Long ago, before humanity understood the world, there were fourteen Guardians, seven angels and seven demons, who maintained the balance between heaven and earth. Yet humans, blinded by fear and
misunderstanding,called the demons serpents and cursed beings, weaving legends from shadows they barely saw.In those times,a demon left a vessel to Eve, a symbol of the punishment humanity would bear for their flaws, yet the truth was hidden; the angels, consumed by envy and fear of the demons' power, accused them of betrayal.One of the seven demons fell in a battle among themselves, a casualty that shook the heavens, and in anger, God expelled the remaining demons from heaven, casting them into the mortal world, their forms hidden within human souls, powerless to act openly. Adam and Eve, innocent yet marked, were bound by the consequences of a mistake they did not fully understand, cursed to bear the suffering of all mankind; the fruit they ate, the choice they made, was not mere disobedience but part of a far greater conflict between angels and demons that humans would never see. From that day, myths and religions twisted the truth, blaming humanity and labeling demons as absolute evil, angels as infallible, while the real story—the clash of passion, jealousy, and hidden justice—was erased from memory. The demons swore that one day justice would be done, a promise delayed across centuries, yet their presence lingered, woven into the souls of mortals, unseen but undeniable. And so the world was born under lies, fear, and misunderstanding, and the echoes of the fourteen Guardians' war would one day awaken, shaping destinies that no man, angel, or demon could escape, leaving only myths, fears, and unanswered questions for humanity to pass down through generations.
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic mixed with the faint scent of cherry blossoms drifting through the open window. Ark's father, a master of time magic, held his wife's hand tightly, sweat glistening on his forehead, relief and joy shining in his eyes as he whispered, "He's finally here… our son." For a brief moment, the room was filled with laughter and tears of happiness, the exhaustion of the past days forgotten as the parents looked at the newborn with love and pride. Ark's mother smiled weakly, her hands trembling as she held him close, feeling the warmth of life she had brought into the world. But that joy lasted only until the elders of the hunter family arrived to perform the sacred ceremony, the ritual that would officially mark him as part of their bloodline. The room stiffened as the head of the elders stepped forward, his gaze sharp, trained to sense magic and lineage, and immediately he froze. His eyes widened at the faint crimson glow around Ark's tiny horns, the red pulse emanating from his eyes, even in infancy. Whispers spread among the elders, fear and anger mixing in their voices. "This… this is one of the exiled demons," one muttered, voice trembling. "We cannot allow it," another hissed, stepping forward. The father's joy vanished instantly, replaced by tension and disbelief. "No, you don't understand," he said, trying to explain, but the elders were deaf to reason. They saw only the threat, the curse, the legacy of the demon that could destroy everything they had sworn to protect. One of the elders raised his hand, chanting words of binding and death, intending to end the boy's life before he could even cry properly. Ark's tiny body quivered, a surge of demonic energy reacting instinctively, a red aura flaring out, scorching the edges of the ritual circle. The room shook violently, the parents' cries lost among the hum of awakening power. The grandfather, the wind mage, intervened, his face grim and determined, using all his strength to restrain the elders, shouting, "He is human, and yet more! Do not make this mistake! He will not die today!" The elders hesitated, shocked by the raw energy erupting from the infant, the very power of the exiled demon threatening to consume the room. And in that moment, Ark's fate was sealed—not by love or joy, but by fear, power, and the hatred of those who should have protected him, marking him as cursed before he could even open his eyes fully to the world.Ark stirred in his sleep, a shiver running down his small body as the echoes of a terrifying dream clung to him, visions of crimson eyes, horns, and angry elders flashing behind his closed eyelids. He mumbled in his sleep, curling into himself under the twisted roots of the old tree, sunlight spilling in through the leaves, painting the ground with gold and green, completely ignoring the soft rustle of the wind carrying the distant scent of cherry blossoms and something faintly burning from the village. A loud, booming voice shattered the calm. "Ark! Get up this instant, lazybones! If you don't move, the wind itself will leave you behind!" Ark groaned, burying his face deeper into the grass, stretching his tiny arms like a kitten that had absolutely no intention of leaving the comfort of its nap. "Five more minutes…" he murmured, half-asleep, his red eyes flickering weakly. The wind swirled angrily around him, tugging at his hair and ruffling the leaves, making the faint red horns on his head tingle. "Five more minutes?" a deep, amused voice called again. "You slept through three lessons already! You think demons grow strong in bed? Hah! Watch closely, or you'll wake up an old man one day and still be weaker than a squirrel!" Ark blinked and squinted at the figure stepping through the branches — his grandfather, Hayato, the wind mage, with silver hair that danced in the breeze and a grin that promised trouble. "Grandpa…" Ark groaned, rolling onto his back. "I just want a nap…" "Naps are for mortals, Ark. You are not mortal," Hayato said, sweeping his hand and sending a playful gust of wind that lifted Ark a few inches into the air, spinning him gently before setting him back down onto the grass with a soft thud. "You are cursed, lazy, and stubborn, but cursed nonetheless! Now move, or the wind will start lecturing you about responsibility!" Ark rubbed his eyes and muttered, "This is unfair…" Hayato chuckled, summoning a small crimson orb that hovered above Ark's head, flickering like a heartbeat. "Your demon isn't going to wait for your mood, boy. Control it, or it will control you!" Ark reached out and poked the orb, yelping as it flared, scorching the tips of his fingers. "Ouch! Grandpa, I said—" "No whining! If you want to survive, you'll have to wake up and face the world. The wind and I are tired of carrying you through it!" Ark groaned dramatically, his small body stretching lazily as the red energy in his veins stirred, reacting to Hayato's magic and laughter, and he realized, with a mix of dread and amusement, that life with a wind-mage grandfather and a demon inside him was going to be anything but ordinary.Ark sat quietly under the tree after the playful wind attack, red energy in his veins pulsing faintly as he watched leaves dance around him. The villagers whispered behind closed doors, their eyes full of fear when they glanced at him, and he knew no one would ever approach him unless they had a weapon in hand. His mother, weak from illness, visited rarely, her smile faint and trembling, always apologizing that she could not stay longer. His father was a ghost, a name spoken in rumors—some said he abandoned the family, others that he disappeared out of fear or shame, but no one truly knew, and Ark's heart ached at the thought. He remembered the elders' voices in his dreams, condemning him even before he could walk, even before he could understand who he was. Loneliness pressed on him like a stone, heavier than the wind that tossed him around, heavier than the crimson energy that burned in his blood. He had no friends, no one to call an ally, and even the laughter of children felt like a distant memory he could not reach. And yet, there was Hayato, whose teasing, boisterous voice and the pull of magic reminded him that he could survive, that he could learn to stand in a world that feared him. But even with that, the emptiness lingered, a shadow in his chest that whispered he was alone, cursed, and different—and perhaps that was the only truth he could rely on in this world.