A young man, still in his early twenties, stood tall, handsome, and graceful. His bright yellow hair, like the sun, was neatly combed back, emphasizing his sharp, attractive features. In that moment, he had the kind of allure that would make everyone around him turn their heads. His dark gray kimono added an air of elegance and nobility to him; each step he took was filled with a quiet confidence.
As he silently walked through the garden of his large traditional house, he could feel the strange tension in the air, one that anyone who witnessed this moment would sense. With every step, there was a silent echo from the past, something that reminded him of his uniqueness, his specialness. From the withered petals of the flowers in the garden to the earthy scent carried by the wind, everything seemed to remind him that his presence here was a mistake, or worse, a punishment. And with each passing second, the hatred inside him grew deeper.
If you took a step back and looked around, you would see the burning house. The charred walls of the house he had set on fire with his own hands were now covered in ashes. You would notice first that the fire had not yet been extinguished, but it had left deep scars. The screams that once filled the house during the fire were now gone. The walls of the house trembled in the evening light like a wounded soul, and only the creaking of the wood could be heard. Once, this house had been a place where happy family meals were shared, where joyful conversations had taken place, but since his arrival, everything had slowly turned poisonous, like a withering vine. Now, only cold darkness remained.
His face, despite all the chaos, was calm as if nothing had happened. In his eyes, there was no emotion about the house's destruction; only an emptiness. No anger, no regret… Just an emptiness. He was so calm that it seemed as if the house burning, the family he had slaughtered, the catastrophe he had created—none of it had touched him. To him, it was just something that was meant to happen.
His eyes focused on the darkness, empty and grim. Yes, he was a demon who defied the gods. He was the herald of a rebellion against the laws of the gods and other beings. But he was merely a tool, consumed by madness. He was not a human, nor had he ever been; he had never been one. He had left his past behind and become a monster, a demon who had succumbed to his own pride. He could not accept his birth into this world.
As his hands gently traced the edges of his kimono sleeves, he thought of the downfall of the home he once lived in, one he believed he had controlled. Was there meaning behind the flames he had started? Had they been aimed at a target? Or had he simply consumed himself with the desire for revenge? He didn't know the answer to either question, but even in the midst of this lost tranquility, even while watching his own demise unfold, he remained calm. Now, in the ashes he had left behind, only one question remained: As the first being to ignite this rebellion, what path would he take?
Because he was the first Deviant. The first being to violate the laws of the gods. A being that rebelled against the power of the gods, refusing to bow to them, and once born among humans. The place where it all began... And that place was now lost in ashes.