The Starting Point

As I turned 1 year old, I found myself eagerly looking forward to the milestones that would mark my journey toward adulthood in this world, which was so different from Earth. Here, there were no traditional birthday celebrations, but the thought of the Coming Adult celebration at eighteen was a distant yet exciting event in my mind.

In the cozy embrace of our cave home, my parents showered me with affection. Their smiles and laughter filled our days with joy. Even without cake and candles, the love that surrounded me every day felt more precious than any celebration I remembered from Earth.

"Look at you, Rain," my mother would exclaim, her eyes alight with pride as she tousled my hair affectionately. "You're growing into such a handsome young boy."

I beamed with pride, my chest swelling with a newfound sense of confidence. The knowledge that I possessed a unique blend of my parents' features filled me with excitement. My black hair, a gift from my father, framed my face, contrasting strikingly with my emerald green eyes and silvery skin inherited from my mother. My pointy ears, not too long but distinctive enough, added to my unique appearance. As I admired my reflection in the polished surface of a nearby stone, I couldn't help but dream of the day when I might catch the eye of a young girl.

"One day, you'll have all the girls in the cave vying for your attention," my father would tease, his deep laugh resonating through our home. "Just make sure you don't forget about us when you become a heartthrob."

These moments, filled with warmth and love, made me cherish the time spent with my parents even more. They were my world, and their pride in me was a constant source of joy and motivation.

However, my youthful exuberance was tempered by the reality of my confinement within the safety of our cave walls. While my father often entertained my pleas to explore the world beyond, my mother remained steadfast in her resolve to keep me close.

One day, fueled by an insatiable curiosity and a longing for adventure, I mustered the courage to broach the subject with my parents. "Mother, Father," I began tentatively, my voice tinged with excitement, "can I go outside? I promise to be careful."

My father's eyes twinkled with mischief as he exchanged a knowing glance with my mother. "It would do him good to stretch his legs," he suggested with a playful grin.

But to my dismay, my mother shook her head, her expression firm yet loving. "Not yet, Rain," she said gently, her voice tinged with concern. "You're still too young to venture out alone."

Disappointment weighed heavy in my heart as I realized that my pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Though my father had been willing to indulge my sense of adventure, he ultimately deferred to my mother's judgment.

Despite my mother's refusal, I couldn't help but cling to the hope that one day, I would be granted the freedom to explore the world beyond our cave. Until then, I resolved to make the most of my time within the safety of our home, immersing myself in the wonders of the books that lined our shelves.

As I turned three years old, I found myself increasingly proficient in the language of this world. The more I learned, the more I understood the dark and harrowing history that had shaped our current existence.

According to the books I devoured, our world was once a peaceful place until the demon god Kyiev arrived. No one knew his true appearance or the full extent of his abilities, but his name alone struck fear into the hearts of many. Kyiev's seven generals, known as the demon kings, were the harbingers of destruction: Lucifer, the king of pride; Mammon, the king of greed; Asmodeus, the king of lust; Leviathan, the king of envy; Beelzebub, the king of gluttony; Satan, the king of wrath; and Belphegor, the king of sloth.