Twelve years had passed.
Twelve long years since Daemon opened his eyes to a world that already wanted him dead. He had survived poison, blades, betrayal, and the suffocating smile of a mother who wanted him gone. Now, on the morning of his birthday, his body buzzed—not from fear, but power.
He had broken into the Third Star.
His past self, even as the renowned "Black Fang," had only reached this level in his late teens. At twelve, Daemon had already surpassed the ghost of who he used to be.
But there was no celebration. Just silence.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes shut, pulse calm, dark energy flowing beneath his skin like black ink stirred in warm water. The air shimmered faintly around him as his aura core settled from its latest expansion. It hurt—but he smiled through it.
Then—
BAM!
The door flew open.
"Brother," Gabriel's voice rang out, loud and proud. "Still wasting your time meditating? While I've managed to reach Second Star?"
He didn't knock. He never did. He just entered like he owned everything.
Daemon opened one crimson eye and gave a lazy smirk.
"Congrats, brother. That must've been... difficult for you."
Gabriel strutted in, trailed by his ever-present maid who pretended not to listen to the conversation while absorbing every word. He was dressed in fresh ceremonial robes, his golden hair glowing in the morning light like a halo. A sword hung at his hip—a gift from the church, already etched with runes.
"Difficult?" Gabriel scoffed. "Please. Father said I'm the youngest Second Star the kingdom has seen in fifty years. The priests are already whispering I might be the chosen one."
"Is that so?" Daemon said, standing slowly. His frame was taller than Gabriel's now, leaner, sharper. But he still hunched a bit—an old habit from pretending to be less than he was.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You're not even at First Star, right? You never were good at this. Maybe the baptism will bless you with something... average."
He grinned. Daemon just looked at him.
"Father's calling us," Gabriel added, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "He wants to see us before the ceremony. Probably wants to see what kind of disappointment you grew up to be."
Daemon tilted his head. "Twelve years without a single meeting, and he finally remembers he has two sons."
"Only one that matters." Gabriel turned, waving lazily over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Demon. We don't want to keep the king waiting."
Daemon's smirk faded as soon as the door closed.
His gaze drifted to the reflection in the window—not of a child, but a memory: a scarred man in tattered armor, cape soaked in blood, eyes sunken with betrayal. A hero once. A monster now.
He clenched his fists. His aura pulsed beneath the surface, hungry and quiet.
After they walk through the palace corridor field with old paintings and status.
BAM!
The throne room doors groaned open like the maw of some ancient beast.
Daemon stepped through beside Gabriel, who practically glowed with pride. Flanked by guards and noble onlookers, the room fell into a hush as the two princes entered.
And at the end of the obsidian-carved hall sat King Aleric Dominick III.
His presence was suffocating.
Not because he raised his voice—he rarely did.
Not because of his expression—it never changed.
It was his aura.
Heavy. Relentless.
It pressed down like the weight of a mountain, like gravity itself bent to his will.
A 11-Star: Solar Core Realm.The almost final threshold of mortal strength. A man who once cleaved an army in half with a single swing, whose mere steps were said to shatter earth in wartime.
Beside him sat Queen Bianca Donovan, all ivory skin and serpent smiles. She looked radiant in her mourning-colored gown, arms wrapped lovingly around Gabriel as he approached the dais.
"My sweet son," Bianca purred loud enough for the court to hear, brushing invisible dust off Gabriel's shoulder. "The church will see your true light today."
Gabriel beamed.
Daemon stayed silent. Every step forward was deliberate—measured. He felt the king's stare before he even looked up.
When he finally did meet it, King Aleric's eyes narrowed.
Daemon didn't flinch.
No bow. No trembling. Just a calm stare, like he was studying an old sword, long rusted and kept for memory.
Aleric's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"After today's baptism, should either of you awaken, you may request what you will—gold, knights, territory, tutelage. A rightful heir must be rewarded."
The nobles stirred.
"But only one will carry the crown," the king finished.
Gabriel's chest puffed up. He didn't even try to hide his glee.
Daemon's expression didn't shift. But inside, memories burned behind his eyes:
That past ceremony.
The holy church.
The basin of divine water rejecting him. The priests recoiling. Nobles sneering.
Gabriel bathed in light.
And Daemon dragged out in chains, accused of being a curse born of shadows.
The boy they had all called "brother" laughed the loudest that day.
Never again.
Not this time.
Daemon's aura pulsed quietly beneath his skin, coiled and waiting. He was no longer helpless kid in the past but now a Third Star. A demon wearing a prince's face and today, the holy water would meet something far older than light.