In the vast chamber, <mark>Ainz</mark> <mark>Diablo</mark> sat in his chair, staring into the abyss of his thoughts. They spiraled endlessly, a snake devouring its tail.


    His son had lost.


    The boy who once stood with unshakable confidence now seemed hollow, emptied of something vital. <mark>Ainz</mark> remembered the prodigy the world had once revered—a genius, a rising sun. Just a year ago, <mark>Nox</mark> <mark>Diablo</mark> had carved his name into history, becoming the youngest first-class magician in the entire <mark>Nayxia</mark> Kingdom at the age of eleven—a feat unseen since the kingdom’s legendary founders. No records spoke of another eleven-year-old wielding such mastery.


    And then the incident happened.


    <mark>Nox</mark> had barely survived. A year in a coma, teetering between life and oblivion. When he awoke, <mark>Ainz</mark> had convinced himself it would make his son stronger that adversity tempered the blade of greatness. But deep down, guilt gnawed at him. He clenched his fists, anger simmering beneath his skin, not just at those responsible, but at himself for failing to prevent it.


    Then, a knock.


    “Father, may I come in?”


    The voice was familiar yet distant, like an echo distorted by time.


    <mark>Ainz’s</mark> fingers twitched. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he rose and opened the door.


    <mark>Nox</mark> stood there.


    Pale. Silent. His dark eyes were voids, deep and unreadable. The candlelight flickered behind him yet cast no shadow at his feet, as if even the light itself questioned his presence.


    “How are you feeling, my son?” <mark>Ainz’s</mark> voice was softer than he intended. “You should be resting. You could have called for me instead.”


    <mark>Nox</mark> stepped inside, his movements eerily measured.


    “I… I’m fine, Father. But…” He exhaled sharply. “I can’t seem to remember anything at all.”


    The words settled between them, thick and <mark>unmoving</mark>.


    <mark>Ainz</mark> studied his son, searching for some trace of recognition, of emotion of anything. But <mark>Nox</mark> merely stood there, lost within himself. A sickly unease coiled in <mark>Ainz’s</mark> gut.


    What had happened to him? Had everything about him changed? Was this truly <mark>Nox</mark>? Or just a shell, an imitation, a cruel mockery of the boy he had raised?


    He stepped forward and placed a firm hand on <mark>Nox’s</mark> shoulder. It was warm. Real.


    “It’s alright, my son,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don’t need to remember. Not yet.”


    He exhaled and squeezed <mark>Nox’s</mark> shoulder reassuringly. “Go rest, <mark>Nox</mark>. Your body needs time.”


    <mark>Nox</mark> nodded and silently retreated to his room.


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    As he sat on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight cast restless shadows along the walls. He stared ahead, lost in thought.


    It’s done.


    His father had been worried—he could see that much. But there was something else. Something unsettling.


    For a moment, it hadn’t felt like a father looking at his son. No Ainz <mark>Diablo</mark> had regarded him with an unreadable gaze, as though measuring something beyond flesh and blood.


    That man… he is unfathomable. Even in silence, his presence alone is suffocating.


    A cold shiver crawled up <mark>Nox’s</mark> spine, yet he pushed the feeling aside.


    For now, rest was the only thing he could afford.


    Four Months Later


    Within the castle’s training grounds, <mark>Nox</mark> immersed himself in study and practice, delving deeper into the mysteries of magic.


    Magic in this world was divided into two main types: Elemental Magic: fire, water, earth, air, lightning, and ice, and Divine Magic, which included dark magic, holy magic, and the elusive Primordial Magic: time and space.


    Elemental affinities were innate. Some individuals wielded multiple elements, but true mastery of even one granted immense power.


    Divine magic, however, was different. Holy magic was drawn from prayers and blessings bestowed by divine beings or the God of Protection. It was an extension of faith.


    Dark magic, in contrast, thrived in the void and death. Those who wielded it often worshiped the God of Destruction, drawing power from the abyss itself. Unlike holy magic, dark magic was cultivated, nurtured through rituals and sheer willpower. While feared, it was not inherently evil; it was merely the other side of the cosmic balance.


    And then, there was Primordial Magic. Time and space magic, wielded only by gods, dragons, or the mythical 12th-circle magicians—beings of legend whose existence remained unproven.


    The <mark>Diablo</mark> family was renowned for their mastery of dark magic, a legacy deeply ingrained in their bloodline. <mark>Ainz</mark> himself was a 7th-circle mage, feared and respected for his unparalleled skill in both dark magic and close-combat techniques. <mark>Nox</mark>, too, was a prodigy, having formed his first <mark>mana</mark> circle at just eleven years old.


    In the grand library of <mark>Diablo</mark> Castle, <mark>Nox</mark> sat immersed in study, his thoughts drifting as he reflected on the past four months of training.


    As he moved, as he cast spells, it was as if his body already knew what to do—responding with an instinct beyond his conscious understanding. Every motion felt eerily familiar, like muscle memory from a life he couldn’t recall.


    It’s strange… even though I don’t remember my past, my body does. These movements, this magic… it’s as if they’ve always been a part of me.


    Yet, <mark>amidst</mark> this familiarity, something else lurked, fragments of memories that weren’t his. Whispers of a man named Jake.


    The images flickered in his mind, fleeting yet persistent, like echoes of a life just out of reach.


    The more he <mark>dwelled</mark> on it, the more unsettling it became. Pieces of himself felt misplaced, as though someone had taken his mind and reshaped it into something… different.


    A chill ran down his spine.


    Am I truly <mark>Nox</mark> <mark>Diablo</mark>? Or am I just playing a role in someone <mark>else’s</mark> game?


    Lost in these thoughts, he barely noticed when someone entered the library.


    “What are you so lost in?” a voice inquired.


    <mark>Nox</mark> turned.


    “Mr. <mark>Diluc</mark>… You’re here.”


    <mark>Diluc</mark>, a 4th-circle fire mage, was disciplined, knowledgeable, and had been instrumental in <mark>Nox’s</mark> recovery. Over the past four months, he had guided <mark>Nox</mark>, helping him regain his potential after his coma.


    <mark>Diluc</mark> studied him for a moment before speaking.


    “You’ve learned much, but there is still more to uncover.”