The world blurred around him.
Blood matted his hair to his forehead. His breathing came in shallow gasps. A bitter taste—part ash, part blood—coated his tongue. The jeers of spectators echoed faintly, like voices underwater. Most didn't even bother to look anymore. Why would they? He was nothing. Less than nothing.
And then came the final insult.
A low growl. He turned his head weakly, eyes swollen and half-shut. The mana dog—barely a Rank-1 beast—bared its teeth. It lunged.
Pain.
His vision faded. His thoughts shattered.
Even in death... I was nothing.
---
Silence.
A cold, endless silence. He floated in it, weightless. Sightless.
Then—a breath.
No lungs. No air. Yet he felt it: an ancient force inhaling from deep within the abyss.
A voice, low and monstrous, rumbled through the void like the crack of a dying star.
"You crawled through life... mocked by ants. How fitting that you fell to a flea."
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. But the voice continued.
"This world... does not deserve to forget me again. Rise, Vessel. Let them remember... Vyroth."
Light.
Blinding, searing light.
And then—air. Cold and sharp. Voices. Heat. Flesh.
He screamed.
---
"He's crying! Travis—he's breathing!" said a woman's trembling voice.
Lucen blinked, instinctively flinching against the sudden brightness. Blurry shapes leaned over him.
Warm hands lifted him gently. A soft voice cooed, wrapping him in a blanket.
The woman—his mother, he somehow knew—held him to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Olivia," said a rougher voice, deep and warm. "He's... perfect."
Lucen turned his tiny head slightly. The man beside her had wide, calloused hands and eyes that looked like they'd seen war, but softened now with awe.
"Our little light," Olivia whispered, brushing back his tiny curls. "Lucen."
Travis placed a firm hand on his chest, heart hammering beneath skin. "Lucen Trava. Born under the third moon of Elaran. Our son."
Lucen tried to cry again, but the breath caught.
In that moment—deep inside the child—something stirred.
A flicker of shadow coiled behind his infant eyes. Unseen. Unfelt. Watching.
Vyroth had not spoken again .
But he was there .
Waiting.