The days bled together.
Sword swings. Meditation. Breath control. Spell circles.Theory, practice, repetition — over and over. Nothing.
He was trying everything his mother read to him.The words etched in his mind. The chants. The stances.Lines like: "Gather the stars in your palm. Let your heart bloom like the fire lily."
He whispered them in silence. Rehearsed them like divine secrets.
Still nothing.
"I once summoned armies with a blink…""...and now, I can't summon a normal flame"
Each failure felt like a slap to his pride — and a step closer to fear.
Because failure wasn't just humiliation.
It was danger.
🕷 The Eyes Watching Them
It began slowly — the sense of presence.Each day, as he trained or listened to his mother read, something pressed on the edge of his senses.
Bloodlust. Thin, practiced, distant — but real.
They never approached. Never spoke.
But he could feel them.
Two, maybe three men, cloaked in mana-shielding gear, stationed near the treeline.Watching the house. Watching them.
"The king doesn't trust us.""He let us go… but didn't let us go far."
He clenched his fists.
He'd only used his power once in this life — to save them.And already, it had put them all in danger.
He couldn't risk it again.
"If I act now… if I draw even a flicker of dark mana… it's over.""They'll mark my family as cursed. Burn this house. End everything.""I can't give them that opportunity again."
And the worst part?
He couldn't protect anyone.He couldn't even conjure a spark.
🔍 The Misunderstanding
That night, restless, he wandered down the stairs for a drink — and froze.
He heard voices in the kitchen.
His sister. His mother.
"Can I teach him?" Aira's voice, excited but hushed. "Magic, I mean. Simple stuff."
"No," his mother replied gently. "He's still too young. I don't want him pushed into training yet."
"Then why are you fooling him with those bedtime stories every night?"
A pause.
"Because he's a child," his mother said with a smile in her voice. "And children want to hear children's stories."
The cup slipped from his hand and hit the floor.
He didn't even notice.
His soul left his body.
"Wait. Wait. WAIT."
"Those weren't sacred spells...?"
"You mean—I've been trying to unlock divine mana using… fairytale fluff!?"
The world spun.
Every night — he'd memorized those lines like ancient chants. Tried every ridiculous stance and word.
"Bloom like a fire lily" — I screamed that into the forest.
*"Gather starlight in your palms?" I seriously tried that under the moon."
His eye twitched.
And for the first time in this new life, he genuinely wanted to scream.
💀 A Humbling Moment
He returned to his room like a ghost.
Fell into his bed face-first. Stared at the wall for ten minutes.
"Great Demon King. Master of the Void. Slayer of gods."
"Outsmarted… by bedtime stories."
He exhaled slowly.
And laughed.
It came out choked, bitter, but real.
"You win this round, world."
But the threat wasn't gone.
And his magic still hadn't returned.
But tonight — for the first time — he wasn't scared of that.
Just a little embarrassed.