The day after Ash woke up, still disoriented and shaken by everything that had happened, the weight of his new reality pressed down on him like a heavy cloak. He wasn't the same anymore—not the same boy who wandered aimlessly from one bar to another, lost in self-pity. It felt like he had been torn away from his old life and thrown into an entirely new world, one where the rules didn't apply, where power and destruction spun around him like a storm he couldn't control.
He sat at the edge of his bed, the room feeling unnaturally cold. The silence of the night seemed to wrap around him, making his thoughts sharper, more overwhelming. The voice in his mind from the night before wouldn't stop echoing. "You are the heir of the Ashriyat Al-Kharab Nafath. Your task is to destroy the heroes who will one day rise to become gods."
Heroes? Ash almost laughed bitterly. Heroes were just fools—people who sacrificed everything for ideals that would never be realized. He'd seen it a thousand times in the stories, in novels, in movies. The ones who believed in something bigger than themselves, who always ended up dying for it. And for what? For people who would forget them as soon as they were gone? No, he didn't respect that.
But this… this felt different. This power surging through him, this sense of standing on the edge of something larger—it wasn't something he'd asked for. It wasn't a choice he'd made. And yet, it was his now. His to wield. His to control.
Slowly, Ash stood and walked over to the window. He stared out at the city below, his gaze distant, unfocused. The neon lights flickered, casting a dull glow over the streets, people moving beneath them like ants. They had no idea what was coming—the storm he was about to unleash. But that didn't matter. They weren't important to him anymore.
The voice kept echoing in his head. It had spoken of destruction, of creation, of shaping the world as he saw fit. It had told him he wasn't just any heir. He was the heir to chaos and creation itself. His parents—Apophis and Syria—hadn't just left him some distant legacy. Their blood ran through him now, stronger than he'd ever imagined. The power he held felt both terrifying and exhilarating.
Ash closed his eyes, a strange calm settling over him. He felt the energy coursing through his body, his every cell awake in a way it never had been before. He wasn't that weak, pathetic boy anymore. He wasn't drowning in self-loathing. He was something more now. Something unstoppable.
But there was no joy in it. No thrill. Only the cold reality that this power came with a burden—a burden he couldn't escape, even if he tried. And he didn't intend to try. He had already made his choice.
His thoughts turned to the heroes—those who would one day rise to become gods. He couldn't help but feel disdain. They were nothing like him. They believed in ideals, in causes. They fought for justice, for love, for something greater than themselves. But in the face of real power, that would all crumble. And Ash? Ash would be the one to make it all fall apart.
He knew what he had to do.
A knock on the door suddenly broke his thoughts. His hand instinctively went to the dark blade at his side, though it was a reflex he hadn't yet fully adjusted to. The knock seemed louder than it should have been.
"Ash," a voice called from the other side of the door, calm yet commanding. It was one of his family's loyal servants, someone who had served them for generations. "The Council requests your presence. It's time."
The Council. His parents' advisors. They'd always looked at him with disappointment, with pity—as if he were nothing but a lost cause. But now, everything had changed. He wasn't that boy anymore.
Straightening his posture, Ash took a deep breath. For the first time since waking up, his resolve solidified. The doubt, the uncertainty that had plagued him, faded.
He opened the door with steady hands.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice quiet but filled with an eerie calm.
The servant bowed, his eyes filled with awe—as if Ash were a completely different person. "Your presence is requested in the Grand Hall," he said, stepping aside. "The Council awaits you, my lord."
Ash didn't respond. He simply followed the servant through the long, marble halls of the estate. The air felt thick with expectation. Each step he took echoed in the silence, sharp and deliberate. He wasn't just Ash anymore. He was something else—something that couldn't be ignored.
As they entered the Grand Hall, Ash could feel the eyes of the Council on him. They sat at a long table, their expressions unreadable. Some of them were ancient, their eyes glowing with wisdom earned over centuries. Others were younger, brimming with ambition. All of them were powerful in their own right. But none of them had what he had now.
Ash stood before them, his presence commanding the room. He was no longer the boy they had known. He was a force—something greater than anything they had ever seen. The weight of his reality settled around him, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he truly belonged. This was his destiny. To reshape the world. To destroy the false heroes who called themselves gods.
He raised his chin and met the gaze of each Council member. They didn't speak. There was no need. The silence between them was its own challenge.
Ash's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"It begins now," he whispered, his voice barely a murmur. But in that moment, it felt like the world itself held its breath.