In the beginning, there was only darkness.
Ash stirred within the void, a flicker of awareness adrift in the abyss. All he could see—if he could truly see—was endless black. He could not tell if the darkness was real, or if he simply lacked eyes to witness the world.
Time passed, or perhaps it didn't. Days, months, years—it all bled into silence. He began to wonder if this place was the abyss itself. If such a thing existed, this must be it.
But then, the darkness shifted.
It stirred around him, slow and sinuous, like a living mist. Shadows coiled toward him, not with malice, but purpose—embracing him, encircling him, weaving themselves into a shell of shifting black.
He felt warmth.
Not the searing fire of flame, but the gentle heat of something ancient, something kind. Wrapped in its embrace, he rested again.
He slept.
He did not know how long he slept within that cocoon. But when the time came, he felt it: a sudden push—an expulsion from the dark.
The shell unraveled. The warmth withdrew.
And for the first time, Ash opened his eyes.
His vision was blurred, like looking through water, but he saw light. Shapes. Movement. He saw a figure towering above him—humanoid in form, massive in presence.
The figure stepped forward and lifted him. Ash tried to move, but his limbs felt foreign, unformed. He tried to speak, but only a sharp cry escaped his lips—the helpless wail of a newborn.
The figure spoke, words low and guttural, a language unknown to him. And as his eyes adjusted, he saw her clearly: a demon, with curling horns and fierce, graceful features. A demon woman.
She turned and carried him through a chamber of shadows and stone. There, she passed him into the arms of another.
This one looked… human.
Dark hair framed her weary face, and her eyes—deep, earthen, and tired—softened as they met his. Despite the exhaustion she carried, there was joy there. A fragile, radiant joy.
Ash felt it then, a tether pulling at something deep within him. He could not name it, but he knew.
She was his mother.
She held him as if he were something precious, something long-awaited. He stared up at her, memorizing every line of her face.
Then another voice broke the stillness.
A man entered—no, a demon. Taller, broader. Three pairs of horns crowned his head like jagged obsidian. His eyes were crimson fire. He looked down at Ash, speaking in the same strange tongue.
The mother responded softly, her arms reluctant as she passed Ash to him.
The demon lord cradled him, studying him with a quiet intensity. He said something—perhaps a name, perhaps a blessing.
Ash wanted to listen, but the warmth returned.
Sleep, soft and irresistible, pulled at him once more. As his vision dimmed, he felt himself returned to his mother's arms.
There, in her heartbeat and her breath, he let the world fade again.
Within sleep, the void returned.
Ash found himself once more in the silent, shapeless space—the place between worlds, where only thought could stir.The abyss welcomed him not with fear, but with familiarity.Here, he could think.Here, he could remember.
Or try to.
But his memories were scattered—like ash on the wind.He could not recall who he had been, or the faces of the family he once knew.The details of his former life escaped him,blurred and broken.
All he knew was one word: Earth.The name of the world he had once lived in.His home.
He could not remember how he died.Only that he no longer belonged to that place.
And so, he pieced together what he could.He had been reborn—or perhaps, reincarnated—into this new world.And in this new life, a new family awaited him.
He thought of the woman with the dark eyes and gentleness in her gaze.Mother.
Then the towering demon lord with six horns like a crown of obsidian flame.There was power in him… but also something else.A bond.Ash felt it deep within his soul.
That must be my father.
His thoughts drifted to the room where he had opened his eyes.The light there had seemed normal—warm and golden—but the lamp from which it came was unlike those on Earth.It did not fully illuminate the room, and yet he could see clearly.As though his vision belonged to something more than a human child.
He remembered the furniture—crafted of dark wood, heavy and adorned with intricate carvings.Old, elegant, and hand-made.
The demon woman who first held him had worn the garb of a maid.Her horns were small—just one pair—and her crimson eyes glowed with quiet duty.
His mother had worn a robe meant for childbirth, pale and loose.And his father—his imposing father—had been clad in a noble's garments, regal and refined.
From this alone, Ash began to suspect:He had been born into a family of status.A house of demons, yes—but perhaps one of great power.
His gaze, in memory, drifted to the walls—massive stones, five times the size of bricks from Earth, fitted with silent precision.There had been a window, too.
Beyond it: only stars.A vast sky cloaked in night.
It must have been evening then.And now…
A wave of drowsiness returned, slow and heavy.
The void embraced him once more,and Ash, still cradled in mystery, drifted into slumber again.