FLASHBACK
River sat on the carpet grass in the manor's garden, plucking petals from the rose buds he had earlier cultivated. He placed them in a woven basket, intending to make soothing tea for everyone in the manor.
Softly humming a popular Asian lullaby, he swayed his head left and right to the rhythm. As he reached for a single lily flower nestled among the roses, a sudden rush of cold wind swept over him, sending shivers down his spine.
"Oh my, the forecast said sunny today. Why would this sudden cold disrupt my peace?" River murmured to himself.
A pat on his shoulder made him jump, nearly landing face-first in the heap of roses. But the hem of his robe caught him, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the person who saved him turned him around.
"Young master, are you okay?" His butler asked, scanning River's face for injuries.
River smiled at the worried expression on old man Lee's face. "Yes, you just scared me half to death," he replied dramatically, placing the back of his palm against his forehead. He shifted to stand more comfortably, creating a bit of space between himself and his loyal butler.
"I'm sorry, Young Master," the old man said, slightly bowing.
"Why are you here? It's cold out. You should go back inside," River suggested politely, a frown creasing his features.
"Well, your mother instructed me to fetch you. As you can see, the forecasters didn't do their work properly," Old man Lee sighed.
"Yeah, I—" River was cut off by a thunderclap, causing him to jump again, this time into his butler's arms.
"I'm sorry," River apologized, flustered.
"It's fine," the old man chuckled softly, amused by his young master's reaction.
"Let's get you inside," Old man Lee said, placing a hand on River's shoulder to lead him back to the manor.
"Yes," River absentmindedly replied, then looked up at the cloudy sky when something caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes to study the sky carefully. That was when he noticed a tornado brewing.
"It's a tornado," River murmured. But something felt off; he could sense it—this was not normal. He narrowed his eyes again to study the brewing tornado; suddenly, the wind force grew stronger, and the tornado expanded.
This didn't seem... natural. He thought.
His butler nudged him, but River raised his hand to stop the interruption.
"This weather isn't normal," he whispered.
The tornado became full-blown, but what heightened River's suspicion was that it didn't destroy a single thing. Then it clicked.
This could only be the work of magic.
But the magic looked advanced; it could only have been crafted by a powerful witch, warlock, or... demon? But who would have done this, and why? A light bulb appeared in his mind as he recalled reading somewhere that harmless tornadoes were used in the past by magic-oriented people to convey messages.
Still, it didn't make sense. Who would want to send a message to him? A frown creased his face as he pondered deeply.
He had no relatives at war or embarking on a journey... or did he?
"Oh my god!" River gasped as it all finally clicked.
"Go back to the manor and tell my mother that I'll be with her shortly," River said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, Young Master," the butler bowed and left, casting a worried glance at the young silver-haired man.
River pulled his hair into a ponytail using the band on his wrist, crouched down slightly, and launched himself from the ground into the sky. From there, he had a better view of the tornado. He hovered for a while, zeroing in on the swirling vortex. Then, his eyes caught a movement within the tornado—a very minuscule detail that would have gone unnoticed by an ordinary civilian.
A floating petal.
River elegantly sped past through the wind, aiming for the tornado. There was no way he could pass through the magical vortex without compressing it. He hovered gracefully in the air, right in front of the tornado. This was going to be a difficult task, but he was determined to crack it. It seemed like the person who sent the message didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands.
River spread his arms wide, his ponytail long discarded by the heavy wind, leaving his hair floating behind him and making him look ethereal. He reached for energy from nature, closing his eyes as he summoned his inner prowess, utilizing everything nature provided. The rush in his veins intensified—a powerful surge of intense magic—his body and soul seamlessly accepting the transformation. His once innocent hazel eyes now burned with a golden hue, a fiery intensity.
In the blink of an eye, he sharply clapped his outstretched hands together, causing the tornado to swiftly dissipate. It vanished as if it had never existed in the first place.
Without dwelling on it too much, River dove down to catch the falling petal before it touched the ground. Allowing it to vanish would be unacceptable. He descended through the hot wind, his right arm outstretched to intercept the delicate petal. His sharp gaze fixed on the tiny object as he finally grasped the white petal in his hand, then landed gently on his feet.
"Yeah. I've got it," he heaved out, smiling broadly.
He carefully opened his palm, still feeling the remnants of the intense magic. His body automatically dispelled the invisible clutches of dark magic surrounding the petal. Slowly but surely, the petal transformed itself into a scroll. And there was only one person who would use such ancient media.
Lucifer.