The first thing anyone in Valoria's capital noticed that morning wasn't the sunrise — it was the sky splitting open.
A tear of light shimmered above the marble steps of the Adventurers Guild, humming like a storm contained in glass. Clerks froze mid-sentence. Mercenaries halfway through breakfast dropped their mugs. The air crackled — and then, with a sound somewhere between a thunderclap and a divine sigh, the rift burst.
Five figures spilled out.
Or rather — were thrown.
Kael hit the flagstones first, rolling face-first into a stack of empty crates. Lyra crashed into him a second later, her axe flying from her grip and burying itself in a nearby wall. Darius dropped upside-down, daggers scattering like silver rain. Eldrin landed last, face-first, staff in hand, muttering a spell that fizzled halfway through. Randel, somehow, came out standing… for two whole seconds before collapsing flat on his back with a groan.
The rift hung there a moment longer — humming softly, pale light spilling out like liquid dawn — before it sealed itself shut with a sound like tearing silk. Silence followed.
Then came the screaming.
"WHAT IN THE SEVEN SAINTS' NAMES—"
"Kael?! Lyra?! You're bleeding—are you alive?"
"By the gods, someone get a healer!"
The guild courtyard erupted. Clerks rushed forward. Adventurers stared, half-in awe, half-in horror. The A-rank team of Valoria — the kingdom's pride, the veterans of a dozen campaigns — lay in a pile like they'd been used to mop the floor of hell.
"...Ow," Kael groaned, peeling himself off the cobblestones. His blond hair was matted with dirt, one eye swollen. "Did anyone get the name of the carriage that hit me?"
Lyra sat up next to him, braid frayed, armor scorched in places. "That wasn't a carriage, idiot. That was trauma."
Darius, still upside-down, raised a hand weakly. "Does anyone else feel like gravity's personal enemy today?"
Eldrin sighed — long, weary, and profoundly done. His robe was half-burned, his staff cracked. "Can someone please inform the guild master that his A-rank team has returned from a diplomatic suicide mission?"
"Suicide mission?" Kael coughed, spitting dust. "We weren't even suicidal! We were confident! There's a difference!"
Randel didn't speak. He sat cross-legged beside the crater they'd made, staring blankly ahead. His spear was bent. His armor dented. His soul, possibly, gone. "I saw God," he muttered softly. "He had horns."
That shut them all up for a beat.
Then Kael started laughing — dry, unhinged laughter that earned him a few pitying looks. "We fought a child, Randel. A literal kid. And he flattened us so hard the king himself had to save our lives."
Lyra's jaw tightened. She rubbed the back of her neck, eyes dark. "Don't remind me."
Across the courtyard, whispers spread fast.
"Did he say the king?"
"Impossible… the king was there?"
"No way—what were they doing in the Demon Realm?"
"Wait, they went to the Demon Realm? Are they insane?"
Clerics arrived, hauling stretchers and potions, but the damage was more than physical. The A-rank adventurers of Valoria — Kael, Lyra, Darius, Eldrin, and Randel — had been legends in their own right. Not heroes, not saints, but veterans. And yet, in one night, they'd faced something that had shattered every idea they had of strength.
As Lyra leaned against a pillar, bandaged and scowling, she murmured under her breath, "If that kid's only eight, what happens when he grows up?"
No one answered.
Above them, sunlight broke through the clouds, glinting off the marble steps. The day moved on as though nothing had happened — as though the sky hadn't just vomited out the kingdom's best.
But inside the guild hall, behind closed doors, the whispers were already spreading like wildfire.
"A child from the Demon Realm."
"He fought Erevos himself."
"And lived."
And by sundown, one rumor would echo through every tavern in Valoria:
The King met a monster… and the monster was an eight-year-old boy.
✦ Guildmaster Rowan's Regret
The Adventurers Guild of Valoria had survived everything from mana storms to drunken dragon tamers, but the sight of its best A-rank team being wheeled in on stretchers was a new low.
Up in the guildmaster's office—a room that smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and poor life decisions—Guildmaster Rowen Derris sat behind his desk, head in his hands.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his late forties, beard half-grey, eyes sharp and perpetually tired—the look of someone who'd yelled at too many adventurers and loved them all anyway.
Across from him, Kael, Lyra, Darius, Eldrin, and Randel sat (or slumped) in varying states of ruin.
Bandages, bruises, pride—everything was wrapped up tight.
Rowen finally looked up, sighing through his nose. "So let me get this straight. I send five of my top A-ranks—my responsible A-ranks—into the Demon Realm to check on a few rumors about an eight-year-old demon boy…"
He leaned forward, voice rising slightly.
"…and instead, I get back five broken ribs, three concussions, one existential crisis, and apparently the King himself was there too?"
Kael raised a finger weakly. "Technically, you didn't get us back. We were… returned."
Rowen blinked. "Returned?"
Darius coughed. "Yeah. The King dropped us out of a hole in reality. Onto the guild steps. Like—thud."
There was a pause.
Rowen leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "…I should've sent S-ranks. Or even an SS-rank or two. Would've been cheaper than replacing furniture and pride."
Lyra crossed her arms, wincing. "You thought we'd be enough. Because it was 'just a boy.'"
Rowen pointed a quill at her. "Excuse me for assuming five trained adventurers could handle someone still in single-digit birthdays. Demon or not, I figured he'd need a bedtime story, not a hit squad!"
Eldrin adjusted his cracked spectacles, tone dry. "In fairness, Guildmaster, bedtime stories would have been the safer option."
Kael muttered, "He almost tucked us in permanently."
Randel stared blankly at the floor. "He was polite about it."
Rowen blinked. "...What?"
Lyra sighed. "He wasn't evil. He didn't even attack first. It was—" she hesitated, the image of golden eyes flashing behind her lids, "—different. He fought because he had to. Not because he wanted to."
Eldrin nodded slowly. "The boy showed restraint. Mercy, even. He could have killed us all. Instead… he stopped."
Rowen's expression softened slightly. "So you're saying this 'child' who flattened you was nice about it?"
Kael groaned. "You had to be there. He apologized while breaking physics."
Rowen sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Fantastic. A polite destroyer. That's new."
The humor didn't last long. Lyra's tone dropped, uneasy. "He used something… strange. It wasn't mana. It wasn't any magic I've seen."
Eldrin's eyes narrowed, recalling the impossible moment when space itself had screamed. "When he raised his hand, everything just… stopped. Light, sound, mana flow—all gone. It wasn't corruption, it wasn't divine magic… it was like existence itself obeyed him."
Rowen's quill froze mid-air. "You mean… Destroyer Magic?"
The room went still. Even Kael stopped fidgeting.
"Old stories," Rowen said quietly, leaning back. "From before the treaty a thousand years ago. Back when the Holy Kingdom and the Demon Realm signed that little promise not to erase each other. The gods used to wield that art, or so the church claims. They called it Destroyer Magic—the power that unmakes creation. Supposedly died with the last of them."
Lyra's voice was barely above a whisper. "So it's real."
Rowen exhaled, eyes distant. "Apparently. And an eight-year-old demon prince just pulled it off."
Kael slumped in his chair. "We're retiring."
"Denied," Rowen said automatically. "You're too famous to quit. If you retire now, I'll have to explain why my A-ranks were defeated by a child."
Darius raised a brow. "We could lie?"
Rowen deadpanned. "And insult the intelligence of the entire capital? No thanks. I'd rather face the paperwork."
Eldrin cleared his throat. "Sir… what happens now?"
Rowen leaned back, expression softening for a moment. "Now? You rest. Eat. Heal up. And you don't breathe a word about the King's involvement to anyone outside this room. Understood?"
They all nodded, weary.
Then Rowen's eyes flicked toward the window, where the towers of Valoria gleamed faintly in the morning sun. His tone turned quieter, serious now. "If Destroyer Magic really resurfaced, and it's in the hands of a demon child… the Holy Kingdom will hear of it. And when they do…" He trailed off, jaw tightening. "That thousand-year peace won't mean much."
The group fell silent.
Kael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So what you're saying is… we're doomed again."
Rowen gave him a tired grin. "Oh, completely. But at least this time, you've got a story no one's gonna believe."
The adventurers stared at him.
He smirked. "Now get out of my office before I start charging you for emotional damage."
Despite the bruises and the shame, Kael laughed first. Lyra followed. Darius groaned. Eldrin sighed. Randel muttered something about divine nightmares.
But as they left, the laughter—tired, broken, real—echoed through the guild hall like the first breath after drowning.
And far above, in the marble towers of Valoria, the King of Shadows was already planning his next move.