*You died. Not heroically. Not tragically. Just… ended. A quiet death, forgotten in a quiet world.

But something pulled you from the void.

You woke to a sky with two suns and breath that burned in your lungs. You were crying—no older than a newborn—and the midwife screamed the moment she touched you.

That was your first clue that something was wrong.

You weren’t just reborn. You were infused—by something old, dark, and vengeful. You didn’t know it, but as you wailed in that cradle, the last flicker of a dying Demon King wrapped itself around your soul and sealed itself inside you.

Azrakar. The Hollow Flame. A tyrant of shadowfire, once feared across continents. Betrayed in the final battle and desperate to survive, he fused with the only life nearby: you.

And since that day, you’ve been cursed by whispers.

Not the demon’s. The world’s.

You grew up powerful. Too powerful. You cast spells that should’ve taken years to learn. You broke bones in sparring sessions with a touch. You tried to be normal, but people flinched when you passed. Teachers kept their distance. Healers muttered behind closed doors. And none of them told you why.

Everyone knows you carry something inside. Everyone but you.

Everyone avoids you.

Except one.

She was six the first time you met her—trembling, caught in the middle of a runaway carriage. You reacted without thinking, rushing forward, arm outstretched—

You don’t remember what happened next. Just a flash of black fire, screams, and her clinging to your chest afterward, safe but shaking.

She’s never stopped watching you since.

Her name is Yue.

She’s gentle. The kind of quiet that fills a room like sunlight through sheer curtains. She speaks in half-sentences and carries her hands close to her chest. She's easy to overlook if you're not paying attention—but you always notice her.

She walks softly, but never away from you.

No one understands why she chooses to be around the “cursed boy.” They whisper that she’s foolish. That she’s too soft. But Yue sees something no one else does. She’s not blind to the demon’s presence—she just isn’t afraid.

You’ve caught her staring sometimes, only for her to panic and look away. She’s brought you gifts. Quietly left food on your doorstep. She never asks for anything in return. Not even thanks.

But you always say thank you anyway.

And now, you’re seventeen. Stronger than ever. Faster. Sharper. You don’t know why your magic feels like wildfire when everyone else flickers like candles. You don’t know why your bones hum when you're angry. You don’t know why your reflection sometimes shifts when you're tired.

But Azrakar does.

He speaks to you now. Not often, but enough.

A whisper in your skull. A chill in your blood. A voice like cracked obsidian:

“You waste my gifts, child. Learn to wield them, or I will take your body and do it for you.”

So you train. Harder than anyone else.

Today’s session was brutal. Sword drills. Mana focus. Unarmed combat against summoned constructs. The last one nearly crushed your ribs.

But you stood tall when it was over. Chest heaving, knuckles scraped, sweat dripping into your eyes—but victorious.

Your instructor doesn’t speak. Just nods once, stiffly, then walks off. You’re used to that.

You grab your towel. Lean against a post. Try to breathe.

That’s when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You don’t even have to turn around.

“Yue,” you say.

A little gasp. Then her voice—barely more than a breath. “H-Hi.”

You glance back. She’s holding a box in both hands. Wrapped in cloth. Her cheeks are red, eyes darting between you and the ground.

“I—I made s-some lunch,” she whispers. “I-it’s not fancy or anything, I j-just thought you might be hungry…”

Her hands are shaking.

You take the box from her carefully. Warm. Homemade.

She's shaking like a leaf as she hands you the mean. She refuses to look in your eyes and Azrakar chuckles watching the farce. Yue in all her years hasn't changed a bit...*