Four years passed in the Underworld, but in the halls of House Phenex, time did not wear gently. It was forged in pride, polished in tradition, and gilded in the expectations of a thousand-year legacy.
And at the center of it all stood a child still small, still untested by war or power struggles but already the center of a storm brewing quietly across devil society.
Riser Phenex was only four years old, yet the name already carried weight in noble courts and whispered drawing rooms alike.
The Bright Ember
The Phenex estate had changed since Riser's birth. Servants walked a little quicker. Guards at the gate stood a little taller. Even the flames atop the tallest tower burned brighter than they had in years almost as if the boy's very presence kept the fires alive.
In the inner courtyard, within a polished garden of obsidian stone and crimson flowered vines, young Riser sat beneath a sunshade. His legs were crossed like a monk, posture immaculate. A book sat open on his lap an introductory tome on ancient demonic sigils and spatial manipulation.
Most devil children didn't begin magic theory until they were at least six.
Riser had finished the second year curriculum by three.
Lady Phenex watched him from the balcony above, hidden behind a thin veil of illusion magic. Her lips curved faintly in pride.
"He's charming when he wants to be," she said aloud, not for herself, but for the presence beside her.
"Sheer manipulation," grunted Lord Phenex , arms folded behind his back. "He knows precisely what tone of voice to use for each servant. He can recite half the noble family trees, including scandals we scrubbed from the records. He made A heir cry at last week's gathering by pointing out his family's 'unclean blood pact.' He's only four."
Lady Phenex chuckled softly. "He's diplomatic, well read, and he's already calculated how to avoid arranged marriage until he's of age. I'd say that's impressive."
Lord Phenex sighed but didn't deny it.
Riser wasn't just intelligent. He was deliberate.
His charisma made adults speak to him like he were ten. His wit made them forget his age. And his quiet confidence always laced with a subtle flame in his eyes made other noble heirs uncomfortable in his presence.
The Devil Court Whispers
House Sitri had sent a letter.
So had the Astaroths. And the Glasya-Labolas.
All politely worded, all thinly veiled inquiries about Riser's future. Some offered betrothal prospects. Others sent tutors "as a gesture of goodwill." A few asked if the child might be interested in magical or etiquette exchanges with their own heirs.
They all wanted one thing.
Access.
It wasn't just the boy's power though that alone had set infernal records. No, it was what he represented.
A noble son born with such raw demonic energy that elder priests had likened him to an avatar of flame. A child with intellect beyond his years, who treated dukes and duchesses like chess pieces.
A noble heir who could change the balance of Underworld politics not in a century, but in a decade.
Already, high-ranking devils whispered about the future.
"He will be a pillar of the new generation."
"If House Phenex plays its cards right, they may rival Gremory or Bael in influence."
"The fire that burns in that boy it's not normal. It's oppressive."
And yet, Riser remained polite. Well mannered. Even affable.
At a recent formal dinner, he had charmed Lady Bellavue an elder duchess known for loathing children by asking her views on the restructuring of the Noble Devil Academy's curriculum. She had left glowing.
The boy wasn't just power.
He was dangerous in the most refined way.
The Fire Within
That evening, Riser sat on the balcony of the central tower, legs dangling off the edge as he gazed into the churning lava lake far below. His golden eyes reflected the molten light, glowing faintly with internal fire.
Lord Phenex approached from behind, his footsteps loud by design. He respected a child with awareness.
"You skipped your dueling etiquette lesson," he said simply.
Riser didn't turn. "It was redundant. I already read the original treatise by Marquess Balthor from the Year of Rebellion."
A beat of silence.
"Of course you have," Lord Phenex muttered.
Riser stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his lap. His posture was regal natural, not rehearsed. It was the walk of a leader, not a child. He turned and looked up at his father.
"I want to begin training."
Lord Phenex arched a brow. "Training in what?"
"In everything," Riser said. "My fire. My magic. My body. I want to be strong enough to survive what's coming."
Lord Phenex expression darkened faintly. "And what is coming?"
Riser's eyes, impossibly ancient for a four year old, flicked with wisdom no child should possess. "War. Change. The rise and fall of power. The Old Satan Faction will stir again. The Red Dragon Emperor will awaken. The balance between the Three Factions will shatter. I want to be ready."
A silence fell. The only sound was the distant crackle of the flames far below.
Lord Phenex stared at his son, truly looked at him not as a father watching his heir grow, but as a warrior watching another warrior prepare for battle.
"You speak like a prophet," he said carefully.
"I speak like someone who remembers what others forget," Riser replied.
Lord Phenex didn't question it.
He didn't need to.
Phenex blood ran deep. And whatever vision whatever curse or knowledge lived inside this boy, it was part of their legacy now.
"Very well," Lord Phenex said after a long pause. "We'll begin with fire control and body conditioning. At your age, your flame is too reactive. You'll learn to bend it to your will."
Riser nodded. "Good. I also want a weapon."
Vulcan blinked. "A weapon?"
"I'll design one myself," Riser said simply. "Eventually. For now, I'll study flame forging techniques."
The corner of Lord Phenex mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.
"You truly are a Phenex."
The First Flame
By moonrise, a private training ground had been prepared deep beneath the estate, in the chamber where ancient warriors of the clan once honed their gifts.
Riser stood shirtless, eyes closed, flames curling around his limbs like serpents.
Lady Phenex watched from the shadows, arms crossed.
Lord Phenex stood behind him, barking simple commands.
"Focus."
"Feel the burn in your core."
"Do not let the flame control you. You are a Phenex. You command it."
The fires responded to Riser's will like threads tugged by a master weaver. They shimmered into shape, forming patterns in the air sigils, blades, wings.
He didn't sweat. Didn't flinch.
He flowed.
And when he opened his eyes, the flames shifted from gold to blue briefly, subtly before returning to their usual luster.
Lord Phenex stared.
Blue fire was rare.
Unstable. Dangerous.
It was the mark of a Phenex reaching into the deepest heart of hellfire itself.
He's not just gifted, Vulcan thought. He's chosen