you five coins, you'll reveal my destiny. I get it—I know the whole routine. Problem is, I don't have five coins, so shove off." Skepticism dripped from every word.
The man recoiled slightly, genuine hurt flickering across his features. "I am not like the others you've encountered, Damien. You don't have to pay me a thing." He reached into his robes and withdrew a black crystal that seemed to absorb the light around it. The stone pulsed with an otherworldly energy. "Place your hand on this crystal, and your future will be revealed to you."
He held the crystal out, turning it slowly in his palm so it caught what little light remained.
Damien sighed, expecting this to be another elaborate scam. Still, something nagged at him. If it was fake, why offer it for free? Maybe the man wanted Damien to owe him a favor, to create some debt that would bind him. Maybe it was a longer con. Damien wasn't about to fall for that, but he decided to humor the stranger anyway. What did he have to lose?
"All right, fine," Damien said, standing and crossing the short distance to the older man.
The white-robed figure smiled, a knowing expression that sent a chill down Damien's spine. Damien reached out and grasped the black crystal, his fingers closing around its smooth, cold surface. He placed his palm firmly against it, fully expecting nothing to happen—ready to toss the worthless trinket back at the charlatan.
Then, suddenly, his vision darkened.
When Damien's eyes opened again, he witnessed something horrific. The figure before him looked like an older version of himself, but twisted beyond recognition. His face had gone deathly pale, his eyes completely black and void of humanity. Darkened scales covered his body like armor. Massive black wings, wreathed in shadow, expanded across the skies, blotting out the sun. His hand stretched outward, and from it poured a consuming darkness that devoured entire worlds, swallowing light and life with insatiable hunger.
Damien blinked hard, and the vision vanished.
Back on the rooftop, Damien stood frozen, his hand still gripping the crystal. Shock coursed through his body like ice water in his veins. He had expected the crystal to be fake, and if it somehow worked, he'd imagined seeing his own corpse—maybe lying in some alley, stabbed to death by thugs over a few coins. But he hadn't seen that. Instead, he'd witnessed a shadowy, winged version of himself consuming entire worlds.
The white-robed man recoiled, his face drained of color. "I've never... I've never seen anything like that before," his hands trembled as he stared at Damien with wide, frightened eyes. His once-angelic voice now quivered with fear. "I'll be right back."
Without waiting for a response, the man turned and fled through the door, his white robes billowing behind him.
Damien stood alone on the rooftop, staring out at the city sprawling beneath him. The vision replayed in his mind, each detail searing itself into his memory. "How?" he whispered to the night. "How could I become something like that?"
---
Back inside the academy, in the structured confines of Class 10, a blonde boy sat at his desk, staring down at stacks of papers piled before him. The familiar routine of academic life felt hollow after what had just transpired on the roof.
Professor White stood at the front of the classroom, his stern gaze sweeping over the students.
"Professor White," a student called out, frustration evident in their voice, "do we really have to do all of this? You can't possibly expect us to complete all this work in one day."
Professor White replied firmly, his expression unyielding as he looked at each student in turn, "Yes. You have to complete it. This is what's required of you."
---
Back at the rooftop, Damien stood alone. The man had dropped his crystal when he fled. Damien picked it up again, turning it over in his hands. Just a black orb—nothing special. Disappointment settled in his chest. He'd honestly wanted something out of this, but it appeared to be just a useless black rock with no meaning, no purpose. Nothing.
"Might as well toss this," Damien muttered as he pulled his arm back and swung downward, trying to hurl it off the building.
The rock didn't fall. It floated.
"What—" Damien stepped back, expecting something dramatic to happen, but the rock simply hung in the air. Physics had been completely overwritten. First the vision, which he still couldn't believe, and now a floating rock in the sky.
The orb didn't fall. It drifted toward him.
Damien backed away. He decided to run, but his body wouldn't move. He begged, pleaded for his brain to let his legs respond, but nothing happened. He stood there, frozen. Even instinct failed to make him flee. Nothing worked.
Desperation clawed at him. He tried flailing his hands, but his arms refused to obey. His entire body was locked in place. The orb continued its approach. His eyes tried to widen in terror, but even they were frozen.
The orb smashed into his chest.
Pain exploded through him—not physical, but something deeper, something that tore at the very fabric of his being. Darkness flooded his vision as the crystal began to sink into his flesh, merging with him. He felt it spreading through his veins like liquid shadow, cold and burning simultaneously.
His mouth opened in a silent scream as the rooftop around him began to warp and twist. The city lights below flickered and died one by one, as if responding to whatever was happening to him. The last thing Damien saw before consciousness fled was his own hand—now covered in dark, shimmering scales that reflected the moonlight with an unnatural sheen.
Then everything went black.
But in that darkness, something stirred. Something ancient. Something that had been waiting for him all along.
And deep within Damien's unconscious mind, a voice whispered words in a language he shouldn't understand—but somehow did.
*"Welcome home, Destroyer of Worlds."*