At the head of the table stood an old man — his white hair gleaming like silver, his eyes burning with the remnants of godly power. A graceful yet commanding aura surrounded him.

He looked over the hall with a heavy expression.

“Elders,” he began, his deep voice echoing through the chamber, “you are all aware of the condition of our race. We stand at the edge of decline. Without a leader, our lineage weakens, and our women can no longer give birth to a genius capable of mastering our power to the Supremortal level.”

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment.

“The blood of our first leader is fading. His last drop of divine blood — preserved through ages — has finally been used. From it, we were able to create only seven serums.”

A murmur spread among the elders, but he raised his hand, silencing them.

“These serums are our final hope. They must be distributed across the Friera Nation. Choose carefully who receives them, for the fate of our kind depends on it.”

That night, under a storm-lit sky, the seven chosen elders departed — each carrying a vial of their race’s last hope into the unknown.

---

It was a rainy night.

A man hurried along a muddy path, his cloak soaked through. His heart was racing — his wife was about to give birth.

As he reached his home, an elderly woman stepped out, smiling warmly.

“Congratulations, Leader Majin,” she said, her voice trembling with joy. “You have become the father of a son.”

A smile slowly spread across Majin’s face. Relief and happiness washed over him. He handed the old woman a small pouch heavy with gold coins and rushed inside.

His wife lay resting, her face pale but radiant. When she saw him, she smiled weakly and pointed to the small bundle beside her.

Majin kissed her forehead softly, then stepped closer to the child. The baby was quiet — not crying like most newborns. Instead, he stared silently, his eyes calm and deep, as if observing the world itself.

Majin couldn’t help but smile again. Something about the child felt different.

The next day, the house was filled with laughter, music, and the aroma of food. The people of the Hyutetsu clan celebrated their leader’s son. Majin stood before them, pride shining in his eyes.

“I, Majin Hyutetsu, leader of the Hyutetsu race, name my son—” he raised his voice, “Arashi Hyutetsu!”

Cheers erupted. The storm outside seemed to roar in response.

---

Years passed. Arashi grew into a bright, curious boy of ten. One morning, he looked out the window at the rain-soaked courtyard.

“Mom,” he asked softly, “where is Father taking me today? And why?”

His mother smiled as she folded his clothes.

“Your father is going to the Pact meeting, dear. He’s bringing you along because the children of other leaders will be there too. You might make some friends.”

Arashi nodded, still looking out at the horizon. Moments later, Majin called from outside, his voice steady and proud.

Arashi climbed into the horse cart, waving goodbye to his mother as the wheels began to turn. The cart rolled down the muddy road, carrying him toward a destiny far greater than he could imagine.

…To be continued.