Claude Delurd
'"Blood…?"
I remember wandering through the Nathur Nation during the final stages of the Plague War between the Draughts and the underworlders. The conflict had spanned across eras, easily erasing generations and their beliefs as demonic forces clashed upon the land with massive weapons not meant to be wielded by mortal men.
The largest man on the field—Barbosa, King of Nile, the overwhelming champion of the Colossal Dhamphirs—descended into carnage. Everywhere his sword swung, a head would come off cleanly. His enemies retreated, while even his allies gave way, leaving space for the destruction he carried—not only in his hands, but within his mind.
Barbosa, the Great Luminosity—that was what they called him.
In fact, I remember fighting those same enemies alongside him… wielding Karan.
Which was strange.
Because Karan was—
Barbosa's trusted weapon of war, a blade that never left his side, not even on something as trivial as a simple shopping day.
Everything had been going fine… until all that remained was a fragment of the dark red sky, marked by four large purple moons hanging in twilight.
Below it—
A sea of red.
Countless of my comrades lay slain before my eyes.
Wait…
My comrades?
Barbosa's comrades had—
Suddenly, that familiar prickling sensation returned, accompanied by distorted wails—countless voices overlapping. Before my mind could grasp what was happening, pain assaulted me from all sides.
Strangely…
It wasn't my body.
My body was fine.
My condition was intact.
It was my mind that was being torn apart.
Amidst the wails, more voices emerged—whispers layered with something resembling sweet nothings, mixed with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The blood around me twisted and shifted, slowly forming into a vague, human-like figure.
Despite the pain, my thoughts cleared—just for a moment.
Then everything went dark.
----
"Wake up!!"
A cold bucket of water crashed over them, followed immediately by a harsh slap. The impact echoed through the dimly lit room as a pained howl broke into the early morning.
The sound of fluttering feathers from the native pelags filled the air—
—and a hoarse shout tore from the victim's throat.
"What the hell was that for!?"
He hung halfway off the edge of the bed, his body twisted awkwardly as he struggled against the firm hold restraining him, the grip unyielding as it kept him locked in place.
A sharp snapping sound followed, not of bones breaking but of joints being pushed to their limit, and the scream that tore out of him came immediately after, loud and raw as it echoed through the house without restraint.
The sound carried beyond the room, bleeding into the surrounding space where an angry female voice rose almost instantly in response, her tone sharp and filled with unfiltered frustration.
A few moments later in a part of the home inside a space designated for dining, three people sat on a table.
Across the table sat a woman with a striking countenance, her posture straight and composed, her silky ponytail resting neatly behind her as though nothing about the situation had managed to disrupt her outward appearance.
Opposite her were two males, both seated with their heads lowered and their shoulders held stiffly, the tension in their posture making it clear that neither of them dared to move without reason. A clear handprint marked the left side of each of their faces, still fresh and slightly reddened, serving as a silent indicator of what had taken place not long before.
One of them was a young man, his features still carrying a trace of immaturity despite his attempt to maintain composure, while the other was a prepubescent child whose expression, in contrast, lacked any visible sign of submission.
Both shared the same shade of dark hair, deep and rich like the earliest color of midnight, reinforcing the connection between them even as their reactions to the situation stood in clear opposition.
The silence between them lingered just long enough to stretch the tension further before it was abruptly broken.
"Oh, I almost forgot!"
Her voice rang out suddenly, sharp enough to startle both of them despite the stillness they had been maintaining. The young man reacted first, flinching for the briefest moment before quickly straightening his posture as though correcting himself, a light cough escaping him as he adjusted his position and cast a quick glance toward the child seated beside him before returning his focus forward.
"Look at what you did to me, you swine!?"
His words came out through gritted teeth, the strain in his voice evident as a vein pulsed visibly along his temple, betraying the frustration he was trying to keep contained.
The cutlery in his hand creaked under the force of his grip, the metal bending just slightly as though on the verge of snapping, yet he did not loosen his hold.
Beside him, however, the child showed no such restraint or concern, casually lifting his hand to flick back nonexistent long hair in a deliberately exaggerated motion, his expression shifting into a slow, satisfied smirk as he turned his gaze toward his father with clear, unbothered confidence.
"You made your bed, now you have to lie in it dear father. How dare you interrupt my beauty sleep, lady fate was almost close to accepting my wedding proposal before you barged in with that ugly face of yours.", with a taunting raise of his fist, he flexed his muscles.
"Ha!!, if I'm ugly then you must be grotesque, after all for the dream to even end you must have inherited the extremely rotten genes—but I call nonsense!, I'm more good looking than Saint Hest.!", the boy's eyes flickered for a moment before composing himself as the sound of hurried footsteps came from the dining area entrance.
A second had to pass before light was claimed by this otherworldy beauty who was his mother, with shining emerald eyes and oval face.
In her hands, she carried a box—old in appearance, its surface marked faintly by time, the edges worn just enough to suggest it had not been handled carelessly, yet not preserved for display either. It was the kind of object that carried presence without needing explanation, its purpose left unspoken as she approached the table.
She reached her seat without pause, lowering herself into it with practiced familiarity before placing the box down carefully in front of her. A thin layer of dust had settled across its surface, and for a brief moment, she leaned forward as though intending to brush it away herself, her breath already beginning to move toward it.
"Dear, could you do that—"
He did not finish, and his brows creased as he flinched slowly into his seat.
Her reaction came instantly, her voice cutting across his before his sentence could take shape, the sound sharp and forceful as it struck through the space with the weight of restrained irritation finally given release.
"Hmph! I still haven't overlooked the matter at the jewelry shop!"
The words landed without hesitation, carrying a pointed reminder that required no further elaboration, and the effect was immediate. Whatever remained of the man's earlier defiance collapsed inward, his expression tightening before giving way entirely as his gaze dropped, the weight of her words settling over him in a way that left no room for argument.
Beside him, the boy let out a soft, barely contained chortle, the sound light and restrained as though he had made a genuine effort to suppress it, though the result only made it more obvious. His face, however, betrayed nothing, settling into the most innocent expression he could manage, his posture relaxed as he sat there, quietly enjoying the shift in balance without drawing direct attention to himself.
"And what are you laughing at?"
The question cut cleanly through the small trace of amusement he had failed to hide, and it was more than enough to silence him where he sat. The boy's reaction was immediate, his posture shifting without resistance as he lowered his head in the same manner as his father, whatever boldness he had carried moments ago folding in on itself under her gaze, not out of fear alone but out of a familiarity with where such moments tended to lead if left unchecked.
What followed was a stretch of quiet that settled naturally rather than forcefully, the kind that came not from comfort but from an unspoken agreement to let the moment pass without further disruption. The three of them remained at the table, finishing their bowls of sauri soup without conversation, the earlier tension not entirely gone but dulled just enough to allow the routine to continue without interruption.
The child was the first to move once he had finished, his body already shifting as he prepared to rise from his seat and return to whatever occupied his time beyond the table. The motion barely began before it was halted, not by touch but by presence alone, as his mother turned her head toward him with a sternness he recognized all too well. It was not exaggerated or loud, yet it carried enough weight to stop him completely, his body stiffening before he slowly sank back into his seat without protest.
He adjusted himself quickly, drawing inward in a way that resembled someone settling beneath their bedsheets, attempting to make himself smaller within the space as though that might lessen the attention directed at him. His eyes drifted toward the box she had placed on the table, curiosity slipping back in despite himself as he watched her regard it with quiet focus, the moment carrying the sense of something deliberate, as though this was not an afterthought but the intended conclusion to the morning.
His mind moved ahead of him, forming assumptions without restraint. Something old, perhaps, or something preserved for significance rather than use. It could have been one of the town's favored beverages, carefully stored and brought out only when necessary, or perhaps something less appealing, something aged beyond its prime.
Whatever it was, he waited, his attention fixed as she began to move.
Her hands lifted, steady and controlled, her fingers forming patterns in the air that he had seen before yet never fully understood. The motions were precise, each gesture flowing into the next without hesitation, carrying a structure that seemed deliberate even if its meaning remained beyond him.
To him, it always appeared elusive, something practiced to the point of instinct, yet still distant from his grasp no matter how often he observed it.
A faint shimmer followed, subtle at first, then gradually more apparent as the box responded, a soft azure light surfacing along its worn edges as though being drawn out from within rather than placed upon it. The glow spread carefully, tracing along the corners and lines that defined its shape, revealing details that had not been visible before, the uneven outlines forming interconnected circles that wove together into a structured pattern.
The image that emerged was not random. It was something he recognized—not in full, but in fragments—something his mother had once shown him, explained in parts that had only partially settled in his understanding. It was a formation, one tied to craft and function, something foundational rather than decorative.
A casting structure.
One associated with the core of smithy work, though far beyond the simple hammer and forge he had come to know in passing. Each line within the formation held purpose, not merely outlining shape but directing flow, linking one segment to another in a way that allowed energy to move without disruption. The entire structure existed as a balance, every part contributing to a central function while also sustaining the surrounding components, drawing in what it needed from the environment and redistributing it with precision.
The faint sound of a click followed, small but distinct, marking the completion of whatever process had just taken place. Her hands lowered without hesitation, coming to rest atop the box as though confirming its readiness, and with a controlled motion, she lifted the upper portion, opening it to reveal what had been kept inside
.
The boy leaned slightly, his curiosity no longer concealed, only to let out a quiet, unimpressed breath as his expectations failed to meet what he saw.
"You made me wait for a simple degraded essence stone. So terrific."
The words slipped out under his breath, low but not low enough.
The impact came immediately.
A fist met the top of his head with enough force to make the point without causing harm, the reaction sharp and direct as his father's irritation found its outlet without delay.
"How dare you! This right here, young man, is a source crystal—something the likes of you will never hope to obtain in this century!"
The reprimand came quickly, carrying both offense and a need to correct what had just been said, though it did little to hide the lingering frustration beneath it. The boy opened his mouth, ready to respond, the beginnings of a complaint forming before it could fully take shape.
He stopped suddenly midway opening his mouth, for his mother's abrupt shift in presence alerted him.
From across the table, an aura grew with steady pace, not overly dangerous but very intimidating. The air seemed to tighten just slightly, the weight of it pressing forward as his mother remained where she was, her attention no longer divided.
He closed his mouth without finishing, the words left unspoken as he sat there, fully aware that whatever came next would not tolerate interruption.
Different from the common energy gathering stone used by almost every person in the town and the entire sector, it also looked like just a stone except for the glittering appearance which made up for the powerful 'source crystal name'?
He didn't seem to find anything different, aside from the appearance and the multi coloured essence inside it, everything looked perfectly normal and common to him.
However he didn't get to remain bored for long as his eyes caught sight of what he's always wanted ever since he started on his path to greatness...
The dimensional trinket.
A grade higher than the commonly used space trinket which featured only the size, and little to no time dilation capabilities.
Both achieved the same operation, except for one thing— time.
All in all, it was every man's dream to own one, not having a space trinket was fine even if it was of the highest possible rank, but not having a dimensional trinket was a sin to the culture of mankind.
Just by looking at the masterpiece, he could feel himself floating with doves in the heavens.
"Claude!!", a slap resounded.
The kid— Claude returned to reality as he stroked his cheek with drool leaving his lips, his eyes went from the hovering hand of his smirking father to the majesty of an object that could lead him closer to greater power and world domina-
"I remember my father telling me that his first reaction was of drooling and utter amazement— similar to the one you're making after coming into close contact with a dimensional trinket, even your father was once amazed, but I still fail to find anything fantastic other than it's uses.", she said inspecting it from every angle.
Yet Claude never took his eyes off of it, not once.
