Chapter 4: Borrowed Time
The skies over Kremond were soft with clouds, and the scent of rain clung to the air. Spring had arrived.
In the heart of the city, beyond the stone walls and ancient wards of the Farah Estate, the world believed it was witnessing the rise of a miracle child.
Three years old—and already, Sirius Von Farah was the pride of the empire.
They called him brilliant.
They called him gifted.
They called him the child of destiny.
But none of them knew.
None of them could even begin to imagine the soul that watched from behind those crimson eyes.
"Fools," Sirius thought, watching a training session in the courtyard from his window. "You think my father's swordplay is the peak of power. You worship it like it's divine."
"And yet… he's barely a shadow compared to what I once was."
Still, he respected the man.
Because Caspain Von Ross Farah, his father in this life, was no ordinary warrior.
He was the only human alive—in the entire known world—who had broken through the mortal limits of the sword and achieved the fabled rank of Grand Swordmaster.
A living legend.
A name even kings bowed to.
"If the world knew the truth," Sirius mused, "they'd understand just how weak they truly are."
But they didn't.
They feared Caspain. Admired him. Hoped for his favor.
Knights traveled across continents just to witness his blade. Five Swordmasters had already sworn fealty to him, claiming he stood closer to divinity than any man.
They weren't wrong—by their standards.
But to Sirius, it was like watching a child stand atop an anthill and claim dominion over mountains.
Inside the estate, life moved quietly.
Servants bustled through the halls. Spirit wolves roamed the courtyard in silence. Arcane torches flickered with controlled fire. Magical barriers shimmered faintly in the walls, maintaining a perfect balance of mana.
Sirius—the once Demon King, now reborn as the young Lyrian—observed it all from behind calm, unblinking eyes.
"This life… this family… they love me," he acknowledged. "But I will never trust them."
He remembered what trust had cost him.
He remembered Anubis—his own brother—smiling as he sealed him away, all for a throne Sirius never even wanted.
"I loved him," Sirius thought bitterly. "More than I should have. And he chose envy."
So no matter how warm his new mother's embrace felt, or how proud his father's gaze became, Sirius would not allow his heart to forget. Not again.
"I'll protect them," he decided. "Treat them well. Repay their kindness. But trust? No."
Not in this life.
And yet… he couldn't deny the emotions they stirred.
His mother, Grand Duchess Xylia Von Tovi Farah, one of the six remaining 8th Class Magicians in the world, would cradle him each night, her mana weaving lullabies into the air.
"You're my light, Lyrian," she whispered once, unaware of the soul she held. "You're going to change this world."
And perhaps, he would.
But not in the way she imagined.
He studied everything—sword, spell, politics, mana theory, ancient history, divine scripture.
Even as a toddler, his understanding surpassed his tutors. He memorized every word, absorbed every rune, dissected every theory.
To the world, it looked like genius.
To Sirius, it was like a lion being handed books on how to hunt mice.
He played along.
He laughed when expected, asked innocent questions, smiled like any child would.
And behind that smile, the mind of a king watched, waiting.
"When I walk again among the stars," he promised in silence, "they will all tremble. But for now… I will wait."
The estate was alive with voices that adored him.
"Young Lord Lyrian is reading already?"
"He solved the puzzle box in two minutes!"
"He has his mother's brilliance and his father's aura."
But Sirius only listened to one thing: the heartbeat of the world.
And it was… slow. Quiet. Sleeping.
"This world has grown complacent," he thought. "They believe the peak of power is a single sword or a single spell."
"Let them believe that. Let them worship their illusions."
One day, they would see the truth.
But until then… he would be their beloved genius. Their miracle child. Their golden heir.
"And when the time comes," he thought, watching the wind stir the petals outside his window, "they'll realize the demon they feared was already walking among them."
Smiling.
Growing.
Waiting.