Eight days had passed since the death of Reia the Beast.
Outside the castle, perched on the stone ledge of a tall window, the black bird watched silently.
Its bright red eyes reflected the scene inside like polished rubies.
The sun was warm today, pouring golden light across the room.
A soft breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the scent of the nearby gardens.
Inside, the Great Sages rested.
Iris, Eiden, Seraphaine, Morvath, and Dravien sat around a low table, playing a card game with quiet laughter and occasional groans of defeat.
Vaelus and Selyndra slept on the couch beside them — Vaelus sprawled across her lap, head resting on her stomach, while Selyndra held him like a child, arms wrapped around him protectively.
Her breathing was slow and peaceful, golden hair spilling over the cushions.
The bird blinked once.
Then it launched itself into the sky with a sharp beat of its wings.
As it ascended, it glanced down at the distant battlefield — the place where Reia and her daughters had fought.
The ground was still scarred, the earth torn open, the air faintly stained with the remnants of magic.
The bird circled once, observing every detail with unnatural precision.
Then it flew on.
For days it traveled, crossing mountains, forests, and dead plains.
The sky gradually darkened the farther it went — until eventually, the sun no longer reached this region.
Nor did the moon.
The land here was colorless.
The grass was dead and yellowed, crunching like brittle bones beneath the wind.
The trees stood like skeletal fingers, stripped of leaves, stripped of life.
The air was cold, heavy, and silent.
At the center of this wasteland stood a massive black castle — towering, jagged, ancient.
No banners.
No guards.
Just a fortress of obsidian stone rising from the dead earth.
The bird flew through an open window and into the castle's dark halls.
Its wings echoed faintly against the stone as it navigated the twisting corridors until it reached a vast throne room.
There, seated upon a throne carved from black stone, was a figure.
Ou'weii.
The Demon King.
His skin was a pale, shadowed gray, darker than storm clouds.
He was enormous — larger than an ogre, broader than any mortal warrior.
Black armor covered him from neck to toe, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly like dying embers.
His hair was short and black, his face young yet carved with an expression of cold calculation.
And his eyes — glowing red, deeper and more ancient than the bird's — flicked across the papers in his hand.
He was thinking.
The bird landed before the throne and bowed its head.
"My lord," it spoke, voice sharp and metallic.
Ou'weii didn't look up.
"Go ahead."
"I've come to report that the Great Sages, along with King Tcil, have killed Reia and her daughters. All of them."
Ou'weii finally lifted his gaze.
"Hmmm… Reia was powerful. How did she allow herself to die?"
"Well, my lord," the bird said carefully, "Reia stated during her battle that she had no real hate towards him, or real reason to kill him. And… this is not the same Eiden you faced three hundred years ago. His aura… it's larger than Civilar's. Far larger. It's as if he reawakened during his absence. And he now possesses Creation Magic — originally held by Seraphel, who transferred it to him."
"I see…" Ou'weii murmured. "Seraphel's magic is potent, but he could never use its full destructive potential."
"What do you mean, my lord?" the bird asked.
Ou'weii leaned back slightly.
"Let's say I fought Seraphel, and he wished to evaporate me — and an entire landmass with me. He could not. His mana reserves were too small. His magic is powerful, but he lacked the capacity to wield its highest spells."
"I understand—"
The bird was interrupted.
"Lord Ou'weii! Lord Ou'weii!"
A human woman rushed into the throne room, breathless, clutching a brown letter in trembling hands.
Ou'weii lowered the papers in his lap.
"What is it?"
She stopped several meters away, bowing deeply.
"It is a letter from Lord Yajin!"
Ou'weii extended a hand.
She approached, placed the letter in his palm, and quickly retreated.
"You may go," he said.
She fled the room.
Ou'weii unfolded the letter and read aloud.
The handwriting was sharp, rigid, arrogant.
"'Lord Ou'weii, Demon King,
I know it is unusual for me to send you a letter.
Despite your crimes deserving judgment, I will not target you now.
I assume you are aware of Reia and her daughters' deaths — tragic, but deserved.
I write to inform you that I will be seeking Eiden myself.
Tell Civilar I do not want either of you interfering.
You both may be powerful, but I hold a weapon you both fear.
Watch yourselves.
—Yajin, God of Judgment.'"
Ou'weii lowered the letter.
The bird tilted its head.
"What weapon, my lord?"
Ou'weii's voice dropped to a low rumble.
"The Sword of Judgment. Civilar and I fear it because a single touch from its blade evaporates the soul. And the wielder becomes permanently immune to all spells — as long as the blade remains in hand."
"Ah… I see." The bird paused. "But if that's the case, how did Eiden become the first in history to land a hit on Yajin many years ago?"
Ou'weii's eyes narrowed.
"Eiden is clever. A master of concealing his mana. A master of deception. If Yajin goes all out, Eiden goes all out. Yajin lost because he was never strong enough to defeat Eiden at full power."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Half that battle was Eiden toying with him — illusions, clones, misdirection. Eiden knew never to approach Yajin directly. He knew what that blade could do. So he struck from behind, using illusions to distract him. A frontal approach would have been suicide."
Ou'weii's fingers tightened around the letter.
"And now… Eiden has returned, but even stronger…"
The throne room fell silent.
The bird processed the Demon King's words, its feathers ruffling slightly.
"I see… he's very smart."
Ou'weii's gaze sharpened, the red in his eyes glowing faintly.
"Extremely."
Silence settled over the throne room — a deep, suffocating silence that pressed against the walls like a living thing.
No wind.
No movement.
Only the faint hum of ancient magic buried beneath the castle stone.
The bird remained still, waiting.
Ou'weii leaned back in his throne, fingers tapping once against the armrest — a slow, deliberate sound that echoed through the vast chamber.
"Eiden has returned," he repeated quietly.
The words hung in the air like a prophecy.
The torches flickered.
The shadows deepened.
And the Demon King's expression — calm, unreadable, ancient — shifted into something colder.
Something patient.
Something dangerous.
The bird lowered its head.
The silence grew heavier.
"Sir, I have another question," the bird said.
"Go ahead," Ou'weii replied.
"Eiden is an elf, Selyndra is also an elf, and Morvath is a demon… but what are the others? They can't be human, because they've all lived for over a thousand years. And not a single human in this world has found an immortality potion or spell."
Ou'weii nodded slowly.
"Dravien is a magical cat. It's still unknown how he even appeared, but he is one."
The bird blinked. "And the rest?"
"And you're right — not a single human. But Eiden did. He was one of the few non‑humans to find the key to immortality. So he created potions and found the immortality spell. He used both on every Great Sage when they asked, other than Selyndra."
The bird tilted its head. "So their races…?"
Ou'weii continued:
"Iris is a Crimson‑Blooded — not a vampire, but something older. Her blood magic comes from her lineage."
"Vaelus is a Chronian. Time flows differently through their bodies. They don't age normally, but they also don't live long unless someone stabilizes them. Eiden did."
"Seraphaine is a Luminari — a race touched by pure light. They burn out quickly unless they learn control. Eiden gave her that control."
The bird's feathers puffed in surprise.
"So the Seven Great Sages are…"
Ou'weii finished the thought for him.
"A collection of the rarest races in existence — all bound together by Eiden's immortality."
The bird nodded. "I see… But how did he obtain such a spell? Or even the potion ingredients?"
"He's lived for over five thousand years. Elves get bored once they pass their first century, so a bored elf like him would do something like obtaining knowledge and discovering secrets to many things. And that's exactly what he did. He is the first person in history to master more than a million spells. And many of those spells were obtained by one of the Three Gods. Eiden… is like a grimoire with every spell within it. Literally. He probably has a spell to turn this whole planet to hell."
The bird's feathers stiffened.
"A million…? And spells from the gods themselves…?"
His voice trembled — not from fear, but from the realization of what kind of being they were truly speaking about.
Ou'weii gave a slow nod.
"Eiden isn't just powerful. He's ancient. He's curious. And worst of all… he's efficient. If he wants something, he learns it. If he learns it, he masters it. And if he masters it…"
He exhaled, eyes narrowing.
"The world changes."
The bird swallowed.
"Then why hasn't he taken over the world already?"
Ou'weii chuckled softly.
"Because he doesn't care to. Eiden isn't driven by greed or conquest. He's driven by… purpose. And until that purpose is threatened, he won't move."
The bird looked down, talons curling against the stone.
"And if someone does threaten it?"
Ou'weii's expression darkened, a shadow passing over his face.
"Then the world will remember why the Great Sages followed him. Why kingdoms feared him. Why even the Celestials refused to provoke him."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper.
"And why the gods themselves once watched him with caution."
A cold breeze swept through the throne room.
The bird shivered.
"So… what happens now?"
Ou'weii looked toward the distant horizon, where faint white light shimmered like a heartbeat.
"Now?" he said quietly.
"Now we wait. Because Eiden has awakened… and the world is already shifting."
The bird followed his gaze, feeling the weight of something vast and ancient stirring far beyond their sight.
Whatever came next…
it would not be small.