Azeron stood trembling at the forest's edge, the last wisps of the Abyssal Hound's essence fading into his chest like dying embers. The night air vibrated around him, warmer than before, as if the Emberwood itself acknowledged the shift in power. His claws dripped with dark blood, and his breath came in sharp pulls, each one tasting of iron and smoke. Behind him, the boundary stone continued to hum, its runes flickering weakly, responding to the death of the creature that had challenged its authority.
The forest no longer felt neutral. It felt attentive—watching him, studying him, judging the new Monarch seed pulsing beneath his skin. The demonic imprint of the fallen beast mingled with his own energy, making his limbs feel heavier yet stronger, as though wrapped in cords of molten instinct that twisted with each breath. He flexed his hands, feeling the claws retract slightly before stabilizing again, caught between forms.
Azeron exhaled slowly, trying to steady the tremble in his chest. The system's suppression kept panic at bay, but not the weight of what he had just done. The mutated hound had been ancient, powerful, and embedded deeply in the Emberwood's hierarchy. Killing it meant stepping into its place whether he wanted to or not. The forest expected a ruler, and now it was looking at him.
The trees rustled with a low groan, and Azeron turned sharply. The lesser demons—those that had followed him since the destruction of Rivenwood—began to rise, trembling as the oppressive aura of the hound finally lifted. They crawled forward with slow, reverent movements until they knelt before him again, heads bowed so low their horns dug into the dirt. Azeron felt their fear pulsing toward him like waves across a stormy sea.
"You do not have to kneel," he whispered, though his voice carried an undertone that contradicted the sentiment. Even he could hear the echo that wasn't entirely his own. His demonic form had not yet receded, and the Monarch spark inside him flared with each breath.
One demon dared speak. "We kneel… because you claim by blood. Kill… rule… ascend."
Azeron flinched. "I did not want that fight."
The demon lifted its head slightly. "Want does not matter. Forest… chooses."
Azeron shook his head, stepping away from them. The Emberwood choosing him felt like a curse, not an honor. He didn't want dominance or worship. He wanted survival. He wanted his mother back. He wanted to understand what was happening to him without being forced into battles he never asked for.
But the system chimed.
[Essence integration stable.]
[Host strength increased.]
[Instinct surge leveling.]
[New stat thresholds detected.]
Azeron's pulse quickened. "Will this happen every time I fight something like that?"
[Combat with powerful entities accelerates Ascension. The Emberwood contains numerous threats capable of contributing to evolution.]
"That sounds like a warning."
[It is.]
Azeron sighed and walked toward the edge of the clearing where the hound had fallen. The ground was still scorched with crimson residue, the soil cracked and overheating from the absorbed essence. His demonic senses detected faint traces of energy drifting upward like spectral smoke. The remnants of the slain beast were still dispersing into the Emberwood's atmosphere.
He crouched down, touching the earth. It buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips, like a dormant flame waiting to ignite. He felt the forest's pulse again—steady, deep, ancient. The Emberwood recognized what he had done. It accepted him in the way a battlefield accepts its victor: with silent, grim compliance.
The system interrupted his thoughts.
[Warning: Host stamina depleted. Shift to human form recommended.]
Azeron nodded.
"Return me."
[Initiating reversion.]
The transformation reversed with a painful shudder. Bones cracked, claws retracted, horns melted into smoke. His skin smoothed, the demonic marks fading into faint scars beneath the surface. When it was over, Azeron collapsed to one knee, gasping. The shift back to humanity always left him feeling hollow, as if a part of him resisted returning to what he once was.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart pound. "I can't keep doing that. It's too much."
[Adaptation will improve with future evolutions.]
"Not comforting," he muttered.
He stood slowly, wavering slightly before finding his balance. The forest felt colder in his human skin, as if his senses had dulled. The Emberwood's unseen eyes remained fixed on him, but the clarity had dimmed. He scanned the shadows anyway, feeling them ripple.
"We cannot stay here," Azeron said to the demons. "Other creatures will feel the hound's death."
The demons nodded in unison, though none dared speak. They seemed shaken by his return to human form, perhaps confused by the sudden fragility of the figure they followed. Azeron sensed their uncertain awe and turned away, unwilling to face their worshipful stares.
He looked to the south, where thicker shadows gathered like storm clouds between the trees. The system highlighted the direction.
[Recommended path: Southeast. Trace energy suggests abandoned structures ahead.]
[Potential shelter location detected.]
[Caution: Unknown entities present.]
Azeron rubbed his arms, trying to dispel the phantom heat of his earlier transformation. "Shelter sounds better than open ground."
He started walking, the demons following at a respectful distance. The Emberwood darkened the deeper they went, its branches twisting overhead like skeletal ribs forming a cage. Strange glowing fungi flickered softly along the roots, casting eerie blue light that painted their path in ghostly hues.
Azeron took careful steps. Everything in the Emberwood felt alive, dangerous, and old. The forest floor was uneven, littered with bones and broken stones. The deeper they marched, the more Azeron felt the weight of unseen forces pressing down on him.
The system suddenly pulsed.
[Host senses elevated. Detecting memory residue.]
Azeron frowned. "Memory?"
[Powerful creatures leave impressions upon the environment. This region holds echoes of past conflict.]
Azeron slowed his pace, touching a cracked stone partly buried beneath roots. His fingertips tingled. For a split second, a vision flashed in his mind: a massive demon towering above the trees, locked in battle with something wreathed in pale fire. The echo vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a cold tremor in his bones.
He staggered back.
"What… what was that?"
[Historical imprint. The Emberwood was once a battleground for Monarchs and Angels. Host may perceive remnants due to Primordial Seed sensitivity.]
Azeron's breath hitched. "Angels?"
[Entities of the Upper Realm. Host is currently too weak to encounter one.]
"Good," Azeron muttered. "I don't need more things trying to kill me."
The forest opened into another clearing. At its center stood the ruins the system had detected—an old stone structure half-swallowed by vines. It resembled a shattered temple, its archways cracked, its pillars broken, and its floor littered with moss-covered debris. Faint silver symbols decorated the fallen stones, glowing softly against the dark earth.
The demons behind Azeron hissed softly.
Azeron stepped closer. "What is this place?"
[Sanctum of Forgotten Paths.]
[Constructed before the Great Sundering.]
[Intended usage: Waystation for Monarchs and their Courts.]
Azeron's heart skipped. "A place for Monarchs?"
[Correct.]
He took another step, feeling a strange hum in his chest as if drawn by an invisible thread. The symbols on the stones pulsed in response, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt a deep pull, ancient and familiar.
As he reached the central platform, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, hands braced against the cold stone. His vision darkened, flickering like a dying flame. The system chimed urgently.
[Alert: Essence overload.]
[Host body compensating.]
[Stabilization required—remain still.]
Azeron gasped as energy surged through him, unfamiliar yet comforting. The Sanctum recognized his Primordial Seed and responded by steadying the chaotic mixture of demonic and beast essences swirling within him.
Shadows thickened around the edges of the temple.
The Emberwood's eyes narrowed.
Azeron felt the acknowledgment.
He had stepped onto ground once walked by Monarchs.
And the forest understood.
When the surge finally faded, Azeron rose weakly.
"What just happened?" he whispered.
[You were welcomed.]
Azeron stared at the glowing symbols.
The Sanctum pulsed.
And something ancient whispered in the dark:
A Monarch walks again.
Azeron stepped back from the platform, the weight of the Sanctum's acknowledgment settling like a mantle across his shoulders. The demons behind him remained frozen in awe, too afraid to draw closer yet unwilling to leave his side. Azeron felt their uncertainty, their dependence, their acceptance of his rising authority. It pressed against him like an invisible crown. He didn't feel ready for any of it. He didn't feel worthy of it. And yet the forest, the ruins, and the echoes of ancient rulers all seemed to reach toward him, urging him forward. Azeron clenched his fists. If the world demanded a Monarch, then he would face whatever came next.