The decision was made. The morning after their talk, Delkira stood before Iruma, his face a mix of pride and a familiar, deep-seated anxiety.
"Iruma," he said,
"we will go home. But first, you must prove you are ready."
Delkira placed a hand on Iruma's head, and with a quiet word, the seal was broken.
Iruma gasped as a surge of raw power coursed through him, a feeling both terrifying and exhilarating.
Two deep blue wings unfurled from his back, shimmering with a soft, ethereal light, and a small, spade-tipped tail twitched happily behind him. He looked like a miniature version of his father, but with his mother's startlingly bright eyes.
Sullivan, watching from the corner, burst into tears.
"My prince! My little lord!" he sobbed, his magic welling up and creating a small flood in the living room.
Delkira merely laughed, a sound so full of genuine joy it echoed through the room, a sound Sullivan hadn't heard in centuries.
"It seems he has a fan," Delkira said, a rare, relaxed smile on his face.
Under Delkira's strict guidance and Sullivan's enthusiastic assistance, Iruma's training began in earnest. He learned to channel his inner power, to shape the magic around him into tangible forms.
Sullivan, who Iruma had now affectionately dubbed "Grandpa Sullivan," was a patient and encouraging teacher. His vast knowledge of demonic power, honed over centuries of service to Delkira, helped Iruma grasp the complex concepts with surprising speed.
Iruma took to his powers with a natural grace, mastering non-verbal magic with ease and precision. His father taught him to project his will, and he found he had a remarkable knack for archery, his magical arrows always finding their mark with deadly accuracy.
When Delkira finally deemed him ready, he set a final test. It was a combat simulation in a vast, empty field. Delkira, with only a small fraction of his power, created illusions of monstrous beasts and powerful demons. Iruma, using every skill he had learned, darted between the illusions, his wings a blur, his magical arrows striking their targets with silent precision. He was swift, efficient, and, most importantly, he was fearless.
The final illusion, a towering shadow of a beast, bore down on him.
Iruma, exhausted and sweating, took a deep breath. His eyes, now burning with a fierce, confident light, met the illusion's gaze. He channeled every ounce of his energy into a single, powerful arrow.
The arrow shot from his fingertips, not as a projectile, but as a bolt of pure, concentrated magic. It struck the illusion, not with a sound, but with a silent, blinding light, and the towering beast simply dissolved into nothing.
Iruma fell to his knees, gasping for air, but a triumphant smile was on his face.
"He passed," Sullivan said, a proud, teary grin on his face.
"He did," Delkira replied, a profound sense of satisfaction settling in his heart.
Delkira returned home and, with a final look at the house that had been his sanctuary for so many years, he knelt and drew a massive, intricate teleportation circle on the living room floor. He stood and took his son's hand, looking at him with a loving smile.
"It's time to go home, Iruma."
The trio stepped into the circle, and a blinding light engulfed them.
When Iruma opened his eyes, he was no longer in their small, human home.
He was standing in a vast, impossibly large throne room.
The air was thick with ancient power and the scent of ozone.
In front of him, on a throne of obsidian, sat a majestic figure that was both familiar and utterly alien.
Delkira, now in his full demonic glory, sat on his throne, his wings spread wide, and a powerful, regal aura radiating from him. Iruma looked around, his heart pounding in his chest.
This... is the Demon World.