The cold night air seeped through the monastery's stone walls, yet Zerathis felt a lingering heat beneath his skin. His breath came heavy, his chest rising and falling as the remnants of his dream still clung to him like wisps of smoke.
A name echoed in his mind - Azradris.
Flashes of a towering palace bathed in crimson light burned behind his eyelids. A vast throne hall stretched before him, its pillars engraved with ancient runes that pulsed with a faint glow. Shadows knelt at his feet? no, people, their heads bowed in unwavering devotion.
"We greet the Heavenly Demon!"
Their voices resounded in eerie unison. Zerathis felt his lips part, yet the words that left them were not his own.
"Rise."
A single command, yet the ground itself seemed to tremble beneath his voice.
But then, as if the dream itself had shattered, the vision dissolved into darkness.
Zerathis jolted upright, his hands clutching the rough sheets of his bed. His body was slick with sweat, heart pounding against his ribs. For a moment, he simply sat there, gasping in the quiet stillness of the room.
"What… what was that?" he muttered to himself.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. The dream—it had felt so real. The power, the presence, the sheer weight of authority in his voice… It wasn't just a figment of imagination.
And that name…
"Azradris."
It was foreign, yet it felt familiar.
But why?
A Trail of Forgotten Histories
The first rays of dawn barely touched the sky when Zerathis found himself wandering into the monastery's library once again. The scent of aged parchment and wax candles wrapped around him, offering a strange comfort as he traced his fingers over the worn spines of countless tomes. His studies had always been centered on the Holy Scriptures, yet today, he sought something different, something buried.
Brother Elias, the elderly librarian, raised a bushy eyebrow as Zerathis approached.
"You're up early, lad." He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Didn't expect anyone here at this hour."
"I couldn't sleep." Zerathis hesitated before adding, "I wanted to read something outside the usual teachings."
The old man huffed, shifting in his chair. "Not planning to dabble in forbidden knowledge, are we?"
Zerathis forced a small smile. "Just… history."
Elias studied him for a long moment before nodding. "If it's history you want, the older records are in the far-left wing. But be warned—some things are best left undiscovered."
The warning barely registered in Zerathis' mind as he made his way toward the dust-covered shelves. His gaze flitted over the faded titles before one book caught his eye.
"Bloodstained Chronicles: The Rise and Fall of the Demonic Cults."
He pulled it free, his fingers brushing over the leather binding as he carried it to a desk. The candlelight flickered as he carefully flipped through the brittle pages, his pulse quickening as he read.
"…The Demonic Sect, led by the enigmatic Heavenly Demon, rose to prominence not through blind slaughter, as many believed, but through unshakable philosophy and sheer power. A figure beyond mortal comprehension, the Heavenly Demon commanded absolute loyalty from his followers and reshaped the very foundation of the martial world…"
Zerathis' breath caught in his throat.
"Yet, as with all things, power breeds resentment. Betrayal festered within the sect, and the fall of the Heavenly Demon remains one of history's greatest mysteries. Some say he was slain. Others claim he vanished into obscurity, his name erased from fate itself. His hands trembled slightly as he reread the passage.
"Vanished into obscurity… erased from fate itself…"
He swallowed hard. Why did this feel so eerily familiar?
The pages whispered secrets he had no memory of, yet they stirred something deep within him. Something ancient. "Could I… no, that's impossible." He shut the book with a quiet thud, running a hand through his hair. But the unease in his chest refused to fade.
An Unseen Observer
In the dim corridors of the monastery, a shadow moved. A figure clad in dark robes stood just beyond the flickering candlelight, his piercing gaze locked onto the young boy hunched over the ancient tome.
"So… it's him."
The elder's expression was unreadable, but his fingers curled into a fist.
"I never expected to feel this aura again… not in this lifetime."
His keen eyes took in the boy's every movement, the way his fingers trembled, the way his gaze lingered on certain words as if remembering.
But that was impossible.
"Azradris… no, Zerathis now, is it? Do you even realize what you are?"
The past was clawing its way back to the present, and if this child truly was the one he suspected…then soon the world would tremble once more..
To be continued