You arrive at the catacombs beneath the castle
An ancient place. Quiet. Sacred.
Down endless stone staircases, lit by blue flame sconces.
Through silver-etched archways inscribed in Infernal.
You don't ask where.
You don't ask why.
You just walk.
Eventually, the halls open into a wide, circular chamber, filled with faintly glowing pillars and a low humming sound that isn't quite music… but close.
In the center of the chamber:
A massive mirror — black as ink, ten feet tall, carved in obsidian and bone.
It's not a mirror of reflection.
It's a soul mirror.
The Demon King stops beside it and finally speaks—quietly, with no edge in his tone:
"This is the Mirror of Origin."
"It shows what the world sees when it looks at your soul."
He turns toward you, but doesn't approach.
"You've spent a month surviving, Ryuu."
"Today… I want to know if you still exist."
He gestures toward the mirror.
"Step forward. Look into it. And whatever you see… is yours. Not mine."
You step forward.
Not because you're curious. Not because you're brave.
But because he told you to.
One foot. Then the other.
You approach the Mirror of Origin like someone sleepwalking.
The closer you get, the colder the air becomes—yet your body barely registers it.
Your heart doesn't race.
Your breath doesn't catch.
You feel… numb.
And then, you're standing before it.
The surface ripples like oil touched by moonlight. You don't see your face. Not your reflection. Not your body.
What you see is something else entirely.
Your soul.
It takes shape slowly, as if hesitant to reveal itself.
At first:
A small figure, curled up in a tight fetal ball. Fragile. Pale. Shrouded in thick black fog.
Its shoulders tremble.
Its hands are over its ears.
Its eyes squeezed shut.
You.
But not the you who looks cute in a hoodie. Not the you who fainted or cried.
The real you. Inside. Cracked.
And then, behind that tiny figure…
A massive shape looms. Shifting. Formless.
A mana storm.
Violent, endless, impossibly vast.
It stretches into the void of the mirror—endless threads of arcane light and potential… coiled tightly around your small, broken form like chains and roots all at once.
The world sees you as two things:
A shattered child.
A god in hiding.
The mirror pulses once. Then stills.
Behind you, the Demon King speaks quietly.
"That is your soul, Ryuu. Not your weakness. Your truth."
Your voice cuts through the chamber like frost.
"And?"
No tremble. No stutter. No fear.
Just cold.
Flat.
Unimpressed.
The word hangs in the air—the first you've spoken in weeks—and it carries no hope, no curiosity, no spark.
Just the weight of someone who has stared long enough into the void… and found nothing worth flinching from.
The Demon King doesn't react with anger. Or pity.
He simply looks at you.
Long and quiet.
And then—
"And… that is your choice."
He turns to the mirror again.
"You've seen what you are."
"Now you decide what to do with it."
Another pause. The faint hum of the chamber vibrates in your bones.
"I won't push you."
"But the world will."
"Eventually, someone will come for that power. They'll call you monster. Weapon. God. Mistake."
He turns back to you—his eyes calm, but his voice steady as iron:
"So you'd better decide what you call yourself first."
---
He says nothing else.
Just walks a few steps away and waits. Hands folded. Back turned.
He's giving you space.
But not abandonment.
The question slips out like smoke—calm, quiet, too cold for a child your age.
"Demon King, can you erase memories?"
He doesn't answer right away.
You hear the subtle shift in his posture—the way his shoulders still, how his fingers tighten just slightly at his sides.
Then slowly, he turns to face you again.
His expression… changes.
Gone is the practiced calm, the distant amusement, the gentle patience.
Now, there's only caution. And a flicker of something like… dread.
He studies you in silence.
Then asks, carefully:
"Yours?"
The word hangs like a blade in the air.
"Yes."
The word echoes through the ancient chamber like a sealed fate.
Then silence.
So long and heavy it might as well be centuries.
And then, softer—
"It hurts so much I'd rather… forget…"
The Demon King doesn't move for a long time.
Not away.
Not closer.
Just… stands there. Watching you.
The boy who's lived a month like a ghost.
The soul made of shattered glass and storm-wrapped divinity.
The child who doesn't scream anymore—because the screaming never helped.
His voice, when it comes, is quieter than you've ever heard it:
"…Yes."
"I can."
He steps closer. Slowly.
Each step measured, as though he's afraid even walking too loud might hurt you.
"But I need to ask you something first, Ryuu."
He stops just in front of you, lowering himself to your height—not looming, not regal, just present.
"Do you want to forget everything?"
"Your parents' faces. Their voices. Your name. Your birthday. The taste of home. The feeling of being loved. All of it."
He meets your eyes fully now, not as a king—but as someone who's stood at this same crossroads.
"Or do you just want to forget the pain?"
"How can I forget only the pain, when just remembering them hurts?"
Your voice doesn't crack.
It doesn't rise.
It just hurts.
A quiet, desperate ache that spills from your mouth like something rotting behind your ribs.
The Demon King closes his eyes.
Not in thought.
In mourning.
Not for himself.
For you.
"Please…"
You look at him. Hollow-eyed. Fragile. Final.
"Before I change my mind."
He exhales once—deep and slow—then raises his hand.
No chants. No symbols. No grand ritual.
Just fingers glowing faintly with power as old as the world.
"Very well."
"I will not erase your name. Or your self. You will remain… you."
His fingers hover just above your forehead.
"But the weight of your past… the memories that break you..."
"I will take them."
A final look. A final chance to stop him.
You say nothing.
You don't want to stop him.
He touches your brow.
And the world shatters.
You feel it.
Like threads unraveling from your soul.
Warm hands pulling shards of glass from a bleeding heart.
Your knees buckle—but he catches you again, silently.
You see flashes—fading like dying embers:
Your mother's smile.
Your bedroom light.
Rain on the school window.
Hands. Warmth. Your name whispered in love.
Gone.
One by one.
Not destroyed.
Not violated.
Just… gently set down.
Somewhere beyond your reach.
When it ends, you slump forward in his arms. Eyes open. Dry.
You remember your name. Your voice. Your self.
But not why your chest used to hurt so much.
Not what you lost.
Not who you miss.
You are Ryuu.
And that's all.
The Demon King holds you.
And whispers only one thing into your ear:
"…You're free now."