In a dimly lit room.
Cries of a baby were the only sound that could be heard.
The room was simple, open space with straw mat flooring. Sliding doors made of paper screens separated it from the outside. Inside, low wooden tables were placed on the floor, surrounded by cushions for seating. The room was well-lit with soft, natural light filtering through the thin screens.
Pants of a woman echoed throughout the empty room—after all, the woman had just given birth.
Murmurs of midwives filled the room as they shuffled around, tending to the woman and the baby.
The cries of the baby slowly ceased as the infant opened his small eyes.
A soft blue glow filled the room. His eyes — deep, crystalline blue — shimmered like liquid mana, with faint runic patterns pulsing in their depths. Each slow blink sent gentle ripples through the air, as if reality itself responded to his gaze.
His hair, a cascade of pure azure, glowed faintly under the dim light. Each strand seemed woven from mana itself, flowing and shifting like calm waves on a tranquil sea. The color deepened and brightened with every heartbeat, alive with the rhythm of the world's energy.
The air around him trembled, saturated with mana. Wisps of blue light drifted upward from his tiny form, spiraling lazily before fading into the air. His skin held a faint luminescence, smooth and pale as moonlight over still water.
But outside that quiet room…
a phenomenon was beginning to unfold.
A pulse of pure mana erupted into the world—silent, blinding, and infinite. It spread faster than wind, faster than light, threading through every grain of soil and drop of water.
Across the continents, mana storms shimmered into being. Rivers of blue light flowed through the skies like veins, connecting mountains to oceans, cities to deserts. The heavens themselves rippled as though reality had drawn a breath for the first time in ages.
In the depths of forests, ancient beasts stirred, their eyes flashing with newfound intelligence. Creatures that had slumbered for millennia awoke as their dormant instincts roared back to life.
In human cities, mana lamps flickered wildly before stabilizing into steady brilliance. Warriors in training halls collapsed to their knees as invisible power rushed through their cores. Children screamed in shock and awe as veins of light danced beneath their skin.
Those who had never once felt mana found themselves overwhelmed by it.
Hidden bloodlines—forgotten, diluted, or sealed—were suddenly reawakened.
The old and dying felt their hearts surge with energy, and those born talentless now stood trembling as the first stirrings of power ignited within them.
Even the demons were not untouched.
Within their shadowed realms, dark mana convulsed violently, struggling against the sudden purity flooding the world. For a moment, chaos reigned—their corrupted essence rebelling, twisting, fracturing.
Then, slowly, their power began to condense, adapting, refining into something sharper, deadlier, and more focused.
All across existence, the same phenomenon repeated.
Mana grew heavier, thicker—yet impossibly clear. The barriers between realms shimmered with light.
From the farthest mountains to the cold void between stars, the world resonated with a single, unified rhythm.
The age-old balance between humans and demons was no longer the same.
The world itself had ascended.
While the world trembled under the flood of pure mana, the great powers moved in silence.
No one announced it. No one needed to.
Through unseen channels — spies, informants, and forbidden communication arrays — the news crept across borders and through shadows.
Every clan, heretic cult, and hidden powerhouse received the same whispered report.
The source of the phenomenon… the one that shook the balance of mana itself…
> came from the Celestial Clan.
From candle-lit chambers deep beneath noble manors to the blood-soaked halls of demonic cults, the same name passed between trembling lips.
Even those who should not have known — knew.
The Celestial had birthed something beyond reason.
No one dared to speak it openly.
But across the world, from the highest thrones to the lowest dens of darkness, a silent understanding took root into every mind, as if the world itself had whispered it first.
> The Child of Mana has been born.
And a storm is coming.
---
Back in the room.
The midwives handed the newborn to the woman lying on the bed.
The air shifted the moment she touched him.
A quiet stillness spread, pressing down on the room like invisible frost.
Long silver hair fell loosely around her shoulders, glinting faintly in the dim light.
Her eyes — deep purple, clear and unfeeling — locked onto the child in her arms.
There was no warmth in them, no flicker of emotion. Only a detached, glacial calm that made even the midwives avert their gaze.
She stared for a long while, her expression unreadable.
But the longer she looked, the colder her eyes became — as if with every heartbeat, whatever faint connection existed between them was freezing over.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, monotone, and utterly devoid of feeling.
> "What a disappointment."
The words cut through the air like a blade of ice.
No one moved. No one dared to.
Knock, knock.
A soft rapping broke the stillness of the room.
"Speak."
The silver-haired woman's tone was calm — but colder than before, cutting through the quiet like frost through air.
"Madam, the clan head wishes to know about the young master…"
From behind the paper door, the man's shadow trembled slightly under the candlelight. His voice was respectful, yet laced with unease.
"Not worth it," she said flatly. "Tell them."
The man hesitated. Even through the thin door, he could feel the chill in her words.
He bowed his head, though she couldn't see it.
"...As you command, Madam Seraphine."
Silence fell once more.
She didn't look away from the child in her arms.
Her gaze remained steady — not hateful, not cruel, just… distant.
There was no softness in her eyes, only the faint glimmer of restrained disappointment.
No one in the clan would question her words.
They wouldn't dare.
But those who knew the celestial history… would feel the chill behind them.
A chill that spoke of promises, bloodlines, and an expectation that ran deeper than mere strength.
Now what am I going to do with you, she thought, staring at the baby who had already fallen asleep.
Her eyes held a glint of sinister light.