Northern Syria,
Zephyr's Realm.
(Tension-filled music rumbles in the background. The air is thick. Ominous.)
Lulu now Azra, no longer the mystical being he once was, but human sat regally on the cold throne. His eyes locked on the vast palace before him, filled with fire and memory.
He muttered under his breath, venom lacing his voice,
"You think you've won? I'm your worst nightmare, Kurgansk."
Azra rose with purpose, the throne room echoing with his heavy steps as he turned toward the gates of Zephyr's Realm; the dominion of the underworld god himself.
Suddenly, a violent gust of wind cascaded through the gates. At the entrance, every demon stood tall, gripping their staffs, tension thick in the air.
"Hold your line! Stay sharp!" one demon barked, his voice slicing through the storm.
Zephyr, watching from his darkened dais, felt a strange twist in the air, a power that didn't belong. His brow furrowed.
"Who dares approach?" he whispered, unsettled.
Before anyone could respond, a single pulse of energy erupted through the gates. In one devastating blow, it shattered the demon guards like crumpled parchment.
Silence fell.
Azra stepped through the debris, his presence commanding. Zephyr's eyes widened, shock, disbelief, and something else… recognition.
"Azra?" he breathed. The boy he once knew… now a man. A force.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Zephyr's loyal followers recoiled. A human? Why would their master—Zephyr, Lord of the Underworld—react with awe to a human?
In the next room, the clink of ceramic echoed softly. Wine spilled into a cup. Zephyr himself poured chrysanthemum tea and set down a plate of gently boiled chicken.
He looked at Azra with an unreadable expression.
"It's been a long time, my boy," he said quietly. "You've grown into a powerful mage."
"Yes, Master," Azra said quietly, bowing low with respect, his voice carrying the weight of discipline and duty.
"Enough with the formality," Zephyr replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I can already tell your people are fortunate to have someone like you watching over them."
Azra straightened up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I hope they feel that way."
Zephyr didn't respond immediately. The air grew still, thick with unspoken tension. Then, his tone hardened. "That aside, you already know why I'm here."
Azra's brow furrowed as he studied the man's face, trying to decipher his intentions. Zephyr's expression was unreadable—cold, impassive, as if he'd been carved from stone. After a long pause, he let out a low, thoughtful "Hmm," before giving a subtle nod to his companion, Wixzer.
Without a word, Wixzer stepped forward, a large chest cradled in his arms. He set it down with a thud and opened it slowly. The metallic click of the lock echoed ominously.
Azra's eyes widened with recognition and sudden relief. His features lit up, breaking through the earlier tension. "The endorsement file," he breathed. "I was beginning to think it had been lost; or worse, stolen."
Wixzer's voice came from behind Zephyr, low and blunt. "It's not free."
Azra blinked, his expression twisting into confusion. "Since when?"
"You're free to take it," Zephyr said coolly, stepping closer. His gaze sharpened, and a crooked smile formed on his lips. "But I doubt it'll be easy for you to walk out of here with it."
A dark, creeping sense of danger settled in the room like a fog.
Before Azra could even react, a massive invisible force slammed him against the cold stone wall. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. He coughed violently, his knees buckling as he struggled to regain his footing.
"Yeah…" he muttered through gritted teeth, wiping blood from his mouth. "Not my first rodeo."
A horde of grotesque demons materialized, clawing and screeching as they lunged at him. Azra's hands lit up with arcane energy. He fought with every ounce of strength he had, casting spells, parrying attacks, refusing to fall.
Zephyr watched, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "Don't let this escalate more than it needs to."
But Azra was already weakening. His defenses faltered. The demons overwhelmed him, and with one final blow, hurled his limp body out of the underworld.
Later, bruised and breathless, Azra staggered to his feet under a moonlit sky. He clutched the endorsement file to his chest, his lips curling into a tired but triumphant smile.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered to himself, eyes burning with resolve. "Don't worry, Refel… I'm coming for you."
(Fade to Dark….