The early years of Ash's new life passed like drifting clouds—calm on the surface, but heavy with unspoken tension. From the moment the name Ash was etched in divine fire, the entire household seemed to change.
The servants bowed a little deeper. The priest visited a little more often. The baron, his father, grew quieter in Ash's presence. Even Lady Elara—so kind and warm—sometimes stared into his eyes as if searching for something unfamiliar behind her baby's smile.
But none of them truly knew what stirred beneath Ash's tiny body.
Because Ash remembered everything.
He remembered death.
He remembered science, not swords.
He remembered being weak.
And now, for the first time in both lives, he could feel strength.
---
By the age of three, Ash was already… unusual.
He barely cried. He spoke early. He asked questions that no child should understand.
"Mother," he once asked, tilting his head, "why do some nobles have swords made of light, and others none at all?"
Lady Elara blinked. "That's... complicated, sweetheart. I'll tell you when you're older."
Ash smiled and nodded, but inside, he had already begun piecing things together.
From conversations between servants, secret library readings, and overheard mutterings from the priest, Ash understood the basics:
Light Swords were a divine blessing.
The Demic Realm was a dimension only sword-bearers could access.
Dark Swords were a curse—anyone born with one was considered doomed.
But nowhere—nowhere—was it ever mentioned that a single person could have both.
And yet, Ash had seen both within himself.
One appeared in a dream of divine light.
The other, in a nightmare of endless shadow.
He was both the storm and the calm.
---
One winter morning, something changed.
Ash was in the garden, playing alone while Mai kept a close eye from the patio. He held a wooden stick, pretending it was a sword, mimicking the knights he'd watched training from the window.
But then—he swung too hard. The stick cracked.
He frowned. "Tch. Too weak."
As if answering his annoyance, the air around him shimmered.
And in that moment, for just a second—a black blade flickered into existence in his hand.
It hummed with power. The grass beneath his feet darkened. The wind grew still.
Mai dropped the tray she was holding. "Young master?!"
The blade vanished instantly.
Ash turned, wide-eyed. "Mai, I—"
She ran to him, kneeling beside him. "Don't ever show that again. Not even to your parents."
Ash's throat tightened. "Why?"
Mai looked over her shoulder, then whispered, "Because the world is not ready for you."
---
That night, in the manor's chapel, Mai lit candles in secret.
"Dark sword... appearing already… at three?" she muttered. "What kind of child is he?"
Unbeknownst to her, Ash sat on the staircase, listening. His small fists clenched.
If his powers were dangerous, he needed control. He couldn't afford to be thrown into Death Valley or feared by his own family.
---
Days later, Ash snuck into the baron's study. It was locked, of course—but he had watched the key hidden in a vase.
Inside, shelves of scrolls, tomes, and maps. But one thing drew his eyes: a locked iron box with runes. The moment he touched it, the box pulsed—and opened on its own.
Inside was a scroll labeled:
"Records of the Cursed Lineage – Sealed by Royal Order"
Ash smirked. Bingo.
---
As he unfurled it, symbols flared briefly before fading. The scroll told of ancient warriors—those born with shadow in their veins. Feared. Hunted. Killed. But one line at the end stood out:
"Only once has one been born of both Light and Dark. His name was erased. His fate, unknown. The balance must never rise again."
Ash slowly rolled the scroll up, a grin tugging at his lips.
"So I'm not the first," he whispered. "But I will be the last they underestimate."
---
That night, Ash stood before his mirror. His reflection stared back with one eye glowing gold, the other flickering red.
He raised his hand—and a ghostly outline of both blades hovered beside him.
"I'll master both," he said softly. "No matter what it takes."
And far away, deep beneath the castle in a forgotten ruin, an ancient eye blinked open.
"The Incursed One… has awakened."