(time skip: 4 years later, he's now 9)
Four years had woven themselves into the fabric of the Sullivan estate, not merely passing,
but sculpting the very essence of the grounds. The mansion, once a monument to its
owner's eccentric solitude, now thrummed with a subtle, almost imperceptible energy. It
was a quiet hum that had taken root with the young demon's presence, a vibration that
seemed to harmonize with the ancient stones themselves.
Cirrus was nine years old now. At first glance, he still retained the ethereal grace that had
marked him since his hatching. His slender frame remained almost impossibly light, and his
signature wispy, cloud-white hair still floated as if weightless, even when the air was
perfectly still. Yet, beneath this familiar, almost delicate exterior, a profound
metamorphosis had occurred. The wide-eyed, sometimes bewildered curiosity of a fiveyear-old had matured into a calm, discerning gaze. His eyes, those soft blue-green pools,
now observed the world with an almost preternatural understanding, as if he could see the
threads of fate weaving through the air.
His movements, while still fluid and effortless, now carried a deliberate weight. It was a
quiet confidence that could, at times, border on a refined, almost imperceptible arrogance.
This wasn't the loud, boisterous pride of a demon warrior, but a calm, semi-arrogant
detachment. He didn't look down on others; he simply existed on a plane where their
mundane concerns rarely reached him. He didn't feel obligated to help everyone, nor did he
follow rules that didn't benefit him or his family. He was, in every sense of the word, chill.
But to those he held dear—Sullivan and Opera—this pride softened into a genuine,
unguarded warmth.
He was currently nestled deep within the sprawling, meticulously manicured gardens that
stretched like a verdant kingdom behind the mansion. This was his sanctuary, a realm of
vibrant, impossibly colored flora and sculpted landscapes. Sunlight, fractured and diffused,
filtered through the dense canopy of ancient demon trees, painting shifting patterns of
liquid gold and emerald across the moss-covered stones. A gentle breeze, a whisper from
the unseen currents of the Netherworld, carried the intoxicating scent of night-blooming
jasmines, mingling with the rich, earthy aroma of damp soil.
Cirrus sat cross-legged beneath the gnarled branches of a colossal weeping willow. Its
emerald tendrils cascaded around him like a living curtain, offering both shade and a
profound sense of privacy. In his lap, resting with an almost reverent stillness, was a guqin.
The instrument, a gift from Sullivan, was made of polished dark wood that caught the
dappled sunlight, reflecting it like a still, deep pool.
His fingers, long and slender, hovered over the silken strings. It was a moment of delicate
anticipation, a silent dance before the music began. His eyes were slightly closed, his head
tilted as if he were listening to a secret conversation only he could hear. He wasn't just
preparing to play; he was sensing. Through his connection to nature and his Dream
element, he could feel the pulse of the garden. He felt the roots of the willow drinking from
the earth, the slow growth of the moss on the nearby stones, and the desires of the insects
flitting through the air.
He remembered when this started. When he was seven, Sullivan had thrown a small party
for his inner circle. Balam, Momonoki, Kalego, Opera, Azazel Henri, Amduscias Poro, and
Barbatos Bachiko had all been there. It was a rare gathering of some of the most powerful
and influential demons in the Netherworld, yet for Cirrus, it was just another day at home.
During the party, Cirrus had found himself fascinated by the music. He had watched Kalegosensei, whose usually stern features were softened by the music flowing from his fingertips
as he played a grand piano. Nearby, Poro-sensei had raised a gleaming trumpet to his lips,
filling the room with bright, brassy notes that seemed to dance in the air.
Balam, noticing the young demon's rapt attention, had leaned down and whispered,
"Kalego-sensei can play almost any instrument, young master. And Poro-sensei... he has
the magic of music itself."
Sullivan, catching the spark of interest in his grandson's eyes, didn't miss the opportunity.
With one intense, "grandfatherly" gaze—the kind that carried the weight of a Great
Demon's authority wrapped in doting affection—he had essentially forced Kalego and
Poro to teach Cirrus.
"My grandson wishes to learn," Sullivan had said, his voice booming with a cheer that left
no room for refusal. "And who better to teach him than the best?"
Kalego had sighed, his shoulders tensing in his usual display of annoyance, while Poro had
simply laughed, delighted by the challenge. Over the next two years, they had been his
instructors. Cirrus had chosen the guqin, drawn to its ancient, steady nature. He liked how
it felt under his fingers—not just an instrument, but a voice for the things he couldn't put
into words.
Now, sitting under the tree, a mysterious surge of Rhyme started to spread from his body. It
wasn't a flash of light or a roar of power. It was a ripple in reality, a resonance that made the
air feel thicker, more significant. It was as if he were no longer just a boy in a garden, but a
part of the garden itself.
The moment he opened his eyes, his fingers moved.
Out poured many beautiful musical notes from between his fingers, echoing around him. It
wasn't just sound; it was a manifestation of his soul. The guqin music echoed in the sky like
a beautiful melody, a vibrant tapestry of sound that seemed to paint images in the very air.
The instant the guqin music rang out, the winds and clouds around him stopped. The
rustling leaves went silent. The birds stopped chirping. Besides the sound of his guqin
music, nothing else could be heard. The world had gone quiet just to listen to him. His
fingers moved with a practiced, fluid grace, plucking and sliding over the strings with a
precision that Kalego would have grudgingly admired and Poro would have cheered for.
---
Sullivan and Opera arrived at the edge of the garden just as the first movement reached its
peak. They stopped in their tracks, paralyzed by the sound. Sullivan's usual boisterous
energy vanished, replaced by a stunned silence. Opera's cat-ears twitched, swiveling
toward the source of the music, and their tail stilled completely.
As they listened, they could feel the scenery around them changing. It wasn't that the
garden disappeared, but rather that it became clearer, more profound. A vast feeling welled
up in everyone, a sense of scale and majesty that seemed to transcend the physical world.
Towering mountains, their peaks hidden in ethereal mist, seemed to rise from the ground.
Endless flowing water, sparkling like liquid diamonds, cascaded down invisible cliffs. Lush
forests, vibrant and ancient, breathed in sync with the music. Wind was everywhere, yet it
didn't disturb a single hair on their heads. Every single plant, leaf, and flower in the garden
possessed its own unique musical charm, vibrating in harmony with Cirrus's strings.
Sullivan watched his grandson, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and overwhelming pride. He had known Cirrus was special, had known the boy carried the legacy of the Heart Tree
and the tragic strength of Silva, but this... this was something else. This was mastery.
The musical tune finally ended.
Cirrus let his hands rest on the wood, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
The physical sound was gone, but the melodies of the guqin music continued to
reverberate throughout the heavens and earth for a long time. It was a phantom echo, a
memory of the music that refused to leave the air, as if the world itself was reluctant to
return to its mundane state.
It was only after a long while did the world around them return to normal. The birds started
chirping again, though their songs seemed a bit more melodic than before. The wind
picked back up, carrying the scent of the flowers Cirrus had just "awakened."
Sullivan stepped forward, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Cirrus, my boy... that
was... I have no words. What is the name of that song?"
Cirrus looked up, his fingers still resting lightly on the strings. He chuckled, a low, relaxed
sound that carried none of the arrogance he showed to strangers. "Of the Eight Celestial
Demonic Chords, this shall be the Boundless Overworld!"
Opera stepped up beside Sullivan, their expression as unreadable as ever, but their tail gave
a small, satisfied flick. "A fitting song, young master. Truly fitting. It seems your lessons with
Kalego-kuun and Poro-sama have borne fruit beyond expectation."
Cirrus smiled at them. He didn't feel the need to boast. To him, the music was just a way to
express the "Intent" he felt in his soul. There were a total of eight songs in the Eight
Celestial Demonic Chords, and each of them could be deemed the peak of musical Intent.
That Boundless Overworld was only the first song, the foundation of his musical journey.
---
As they stood there, the atmosphere still thick with the lingering "Rhyme" of the music,
Opera's ears twitched. They remembered the purpose of their visit.
"Master Sullivan," Opera said, their voice returning to its professional, efficient tone. "About
the event."
Sullivan snapped out of his musical trance, his face lighting up with his usual excitement.
"Ah! Yes! The Deviculum!" He turned back to Cirrus, his hands waving animatedly. "Cirrus,
my boy, there's an official meeting coming up. It's called the Deviculum. It's a grand
party where high-ranking demons from all over the Netherworld meet to make
connections, discuss politics, and, well, show off."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though his eyes were
practically sparkling. "But the main events are the young generations. The grandkids and
heirs of the elite. Every powerful demon wants to show off their 'successor.' And I..." Sullivan
puffed out his chest, looking immensely proud, "I want the whole world to see my
grandson."
Cirrus tilted his head. The Deviculum. He had read about it. It was a den of vipers disguised
as a ballroom, a place where every smile carried a hidden meaning and every conversation
was a chess move. To most demons his age, it was the most important night of their lives.
To Cirrus, it sounded like a tedious distraction from his garden and his music.
He didn't care about "connections." He didn't care about the politics of the Thirteen
Crowns. He was perfectly content here, in the silence of the mansion and the harmony of
the woods.
"Socializing?" Cirrus asked, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "With a bunch of people who
only care about ranks and titles?"
"It's not just about that, Cloud," Sullivan said. "It's an opportunity to see the world
outside these walls. To meet others who might, perhaps, be as interesting as you are."
Cirrus looked at his grandfather. He saw the hope in Sullivan's eyes, the genuine desire to
share his pride with the world. He knew how much Sullivan had done for him, how much
love and care had been poured into his upbringing. He also knew that Sullivan often felt a
bit lonely in his high position, and having his grandson by his side at such an event would
mean the world to him.
"Okay," Cirrus said, giving a small, relaxed shrug. "If it makes you happy, Grandfather, I'll
go. I'll accompany you there."
Sullivan let out a joyous whoop, looking like he might start dancing right there in the
garden. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful! Opera, we must begin preparations immediately!
The finest fabrics! The most elegant designs! My grandson must be the star of the night!"
Opera bowed slightly. "I have already begun drafting a list of requirements, Master Sullivan.
We will ensure the young master is prepared."
Cirrus just chuckled and turned back to his guqin. He didn't feel the need to argue or
complain. He would go, he would play the part of the refined grandson, and he would make
Sullivan proud. It was a small price to pay for the peace he enjoyed here.
He didn't know it yet, but the Deviculum would be the turning point. It would be where the
name "Cirrus the Seer" would first be whispered in the halls of power. It would be where he
would first encounter the others of his generation—the ones who would eventually become
his rivals, his allies, and his peers.
But for now, he was just a nine-year-old boy in a garden, his fingers once again finding the
strings of his instrument. He closed his eyes, the world around him fading away once more.
He didn't need a blindfold/cover; his own inner vision was more than enough to see the
"Boundless Overworld" that waited for him.
The afternoon sun continued its slow descent, casting long, golden shadows across the
garden. The willow trees swayed gently, as if still humming the tune Cirrus had played. In
the distance, the mansion stood tall and silent, a fortress of ancient power and new hope.
And at its heart, a young demon sat in perfect harmony, waiting for the next chord to strike.
---
As Sullivan and Opera walked back toward the mansion, their conversation turned to the
details of the event. Sullivan was already listing the demons he wanted to introduce Cirrus
to, his voice full of excitement.
"Lord Henri will be there, of course," Sullivan said, ticking off names on his fingers. "And I'm
sure the other members of the Three Greats will bring their heirs. It will be quite the
competition, won't it, Opera?"
"Indeed, Master Sullivan," Opera replied, their voice calm but their eyes sharp. "But the
young master is not like the others. He does not seek competition. That, in itself, will make
him stand out."
"That's my boy!" Sullivan laughed. "He doesn't even have to try. He just exists, and the
world moves around him."
Back under the willow tree, Cirrus was thinking about the song he had just played.
Boundless Overworld was about the vastness of the world and the insignificance of those
who tried to control it. It was a song of freedom, of nature, and of the raw power that lay
beneath the surface of reality.
He thought about the other seven chords. Each one represented a different aspect of the
"Intent," a different way to interact with the world. He knew he had a long way to go before
he could master them all, but he wasn't in a hurry. He had all the time in the world.
He stood up, the guqin held securely in his arms. He walked toward the mansion, his steps
light and silent. He passed the flowers that were still vibrating with the remnants of his
music, their petals glowing faintly in the twilight.
He didn't feel like a "weapon" of Someone, or a "failed experiment." He didn't even feel like
a "nature spirit." He just felt like Cirrus. And as long as he could play his music and stay by
the side of those he loved, that was more than enough.
As he reached the mansion doors, he paused and looked back at the garden one last time.
The shadows were deep now, the trees becoming dark silhouettes against the darkening
sky. But to Cirrus, the garden was as bright and vibrant as it had been at noon. He could see
the life pulsing in every leaf, the mana flowing in every root.
He smiled, a quiet, satisfied expression. The Deviculum was coming, and with it, the rest of
the world.
He stepped inside, the heavy doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The mansion
swallowed him up, its ancient halls welcoming him home. Tomorrow, the preparations
would begin. Tomorrow, the world would start to take notice. But tonight, he would sleep
peacefully.