Chapter 2: The Resonating Void
The moon hung over the Kingdom of Argun like a fractured bone, casting a sickly silver glow over the stone spires of the Royal Academy. While the rest of the world slept, Volt Laywin was drowning in a sea of ancient static.
Inside his cramped dormitory room, the air had turned unnaturally still. Volt lay on his back, his breathing ragged and shallow. He wasn't in a normal sleep; he was suspended in a state of psychic paralysis. Beneath the surface of his consciousness, something was clawing its way up—a thought, jagged and primordial, like a leviathan rising from the sunless depths of an obsidian ocean.
A sound began to vibrate in the very marrow of his bones. It wasn't a sound heard with the ears, but a low-frequency hum that resonated within his DNA. It was the sound of a closing door being forced open after nine millennia of rust.
"The time... the hour of the crimson eclipse... has not yet come..."
The voice was slow, cavernous, and heavy with the weight of eons. It pulled Volt's mind out of his physical shell and dragged it into the "Dream of the Void."
In this dream, Volt stood amidst the ruins of a civilization that time had erased from every history book. The ground beneath his feet was not soil, but pulverized marble and the ash of fallen empires. Obsidian towers, once tall enough to pierce the heavens, now lay shattered like the teeth of a giant. The air smelled of sulfur, ozone, and ancient, dried blood.
Nine thousand years ago.
The images flashed before him like a broken film reel. He saw a throne carved from the skull of a progenitor dragon; he saw a sky burning with violet fire; he saw a face—his own face—twisted in a roar of absolute defiance. But the memories were fractured. Every time he tried to focus on the face of the traitor, the vision would splinter into a thousand shards of agony, snapping him back toward the waking world.
The Royal Academy of Argun – The Morning Assembly
The sun rose with a cold, clinical brilliance, illuminating the grand courtyard of the Academy. Hundreds of students stood in rigid, perfect rows, their silver-trimmed uniforms gleaming. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of incense and the hum of suppressed mana.
On the high marble balcony, the Senior Instructors stood like statues of judgment. Their leader, Headmaster Valerius, stepped forward, his voice magically amplified to echo through the valley.
"Strength is the only currency of the future!" the Headmaster's voice boomed. "Talent is the spark, but discipline is the forge. Look to those among you who embody the peak of our craft. They are the ones who will write history, while the weak will be the ink that dries and disappears."
All eyes instinctively turned toward one person: Sai.
Sai stood at the front of the formation like a statue carved from midnight ice. He was the definition of "perfection"—clever, calm, and chillingly cold. While other students whispered or shifted their weight, Sai remained motionless. His mana was suppressed, yet everyone could feel it humming beneath his skin like a dormant volcano.
The female students watched him with flushed faces, their hearts racing in the presence of his overwhelming aura. To them, he was a god in mortal clothing. But Sai showed no emotion. He didn't care for their admiration; he didn't care for the teachers' praise. His eyes were fixed on a horizon that no one else could see.
From a distance, leaning against a shadowed pillar, Aki watched the scene unfold.
Aki belonged to a royal lineage so old that its true name was spoken only in hushed whispers—a family built on secrets and blood-rites. Aki's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were narrowed in thought. He wasn't looking at Sai's perfection. He was looking at the boy at the very back of the crowd.
Volt.
To the world, Volt was the "Fool of the Academy." He was the boy who couldn't grasp a simple mana circuit, the boy who often tripped over his own feet during meditation. The teachers were tired of him; their eyes filled with pity or disgust whenever they looked at his "dim-witted" expression.
"You will never be anything, Laywin," a noble student hissed as he walked past, intentionally bumping Volt's shoulder. "A peasant like you is just a placeholder for a real mage."
Volt let out a hollow, stupid laugh, scratching the back of his head with a vacant smile. "Hehe, you're probably right! I'm just lucky the cafeteria food is free!"
He played the part of the idiot perfectly. But inside his mind, the mask was melting.
Inside the Consciousness of Volt
Deep within the abyss of his own mind, Volt stood face-to-face with a silhouette of pure malice.
Sakuna.
The entity loomed over him, eyes glowing like dying stars. "How long will you crawl in the dirt, My King?" Sakuna's voice dripped with mockery. "The insects believe they are your masters. You are the King of Monsters, the Sovereign of the Calamity... yet you cling to this skin of a weakling because you fear the truth of what you are."
Volt didn't answer. His memory was still not fully recovered. The bridge between his current soul and the Demon King's power was blocked by a wall of white noise.
"I don't know myself yet," Volt whispered in the darkness.
"Then learn," Sakuna hissed. "Or die as a fool while the boy Sai takes the throne that belongs to you."
The Fragmented Memory – The Marx Bloodline
Suddenly, a strange flashback—a memory that didn't belong to Volt or the Demon King—surged forward. It was a vision of the past, twenty years ago.
The Kingdom of the Marx Family was in flames.
He saw a child, no more than two years old. It was Sai. But this wasn't the cold, perfect Sai of the academy. This was a terrified toddler clutching a blood-stained blanket in the middle of a palace massacre. The Marx family—the true, ancient kings—were being slaughtered by a revolution of the people they had once protected.
A faithful servant, his armor shattered and blood dripping from his brow, scooped the child into his arms. He ran through secret tunnels, the heat of the fire licking at his heels.
As they escaped into the cold, rainy night, an old, prophetic voice whispered from the shadows of the alleyway: "This child... he sees too much. He carries the weight of a fallen crown and the ice of a dead heart. He will either be the world's salvation, or its ultimate executioner."The Midnight Awakening
The day ended, but the true transformation began at the stroke of midnight.
Volt sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat. The air in the room grew heavy, the temperature dropping until his breath came out as a silver mist. The creepy, ancient sound returned, but this time it wasn't a hum. It was a command.
"Thou knowest thyself... O Demon King."
Volt's eyes snapped open. For a fraction of a second, the brown of his irises vanished, replaced by an incandescent, predatory crimson glow. A shockwave of pure, unfiltered mana rippled out from his body, cracking the stone walls and causing the furniture to groan under the pressure.
Only one person knew the truth of what had just happened. Inside the darkness, Sakuna grinned.
"The king is waking up," he whispered. "And the world is not prepared for the nightmare that follows."
Directed by Ahmed Barozh