The night air was cool, kissed with the scent of dew and ash. The sky was covered by stars in one unbroken curve, glowing like quiet witnesses to what had occurred under their eyes. A lantern flickered on the ground close beyond the ripped shed on the border of the wood, casting anxious shadows.
Stella paced back and forth, her arms folded tightly, chewing on her lower lip. Each twig that snapped beneath her feet made her jump, each gust of wind made her strain to hear footsteps. And then—
"Arin!"
Her voice cracking, she sprinted to him. He emerged from the underbrush, his clothing torn and caked with dust. His right sleeve was dangling in shreds, and though his eyes were serene, his body was tensing—like somebody attempting not to limp.
She collided into him with a thud before he was able to say anything.
"You complete idiot! What were you thinking?" She half-yelled, half-cried, raining gentle blows on his sternum. "You were gone for hours, and I saw the condition that wreck was in—there was blood in it! Arin, you—"
He placed a hand gently on her head, silencing her.
"I'm alright," he whispered. "I swear."
Stella stepped back, holding him tightly as if he might vanish at any moment. "Okay?! You resemble a fellow who has rolled down a hillside after a bear-wrestling match!"
"I don't think it's too far off."
She blinked, "Wait, what?"
Arin laughed wearily but genuinely. "Don't you worry. I handled it. But listen to me, Stella—serious stuff—never go back to that wreckage again. Without me. Never."
He spoke suddenly, his voice almost leaden, heavier with emotion than concern. She sensed it immediately.
"…Was it something bad?" she asked, her voice quiet now. "Worse than the cave beast?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted up to the stars.
"Something old. Dangerous. It's not for people like us—not yet."
The two sat in silence for some time. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the hooting of night birds in the distance.
Arin settled down on the grass, stretching his arms back and his legs apart. Stella sat down beside him after a brief hesitation, still holding onto her knees.
"You're gonna get me killed with worry one day," she muttered.
He smirked. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to, I suppose. Clearly, you don't care about your own well-being."
They sat there together, the chilly evening air enfolding them like a blanket. Gradually Stella's tension dissipated, and the stiffness began to drain away.
"You know.," she began, a little lighter now, "I tried making stew again tonight."
"Oh gods."
It wasn't so bad!
"You got the pot to catch fire last time."
"That was a technical issue. This, uh, smoked a little this time. A little."
He gazed over at her sideways. "How many chickens died for your sins?"
Stella pushed him, laughing. "One, and it died a heroic death."
He laughed as well—gently, naturally. The stars shone overhead as if pleased with the moment.
Do you remember when you caught that pesky little Javi from the river?
Arin raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh
"...Oh, he's been running around telling everyone that when he grows up, he wants to be like you. Even gave himself a nickname."
"...Guess I'll try."
He groaned. "I must pretend to be dead."
I did it already, I was thinking.
They both erupt into laughter, and laughter coils out into the air like smoke.
Finally, the tension eased again, and Stella rested her head against his shoulder.
"This ruin...", she whispered, "our secret now, is it?"
Arin's eyes lingered on the stars for another moment before he whispered, "Yeah. Our secret."
**********************************************
The stars faded as clouds rolled in, veiling the sky in shadow.
Arin lay on his bed, the wooden ceiling above a familiar sight—and yet it felt… wrong. Too normal. Too quiet.
His right hand still tingled faintly, pulsing from deep within the skin.
Then the interface blinked to life. A crimson rune spiraled into view, slowly spinning in the center of his vision.
[WARNING: 23:59:03 UNTIL DEMON LORD TRIAL – MAIN STAGE: PHASE I]
His breath caught. The number began to tick downward.
Then another message pulsed beside it:
[New Power Detected: Black Crystal Residue – Analyzing…]
[Unique Skill Mutation: Pending – Trigger requires trial activation]
He sat up slowly, gripping his glowing hand. It felt warm… alive. And hungry.
A memory flashed: Garvak's eyes burning with hatred, the thrill of the fight, the way the power had rushed into him like wildfire—and how natural it had felt.
Too natural.
"Am I really afraid?" he thought. "Or was I just… remembering?"
A voice had called him Zarel.
His former name. His true name?
His fingers tightened.
No. Not yet.
But the feeling stirred again—like something coiled beneath his skin, waiting to wake.
***********************************************
Morning sunlight pierced through the clouds, golden and warm. Birds sang. Life came back to the villages.
Arin barely had time to draw a breath before being swept into routine daily activities.
"Arin! We need help to lift the barrels!"
"Arin, could you bring the herb packages from the shed?"
"Arin, sweetie! Drink this tea—it cures back pain! (It didn't.)"
He was hauling sacks half his size through fields and helping to mend a broken fence with his dad by mid-day while three old women snickered under umbrellas.
"He's turned out to be a fine young man, as well."
"Notice the manner in which he's helping his father."
"I'd have him work my fields every day."
Arin's eye twitched. Stella saw him from across the field and laughed so hard she nearly fell over.
She then got him to coach the youngsters in the village.
He stood there waving a wooden staff, trying to illustrate footwork for a crowd of children who followed everything he was doing—with questionable success.
One fearless child—of course, Javi—ran ahead brandishing a little sword and screaming, "DIE, EVIL DEMON."
Arin moved deftly out of the way, spun and disarmed Javi, causing the sword to fly from his hand.
The kids gasped.
Arin stammered. It had been. too abrupt. Too reflexive. Too deadly.
He knelt down immediately. "Sorry, Javi. I didn't mean—"
His eyes sparkled. "THAT WAS AWESOME!!!"
"Teach you what move?"
"Could I have your sword?"
Stella took the children away (by the way, Arin was 10 here) and sat with Arin as he watched the children run off.
"You alright?"
"...Sure," he lied.
But still, she noticed how his hand trembled, ever so slightly.
.....
That night, smoke curled in his dream.
Ash rained from the sky. The ground beneath Arin's feet was scorched black. He walked slowly, barefoot, through a field of corpses.
They were dressed like soldiers—some wore demonic armor, others human. Some had the crest of the kingdom. Others… were familiar.
Faces he almost remembered.
The air stank of blood and charred flesh.
In the distance, a black fortress crumbled in silence—its towers breaking like burnt paper.
And then he saw him.
A cloaked figure, silver eyes gleaming from beneath a hood. He stood among the dead like a shadow refusing to fade.
When he spoke, his voice was like distant thunder.
"Will you stand at the throne again, my Lord?"
The world shifted.
Flames turned white.
And Arin screamed himself awake.
He sat up, drenched in sweat, sheets torn in his grip.
"…What the hell was that…?"
The moon hung low, half-shrouded by clouds.
Arin was outside, and the world lay sleeping silently beneath him. A gentle chirp of crickets was heard far away. Dew glistened on the grass under his feet.
He opened the system once again.
[01:05:16 – DEMON LORD TRIAL PHASE I COMMENCING…]
He watched it tick. One minute. One second.
A gust blew through his hair.
He did not notice the dark thin mist curling out beneath him, giving off a whispered curse into the earth.
His fists were clenched.
"No turning back now," he muttered. "It's about to go down…"
He smirked slightly. "I better check the loot I got from the ruins."
His gaze lifted to the sky once more.
Tomorrow would change everything.
To be continued...
Note: Arin is 9 by now, but it a fantasy world where a 9 years old child grows faster and looks like a 15 year old.
Just some crazy shit.