Lorian was drifting in pitch black.
It was the same primordial darkness where he had found himself after his death as Adrian Sterling and before his rebirth as Lorian Throne.
Before losing sense, the world in front of him had exploded in light, and then there was darkness.
His body felt distant, separate, like a discarded shell.
On the other hand, he could feel his consciousness, like a raw, pulsing living spark, which was being pulled, not through space, but through something far vaster, far older.
He found himself drifting through an endless, inky void. It was a strange place that felt like the deepest night sky stretched to infinity, yet there were no stars shining.
This was the 'Primordial Black'—the world-between-the-worlds.
It was a place that was only whispered about in ancient texts.
This was the place where beings of immense power—divine and demonic alike—conducted their incomprehensible affairs across various layers of existence.
It was a realm where the very fabric of reality, the 'veil,' had gotten thinner, where the echoes of creation and destruction were continuously resonating with a silent hum.
Here, the Creator of all creation, a force beyond mortal understanding, had laid down fundamental rules, unspoken guidelines that even the mightiest beings dared not fully defy.
Rules like direct interference in the worlds of lesser beings, like mortals, was forbidden, or at least came at a cost so heavy that only the most desperate or significant acts were ever attempted.
It was a continuous, often cruel cosmic game of chess, which was being played with pawns that rarely understood the board.
Lorian, like all other mortals or 'lesser beings,' was oblivious of this Cosmic Chess.
He did not know he was going to play a significant role in the upcoming game.
He was still just floating.
Suddenly he felt a subtle shift, a gentle tug, and then he was no longer drifting.
He now found himself standing, or rather, his consciousness standing, in a space that was both endless and intimidating.
Lorian could not realize the place he was right now was not Primordial Black, but rather it was a pocket dimension inside Primordial Black. It was a realm that had been crafted by a will so powerful and ancient that it could bend reality to its whim.
The air there shimmered with a faint, golden light, which was eerily similar to the glow of newly minted coins. Yet it felt oddly cold and sterile and devoid of any kind of warmth or life.
The ground beneath him felt like it was made of polished, dark glass, which was reflecting an endless ceiling that seemed to stretch into a void of swirling, abstract patterns.
There was no furniture, no decoration, only the vast, silent expanse.
And then, Azal'gul appeared.
He didn't materialize from thin air, nor did he burst forth, making a dramatic entrance.
He simply was.
One moment the space was empty; the next, he stood before Lorian.
He was impossibly tall.
But yet it was not as if Lorian had to strain his neck to look at him.
His form was not fixed but appeared to be constantly shifting; not quite solid, yet utterly present—like an ethereal ghost, a hologram.
After focusing on him, it seemed to Lorian that this strange figure was composed of living shadows as well as gleaming gold.
His eyes were like two bottomless glowing lakes of liquid amber. They seemed very ancient, as if they had seen all and known all.
He was not wearing any crown, yet his presence was radiating absolute sovereignty.
He was the embodiment of lavish power, of wealth beyond measure, of the capability to manifest desires.
He was the Gilded Sovereign, the Opulent Tyrant, the Primordial Prince of Greed—Azal'Gul.
The prince looked at Lorian.
There was no malice in his ancient eyes. Rather, there was a detached, almost analytical curiosity.
"Valerius Thorne," Azal'gul spoke in his calm and composed voice, a voice that seemed to resonate not through the air but through Lorian's very bones, vibrating with the weight of ages.
"You have made your choice.
A pragmatic one, given the circumstances.
You chose survival.
You chose growth.
A wise investment."
Lorian was feeling a tremor of fear right now.
The primal instinct from his Adrian self, who had grown up with tales of devils and demonic pacts, of souls sold and eternal damnation, was shouting at the top of his inner voice, begging him to run away from this demon as soon as possible.
He remembered the stories—the cunning demon luring the foolish mortal with a demonic pact of fulfilling a wish in exchange for a soul, which eventually led to the inevitable betrayal and eternal damnation.
He felt immense regret and braced himself for the chains, for the fiery pit, for the loss of everything he held dear.
Azal'gul seemed to sense his unspoken fear, which appeared to be a faint, almost imperceptible ripple in the golden light surrounding him.
"Your mortal fictions are amusing," he said, with a hint of something akin to a sigh in his voice, though it held no human emotion. "The concept of 'selling' a soul, of eternal servitude, is a crude simplification. I do not 'own' souls, Valerius.
Such a transaction is inefficient. What value is a soul that merely serves? Stagnation."
Lorian found his own voice, surprisingly steady. "Then what... what is this?"
"This," Azal'gul replied, as his amber eyes seemed to expand, encompassing the vastness of their pocket dimension, "is a partnership. A joint venture, where both of us are going to make investments.
What you require is power, influence, and the means to shape your world, in your own vision."
"But I am…." Lorian tried to interject.
But Azal'gul smirked and leaned on Lorian, "Oh, don't try to fake it with me. You and I shared the same body and mind for long enough to know you closely.
You too are well aware that the scion of a small city-state of a small continent does not wield the kind of power, influence, or means to achieve the Grand Vision!
And here I am, giving you what you sought, and ready to give even beyond, if it is required!"
The Adrian in him asked in an inquisitive manner, blended with suspicion, "And why are you being so generous?"
Aza'gul replied, "I require an agent, a champion, an embodiment of my will in the mortal realm.
In you I have seen a perfect conduit for growth, for nurture, for the expansion of potential."
He paused, and Lorian felt a subtle probing in his mind.
It was not invasive but rather like a gentle, ancient current flowing through his thoughts.
"The Creator, in their infinite wisdom or perhaps their infinite indifference, set certain parameters. Direct intervention in the worlds of lesser beings is... costly.
The ripples are too great.
The balance is too easily disturbed.
A higher being cannot simply manifest and reshape a mortal kingdom without inviting undue attention, without paying a price that far outweighs the immediate gain.
It is a fundamental law of this Primordial Black, a silent agreement among the powers that dwell here."
The Adrian part of Lorian's mind quickly latched onto this.
It was like a loophole.
A way for these cosmic entities to play their games without breaking the ultimate rules.
It made a strange, detached kind of sense.
Suddenly, things seemed to make more sense to him, and he felt intrigued.