The Ice Continent was always cloaked in pale silence, where winds howled like ancient ghosts and time felt slower. At the very heart of this frozen empire stood Guy Crimson's castle, carved from obsidian-like ice and laced with runic enchantments older than nations.
On the highest balcony of that fortress, two beings of unimaginable power sat under a magically-maintained sky—its warmth mimicking a serene summer afternoon, in stark contrast to the blizzards howling beyond the barrier.
Guy Crimson, the strongest Demon lord, swirled a glass of blood-red wine. Beside him, sipping with practiced grace, was Velzard, the White Ice Dragon and his eternal rival-turned-companion, elegantly stirring a porcelain cup of steaming blue tea.
Their conversation was idle, lighthearted—until the air shifted.
The moment was brief.
A tremor in space.
A flicker in the weave of reality.
Guy's smile faltered as his crimson eyes sharpened. The wine in his glass stilled unnaturally, reflecting a silent burst of golden light far in the distance.
Velzard paused mid-sip, lowering her teacup.
"...Did you feel that?" she asked, her tone instantly serious.
Guy nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just for a moment... Jura Forest. Something woke up."
Velzard frowned, her gaze turning toward the southern horizon. "It wasn't Veldora. His seal is still intact."
"I checked, too." Guy stood, his long crimson coat flowing like liquid fire as he stepped to the edge of the balcony. "That was... different."
"Old power," Velzard muttered. "But unfamiliar. Refined, like it's been through countless evolutions."
Guy clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "Not divine… but close. Whoever that was—they weren't born here."
Velzard narrowed her eyes. "A monster born of Veldora's magicules?"
Guy shrugged, still staring into the distance. "Possible. Jura's full of chaos. Sometimes strong creatures evolve in weird ways. But this wasn't evolution—it was awakening."
He leaned back on the balcony rail, eyes glowing faintly. "It wasn't rage. No instability. Just… clarity. Control."
Velzard tilted her head. "A reincarnated being?"
Guy tapped his chin, amused. "Perhaps. But if that's true… they're smart. They hid their aura right after flaring it."
"Risky," Velzard said, sipping again. "It caught our attention."
Guy smirked. "Maybe they didn't expect anyone at our level to feel it. And to be fair, they snuffed it out fast. Most of the Demon Lords probably didn't even notice."
"Except you're not 'most' Demon Lords," Velzard said dryly.
He chuckled. "True."
"Will you go check it out?" Velzard asked, raising an eyebrow.
Guy considered it. A long silence passed as the wind brushed against his coat.
"I want to," he admitted. "But no. Not yet. If they're clever enough to suppress that kind of power, they're not looking for attention."
Velzard looked surprised. "That's… unlike you."
"I'm not reckless," he replied, finishing the last of his wine. "Let's wait. Let's see what kind of noise they make next. Jura's always been a place where things begin."
Velzard smiled faintly. "You're hoping it's something fun."
"I know it will be," he said, eyes burning with anticipation.
The two ancient beings sat in silence once more, listening to the distant howling of the wind.
And somewhere far away in the Jura Forest… Varvatos continued to learn, unaware that the first eyes of the upper world had already taken notice.
They didn't move.
Not yet.
But they would be watching.
The brief, yet potent surge of power Varvatos released upon awakening was like a sudden ripple cast upon a still lake—spreading far and wide, touching even the most distant shores of the Cardinal World. Though it vanished just as quickly, the sheer density and complexity of the energy made its mark on the world's finest senses.
In lands where power ruled, the unknown was never ignored.
Far above the skies of her vast domain, Milim Nava, the Destroyer, soared atop her wyvern as she basked in the wind's embrace. Her radiant twin-drill hair whipped behind her as she giggled with joy—until the air thickened for a heartbeat.
The wyvern shrieked and faltered, sensing the abnormal pressure. Milim's expression dropped, eyes narrowing as she halted mid-air.
"…That wasn't Veldora."
The pressure had reminded her of something ancient, not chaotic like her old friend Veldora, but cold, composed… and calculating. Milim stared toward the Jura Forest, lips pursed in a rare moment of contemplation.
She brought the wyvern down and landed atop a mountain ledge, still staring south.
"It came from the Jura Forest. Could be Veldora's influence… but it wasn't him. Someone else?"
She crossed her arms with a small huff.
"Too bad I can't just go there. Pact rules... Tch."
As part of the Demon Lords' Non-Aggression Pact, each Demon Lord had their own territory—and the Jura Forest had long been recognized as Veldora's dominion. Even though the Storm Dragon remained sealed, none dared infringe upon that land.
"Still," she murmured, "if someone strong's been born from Veldora's magicules, it could be fun."
Her eyes glowed with that familiar, chaotic glee. She smirked. "Guess I'll just wait and watch."
Deep within the alabaster spires of the Holy Capital, Luminous Valentine, Queen of the Vampires and Empress of Twilight, was deep in prayer at the Cathedral of Evernight.
Candles flickered.
The light dimmed.
Then came the chill.
Luminous slowly opened her crimson eyes, fangs barely showing.
"…Something stirred," she whispered.
She rose from the pew, cape flowing behind her, as her trusted Cardinal, Louis Valentine, approached with haste.
"You felt it too, Your Holiness?"
"Of course," Luminous said. "A power unlike anything that should be born of this world. Familiar, yet alien. It came from Jura."
Louis nodded solemnly. "Shall we dispatch a scouting party?"
Luminous tapped a finger to her lips. "No. Not yet. We don't tempt dragons by stepping into their den. Jura belongs to Veldora."
She turned to the grand stained glass, depicting the eternal sun eclipsing darkness.
"But mark it down," she added. "If such a power flared once, it will flare again. And when it does… we will be ready."
Within the mountain-city of Dwargon, King Gazel Dwargo sat at the central command chamber with his council of generals.
The air had just returned to normal after a tremor that barely touched the edges of their deep defenses.
"A magical surge?"A General asked.
"Not just a surge," Gazel murmured. "It was structured… a refined power, not chaotic."
He glanced to the crystal orb linked to his nation's external surveillance network. It had detected the source for only 1.7 seconds—origin: Jura Forest.
"Veldora?" The general asked cautiously.
"No," Gazel replied immediately. "Too… deliberate. Veldora's magic is raw and wild. This was precise. Like a scalpel—not a hammer."
Another general leaned forward. "Should we send scouts?"
Gazel rubbed his chin. "Discreetly. Do not cross into Veldora's domain. Use merchants and travelers. Ask questions, but avoid suspicion."
They all nodded, and the king's eyes gleamed with strategy.
"Whatever that was," he said, "might shift the balance of the world."
And in the heart of it all, hidden deep within the Jura Forest, Varvatos remained still, deep in thought beneath the canopy of towering trees.
He hadn't realized the brief release of his aura, his instinctive scan of the world's magicule structure, would echo so far.
Yet, across the continent, kings, queens, gods, and monsters had all turned their gaze, if only briefly, toward the forest.
He was no longer just an anonymous soul in a new world.
He was a question.
And everyone in power was already looking for the answer.