Paradox

Kyrian thought about how his father had all these powers. He was even supposed to be stronger than Aurelius Aurum, yet he couldn't do anything to protect his mother. Yves did not even bother to visit him or provide a better life for his mother.

The boy couldn't help but harbor a seed of resentment towards his father. With his almighty strength capable of blocking the gates of hell leading to the material world, surely, he could have sent a clone or his friends to take care of his family.

But he didn't. His priorities lay elsewhere.

Kyrian clenched his fists and thought that maybe his father believed the fate of the world was more important than the lives of his wife and son. Unknowingly, his clenched fists began to turn white, and eventually, they bled from the pressure and resentment he was feeling.

It seemed the pain from his fists was nothing compared to the pain within his heart.

With an aching heart, Kyrian mumbled, "Master, do you think my father thinks of me?"

Horace paused for a few seconds and looked at his disciple. For the few weeks that they had been together, he had learned a lot about this boy. He may seem mature and thinks like an adult, but Kyrian still feels like a child. The boy had his own tantrums by wanting to exceed his limits despite being informed of the consequences of his actions.

Kyrian has the emotional state of a normal four-year-old but has the thinking capacity of a thirty-year-old mortal.

His suspicion of abnormalities in his disciple's soul is making more sense as he spent his time teaching the kid.

"I don't know, Kyrian. I'm not Yves, but if I were your father, I would be proud of you. Not because you have a monstrous talent, not even because of your witty nature and unusual maturity, but because of your good heart."

"My heart? I haven't done anything noteworthy of praise, master."

Kyrian wondered what his master was talking about as he didn't encounter anyone else ever since he arrived in Ziront. Every puppet in the estate was a split-consciousness of his master and he doesn't remember being a saint or helping others, so why did his Master Horace praise him for his heart?

"That's for you to figure out, boy."

Horace smiled and his bald head shone from the rays of the sunlight passing through the windows of the room. The air conditioning magitechs may have brought the temperature to be chilly, but the warmth of the master and disciple seemed to triumph over the state of the art magitech.

The Steel Emperor who's usually stern and stoic in front of his subjects and clan members vanished in front of Kyrian. He just seemed to be like an old man messing with the hair of his favorite grandchild.

Horace smiled as he continued, "But for now, I have a conjecture regarding your unusual maturity for your age: there must be something else in your soul that made your nature to be more mature."

"You keep on telling me that I'm more mature than my age, but why should that not be normal? Maybe, other kids are more endowed in the intelligence and maturity department?"

"We'll be meeting the soul mage mainly for you to get you a diagnostic scan and a proper recognition for your talents, and magic attributes. Your maturity is a bit concerning, but I know it happens in some cases. If you remember, the average age of a human awakening is around nine to twelve years old. This is because the soul needs to mature and adapt to the world's ambient mana."

"With my rank, I could glimpse a bit of your soul despite my specialties. I've seen that your soul seemed to be solid, dense, and powerful. Signs of maturity of a person and the soul's signature telling of traveling through the vicissitudes of time."

"So does that indicate that my soul is old, but my body is young?"

 "I can't exactly tell your situation, but your soul can't be old because it is so pure. The purity of a soul is only presents in young souls. So that means, your soul should be young."

"I read a word about this in your library, master."

"What is it?"

"A paradox."

----

In an unknown continent in the world of Gaia, or Elyra, Amon, Therion, depending on who you ask, a brown-haired man wearing a coat that seemed to exude the mysteries of life and death. The coat would sometimes turn white, and with a blink of an eye, it would turn black.

The curious thing about this is, whenever a creature stared at his robe, depending on what color it saw, would determine its life and death.

A beast with four legs that seemed to dwarf the mountains roamed the same place where the brown-haired man was sleeping. It had claws that could easily slice a mountain full of hard ores with a single swipe. Flowing around its metallic fur was a mysterious water that seemed to embody the essence of the deep. A single drop of this water could mean disaster for anyone without the necessary strength to defend. Even with the necessary power, if one is caught unawares, then certain death will come.

The giant beast was having a feast as a winged-beast that was the same size as the other beast was eaten gleefully.

The flying beast was regretting that he drank the mysterious water. It thought that because it contained a lot of mana, then it means that it contained a treasure. The giant flying beast that resembled a crane cried out in pain as it felt its own stomach being devoured. Its eyes were slowly drooping until its vision caught an odd sight.

From its perspective, it saw a light that appeared to solely emit the color white. The moment it saw the blinding illumination, it felt that the pain had disappeared, and the mana it had lost due to the mysterious water returned, stronger than ever.

At the same time, the giant four-legged beast felt that something was wrong, it turned to the direction where the crane-like beast was looking.

From there, it saw nothing.

The surrounding mist from the mountains disappeared.

Even the mountains that the mist was supposed to hide, vanished.

The trees, the ground, the skies, and the crane - they were all gone.

The giant beast looked at its legs, its claws, and even his vision.

None of them were there.

As time passed, it couldn't even recognize the color of black or nothingness.

From the beast's perception, it must have been a long time for him to notice that one by one, everything disappeared from his mind. But in reality, just as the beast turned to the brown-haired man wearing a mysterious coat, its soul was reaped from its body, and with a large thud, the beast fell instantly.

One may extend their lives through medicine, alchemy, and magic. With the right conditions, the dead may even return to life. There were even legends in the ancient clans where immortality was achieved despite failing to reach rank 8.

Legends, myths, and barroom whispers—all fall silent before this indisputable truth: Lock eyes with a Soul Reaper, and your soul is as good as gone.