Chapter 1: The Crimson Eyes of the Forgotten King
Darkness.
Not the soft kind that came after twilight, nor the passing shadow that glided when clouds obscured the sun. This was more profound, more ancient. No heartbeat. A crushing, timeless void, where even recollections festered and time itself appeared to dissolve.
In this void, Sirius wandered for what seemed like eternity, devoid of heartbeat, breath, or flesh, his soul bound and buried under the pain of betrayal.
Twenty thousand years.
That was the time Sirius, the Demon King, had been trapped inside. Neither alive nor dead — stuck in the quiet between being and nothing.
He recalled his kingdom, his throne, his legions that once trembled the heavens, and the wars that shook the stars, filled with awe, fear, and obedience.
And he recalled his downfall.
It was not at the hands of gods or men, but by his own blood. His elder brother, lusting for the throne, had betrayed him. With teeth sharpened by envy, with honeyed words that. had bitten him in the back when Sirius's back was turned. Chains forged in divine fire held him, the crown torn from his head.
But across the endless void, one memory had burned on, refusing to fade.
. Her.
Her.
No flesh. Abylay, the Goddess of the Moon. His single light. His deliverance. The sole creature who had placed a hand in his void and brought warmth. When eternity's chains ensnared him, when even wrath seemed to be consumed by hopelessness, her smile kept him grounded.
And then —
The emptiness broke.
Silent shatter, as if glass were breaking in a dream.
Light flooded in.
For the first time in twenty thousand years, Sirius felt pain. Flesh came back. Weight came back. Breath came back. His chest constricted with a strangling fire, and an otherworldly scream ripped from his throat.
It was not the war-cry of a king. It was the cry of an infant.
Sirius's red eyes flew open.
Golden light pierced his eyes, making him blink. The world was no emptiness — but a room, spacious and baroque, its towering ceilings adorned with constellations, curtains weighed down with velvet, and the floor gleaming with shined marble.
Two faces floated above him, indistinct with his poor eyesight.
A woman, her hair spun moonlight, her eyes gentle with maternal awe. A man, wide-shouldered, dressed in dark robes fringed with silver, his eyes resolute but burning with pride.
"Darling," the woman breathed, her voice shaking, "look... he's awake."
The man bent nearer, regarding him with eyes as crimson as Sirius's own. Crimson — a strange, fearsome color in a human. His lips curled slightly.
"He has my eyes," the man whispered.
"And my hair," the woman laughed, stroking Sirius's face. Her fingers were warm and soft. "He's perfect."
Sirius blinked. Gradually, his sight came back. He saw them. His new parents. Their faces radiated happiness, as if they had been blessed by heaven itself.
Sirius felt nothing.
His mouth opened, and a thin, helpless wail escaped. They cooed, they comforted, they adored him more. To them, he was their son, their miracle child, their heir.
But to him?
They were strangers.
He was the Forgotten King, reborn in fleshly chains. This weak form repulsed him. These arms could never hold a sword, these lungs could never bellow commands, these legs could never lead an army. The shame of weakness seared deeper than the flame of rebirth.
Nevertheless — he survived.
The Demon King had mastered patience in twenty thousand years of emptiness. He would master it again now.
Whispers ran through the Grand Duke's manor.
"Born with crimson eyes…"
"Born with crimson eyes..." "Crimson, the same as His Grace?" "Same.
No. And his hair, like moonlight. The Archmage's son, sure enough.""
"A freak of talent, certainly. With blood like that, what will he become?"
"Or… maybe such a child is too deadly. What if he overshadows even princes?"
Nobles, servants, knights, and mages murmured behind gem-studded fans and balled fists. The Grand Duke's infant son and the Runaway Princess – what else did they have to hope for but something remarkable?
The Grand Duke.
The sole man to achieve the ultimate level of swordsmanship, a Grand Swordmaster whose blade had vanquished catastrophes and whose name silenced whole armies. Younger brother of the Emperor himself. Possessor of the loftiest noble rank below royalty – the empire's one and only Grand Duke.
The Duchess.
The only daughter of the most powerful Emperor of the human world. The sole 9th-class Archmage , a wizard so mighty that even the gods would think twice before confronting her. The Emperor had loved her beyond reason, never bestowing upon her a title so that she could stay with him forever. But she had left him, fled, and sealed her destiny with the Grand Duke.
Now, from their union, was born a child who carried both bloodlines.
The nobles did not see a baby in Sirius. They saw a symbol. A prophecy embodied. A future so brilliant it burned them.
As Sirius rested quietly in the cradle, the whispers poured into his ears like the hum of insects, yet he remained indifferent, finding their jealousy, wonder, and fear irrelevant.
What were counts, marquises, and dukes to a king who once ruled legions that shook the heavens?
Nothing but dust.
His red eyes, though covered by the delicacy of infancy, shimmered with an ageless coldness. They did not see it. They did not know that the soul looking back at them belonged not to a child's, but to a monarch's.
He cared about only one thing: strength.
Only her.
He had lost all once. His brother had taken his throne, broken his armies, and chained him in divine flame. Sirius would never forgive. Never forget.
The Demon King's throne was his. By right, by conquest, by blood. His brother's treachery was branded into his mind, and revenge was cut into his fate.
And even that anger was not the fire that burned him alive.
No.
Only her.
Abylay. Goddess of the Moon. His Abylay.
The only soul who beheld the monster he was and still smiled. The only one who pierced beyond the crown, beyond the authority, and reached the man within. He had loved her with a passion that consumed logic. Even in the vacuum, when time itself sought to annihilate him, it was her luminescence which sustained him.
Now, resurrected in a world that had forgotten him, she was everything that counted.
Not these nobles.
Not this empire.
Not even the parents who held him.
Only her.
Silence encompassed the Grand Duke's mansion that night. Guards made their rounds, torches creaked, but inside the nursery, only the gentle breaths of an infant disturbed the air.
Sirius rested quietly in the cradle, small fists clenched, scarlet eyes staring wide. His parents thought him asleep, but kings did not sleep so lightly.
A crescent of silver light sliced through the curtains.
The moon.
High up, pale and unchanging, it hovered in the sky like an all-seeing eye.
Sirius gazed at it unblinking. His frozen heart thumped weakly. The memories crowded in – her laughter, her tears, her whispering of his name.
"Abylay..."
The name beat in his mind, unsaid by lips too small to shape it, but etched in his soul like flame.
And when he was strong once more, he would take back his throne, slay his brother, and return to her.