"My Lord and Lady Nebiros, may I present your new son."
The exhausted mother accepted the child into her arms, releasing a slow, weary breath as she gazed down at him. Nestled against her chest was a small infant with a delicate tuft of golden-blond hair and striking ruby-red eyes that seemed almost too vivid for a newborn. She studied him quietly, the fatigue of childbirth momentarily forgotten as she took in the sight of her son.
After a few moments, she gently passed the child to his father.
Lord Nebiros received the infant carefully, holding him with surprising tenderness for a man of his stature. A deep breath escaped him—one filled with pride and satisfaction.
A son.
An heir.
Someone who would carry the family's name forward and elevate their lineage to even greater heights.
"Azrael," he murmured thoughtfully. "Yes… that will be your name."
Azrael.
The Dark Prince.
For that was who he would become—Azrael Nebiros, the Dark Prince who would one day lead the underworld into an unending age of glory.
Several years later
It was an unusual sight: a five-year-old boy so utterly focused.
But such determination was not surprising when that child had been told that unlocking even a single clan trait might one day allow him the chance to earn a peerage.
From the doorway,Vesper Abbadon quietly observed her son checking if he made any progress since he first started to unlock his clan traits a couple of weeks ago.
Azrael had grown considerably in the five years since his birth. For his age he was tall, standing nearly four feet three inches, his slender frame already hinting at the grace of future maturity. Tousled strands of golden-blond hair fell in uneven layers across his brow, catching the light like pale fire and framing a narrow, sharp-featured face.
Beneath those windswept locks, his crimson eyes burned with an unsettling intensity.
His skin was pale—almost luminous—so smooth and flawless that it lent him an ethereal quality bordering on the unnatural. He wore the same dark, close-fitted garments that he always did along with his checkered scarf wrapped loosely about his neck,
Vesper watched him in silence as he concentrated, clearly attempting to awaken the dormant power of his bloodline.
Five minutes passed.
Finally, she stepped forward, intending to guide him.
But the moment she moved—
Four deep black holes tore open around Azrael.
From each void burst a length of silver chain tipped with a golden barb, the weapons launching forward with frightening speed as they shot straight toward her.
Reacting instantly, Vesper tore open a hole of her own directly before the incoming chains. The magical aperture swallowed their momentum, halting them just short of their target.
For a brief moment the chains hung suspended in the air.
Then, as if obeying an unseen command, they recoiled—slithering backward through the portals before disappearing once more into the darkness surrounding Azrael.
"Mom did…did I just do what I think I did?"Azrael asked his mother staring at the empty air where the holes once were.
"Well Azrael, why don't you try again just to make sure?" Vesper responded eager to see if he could open the holes at will. Azrael turned away from his mother and focused on the space in front of him and one by one the four holes appeared once more, and from them the silver chains of karma once again emerged. This time though the chains were calm and slowly started to circle Azrael as if waiting for a command.
Azrael's small hands clenched and unclenched as the chains swirled around him, their golden barbs glinting like liquid sunlight. The air hummed with the resonance of his bloodline's awakening, a low, vibrating pulse that seemed to echo in the walls of the room itself. For a moment, even the flickering candlelight bent toward him, drawn by the raw, unshaped energy spilling from the boy.
Vesper's breath caught, but she remained calm, her posture steady as she stepped closer. "That's it, Azrael. See how they obey your will?" she prompted softly, her voice both warm and firm. "You are not just summoning them—you are commanding them. You must think of the chains as a part of yourself. Not a weapon… but an extension of your will."
Azrael's crimson eyes narrowed, a spark of curiosity mingling with the intensity of his focus. Slowly, he lifted one hand. The chains responded instantly, rising higher in the air, circling in a tighter orbit around him. He extended a finger, and one of the golden barbs twitched forward, hesitating mid-air as though testing its purpose.
"I can… feel them," he whispered, awe mingling with a hint of fear. "They're… listening."
Vesper nodded, pride flickering across her features. "Yes, my son. Your bloodline is awakening. But remember, power without control is dangerous—even to you. These chains," she gestured at the suspended weapons, "are not just tools. They are a reflection of your spirit, of the strength you carry in your very veins."
Azrael's gaze flickered downward to his hands, then back at the dancing chains. Slowly, cautiously, he bent his knees, and the chains lowered in tandem, coming to rest around his small frame like an ornate, living halo. One chain's barb tapped lightly against the floor, and Azrael flinched, but he did not release his concentration.
Vesper took another step forward. "Now, try moving them without opening new holes. See if you can make them obey your thoughts, not just your instinct."
Azrael's lips pressed into a determined line. He drew a slow, deliberate breath and pictured the chains in his mind: obedient, responsive, extensions of himself rather than instruments of destruction. Gradually, the chains responded, rising, twisting, and forming patterns that mirrored his concentration—first a simple spiral, then a circle, and finally a complex interweaving that resembled a net of shimmering silver and gold.
Vesper's eyes glimmered with a mixture of relief and amazement. "Excellent, Azrael. That is the start. Soon, you will be able to separate the two clan traits which will let you use them in ways you could have never thought of before"
Azrael's small chest heaved as the room's air hummed with latent energy. For a moment, he allowed himself a small smile. The chains were not just obeying him—they were his. He could feel the pulse of his lineage, ancient and powerful, coursing through him. A Dark Prince was awakening.
And somewhere deep in the shadows, the world beyond the manor would soon come to recognize the name Azrael Nebiros—not as a child, but as a force unlike any it had ever seen.