The estate was alive with an energy that Azriel had long become accustomed to, though it never failed to remind him of how much things were changing. The sprawling Voidus Estate—once a quiet place of study and reflection—was now abuzz with the preparations for his 8th birthday. It seemed every room, every hallway, was filled with an endless stream of activity. Maids and servants hurried about, some arranging flowers, others dusting the grandiose portraits of Voidus ancestors that lined the walls. The sound of laughter and gossip echoed through the halls, much of it centered around the heir's coming-of-age celebration.
"Did you hear? Young master Azriel's birthday is today!" one of the maids whispered, her voice muffled by the rich tapestries hanging along the hallway. "Eight years old already… I heard he's been practicing the shadow arts with Lord Lucifer himself."
Another maid, a bit older and more experienced, raised an eyebrow. "More like Lord Lucifer's been keeping an eye on him. You know how it is with that boy. Always so… intense."
"Well, I don't know," the first maid said, lowering her voice. "He's got that look about him, doesn't he? The kind of look that tells you he's always a step ahead. I bet he'll make the Academy quake when he enters. If he chooses to, that is."
The second maid shook her head, her tone both teasing and concerned. "If he chooses to. I wouldn't put it past him to turn it down. He's not like the other children. Too clever, too… distant. I've seen the way he looks at people. Like he's measuring them all."
The first maid nodded in agreement, but with a touch of unease. "It's as if he's always calculating, always a step ahead. You never really know what he's thinking."
The second maid let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Well, don't we all feel that way? Except for when it comes to Lord Lucifer and Lady Lilith, of course. Around them, he seems... well, almost normal. The child he's meant to be, for a moment. And the Head, Kinsley Voidus, too. But everyone else? He's like a different person altogether."
Azriel, standing just beyond the archway, felt a flicker of amusement at their words. It was true—he never showed the same level of distance or awareness with his parents or the Head. With them, he was allowed to be what others expected: a child, innocent and untouched by the weight of his heritage. But the rest of the world? He saw them all for what they truly were. He couldn't afford not to.
It was a mask, a game. And in his game, only those who truly mattered—his parents and his grandfather—were ever allowed to see past it.
He had overheard it all. Standing in the shadows of the hallway, his form dissolving into the dim, ever-shifting dark, Azriel was completely hidden from view. He liked to call it his Mirror World—not the shadow realm his father and grandfather referred to, nor the transient space used by other practitioners of the shadow arts. To them, it was a place of fleeting glimpses, a method for teleportation or slipping between spaces. But to Azriel, it was something more. Much more.
The Mirror World was a perfect reflection of the world outside—but only in the sense that everything was the same and yet not. It was like staring into a mirror that wasn't quite clear, where shapes moved but were always slightly off, where the ordinary was touched by something deeper, something unknown. It was a place where shadows didn't just live—they were everywhere, almost sentient in their own right, waiting to be molded, controlled, and shaped.
Azriel had come to understand this space as his own, something that no one else could truly inhabit the way he could. Others who trained in the shadow arts caught only fleeting glimpses of the Mirror World, using it as a tool to blink through space. They could pass through it quickly, like a shadow crossing over a reflection, but only for brief moments before the strain of maintaining a presence there kicked them out. Even his father, Lucifer, and his grandfather, who were masters of the shadow arts, could only remain for half an hour before the environment itself pushed them back into the light.
But Azriel? He wasn't just passing through. He belonged here. The shadows themselves bent to his will, flowing in response to his thoughts and movements. He could walk among the phantoms of his family and servants, invisible to them, as if he were a ghost passing through a dream. He could stand in the Mirror World and watch their every action, hear their every whisper, yet remain completely undetected. And there was something more—he knew he could kick them out if he wanted to. Any practitioners of the Shadow Arts, or anyone with an affinity for shadows, could be forced from the realm. It was as if he were the administrator of the Mirror World itself, holding absolute dominion over its space, its rules bending to his will.
There was a strange, distorted sense of time in the Mirror World. It didn't obey the rules of the physical realm, yet it wasn't entirely absent. Time stretched and contracted, warping with his presence, as if the very flow of it responded to his will. He could step in and out as he pleased, but every moment felt different—suspended, fluid. It was his domain, shaped by his affinity, but imbued with a deeper force that made him feel as though he were the rightful master of it, controlling its ebb and flow at will..
As the maids continued their conversation in the hall, Azriel stood still in the shadows, lost in the pull of the Mirror World, feeling their words before they even spoke them, their emotions like threads of warmth in the cold night air. They thought they were out of reach—they thought they had the safety of distance between themselves and the young heir—but Azriel could see their every movement, every breath, every subtle flicker of their gaze.
The two maids didn't know he was listening. They wouldn't even know he was there.
"You think he'll really go to the Academy?" one whispered, her voice low but laced with curiosity.
"I doubt it," the other replied, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism. "Azriel's different. He doesn't need the Academy. He knows more than most of us already."
Azriel's lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. They were right. He did know. He could see more than just the surface. He could feel the pulse of truth beneath their words, the little lies, the hesitations, the buried emotions they didn't even realize they were showing. His affinity allowed him to see the world more clearly than anyone else. He could read the space between the words, the things left unsaid.
But he also knew there was no reason to let them know that. No reason to let them see the full extent of what he could do. He preferred to remain unseen, as he always had. Let them talk. Let them whisper. The game of shadows was one he had learned to play early, and in the end, they were all just pieces on the board.
As the maids' voices began to fade away, Azriel allowed the Mirror World to slip back, just a little, to allow the physical world to settle around him. The shadows reluctantly released their hold on him, the heavy feeling of the realm pulling back as he stepped out into the more familiar space of the hallway. The estate's usual noises—the soft clinking of silverware, the faint murmur of voices—seemed louder now, closer, more insistent. The festivities were about to begin, and his parents would be expecting him soon.
He glanced at the mirror on the wall.
Azriel stood tall in an elegant black suit, already 5'5" at just 8 years old. His pitch-black hair had grown longer, reaching his jawline—still not long enough to touch his shoulders, but enough to frame his face in soft waves. The hair was parted neatly, the sides falling gently around his features.
His otherworldly bright blue eyes gleamed from behind a sleek pair of sunglasses. He had discovered that wearing them helped alleviate the strain of perceiving everything at once. The glasses offered a sense of relief, shielding him from the constant barrage of truths and details his vision could unravel. Of course, if the need arose, they wouldn't block his sight entirely, but Azriel had learned to control the power enough that the sunglasses were often sufficient for the moment.
Before going forward, he spoke in his mind
'Status'
[ Status ]
Name: Azriel Voidus
Age: 8
Race: Human
Bloodline: Locked
Affinity: Shadow, Space, Lightning, Locked, Locked
Titles:
Rank: C-
Attributes:
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Strength: C-
Agility: C+
Endurance: C-
Vitality: C-
Intelligence: S+
Charm: S+
Abilities:
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Unique Skills:
[All-seeing Eyes] (Unique, Passive/Active)
Status: Locked (75%)
[ Mirrorwalk ] (Unique):
Description
The user's profound connection to the Mirror World grants them the unparalleled ability to traverse between the physical world and this shadowed, reflective realm. Unlike most practitioners of the Shadow arts, who can only fleetingly glimpse the Mirror World, the user can enter and exit at will. This ability not only allows them to remain undetected but grants access to the eerie, parallel nature of the realm, where they can observe the world without being seen or heard. Their affinity for this space is so deep that while others may briefly use it, the user can bend its very laws to their will, shaping it as if it were their personal domain.
Sword Arts:
[Shadow and Mirror Art]
Description
The Shadow and Mirror Art is a unique martial discipline crafted by the user after years of study, combining their father's teachings of Shadow Arts with personal insights gained from the Mirror World. This style focuses on bending perception and mastering dual-realm combat, blending the physical world with the mirrored realm to create illusions and disorient opponents. Through extensive training and experimentation, the practitioner developed a style that deceives the senses, manipulates the battlefield, and transcends traditional combat by fusing shadow, reflection, and combat into a cohesive art.
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With a final glance down the hallway, Azriel straightened his posture and moved forward, stepping into the light. It was time to play his part, but not without making sure everyone knew exactly who they were dealing with.
He glanced toward the grand hall, where the preparations for the evening's event were in full swing. His parents would be expecting him soon. His father, Lucifer, would undoubtedly have a few words to say about his role as heir. His mother, Lilith, would be more concerned with the social intricacies of the event—the politics of the nobles invited, their positions, their alliances.
Azriel wasn't looking forward to it, but he would play his part. He always did.
As he walked through the corridors, his steps light but purposeful, he caught sight of a few of the older members of the household—his father's trusted associates, some of them more like shadows, always watching, always waiting. They respected Azriel for the power they knew he would one day wield. He could feel their gaze on him, but he didn't acknowledge them, not yet. The time for that would come.
As he entered the grand hall, the lights dimmed, and the guests began to gather. Nobles from various houses, all wearing their finest attire, whispered to one another, their eyes lingering on the heir of the Voidus family. Azriel's presence was magnetic, but it was his eyes—those strange, perceptive eyes—that often made people uneasy. He could feel their gaze on him, but he didn't flinch.
Lilith approached him first, her smile warm and full of affection, though her eyes held a trace of concern. "Ah, my angel. You're looking even more handsome than last year," she said, brushing a hand through his hair with the tenderness only a mother could offer.
"Thank you, mom," he said softly, keeping his voice steady. "I'll do my part. As usual."
Lilith's smile widened, though she could sense the strain in his words. "I know you will, my angel," she said, her tone filled with an unspoken understanding.
Lucifer approached from behind, placing a hand on Azriel's shoulder with a rare display of affection. "Your mother's right. You've done well, Azzy. I'm proud of you. But remember—" He leaned closer, his voice lowering so only Azriel could hear. "There are eyes on you tonight. More than usual. Watch your step."
Azriel didn't need to ask who Lucifer meant. The air was thick with political maneuvering. The nobles and dignitaries weren't just here to celebrate a birthday. They were here to assess.
"I know," Azriel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always do."
And with that, the night began in earnest. But Azriel couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—that this birthday would be the last time he truly enjoyed it. The weight of what was to come lingered in the air, as if the shifting tides of destiny were finally drawing close. He couldn't see the exact shape of the future, but he could sense it—an unsettling quiet before the storm. This moment, fleeting and innocent, would soon be nothing more than a memory.