The night did not answer him with words, but it listened.
As the final whisper faded from his lips, the leaves of the Immortal Tree trembled softly, releasing faint motes of pale light that drifted downward like falling stars. They did not burn. They did not blind. They simply existed—ancient, calm, and impossibly old. One of them brushed against his cheek, cool and gentle, before dissolving into nothing.
He exhaled slowly.
For the first time since becoming aware of his own existence, the tightness in his chest loosened—just a little.
The Immortal Tree stood behind him, its massive trunk stretching upward until it vanished into the darkness above. Its roots spread far beneath the earth, crossing realms and boundaries unseen. Legends said it existed before the division of worlds, before immortals ascended and demons fell. Whether those legends were true or not, he did not know.
What he did know was this: the tree had accepted his vow.
And that scared him more than it comforted him.
He rose to his feet, brushing dirt and fallen leaves from his clothes. His body still felt weak—too weak. Every movement reminded him of how fragile he was right now. If any real danger found him tonight, words and promises wouldn't save him.
Power would.
As if responding to that thought, a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes.
He staggered, catching himself against the tree's trunk. Images flooded his mind—broken fragments, flashes of memory that didn't fully belong to him.
A throne carved from black obsidian.
Crimson flames curling around a figure whose eyes burned like dying stars.
A woman standing opposite him, calm and radiant, her presence alone pushing back the darkness.
Their hands reaching for each other.
Then—
A scream.
The vision shattered.
He dropped to one knee, breathing hard, cold sweat soaking through his clothes. His heart pounded like it was trying to escape his chest.
"So that's how it starts…" he muttered.
Not with answers.
But with echoes.
He stayed there for a while, grounding himself, pressing his palm into the earth. Slowly, the pain receded, leaving behind a dull ache and a dangerous clarity.
Those weren't random visions.
They were inheritance.
Somewhere far beyond this forest, forces older and stronger than him were moving. He didn't know who had noticed him yet—but someone always did. Fate had a habit of dragging attention where it wasn't wanted.
And attention, in his case, was lethal.
A sudden snap of a branch cut through the silence.
His head lifted instantly.
Someone was nearby.
He didn't turn around right away. Instead, he listened—really listened. The forest wasn't quiet anymore. The wind shifted unnaturally, circling inward. Even the insects had gone still.
Whoever it was, they weren't ordinary.
"Come out," a calm voice said from the darkness. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be breathing."
He slowly turned.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by shadow. He wore simple robes, the kind travelers favored, but nothing about him felt simple. His presence was… heavy. Not oppressive, but deep, like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing how far down it went.
The man's eyes flicked briefly toward the Immortal Tree, then back to him.
"So the rumors were true," the man said quietly. "It has awakened again."
He said nothing.
Silence was safer.
The man chuckled. "Smart. Most children would be asking questions by now."
"I'm not a child," he replied.
The man raised an eyebrow. "No?"
Their gazes locked.
For a brief moment, something passed between them—recognition, maybe. Or caution.
"Names matter," the man said after a pause. "Mine is irrelevant. Yours is dangerous."
That sent a chill down his spine.
"You know who I am," he said.
"I know what you are," the man corrected. "Or rather… what you will become."
The air thickened.
Instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs didn't move. The Immortal Tree behind him pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, grounding him in place.
"Relax," the man said, raising one hand. "I'm not here to claim you. Others will try. Some already are."
"Then why are you here?" he asked.
The man's expression shifted—just slightly.
"To see whether the worlds are doomed… or merely inconvenienced."
That answer didn't help.
The man stepped closer, stopping a few paces away. Up close, he looked ordinary—mid-aged, sharp eyes, faint lines of exhaustion around them. But the way reality subtly bent around him made it clear: this was someone who had survived things far worse than this forest.
"You made a vow," the man said. "The tree acknowledged it."
"I didn't ask it to," he replied.
"No one ever does."
The man studied him for a long moment, then nodded to himself. "Good. You're still unpolished. Untainted."
"By what?"
"By power you didn't earn."
That stung.
"I don't want borrowed strength," he said.
The man smiled faintly. "Spoken like someone who has no idea how expensive that choice will be."
He gestured toward the ground. "Sit. This conversation ends whether you like it or not. Might as well survive it comfortably."
Against his better judgment, he sat.
The man did the same, crossing his legs easily. For a moment, they simply faced each other beneath the towering Immortal Tree.
"Your existence breaks balance," the man said plainly. "Demonic blood bound to immortal essence. Two worlds that were never meant to merge… fused."
"I didn't choose that," he said.
"No," the man agreed. "But you'll pay for it anyway."
The honesty in that statement felt heavier than any threat.
"There are factions in the upper realms who will want to erase you before you mature," the man continued. "Others will want to control you. The lower realms won't be any kinder."
"And you?" he asked.
The man leaned back slightly. "I'm curious."
That was somehow worse.
"Right now," the man said, "you're weak enough to be ignored… or crushed. Which means you have time. Very little, but enough."
"Time for what?"
"To grow," the man replied. "You said it yourself."
The words echoed his vow, and for a second, he wondered if the tree had shared more than approval.
"You'll need a foundation," the man went on. "A place where you can exist without being hunted every second."
"There is no such place," he said.
"There is," the man countered. "But it's not safe. It's just… less deadly."
He stood, brushing dirt from his robes. "When dawn breaks, leave this forest. Follow the river until it splits into three paths. Take the one that flows uphill."
"Rivers don't flow uphill," he said.
The man smiled. "Exactly."
Before he could ask anything else, the man stepped back—and vanished. Not with a flash or dramatic burst of power. One moment he was there, the next he wasn't.
The forest exhaled.
Sound returned. Wind rustled the leaves. Insects resumed their chorus.
He sat there long after the man was gone, staring at the spot where he'd stood.
"So this is it," he murmured. "The beginning."
Not training montages or sudden miracles.
Just survival.
As dawn slowly crept across the sky, painting the forest in muted gold, he stood once more. He bowed—not to the man, but to the Immortal Tree.
"I don't know what I'll become," he said quietly. "But I won't waste this chance."
The tree did not speak.
But one of its leaves fell, landing at his feet.
He picked it up.
It was warm.
Tucking it carefully into his clothes, he turned toward the edge of the forest.
Toward the river.
Toward a path that shouldn't exist.
And toward a future that would not forgive weakness.