The Hall of Mandates within Lucifaad, Sirzechs Lucifer's seat of power, thrummed with a different kind of energy than usual. Today, the polished obsidian floors and soaring, light-swallowing arches weren't filled with scheming politicians or grim generals, but with the buzzing anticipation of youth. The air crackled with barely contained excitement, ambition, and the palpable weight of expectation. It was the Ceremony of Allocation - the day the most promising young Devil heirs received their birthright: their very own set of Evil Pieces.
Revas Gremory stood near a towering window overlooking the geometrically precise, shadowed gardens of Lucifaad. He was flanked by Grayfia, her presence a pillar of silent, icy calm amidst the adolescent fervor. His violet eyes, usually so observant and serene, held a quiet contemplation as he watched the other heirs.
Sona Sitri stood nearby, her expression a mask of cool calculation. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on the sleeve of her perfectly tailored dress uniform. Revas could almost see the complex diagrams forming in her mind - optimal peerage compositions, strategic synergies, potential recruits cataloged by species and ability. Her ambition was a sharp, focused blade.
Across the hall, Sairaorg Bael radiated barely contained energy. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set. He didn't possess the inherent demonic power prized by his clan, but the set of his shoulders spoke of a fierce determination to forge his own path through sheer strength and will. The Evil Pieces were his chance, his validation. He would build a peerage of warriors, a testament to power earned, not inherited.
Then there was Diodora Astaroth. He held court near a cluster of less prominent heirs, his voice a lilting, poisonous melody. "...only the most exquisite specimens, naturally," he purred, his gaze sweeping over the assembly with predatory hunger. "Power is essential, of course, but aesthetics... aesthetics are paramount. A peerage should be a collection, a living masterpiece reflecting the master's taste." His smile was a promise of future cruelties disguised as connoisseurship. His eyes lingered momentarily on Revas, a flicker of disdain mixed with something unnervingly covetous.
A hush fell as a side door opened. Sirzechs Lucifer entered, not with the overwhelming aura of his Power of Destruction unleashed, but with a quiet, undeniable gravity that instantly commanded the room. He wore formal robes of deepest crimson, the Lucifer sigil gleaming subtly. His crimson eyes swept the gathering, warm but inscrutable.
"Welcome, heirs of the future," Sirzechs's voice resonated, calm and clear. "Today marks a significant step on your path. The Evil Pieces you receive are not merely tools, but extensions of your will, your potential, and your responsibility. They represent the power to build, to protect, and to shape destinies - yours, and those who pledge themselves to you."
He gestured, and attendants moved forward, bearing ornate chests of polished ebony inlaid with silver. Each chest contained a complete set of fifteen Evil Pieces - eight Pawns, two Knights, two Rooks, two Bishops, and one Queen - shimmering with latent, potent energy. The air hummed as the chests were presented, one by one, to the designated heirs.
Sona accepted hers with a precise, respectful bow, her eyes already alight with strategic possibilities. Sairaorg took his chest with a grunt of fierce determination, his grip tight on the handles. Diodora received his with a theatrical flourish, already whispering to his sycophants about the "first acquisition."
Finally, the attendant stopped before Revas. The young Gremory heir looked at the proffered chest, then up at Sirzechs. His brother's crimson eyes held a depth Revas couldn't quite decipher - pride, certainly, but also a profound understanding, and perhaps... a hint of sorrow?
Revas placed his hand on the cool ebony. The energy within the Pieces vibrated against his senses, potent, demanding. He felt the weight of expectation - the Gremory heir should build a peerage worthy of his lineage, powerful, strategically advantageous. He should be planning, scouting, leveraging his status.
Instead, Revas simply closed the lid of the chest without opening it fully to inspect the Pieces. He offered Sirzechs a small, calm smile. "Thank you, Brother."
A ripple of confusion went through the watching heirs. He wasn't going to look? Wasn't going to strategize aloud? Diodora stifled a derisive snort. Sona's brow furrowed slightly in analytical curiosity. Sairaorg just watched, his expression unreadable.
Lord Zephyron Astaroth, observing nearby, couldn't resist a murmur laced with condescension. "A cautious approach, Heir Gremory? Or perhaps... uncertainty? One must be decisive in selecting their instruments of power."
Revas turned his violet gaze towards Zephyron, then let it sweep across the other heirs, meeting curious, ambitious, and disdainful eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was clear and carried a surprising weight of conviction for one so young.
"Decisiveness is important, Lord Zephyron," Revas acknowledged calmly. "But sometimes, the best decisions aren't forced. These Pieces..." he tapped the chest lightly, "...they hold destinies within them. Not just mine, but the destinies of those they will bind. I don't believe true strength comes from meticulously collecting the 'strongest' pieces like trophies." He glanced briefly at Diodora, whose smile tightened. "Or forcing a path through sheer will alone," he added, his gaze flicking to Sairaorg, who didn't flinch but met his look squarely.
Revas took a breath, his violet eyes seeming to look beyond the hall, beyond the immediate ambitions. "My path... my peerage... I trust it will find me. Or I will find it, when the moment is right. When the Luck that walks with me, and the need of another, align. I won't hunt for pieces to fit a pre-made design. I will wait for the design to reveal itself, thread by thread." He met Sirzechs's gaze again, finding a deep, approving warmth there. "I will let destiny take me where it takes me. The Pieces will be ready when the need arises."
Silence. Utter, profound silence followed his words. It wasn't the silence of agreement, but of sheer disbelief.
Let destiny take him?
Trust
Luck
to guide the formation of a peerage? To the ambitious, calculating minds of Sona and the traditionalists like Zephyron, it sounded like passivity, even weakness. To Diodora, it was sheer idiocy, ripe for exploitation. Only Sairaorg seemed to contemplate the words, a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes - the recognition of a different kind of resolve.
Sirzechs broke the silence, his voice warm and carrying the weight of finality. "A philosophy rooted in patience and trust, Heir Gremory. An unconventional approach, but one that speaks of confidence in one's own path. May your destiny guide you wisely. The ceremony is concluded."
As the other heirs began to disperse, buzzing with plans and the tangible energy of their new power, Revas remained with Grayfia, the unopened chest of Evil Pieces held lightly. Sirzechs approached them.
"Brother," Revas greeted.
"Revas," Sirzechs smiled, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Your words carried weight. They unsettled the garden, as intended." He chuckled softly. "Patience is a weapon few in our circles understand. But come, there is somewhere else we need to be today. Grayfia, prepare for transit to the Human World. Japan, specifically."
Revas blinked. The Human World? Now? "Japan, Brother? Is there business?"
Sirzechs's smile softened, touched with a melancholy Revas rarely saw. "Not business, little champion. Perspective. And perhaps... the first faint tug of a thread."
The transition from the shadowed grandeur of Lucifaad to the vibrant, sun-drenched chaos of a Japanese city street was jarring. The air was thick with unfamiliar scents - exhaust, frying food, blooming flowers - and the cacophony of human voices, traffic, and distant music. Revas, dressed in simple, unassuming human clothes Sirzechs had provided, clung slightly to his brother's hand, his violet eyes wide with wonder and a touch of sensory overload. Grayfia, looking effortlessly out of place yet completely composed in a tailored human suit, walked a step behind.
They weren't in a major metropolis, but a quieter, older district. Traditional wooden houses with tiled roofs nestled beside modern buildings. Sirzechs guided them down a side street lined with cherry trees, their blossoms a breathtaking cascade of pink against the clear blue sky. He stopped near a small, serene Shinto shrine nestled amidst the urban sprawl.
"Wait here, Revas," Sirzechs murmured, his gaze fixed on the shrine entrance. "Observe."
Revas stood near a moss-covered stone lantern, the human world's version of the moss he'd admired in the Astaroth garden. He watched people come and go - elderly women in kimonos, businessmen cutting through, teenagers laughing. It was a tapestry of life so different from the Underworld's calculated maneuvers.
Then, he saw her.
A girl, perhaps his own age, maybe nine. She sat alone on the bottom step leading up to the shrine, partially hidden by the blooming branches of a cherry tree. Her hair was a cascade of glossy black, tied simply back. She wore a neat, dark blue dress, but her posture radiated a profound loneliness that struck Revas like a physical blow. Her shoulders were hunched, her head bowed. She wasn't crying; it was a stillness deeper than tears. In her hands, she clutched a single, slightly wilted white flower.
Revas felt it then - a pull. Not the demanding call of Power of Destruction, nor the subtle nudge of his Luck. This was something else. A resonance of profound, quiet sadness that echoed in a chamber of his own heart he hadn't fully known existed. He forgot Sirzechs and Grayfia. He forgot the Evil Pieces in the chest Grayfia held. He simply walked towards her, drawn by that invisible thread.
He stopped a few feet away, not wanting to startle her. The girl sensed his presence and looked up.
Revas caught his breath. Her eyes were a deep, sorrowful brown, wide and filled with a pain far too old for her young face. They held a vulnerability that mirrored the wilted flower in her hands. There was a flicker of fear, quickly masked by a defensive wariness.
Revas didn't offer false cheer or empty words. He didn't know her story, but he recognized the weight she carried. He remembered the calm he could project, the serenity that soothed. He offered her a small, gentle smile - the same kind that had touched Grayfia. It wasn't pity; it was simple acknowledgment, a quiet offering of peace in the face of her storm.
"Hello," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet clear in the quiet space under the cherry tree. "It's very peaceful here, isn't it?"
The girl stared at him, wary, searching his face. His violet eyes held no mockery, no agenda, only that calm sincerity. She glanced down at her flower, then back at him. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded. A single, silent tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, a gesture of ingrained pride.
Revas didn't comment on the tear. He simply sat down on the step, not too close, leaving a respectful space. He looked up at the canopy of pink blossoms filtering the sunlight. "The cherry blossoms are beautiful," he said, his tone conversational, gentle. "Like pink snow."
A tiny, almost imperceptible shift occurred in the girl's posture. The defensive hunch eased slightly. She followed his gaze upwards. "Hai," she whispered, her voice soft and melodic despite the sadness. "Sakura. They... they don't last long."
"No," Revas agreed quietly, still looking at the blooms. "But they're very beautiful while they do." He didn't offer platitudes about their return next year. He simply acknowledged the fragile beauty and the inherent sadness of its transience. It felt honest.
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence shared by two souls momentarily recognizing a similar wavelength of quiet sorrow amidst the world's noise. The girl clutched her flower a little less tightly. She didn't speak again, but she didn't move away. She stayed, sitting beside this strange, calm boy with unusual eyes under the falling cherry blossoms.
Sirzechs watched from a distance, partially concealed by the trunk of an ancient tree. Grayfia stood beside him, her expression unreadable as ever, but her gaze fixed on the two children. Sirzechs's own crimson eyes held a deep, aching sorrow. He knew the girl's name: Akeno. He knew the tragedy that loomed over her life, the Fallen Angel blood that was both gift and curse, the terrible loss that would soon shatter her world. He had brought Revas here, to this exact spot, at this exact moment, guided by prophecy, intuition, and a desperate hope.
He saw Revas not trying to fix Akeno's sadness, not offering grand promises, but simply offering a moment of quiet, non-judgmental presence. He saw the subtle easing of Akeno's profound isolation, even for just a heartbeat. He saw the first, fragile thread of crimson connection forming - not as Master to Servant, but as one lonely soul recognizing another.
The first thread, little brother, Sirzechs thought, his heart heavy with the weight of futures both bright and dark. The destiny you spoke of... it begins here, in the shadow of beauty and sorrow. The Pieces are ready. And so, it seems, is your heart. He didn't intervene. He simply watched, the Lucifer momentarily eclipsed by the protective older brother, as the seeds of a future peerage, born not of ambition but of empathy, were silently sown under the Japanese sky. The chest of Evil Pieces in Grayfia's hands seemed to hum faintly, resonating with the nascent bond forming on the shrine steps. The path Revas trusted destiny to reveal had taken its first, poignant turn.