The night Hiko Shinoegami was born, the rain did not fall like rain should.
It struck the tiled roofs of the small border town as if the sky itself were throwing stones, loud and uneven, rattling shutters and waking even those used to storms. The wind howled down the narrow streets, carrying the scent of wet earth and iron. Inside the Shinoegami household, however, there was only the sound of strained breathing, hurried footsteps, and the quiet prayers of two people who had waited years for this moment.
"Just a little more, Airi," the midwife said, her voice firm but gentle. "You're doing well. I can see the head."
Airi Shinoegami's fingers clenched around the sheets, knuckles white. Sweat soaked her hair, sticking strands to her cheeks. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, but her eyes never left the man standing beside her.
Ren Shinoegami squeezed her hand, as if afraid that letting go for even a second would cause everything to fall apart. "You're strong," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "You've always been strong."
Another cry tore from Airi's throat. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
A baby's wail cut through the storm.
"It's a boy," the midwife announced.
Relief flooded Ren so suddenly his knees nearly buckled. He laughed, a short, broken sound, and tears blurred his vision. "Airi," he whispered. "You did it."
For a brief moment, the world was perfect.
Then the midwife went silent.
Ren noticed it first. The way her hands stiffened. The way her smile vanished as if wiped away. The baby's cries continued, healthy and loud, but the air in the room changed—grew heavy, wrong.
"What is it?" Ren asked.
The midwife did not answer immediately. Slowly, carefully, she turned the newborn so the lantern light fell upon his chest.
There, just above the heart, was a mark.
It looked like blackened fire etched into skin. Jagged lines twisted into a symbol no one needed to be taught to recognize. The mark seemed too dark, too deep, as if it had been burned into the child before he ever drew his first breath.
A Devil's Mark.
Airi's breath hitched. "No…"
Ren felt his blood turn cold. He had heard the stories, like everyone else. Children born with that mark were cursed by fate itself. Misfortune followed them like a shadow. Some brought disaster to their families. Others died young, leaving only regret behind.
The midwife swallowed. "I'm… I'm sorry."
The baby continued to cry, small fists waving in the air, unaware of the silence pressing down on the room.
Airi forced herself to sit up despite the pain. "Let me see him."
The midwife hesitated, then gently placed the child into Airi's arms.
The moment Airi felt his warmth, something in her expression changed. Fear trembled there, yes—but it did not replace the love. Her trembling fingers brushed the mark, and the baby quieted, blinking up at her with unfocused eyes.
"He's warm," Airi whispered. "He's alive."
Ren stepped closer. His gaze lingered on the mark, his chest tight, but when the baby's tiny hand wrapped around his finger, all the stories he had ever heard seemed far away.
"He's our son," Ren said.
The midwife looked between them, eyes filled with pity and worry. "You should have a doctor examine him as soon as possible. A proper one."
Ren nodded. "We will."
Outside, thunder rolled.
The doctor arrived before dawn.
He was an older man, gray-haired and thin, wearing robes embroidered with the crest of the Arcane Medical Association. A crystal lens hung around his neck, faintly glowing as it responded to mana in the air.
Ren stood to the side as the doctor examined the sleeping baby. Airi held Hiko close, as if the world itself might try to steal him away.
"The mark is genuine," the doctor said at last. "There is no mistaking it."
Airi's grip tightened. "What does it mean for his health?"
The doctor hesitated. "Physically, he is strong. No deformities. His mana channels are… unusually quiet for a newborn, but that is not necessarily a bad thing."
"Then what?" Ren asked.
The doctor met their eyes. "The Devil's Mark is a curse of fate. It does not guarantee death. But it does mean that misfortune will cling to him. Accidents. Loss. Encounters that would not occur to others."
Airi's voice shook. "You're saying his life will be nothing but suffering?"
"I am saying," the doctor replied carefully, "that the world will be harsher to him than to most."
Silence fell again.
Ren bowed deeply. "Thank you for your honesty."
The doctor nodded, gathering his tools. At the door, he paused. "Love him well," he said quietly. "That may be the only thing that can truly defy fate."
When he was gone, Airi began to cry—not loudly, but silently, tears sliding down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to her son's.
Ren wrapped his arms around both of them.
"We'll protect him," he said. "No matter what."
And so they named him Hiko Shinoegami.
Years passed.
Hiko's childhood was… ordinary.
He learned to walk, then to run. He scraped his knees chasing fireflies at dusk. He laughed when his father lifted him onto his shoulders, and fell asleep to his mother's soft humming.
Yet small things went wrong.
A ladder would snap when Hiko climbed it, but only after he had already jumped off. A roof tile would fall where he had been standing moments before. Once, a cart lost control in the marketplace, crashing through stalls—but stopped just short of him, leaving him untouched amid the wreckage.
People whispered.
Ren heard it when he passed neighbors in the street. Airi felt it in the way smiles stiffened.
But at home, Hiko was simply Hiko.
"Papa," Hiko said one evening, staring into the hearth. "Why does the fire look angry today?"
Ren chuckled. "Fire always looks angry."
Hiko tilted his head. "But it feels different."
Ren paused. "Feels?"
Hiko nodded. "Like it's… waiting."
Ren said nothing, unease stirring in his chest.
In this world, power was simple in theory.
Magic.
Everything began with mana—the invisible energy flowing through the land, through living beings, through the air itself. Some people could sense it. Fewer could control it. Those who could were divided into paths: elemental magic, enhancement, healing, summoning, and countless specialized branches.
Most awakened their magic between the ages of seven and ten.
Hiko turned eight on a quiet spring morning.
That night, he dreamed of fire.
Not the warm fire of the hearth, but black flames that burned without light. They curled around him, whispering, yet they did not hurt. They felt familiar.
When he woke, his chest burned.
Hiko sat up, heart pounding, and pulled aside his shirt.
There it was.
The Devil's Mark.
He stared at it for a long time.
"So that's why," he murmured.
Fear did not come.
Instead, curiosity did.
The academy in town allowed children to test their magic once a year.
Ren and Airi stood beside Hiko as he placed his hand on the magic analyzer—a clear crystal orb resting on a metal stand. Runes flickered to life as it absorbed his mana.
The instructor frowned.
The runes twisted. Darkened.
Then the orb spoke in a flat, artificial voice.
"Magic Attribute Detected."
"Designation: Cursed Flame."
The room went still.
Hiko's eyes widened. "Cursed… Flame?"
The orb continued.
"Analysis: This magic weakens all phenomena it touches. Physical matter. Magical constructs. Living beings. Absolute erosion of strength."
Hiko's breath caught.
"Weakness… of everything?" he whispered.
The instructor stepped back, pale.
Ren felt his heart hammer.
Hiko lowered his hand, staring at his palm as if it belonged to someone else.
For the first time, shock washed over him.
Not shame.
Not fear.
But realization.
The fire in his dream flickered in his mind.
If this was his curse—
Then it was also his power.
Outside, the wind shifted.
And somewhere, unseen, fate took notice.