Darkness emanating from him mirrored the abyss of night and starlight, yet his heart never enlightened as it did now.

Alone, floating among shadows, black energy swirled around and dissipated until it unveiled the pale skin of a young man. Hair as dark as midnight reached his thighs and rested against the silver pattern of a long black robe. The armor hugging his waist blended with the environment, tracing the line of his broad torso.

Long, black lashes fluttered, revealing eyes like that of a siren. The stars reflected in his pale green irises like a shimmering pond admiring the obsidian sky, branding their glow onto his gaze.

His chiseled neck stretched, exposing the smooth line of bare collarbone. Yet a scoff escaped before the whispers, "I'm still here."

Surveying the area—a place so dark and empty, with nothing but stars and the aurora borealis to accompany him. The rise and fall of his chest. The lack of rhythm in trembling hands. Gritting teeth. Sneer. Increase in volume of a deep, smooth voice with each word.

"Am I truly unable to return to my realm? Am I supposed to believe that this... is beyond me? That the throne is out of my reach, when it's just one portal away? No... No, this isn't how this ends. Not like this." Doubt wriggled up his spine like a serpent, around his neck. "If I fail to go back... my goal will slip through my fingers."

Gaze lifting, fist clenching beneath the armor of sapphire and silver molded into a pool of onyx—yet a smirk twisted on his full lips.

"One that will bring the demons to their knees... And when I take what's rightfully mine, I'll make them kneel before my kind—faces in the dirt, day and night—and make them suffer the same mockery I was forced to watch while I could do nothing—trapped in here while everything happened."

A memory pierced his thoughts—the image of demons breaching the palace, the final view of his home before darkness swallowed him whole, severing the last link between him and his world afterward.

It was all... gone.

In a chill of loss, the pit of his stomach sank, pulling down the strings of his heart.

'But what if my powers do return fully, and I succeed in going back... but find nothing there? My realm, my throne... gone... What if I lose everything I have now... by returning? What then?' It hit like a hammer to the chest. Jaw clenching, a sharp exhale through the nose. "But if I give up on the throne... I'll lose everything I am... Just like they failed to—"

Hollow in his chest filled up as if with bricks, stuffing his heart, but beneath it, something far darker and fiercer burned—slow and steady.

He refused to let go. He had to understand. Had to know why he endured the pain of humiliation—why his people, supposedly the superior race, had failed to crush these... pests called the Astarans. If they died, then maybe they deserved to be wiped out. Or maybe death was better than staying a joke, a laughingstock among the living. The very word 'weakness' made his skin crawl, especially when it came to his tribe.

How he longed for the day of his return and retaliation—like a desert yearning for rain.

How he wished the last memory of his home had been something other than humiliating—something that showed his people, who represented him in some way, as invincible. But no, the most painful memory was not the invasion itself. Alas, it was something far more dreadful. Something personal.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He recalled the words—those haunting words of a man from his world, all while trapped in the abyss, with only a spheric metaphysical window between them, the man's eyes staring back into his own:

"For far too long have I anticipated your return since you were little. You are the strongest in the realms of the living, Ningshun, but do not let this blind you to what may cause your downfall... Beware of your weakness."

'Weakness...' Ningshun let out a low scoff as he shook the thought away. 'It will never be triggered in the first place. Ever.' But the man's voice continued to nag at him, drilling into his mind.

"Never fall in love with someone other than our kind. It will consume you, tear down your defenses, and weaken you until you are left with nothing—completely powerless and an easy target for the Astarans. You cannot reclaim the throne and carry forth your legacy if you are... dead."

The memory hit him bitter, like a punch in the gut. The nerve.

Ningshun still had not determined whether this was the joke of the century or if the man had deluded himself into underestimating him. The idea that the only person their people counted on to return and demolish their enemies could truly fall for something as stupid as not only falling in love, but also with someone other than his kind... Talk about doubling the absurdity of that statement.

"Poor bastard was so paranoid and afraid that I'd fall for it." Dark, amused smile twisted his lips, followed by deep, smooth chuckles. "Guess starving for a woman's attention... must've driven him mad."

Low growls and distant howls reached his ears, but he did not bother looking—unworthy of attention.

"Love... is for anyone who can't keep their useless desires in check. Not for someone like me: someone with a true vision." He raised his hand, staring at it as if deep in thought. "And besides..."

Without blinking, shadows unfurled from his palms, rising like darkness coming to life, conjuring two long blades in each hand.

A gigantic, monstrous creature charged at him with a vicious roar, its claws aiming for his throat. Its skin covered in thick, blackened scales, and those eyes—the haunting red eyes of a predator. Twisted horns, curling inward, jutted from its skull, and rough, saw-like teeth.

Ningshun did not flinch. It was beneath him—nothing more than an insect to crush beneath his heel.

Eyes glowing, a black line formed around Ningshun's eyelids, tracing the shape of his eyes and the sharp angles at the outer corners. Upper canines grew into two sharp fangs, touched by the breeze from his mouth.

Swift, with no hesitation, the left sword pierced the creature's chest. The monster twitched. Then, spinning in a full circle with grace, the sword in his right hand slashed the beast in half—from top to bottom—silencing the shrieks of the collapsing beast. Vaporized.

The glowing eyes narrowed into a threatening stare before returning to their normal state, followed by the drop of his gaze—cold, distant, and almost... bored. "Nothing, no one, can make me lose focus—especially not... that."

With a single arch of his fingers, the swords vanished into nothingness; except for the aura, radiating darkness from within and around him like a waterfall defying gravity.

"Since I can't go back to my world now, I might as well return... to the mortal realm."

Sighing in a lying position and stretching arms, he stared into the distance. Mind wandering... until it hit. Something clicked. A name crossed his thoughts, someone who had piqued his interest in the mortal realm. The corners of his mouth lifted in amusement—mischievous and knowing.

"Matian Meilin... This should be interesting." Grinning wider, he replayed the day of testing each candidate on his secret account for the new Jungler position on the Esports team. 'Either Meilin is ridiculously lucky, or she's got something to hide. No way she's reading her opponents like that every single time...' He chuckled. 'Doesn't matter. I'll see her tomorrow... But why wait?'

The shadows, his aura, formed avian wings of ethereal substance like the union of darkness and moonlight. See-through feathers moved and rippled. Their tips shone in a turquoise hue, like iridescent blue-green. Magnetic, like the moon, as if darkness would reel you in while the light blinded you in the process.

A hurricane of shimmering shadows surrounded him, and he vanished, teleported out of the abyss with a single thought:

'I'll figure out this rookie for myself.'