Satisfaction settled through Dravien like a long-awaited breath.

  At last, the boy accepted that he was real.

  Not merely a hallucination born of stress or fear, not some passing madness brought on by humiliation. The resistance was gone. The frantic denial had cracked, and in its place sat a trembling, fragile understanding. Dravien felt it clearly, the subtle shift in Argus’s thoughts as the truth rooted itself deep within his mind.

  The body, however, had not yet followed.

  Argus’s hands shook uncontrollably. His breathing was uneven, shallow, his muscles locked tight with tension and displeasure. The vessel swayed where it stood, knees threatening to buckle, heart racing far faster than the situation demanded.

  Dravien frowned.

  This would not do.

  “You will sit,” he said calmly, threading his will gently through the boy’s spine. “If you collapse now, the damage will be inconvenient for both of us.”

  Argus did not resist. He staggered toward a nearby bench and dropped onto it, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the fabric of his uniform as though it might anchor him to reality. Dravien felt the pulse beneath the skin, frantic and weak, like a cornered animal awaiting the killing blow.

  An unexpected sensation stirred within Dravien.

  Sympathy.

  He did not welcome it, but neither did he deny it. This child had not asked for him. Because of Dravien’s existence, Argus would bear difficulties beyond his comprehension. Pain, scrutiny, danger. Perhaps worse.

  Such was the cost of survival.

  Dravien allowed the silence to stretch before speaking again. “You are processing,” he observed. “That is good. Panic would be inefficient.”

  Argus swallowed. “You… you’re really here.”

  “Yes.”

  A pause. Then, almost casually, Dravien added, “Before we proceed, there is a matter I find curious.”

  Argus stiffened.

  “When you shouted at those boys earlier,” Dravien continued, voice thoughtful, ““you spoke of intercourse with them in a tone of violent intent. I must ask. Is this something you enjoy? Or something you do often?” He tilted his imaginary head, sensing the boy’s rising embarrassment. “Tell me. Was that desire, or merely aggression?”

  Heat flooded Argus’s face. “What? No! I didn’t mean it like that!”

  “Then explain.”

  You cannot seriously be that dense,” Argus snapped, mortified. “They were mistreating me. I was angry. It was an insult.”

  Dravien considered this. “Ah.”

  A pause.

  “So humans express hostility through implied mating threats.”

  “That is not,” Argus stopped himself, groaning. “You know what. Never mind. Can you really not tell when someone is being bullied?”

  A flicker of amusement rippled through Dravien’s consciousness. “I can. I was joking.”

  “…That was a joke?”

  “Humans truly have grown fragile,” Dravien said lightly. “Learn to recognize mockery. It will serve you.”

  Argus groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Please. Just explain everything again. Slowly.” He hesitated, then added quickly, “And don’t throw me into the air.”

  Dravien smiled inwardly.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “As you wish.”

  He began with the truth.

  He spoke of death, of betrayal, of his fall. Of the moment his existence fractured and his soul was cast forward into rebirth, shackled to a future not of his choosing. He did not soften the tale. Nor did he embellish it. He simply stated what was.

  Argus listened in silence.

  Shock radiated from him in waves, sharp and disbelieving, yet he did not interrupt. He did not deny it. The memory of being lifted helplessly into the sky, of gravity bending to another’s whim, had carved belief into him more effectively than any argument.

  Dravien felt pleased.

  Acceptance without resistance was rare.

  “So you’re saying,” Argus whispered when Dravien finished, “you were… reincarnated into me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were… the king of Demons.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long has it been?” Dravien asked suddenly.

  Argus blinked. “Since… your death?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than five thousand years,” Argus answered. “Closer to six, actually.”

  For the first time since awakening, Dravien was genuinely surprised.

  “…I see.”

  He had expected centuries. Perhaps a millennium. But this? Civilizations had risen and collapsed in that span. Languages would have rotted and reformed. Magic itself must have evolved beyond recognition.

  Intriguing.

  “Then tell me about the System,” Dravien said. “It did not exist in my era.”

  Argus straightened slightly, grateful to speak of something familiar. “It appeared around the time you died, or at least that’s what the records say. It helps with progression. Magic, physical abilities, mental focus. Everyone has it.”

  “It measures growth,” Argus said. “Physical stats like strength, durability, agility, vitality. They govern the body’s limits. Higher stats mean stronger muscles, faster reactions, better endurance.”

  Dravien examined Argus’s numbers in the translucent screen. Pathetic.

  “There are mental aspects as well,” Argus continued. “Mana control. Spell stability. Focus. Those improve with training and meditation. They are not shown directly, but they matter more for mages.”

  “And abilities?”

  Argus hesitated.

  “Everyone unlocks at least one,” he admitted. “Minor talents or powerful gifts. Some awaken early. Some later. Some… never awaken anything strong.”

  He looked away. “I have none.”

  Dravien sensed the shame sharply.

  “So this system accelerates growth,” Dravien concluded. “Artificially.”

  “Yes,” Argus said. “Without it, modern mages would not be this strong.”

  Dravien understood immediately.

  “That is why the heroes succeeded.”

  Argus blinked. “What?”

  “You relied on borrowed structure,” Dravien said. “Not evolution. The system bridged the gap too quickly. It allowed coordination, optimization, synergy.”

  He let out a low sound of interest. “Clever. Without it, humanity would not have survived that era.”

  Argus stared at the ground, conflicted.

  Dravien shifted his attention outward.

  The courtyard was… beautiful.

  Stone pathways curved with intention. Arcane lamps embedded into marble pillars shimmered softly even in daylight. Carved runes were not purely functional but artistic.

  Demons had never built like this.

  Function over form had always ruled them.

  “This place is pleasing,” Dravien admitted. “Demons never created beauty. Only power.”

  Argus glanced around. “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  Dravien paused.

  “I sense powerful presences,” he added. “Several.”

  Argus stiffened. “You can feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  “The headmaster is here,” Argus said. “He is Adamantium tier.”

  Dravien frowned, that was the first time he had heard of the term. But of course many new would’ve changed since his death. “Define tiers.”

  “Tiers represent overall power,” Argus explained. “Bronze, Silver, Gold, Mithril, Diamond and Adamantium. Above that are legends.”

  So they have even found a way to quantify magical power, that was a considerable achievement

  “And you?”

  Argus’s voice lowered. “Low Silver.”

  “Are your statistics typical for a mage of this era?” Dravien inquired, his tone a bit teasing. He already saw the way the boy had been overwhelmed earlier, he would require intensive training.

  Argus hesitated.“…No.”

  “How far below average are you?”

  Argus’s voice dropped. “Very.”

  Dravien laughed softly. “Then allow me to rephrase. Is a second year more capable than you?”

  Argus snapped his head up. “How do you even know that?”

  “Your thoughts are unguarded,” Dravien replied. “I see everything. You need not speak aloud. Think your answers, and I will understand.”

  Argus froze. “…You can read all of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “…That’s terrifying.”

  “It will become routine,” Dravien said. “Now. Your body is weak. Your mana channels are underdeveloped. Your reflexes are slow. We will correct this.”

  The boys body’s so weak that it wouldn’t even be able to handle his weaker spells. Much training is needed.

  Argus swallowed. “You’re going to train me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just… don’t try to take over my body,” Argus said quickly. “You don’t know human rules. You’ll get me killed, and besides you don’t know my friends or family. They will instantly suspect something if you take over”

  Dravien considered it. “Forceful domination would damage the vessel. I have no desire to cripple myself. I agree.”

  Relief washed through Argus. Then fear followed. “Are you… are you going to massacre humans?”

  Dravien laughed, rich and genuine. “No. I have already done that. This time, I will study them.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “You will endure my training,” Dravien continued. “In return, I will not seize control unless absolutely necessary.”

  Argus nodded. “I agree.”

  The System chimed.

  Soul Resonance: 2%

  Dravien felt it immediately.

  The connection deepened, faint but undeniable. Not unity. Not harmony. But a beginning.

  Dravien smiled inwardly at the faint pulse of the Soul Resonance.

  Unseen from a distance, the same cloaked figure still lingered, silent and patient.

  Not a single movement went unnoticed, and already a plan began to take shape in shadowed mind.