The air was dense with magic that day, thick with the weight of sweat and soot, the sky above them dim with the lingering haze of battle practice.
Fiorensia stood tall at the edge of the cliff, her arms crossed, her dark robes fluttering lightly in the breeze as she watched her son, no longer Rohzivaan but Riezekiel, slice through a formation of summoned demon creatures with ease.
His movements were fluid, terrifyingly precise, and every strike was laced with power that bent the air and scorched the ground beneath his feet. He had finally reached the point where Fiorensia herself had to be cautious when training him, not out of fear but out of acknowledgment.
Her son, her reincarnated heir, was now strong enough to kill enemies from the other demon factions without needing her to step in. That alone was proof. He had reached half her strength, which in the world of demons was enough to reign as a god in his own right.
