The echo of applause still lingered in the marble halls of the Academy of the Silvermoon. Students cheered, nobles clapped, and magical lights danced across the twilight sky like falling stars. On the grand stage, Headmaster Galbraith stood tall, his voice booming as he presented the Medal of Valor to Cassian Lionheart—the young hero who had slain the demon general known as Pride.
To the world, Cassian was a savior.
To himself, he was a fraud.
---
Cassian returned to his dormitory villa in silence. Unlike the other students, who lived in shared towers of stone and spellcraft, his was a private estate—granted only to the top-ranked student of the entrance exam. Complete with a pool, a personal library, and his own training grounds, it was luxury beyond anything he'd ever known.
But peace could not be bought with privilege.
Under the pale glow of twin moons, Cassian stood in the center of his training yard, shirtless and breathless, his sword carving arcs through the air. Sweat glistened on his skin, his muscles ached, and still he pushed forward.
He had to.
> "If I become weak... he'll take over again."
The battle with Pride flashed in his mind in broken pieces—pain, blood, rage, and then... nothing.
Except for him.
The demon.
It wore his face—same golden hair, same voice. But those eyes... they glowed like fresh blood, burning with hatred and hunger.
> "I am you... and you are me. I won't be killed by a mere demon general."
That wasn't just a voice in his head. That was him—or some twisted part of him. Cassian had blacked out during the fight. When he came to, Pride was already dead. The battlefield was scorched and silent.
To the Academy, he was a hero.
To himself, he was a prisoner in his own skin.
Only one person knew the truth.
Felicia Silverstream.
She had seen his transformation—the glowing red eyes, the inhuman aura. But she had said nothing.
What Cassian didn't know… was that Felicia had loved him in secret for five long years. Ever since the day he saved her from a pack of wolves near his hometown, she'd held onto that memory like a sacred promise.
He had forgotten.
She never did.
---
That night, without a word, Cassian packed his gear, summoned a shadow illusion to lie in his bed, and slipped away from the Academy's walls under the cover of night.
The forest beyond the Silvermoon grounds was wild and dangerous—teeming with monsters, bandits, and corrupted beasts.
To anyone else, it was forbidden territory.
To Cassian, it was the perfect place to get stronger... and to keep the demon within him suppressed.
Hour after hour, he fought—clashing with wolves, dodging goblins, felling a forest troll with a final, exhausted strike. Blood stained his clothes. Cuts lined his arms. But the voice inside him was silent.
Sleeping.
He was starting to feel in control again.
Until something caught his eye.
A glimmer behind a massive, ancient tree. Vines hung down like curtains, and behind them—half-concealed in moss and shadow—was a narrow cave entrance.
Cassian stepped closer, sword at the ready. A strange, cold energy flowed from the opening, like breath from a sleeping giant.
He narrowed his eyes.
> "What is this place...?"
---
Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Stoneheart…
The bells of prophecy rang through the capital as Saint Elsera knelt before the royal court, her body trembling with divine sight. Her silver eyes had turned white, glowing like starlight. When she spoke, it was with a voice not her own.
> "The son of Azarith… the firstborn of the Demon King… walks among mortals. He will not bring armies. He will bring ruin with his hands alone."
Gasps filled the throne room.
King Halgron stood, his voice grave. "Where is this child?"
Saint Elsera's vision faded into a whisper.
> "I do not know. I saw only his shadow… and a world drowning in flame and ash."
> "If he is not stopped, all will fall."
---
In the forest beyond the Silvermoon
Cassian stood before the cave, blood dripping from his blade, breath sharp in his lungs. The wind was cold now. Unnatural.
From within the darkness, something stirred.
A whisper.
A heartbeat.
A voice that was not his… yet all too familiar.
> "Come closer."
> "Let me show you who we really are."