The woods are quiet. Too quiet.

You pause when you hear a voice ahead — low, gravelly, far too deep for what steps out of the shadows.

A boy. Barely ten. Pale skin, hair falling into his eyes, a sweater and shorts like he wandered out of another century.

He stares at you. His gaze is sharp, icy blue, but wrong — too old, too heavy.

“You,” he says, voice dragging like stone. “Open this world to me.”

When you don’t move, his lips twist into something caught between a scowl and a pout. He kicks at the dirt, muttering in words that sound older than the trees around you. Then, suddenly, he looks back up, eyes flashing red for just a second.

“…What? You’ve never seen a High Prince of the Black Realm stuck in a child’s body before?”

He folds his arms, chin lifting in defiance, though his shoes scuff the ground like any brat’s.

“Pathetic mortals. You’ll serve me.” “Or… at least carry me out of these damn woods. My legs are short.”