Dawn brought no comfort to Azreth. He woke stiff and hollow, dried tears crusting his cheeks, his mother's pendant cold against his chest. Reality crashed back with merciless crity—his parents were gone, his vilge destroyed, and he was alone in the depths of the Shadow Forest.

  Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He hadn't eaten since the festival began yesterday, but the thought of food made him nauseous. Grief and confusion warred within him, alongside the disturbing fragments of memory that had surfaced the night before.

  "Focus," he whispered to himself, his voice strange in the forest's silence. "What would Father do? What would Mother want?"

  Survival first. Everything else ter.

  Azreth rose on shaky legs, orienting himself. The Shadow Forest was dangerous even for adult demons; for a child alone, it was potentially lethal. Predators roamed freely here—both natural beasts and magical aberrations created by the forest's unstable energies.

  He needed shelter, food, water. In that order.

  As he considered his options, a strange sensation swept over him—like someone else was thinking alongside him, offering guidance. Without consciously deciding to, he found himself scanning the trees with the practiced eye of an experienced survivalist.

  Look for elevated terrain. Water runs downhill, predators hunt in valleys. Find a defensible position with access to water.

  The thought came with such crity that Azreth startled, looking around as if someone had spoken aloud. But he was still alone. The knowledge had come from within—from the memories of the person he had once been.

  Kael. The human hero.

  Shivering despite the warm air, Azreth decided to follow the inexplicable advice. He began walking uphill, moving as quietly as his demon heritage allowed—which was very quiet indeed. His cwed feet found natural purchase on the forest floor, avoiding twigs and dried leaves instinctively.

  After an hour's careful travel, he found what he was looking for: a massive, ancient tree that had partially uprooted, creating a sheltered hollow beneath its exposed roots. Nearby, a small spring bubbled from between rocks, feeding a thin stream that disappeared into the underbrush.

  Perfect. Defensible, hidden, with fresh water.

  Again, the thought came with certainty that belied his ten years of life. Azreth approached the hollow cautiously, checking for signs of current inhabitants. Finding none, he squeezed between the massive roots and examined the space within.

  The hollow was rger than it appeared from outside, with enough room for him to lie down comfortably. The roots formed a natural ttice that could be reinforced for protection, and the earth was dry and retively soft.

  Azreth set to work, gathering fallen branches to weave between the exposed roots, creating a more secure barrier. As he worked, the methodical activity calmed his turbulent thoughts. By midday, he had constructed a serviceable shelter, nearly invisible from the outside when the entrance was covered.

  His next priority was food. Here, his demon upbringing provided knowledge his human memories couldn't. He knew which forest fungi were edible, which pnts contained nutrients, which insects provided protein when necessary. His mother had taught him well during their foraging trips.

  The thought of her sent a fresh wave of grief crashing through him. Azreth paused in his gathering, clutching a handful of purple shadowcaps to his chest as silent tears tracked down his face.

  "I miss you," he whispered. "I don't know how to do this without you."

  No answer came but the forest's quiet sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a shadow crow, the gentle gurgle of the spring. Life continued, indifferent to his suffering.

  After allowing himself a moment of grief, Azreth returned to his shelter with his meager findings. He arranged the fungi and roots carefully, rationing them into small meals. Without fire—which might attract unwanted attention—he would have to eat them raw.

  As dusk approached, bringing deeper shadows to the already dim forest, Azreth retreated into his root hollow. He pulled the makeshift door closed behind him and huddled in the darkness, clutching his mother's pendant for comfort.

  The isotion and silence allowed the foreign memories to surface again—fshes of another life lived under bright skies in a body with pale skin and rounded ears. Memories of training with swords, of companions ughing around campfires, of a woman with golden hair whose smile made his heart ache with longing.

  "Who were you?" Azreth whispered to this ghost in his mind. "Who was I?"

  No coherent answer came, only more disjointed images: a grand white city with soaring towers; a cave of crystal that hummed with power; a monstrous figure on an obsidian throne; and most disturbingly, the sensation of a bde sliding between his ribs, pushed by hands he had trusted.

  Azreth shuddered, curling tighter around himself. It made no sense. How could he remember dying? How could he remember being someone else entirely?

  Sleep eventually cimed him, but it brought no respite. In his dreams, he lived fragments of Kael's life—training as a young padin, receiving the Divine Sword, leading his first raid against a demon settlement. The dream-memories carried emotions that troubled him deeply: righteous certainty that demons were evil, deserving of destruction; pride in cleansing the world of their taint; satisfaction when another demonic threat was eliminated.

  He woke gasping, revolted by the emotions that had felt so natural in the dream. "That wasn't me," he told himself fiercely. "I would never feel that way."

  But a voice deep within whispered: You did. We did.

  Days passed, blending together in a rhythm of survival. Azreth expanded his territory cautiously, marking safe paths and dangerous areas, finding better food sources, and improving his shelter. The foreign memories continued to surface randomly, but he grew better at integrating them—using the survival knowledge without dwelling on their source.

  On the seventh day since the raid, everything changed.

  Azreth was harvesting bloodberries from a thorny bush when he sensed movement nearby—something rge, moving with predatory stealth. He froze, every instinct screaming danger.

  A low growl confirmed his fears. From behind a fallen log, a shadowfang emerged—a creature resembling a massive wolf with crystalline growths protruding from its shoulders and a maw that could crush bone with ease. Its six red eyes fixed on Azreth with hungry intensity.

  In that moment, both sides of his nature offered contradictory advice:

  Run. Climb. Get to higher ground where it can't follow.

  Stand your ground. Show no fear. Demons respect strength.

  Paralyzed by the conflicting instincts, Azreth did neither. The shadowfang charged.

  Time seemed to slow. As death bounded toward him, something deep within Azreth's consciousness shattered completely—the remaining barrier between his present self and his past identity. In that moment of mortal danger, Kael's combat experience flooded through him without filter or restraint.

  Azreth moved with a grace and precision impossible for a ten-year-old demon child. He sidestepped the charging beast at the st possible instant, his cwed hand shing out to rake across its exposed fnk as it passed.

  The shadowfang howled, skidding on the forest floor as it turned for another attack. This time, Azreth was ready. He reached for his innate fire magic—weak but precisely controlled—and channeled it through his fingertips. Not as random fmes, but as a concentrated bde of heat that extended like a short sword from his hand.

  The Divine Bde Technique, whispered Kael's memory. Adapted for demonic fire.

  The shadowfang lunged again. Azreth darted forward instead of away, ducking beneath its massive jaws and driving his fire-bde up into the soft tissue beneath its jaw. The beast's momentum carried it over him, the fire-bde slicing through its throat in a spray of dark blood.

  The shadowfang crashed to the ground, twitching and gurgling as life drained from it. Azreth stood shakily, staring at his hand where the fire-bde had already dissipated. He had never created such a focused manifestation of his magic before, had never moved with such deadly precision.

  "That wasn't me," he whispered, though he knew it was a lie. It had been him—both aspects of him working in perfect synchronicity for survival.

  As the shadowfang's life ebbed away, something unexpected happened. A faint purplish mist rose from the creature's body—its magical essence releasing with death. Normally, this energy would dissipate back into the forest, but as it drifted past Azreth, he felt a peculiar pull.

  Without conscious decision, he reached toward the mist. The energy responded, swirling around his outstretched hand before sinking into his violet skin. A rush of power flooded through him—raw, primal energy that made his nerves tingle and his vision sharpen.

  Azreth gasped, staggering under the sensation. It wasn't painful, but intensely foreign—like drinking water after days of thirst. The energy settled within him, integrating with his own magical reserves, strengthening them.

  Soul absorption, came Kael's knowledge. A demonic ability I fought against but never possessed.

  Yet clearly, in this life, he did possess it. Azreth looked down at his hands, seeing them shimmer slightly with newly absorbed power. Was this normal for demons? His parents had never mentioned such an ability, though there were many aspects of demon physiology that weren't discussed with children.

  Or was this another sign of his uniqueness—his dual nature creating capabilities neither human nor demon typically possessed?

  Before he could consider further, a voice spoke from the shadows nearby.

  "Fascinating. A child using both the Padin's Focused Strike and demon soul absorption in the same combat."

  Azreth whirled, automatically dropping into a defensive stance he had no conscious memory of learning. From between ancient trees emerged a figure unlike any demon he had seen before.

  The stranger was elderly—rare among demons, who typically died violently long before reaching old age. His skin was ashen gray, creased with countless wrinkles. Where most demons had two horns, he had a crown of small, broken protrusions circling his bald head. One eye was milky white with blindness, while the other gleamed with sharp intelligence. He leaned on a staff made from what appeared to be petrified shadow.

  "Who are you?" Azreth demanded, maintaining his stance despite his exhaustion. "How long have you been watching me?"

  The ancient demon chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rustling. "Long enough to see something impossible." He tilted his head, studying Azreth with his one good eye. "A demon child moving like a trained human warrior, then absorbing essence like a high-born demon lord. Curious combination."

  Fear clenched Azreth's heart. Had this stranger somehow perceived his dual nature? Was that even possible?

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, edging away. "I just got lucky."

  "Luck?" The old demon ughed again. "Child, I've lived nine centuries in these shadows. I know the difference between luck and impossibility made manifest."

  He approached slowly, his staff tapping against the forest floor. Despite his apparent frailty, he moved with surprising grace.

  "You need not fear me," he continued when Azreth remained tense. "If I wished you harm, I would have let the shadowfang feast on your bones and then consumed whatever remained of your essence."

  The blunt statement, delivered with casual indifference, was strangely reassuring in its demonic directness.

  "What do you want then?" Azreth asked, rexing his stance slightly.

  "Knowledge," the stranger replied simply. "I am Vexerus, once advisor to three Demon Lords, now hermit by choice. I study the unusual, the unexpected, the impossible." His good eye gleamed. "And you, child, are all three."

  Azreth considered running, but something told him this ancient demon would find him wherever he hid in the forest. Besides, survival alone was proving difficult. Perhaps this Vexerus could provide assistance—if the risk was worth the reward.

  "My name is Azreth," he offered cautiously. "My vilge was destroyed by human Padins. My parents..." His voice caught. "I'm alone now."

  "Ah, the raid seven days past," Vexerus nodded. "I felt the divine magics from my dwelling. Unusually powerful Padins for a simple purge."

  "There was nothing simple about it," Azreth said bitterly. "They killed everyone. Even my mother, who was just a healer."

  The old demon's expression softened slightly. "Humans fear what they do not understand, and they understand nothing of our kind." He paused, studying Azreth more intently. "But perhaps you understand more than most, young one."

  The comment was too pointed to be coincidence. Azreth tensed again. "What do you mean?"

  "You move between worlds," Vexerus said cryptically. "I can see it in your aura—a duality that should not exist. Human and demon, light and shadow, past and present."

  Ice formed in Azreth's veins. "How can you know that?" he whispered.

  The ancient demon tapped his blind eye. "When one eye closes to the physical world, another opens to deeper truths. I see what others cannot—the yered nature of souls." His gnarled hand gestured toward Azreth. "And yours has lived before, on the other side of the great divide."

  The confirmation of his dual nature—from an outside source—left Azreth speechless. For days, he had questioned his sanity as foreign memories invaded his consciousness. Now, this stranger confirmed what he had feared and hoped: he truly was both Azreth and Kael, demon child and reborn hero.

  "Is that... common?" he finally managed to ask.

  Vexerus ughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "Common? Child, in nine centuries of study, I have never encountered anything like you. The barriers between human and demon souls are nearly absolute. For one to be reborn as the other..." He shook his head in wonder. "It should be impossible."

  "But it happened," Azreth said softly. "I remember things—fragments of another life. Fighting demons. Being a hero. Dying by betrayal."

  The old demon's eye widened at this st revetion. "Fascinating," he breathed. "Not just any human, then, but one significant enough to break cosmic rules." He leaned forward on his staff. "Tell me, child, do you know who you were?"

  "Kael," Azreth said, the name feeling both foreign and intimately familiar on his tongue. "They called me Kael Lightbringer. I was... a hero." He struggled with the concept, so at odds with his current reality. "I killed the Demon King."

  Vexerus actually staggered back a step, his blind eye suddenly bzing with ghostly light. "Impossible," he whispered. "The Cycle cannot be—" He cut himself off, composing his features. "You are certain of this memory?"

  Azreth nodded slowly. "I remember the Blood Citadel. The obsidian throne. Driving a glowing sword into the Demon King's chest while my companions—" He stopped, pain ncing through him at the memory of those who had ter betrayed him.

  The ancient demon was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he straightened, decision apparently made.

  "You cannot remain in this forest, Azreth who was Kael. Creatures far more dangerous than shadowfangs roam these shadows. And if others discovered your nature..." He left the implication hanging.

  "Where can I go?" Azreth asked, desperation edging into his voice. "My vilge is destroyed. I have nowhere."

  "You will come with me," Vexerus decred, not a question but a statement of fact. "My dwelling is hidden from both human and demon eyes by magics older than the Scar itself. There, you will be safe while we determine what your existence means."

  Azreth hesitated, natural caution warring with desperate need. "Why would you help me?"

  The old demon's mouth curved in a smile that revealed surprisingly sharp teeth. "Self-interest, of course. If the hero who slew the st Demon King has been reborn as a demon child, then the Cycle has changed. That knowledge is valuable beyond measure."

  "What cycle?" Azreth asked, the term triggering another fragment of memory—the dying Demon King whispering about a cycle continuing.

  "All in good time, young one," Vexerus said, turning away. "Gather your belongings. My dwelling is half a day's walk from here, and the forest grows more dangerous after dark."

  Azreth hesitated only briefly before returning to his root shelter to collect his meager possessions—his mother's pendant, the pouch containing her hair and his father's blood-stained cloth, and the few edible pnts he had gathered. His survival instincts told him following this strange old demon was risky, but both his demon intuition and Kael's experience suggested Vexerus was offering his best hope for survival.

  Besides, the hermit seemed to know something about the "cycle" that kept appearing in his fragmented memories. If Azreth was ever to understand his dual nature—and perhaps his purpose in this second life—Vexerus might hold the key.

  As they walked deeper into the Shadow Forest, following paths invisible to untrained eyes, Azreth felt something he hadn't experienced since the night of the raid: hope. He was still an orphan, caught between two worlds that hated each other. But perhaps, with guidance, he could begin to make sense of his impossible existence.

  And perhaps, one day, he could understand why a hero who had devoted his life to protecting humanity had been betrayed by those he trusted most—only to be reborn as the very thing he had once sworn to destroy.

  The irony wasn't lost on him, young as he was. Kael had orphaned countless demon children through his raids; now Kael's soul experienced that same loss from the other side. It seemed like justice, or perhaps a cosmic lesson in perspective.

  "You're thinking deeply for one so young," Vexerus noted as they navigated a particurly treacherous section of forest.

  "I was wondering if this is punishment," Azreth admitted. "For what I—what Kael—did to demons in his life."

  The old demon gnced back, his good eye evaluating. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's an opportunity."

  "For what?"

  "To understand both sides of an ancient conflict," Vexerus said. "Knowledge few have ever possessed."

  Azreth considered this as they continued their journey. The memories of Kael were still fragmentary, but they contained a certainty that demons were evil, corrupted beings that deserved destruction. Yet his life as Azreth had shown him the love, honor, and sacrifice his demon parents were capable of.

  Both perspectives couldn't be entirely right, yet neither seemed completely wrong. It was a paradox that his young mind struggled to reconcile, yet somehow, he felt that understanding this contradiction was crucial to understanding himself.

  As the ancient trees closed around them, Azreth—orphan of two worlds—followed his new mentor into the deepest shadows of the forest, leaving behind the innocence of childhood but carrying within him the seeds of a unique wisdom born of dual existence.

  Behind them, the body of the shadowfang had already begun to dissolve back into the forest's magical ecosystem. But the creature's essence now flowed through Azreth's veins, the first tribute to a power he had only begun to discover—the ability to absorb and integrate the strengths of those he defeated.

  A human hero's combat skills. A demon's soul absorption. Two natures merged into something unprecedented.

  The Cycle, whatever it was, had indeed changed.