Azhareth pushed open the door to Raine’s small apartment and stepped inside with the mountain of neatly packed feast boxes Rina had sent home with him. Rai trotted behind him, happily dragging one box twice his size, tail wagging with faint sparks crackling off the fur.

  The lights flickered.

  Not dramatically—just enough to hint that the building didn’t enjoy hosting a soul with 666 lifetimes of accumulated mana instinct.

  Azhareth ignored it.

  He placed the food on the chipped dining table, cracked open a cold cola, and sat. Rai immediately began tearing open a box with enthusiastic paws.

  Azhareth was halfway through his first sip when—

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  The door shook.

  Azhareth didn’t react. He took another sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and murmured:

  “…Already?”

  Rai growled softly, ears flattened.

  Another furious knock.

  BOOM.

  Azhareth stood, walked to the door, and opened it with the calm of a man unfazed by being disturbed during dinner.

  Three men in cheap armor and bad tattoos glared back at him. Debt collectors. Raine’s “friends.”

  They were expecting Raine Ashveil:

  a trembling drunk, slouched posture, apologetic tone.

  Instead they met:

  Azhareth.

  Straight-backed.

  Eyes calm.

  Still holding a cola.

  No fear.

  No apology.

  No Raine left inside him.

  The men hesitated.

  Their leader cleared his throat to recover the intimidation he no longer felt.

  “Uh—Raine. You’re late on eight months of payments. We’re here to—”

  Azhareth stared through him.

  Not at him.

  Through him.

  A look that measured his weaknesses, his fear, and his mortality in one blink.

  The man flinched.

  Azhareth took a sip of cola, exhaled lightly, and said only:

  “Ask Rina Everhart.”

  The debt collectors blinked.

  “…Huh?”

  Azhareth closed the door.

  That was the entire conversation.

  Silence followed.

  Then muffled voices outside.

  “Did he… did he just tell us to go ask the Everhart heiress for the money?”

  “That’s suicide!”

  “Dude, Rina Everhart could buy this whole district. Why would we—”

  “Nope. Not doing this. Refund the debt. I’m not dying for pocket change.”

  Their voices faded as they ran down the hallway.

  Azhareth returned to his table and sat down.

  Rai hopped onto the chair beside him and licked a piece of roast chicken.

  “Debt,” Azhareth muttered. “Raine, you were truly a disaster.”

  He reached out to pet Rai but stopped—

  because Rai froze.

  The puppy’s body trembled.

  Light gathered around him.

  His fur rippled like wind across water.

  Azhareth immediately recognized the phenomenon.

  Morph evolution.

  Instinct-triggered form shift.

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  Rai’s small body expanded once, then contracted, then shifted into shadows before re-forming into a slightly larger, sleeker pup with gold-tinted eyes.

  A faint shimmer of lightning danced around his paws.

  Azhareth raised a brow.

  “…So you can disguise your soul from now.”

  Rai barked proudly, tail wagging, tiny sparks popping off the tip.

  Azhareth sensed it:

  New Skill Acquired: Morph-Beast Form.

  A trait only high-tier familiars possessed.

  Rai was growing.

  Too fast.

  Too intelligent.

  Azhareth smirked.

  “You little monster.”

  Rai yipped happily.

  Azhareth stood and gestured.

  “Shift.”

  Light rippled—

  and Rai expanded into a wolf-sized creature, sleek and elegant, eyes glowing bright.

  He shrank back down to puppy form, panting proudly.

  Azhareth nodded once.

  “…Acceptable.”

  Rai boofed in triumph.

  Azhareth checked Raine’s desk for a cloth and instead found…

  A journal.

  Raine’s journal.

  Tacky blue cover.

  Cheap pen scrawl.

  Azhareth flipped it open.

  “Day 12: Lira said I need to improve, but she doesn’t understand how the world hates me.”

  “Day 44: I drank again. Lira said she was disappointed. Why is it always my fault?”

  “Day 102: I bought her flowers, but she yelled because I used team funds. Women are confusing.”

  Azhareth closed the journal.

  “…Pitiful.”

  He set it aside.

  Rai pawed the book, sniffed it, made a disgusted sound, and pushed it off the table.

  Azhareth approved.

  A sudden wave of exhaustion hit him.

  Physical exhaustion—not mana fatigue.

  Strange.

  He sat on the couch. Rai curled up on his chest.

  Azhareth closed his eyes.

  And drifted into sleep.

  He dreamt of a tower.

  A dark spire spiraling infinitely upward.

  Shelves of ancient grimoires.

  Scrolls made from dragon skin.

  Mana storms howling outside.

  At the top stood a man with cold blue eyes and white hair tied loosely.

  Zandquar.

  His third life.

  The Arch Magus.

  Thaumaturge.

  Mana-Devourer.

  Azhareth stared at him.

  Zandquar stared back.

  “You inherited my sight,” Zandquar said calmly.

  His voice echoed, layered with countless spells.

  “Do not become me.”

  Lightning cracked through the tower.

  Azhareth opened his eyes—

  breath quiet, heart steady.

  Rai stared down at him, nose pressed to his forehead.

  “…I’m awake.”

  Rai barked once as if relieved.

  Azhareth scratched his head, muttering:

  “This life is far too noisy.”

  His phone buzzed.

  A message.

  Rina:

  “Teacher… will you come tomorrow?”

  Azhareth typed:

  “Bring cola.”

  Rina instantly sent back:

  “Yes!! Right away!! How many cans?? Which brand?? Should I chill them??”

  Azhareth closed the phone.

  “…Children.”

  Down the hall, Mira paused while watering her plants.

  She felt something.

  A strange pressure.

  A cold prickle down her spine.

  She approached Azhareth’s door, hesitated, then knocked.

  “Raine? Are you alright in there?”

  Azhareth didn’t answer.

  Rai barked softly from inside.

  Mira nodded, worried.

  “Alright, just… don’t forget to rest, boy.”

  She left.

  Azhareth exhaled.

  “…Even her intuition is sharp. A troublesome woman.”

  Meanwhile, across the city—

  The Everhart patriarch stared at paused footage on his giant display.

  Azhareth standing beside Rina.

  Expression unreadable.

  Aura calm yet ancient.

  The patriarch narrowed his eyes.

  “…What are you?”

  His secretary approached.

  “Sir, should we launch a background investigation?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “Men like that… don’t like being watched.”

  He turned off the screen.

  But his heart beat faster than it had in years.

  Back in Azhareth’s apartment—

  The air trembled.

  Not visibly, not loudly—but subtly, like a string being plucked somewhere in the distance.

  A world-class mana fluctuation.

  A notification vibrated across the city’s detectors.

  ARES alarm sirens blared in their headquarters.

  Mages scrambled.

  Researchers shouted.

  Rina’s father stood up so fast he knocked over a chair.

  Azhareth?

  He just opened another cola.

  Rai sat beside him, tail curled, watching the window.

  “…The world is responding too quickly,” Azhareth whispered.

  He tapped the glass lightly.

  “Tomorrow, Rina begins her training.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “And the world begins learning to fear… properly.”

  Fade to black.