One Thousand Years Ago — The Kingdom of Daelgrin
Dark spirits roamed the war-torn lands of Daelgrin, birthed from the grudges of three tribes: demons, humans, and spirits. Each bore the scars of centuries of war, driven by selfish ambition and the hunger for dominion.
It was the spirit king, Ely Varlis, who struck the first blow. He wielded the forbidden art of OS., also known as Essence Drain, a power that allowed sprits to steal human souls—a craft only spirits could command. With it, he harvested human essence to forge an invincible army, aiming to crush the demon realm.
But humanity did not fall quietly.
Their souls, laced with sacred cores, granting them anti-magic—a force capable of countering even divine powers. King Adam Alfread and his son, Arthur, marched at the front lines against the spirit clan. What began as a clash of titans soon evolved into a battle between gods.
In a final, desperate act, King Adam sacrificed his son—his own blood—to unlock the forbidden darkness. Ely, too, offered his son to the God of Light, gaining dominion over the power of the sun. Two royal bloodlines were shattered by their own hands.
The war ended with both kings lying lifeless on the battlefield.
Yet the magic they awoke refused to fade. Their divine energies coiled together—not in unity but in chaos. From that corruption, a third force was born: an eclipse of hatred, a celestial barricade that devoured sunlight and moonlight alike.
Peace returned only when a child of all three lineages—Dravok Velcrune, born of demon, human, and spirit—gave up his mortal self as a sanctuary to the world. His sacrifice ended the war.
And for a time, peace reigned... though many hearts remained hardened.
---
Present Day
The wind caressed him like a long-lost friend. Dravok Velcrune stood atop a cliff overlooking the kingdom he had once saved, now in another dimension, the world where he onced lived in. The sun's light gleaming brighter—as if it recognized its mother had returned.
A gentle smile tugged at his lips. The memories were overwhelming, and yet... things had changed.
Gone were the ancient banners of his reign—two crossing horns against black silk. In their place, crimson flags bearing a hollow-eyed skull atop crossed femurs waved arrogantly across the skyline.
Dravok chuckled. "Just as I expected."
The sight brought back one pale memory:
His parents.
Still, he didn't teleport as he once would have a thousand years ago. Instead, he sank his hands into his pockets and strolled like a traveler visiting home after centuries abroad.
Children laughed. Men gambled, but with camaraderie. Women chatted freely, unafraid of war's hand snatching away their peace.
His smile deepened.
Nearly everyone was a hybrid now—human-demon offspring, demon-spirit, even rare fusions of all three like himself. Some bore demonic eyes on human faces; others floated without legs, spectral and serene. It was proof—his sacrifice had not been in vain.
But peace was fragile.
Ahead of him, two pure-blooded demons—nobles by their attire—were mercilessly beating a human girl in the street. Her silver-crimson hair was matted with blood, her body curled into itself as she shielded her head with trembling arms.
"Come on, stand up!" snarled one, dressed in noble red robes with a purple sash and a golden lion badge. Ravien, it read. His companion, Leo, shared his attire and cruelty.
"She still doesn't understand the difference between demons and humans," Leo spat. They laughed.
Then—
"What do you lowlifes think you're doing?"
Dravok's voice wasn't loud. It carried no rage. But it sliced through the air with chilling authority.
Ravien sneered. "Looks like someone wants to replace you, pretty...."
The girl, still curled in pain, lifted her head weakly—her eyes meeting Dravok's. Tears welled in her sockets. She didn't want anyone else hurt because of her.
"I don't mind being a lecturer," Ravien chuckled, "especially one who teaches by experience!"
"You got that, bro," Leo added. "Let's burn this worm to ash."
Their grimoires flashed into existence, pages fluttering wildly until the chosen spell revealed itself. Flames began to swirl in their palms as they shouted—
"Awaken! Flames of Hephaestus and—"
Achoo!
A sneeze.
A simple, ridiculous sneeze from Dravok blew their fire out.
He wiped his nose lazily. "Still adjusting to the air."
"You... you sneezed?" Ravien stammered, stepping back in disbelief.
Then the pressure hit.
An overwhelming surge of mana crushed the two demons to their knees. Behind them, the battered girl blinked, stunned. She felt the pain in her body begin to fade, warmth soothing her wounds.
"I was getting bored," Dravok said with a sigh. "You're both disgraces to the Demon League."
He walked to the girl and waved a hand. A soft light rose beneath her, and in mere seconds, she was completely healed—as if the light brought sanity.
"Who... who are you?" Ravien gasped, barely able to speak.
"He didn't even use a grimoire," Leo whispered, trembling. "No spell, no chant…"
Dravok extended a hand to the girl.
"What's your name?"
"M-Mia," she stammered, stunned by his presence.
He turned to the trembling demons.
"I am Dravok Velcrune, the Demon King of Daelgrin."
"You... hybrid filth," Ravien hissed, defiant to the end. "How dare you blaspheme the god of our time!"
Dravoke narrowed his gaze on him,
A thin line appeared on Ravien's throat.
Then his head fell.
Gasps rippled through the bystanders. But they did not flinch. A hybrid had just felled a noble-born demon—without even lifting a finger. To them, it was a miracle... a symbol of hope.
Mia, though shocked, felt a pang of pity. Dravok, sensing it, pricked his finger. A single drop of blood touched the earth.
"Abyssal Resurrection."
A white circle ignited beneath Ravien's corpse. And in an instant, he returned—trembling, alive, and mute with terror.
The crowd was left speechless, mouths agape; some blinked desperately in disbelief. Only crowned demon kings could perform resurrection spells. And yet this hybrid had done it effortlessly.
Mia bolted, overwhelmed by what she'd seen. It was too good to be true.
Dravok let her go. But something nagged at him. Something wrong in the air. No one remembered him. No one remembered Daelgrin's true king.
He turned to the demons, now huddled in awe and fear.
"Tell your so-called fake king... his greatest threat has awakened."
And with that, he vanished.
Later That Day
Dravok stood before a familiar home—modest, one story, not grand but lovingly maintained.
The sight stirred dozens of memories—from playful childhood moments to solemn reflections of ages past. But what truly caught him off guard was the sight of his old ball, still resting in the same small, corroded corner of the yard. A comforting smile brushed on his lips.
Ding-dong.
"Coming!" a familiar voice called from inside.
The door opened.
And time stopped.
Isabell, his mother, stood before him—unchanged. Her honeyed eyes shimmered with tears. Her moonlit hair swayed softly. The spell he'd cast a thousand years ago to halt her aging still held.
Their eyes met. Recognition was instant. She had never forgotten his purple eyes, his quiet smile—nor the calm strength in his presence.
"I knew you'd return one day," she whispered.
"Sorry I took so long, Mother."
They embraced tightly—an embrace too emotional, too sacred for words.
"Is Dad home?" Dravok asked, still in her arms.
"No, sweetheart. He'll be back soon," she replied. Then, suddenly serious, she said, "Dravros Valkarion."
Dravok pulled back. "Who?"
"He brainwashed the kingdom, rewrote history. Everyone believes he's the demon king now. Even your name... it's been erased."
Dravok's smile was calm, yet dark. "Don't worry. I'll handle him."
Still, Isabell looked troubled.
Dravok changed the subject with a grin. "Mother... I'm starving."
She giggled. "I'll make your favorite, my Demon King."
He stepped inside. The home was just as he remembered. The padded chairs. The ivory walls. The wooden carvings on the shelves. It felt like... the womb that birthed him.
---
Minutes later,
"Dinner's ready!"
Dravok smiled from the upper floor, echoing memories from a thousand years ago. He joined her at the table.
His father had returned.
And when their eyes met, joy bloomed like spring.
"Dravok…"
His father's voice cracked with emotion. He stepped forward, arms wide.
And so began a reunion long overdue.
They embraced tightly. Laughter mixed with tears. For a few precious minutes, the world outside didn't matter—only the warmth of home did. Old jokes returned. Ghosts of memories stirred.
Later, they gathered at the dinner table.
But a strange silence clung to the air—and it grew heavier around Isabell. She hadn't said much.
Then as she sat, her troubled heart let it all out with sudden finality:
"Don't go after Dravros Valkarion. He's too dangerous."
The words crashed like cold water.
Dravok paused mid-bite. He looked up. In her eyes was no doubt, no plea—only certainty. A quiet, aching warning.
"Become the Demon King again," she continued, her voice firmer now.
"That I can accept. That you were born to be. But chasing him… No. Let that ghost go."
Dravok smirked, eyes burning.
"Promised."
No hesitation. No doubt.
From the other side of the table, Drake let out a dry chuckle.
"Nice timing, then. The Demon King Entrance Exams are tomorrow."
Dravok leaned back, fire returning to his gaze. A bit of silence, then—
"Prepare your finest of blade for me, Father."
Drake raised a brow.
"My pleasure."