Syryn had begun to think he’d gone mad. Waking up with a massive headache and a tongue that felt like it was coated in fur, he had heard the soft meowing of a kitten.

He began to quickly sort the situation at hand. First of all, he wasn’t dead. Second, he was in a smaller body than he remembered. Third, he was covered in straw up to his chin, sleeping most likely, before Syryn rudely woke himself up. It was pitch black and rain was lashing hard against the thatched roof of the barn. Somewhere in a corner of the barn, a kitten was meowing insistently. He pushed aside the straw and looked for the kitten while mentally digesting his situation. The barn felt familiar to his confused mind but he couldn’t exactly remember how.

Syryn conjured a blue will O the-wisp to illuminate his path. He was surprised that his magic still felt familiar and controlled.

“There you are,” he whispered to the snowy white kitten that was balled up in a lump of hay. It hissed and plaintively meowed when Syryn picked it up.

He was then jolted by a mooing sound the owner of which was peering at him from a stall in the barn he hadn’t noticed before.

“Buttercup. What are you doing here?” He voiced out aloud in surprise. The brown cow with a black patch under its chin mooed again and settled back into her sleeping position. That beard like marking could not be mistaken. Syryn was in old man Ringi’s barn. He smoothened the fur on the white kitten while processing the absurdness of the situation he found himself in. Syryn concluded then. He had time travelled back into his 12-year-old body instead of passing on to hell or wherever it is that demon lords were punished in. Perhaps this was all a hallucination, or maybe he was already in hell. He would find out eventually.

Syryn’s acute hearing soon picked up on a clicking that stood out amongst the assorted sounds of the night. It was the soft ‘click’ ‘click’ ‘click’ of a lock being picked. He silently made his way to the window and caught sight of the thief breaking into Ringi’s home. Realisation dawned on him like a lightning again. It was the night that a few families had been robbed, one of them being a group of travelling nobles. The blame had fallen square on Syryn’s shoulders and despite his youth, he was whipped till he passed out bloody and promising vengeance. The guards that whipped him had dumped Syryn into a river when he passed out. It was a pity that they didn’t realise he was half-demon. His demonic heritage had kept him alive till Traxdart’s subordinates had found and taken him in. They turned Syryn into a tyrannical demon lord who eventually made good on his promise and burned the town down. He shuddered at the thought of the person he was before fate had intervened in the form of a hero named Rowan Windwalker.

What would he do? Syryn wondered. Kill the thief? This was the man who had inadvertently written the beginnings of Syryn’s tragedy. But he decided he would let him live.

The thief had no idea what had struck him when Syryn shadow walked behind him and knocked him out cold. He was then deprived of the baggage he had on his person including the items he had spent all night burglarising. He would wake up in the forest, half-naked and nursing a headache. Rowan wouldn’t approve of his actions but Syryn wasn’t sorry about running off with stolen goods. A pang of guilt did catch him off guard but it was so small that Syryn ignored it easily enough.

He snuck back into the barn and tucked the snowy kitten into the large pocket of the coat he had just acquired. It was snug and warm enough that the kitten settled down comfortably. Syryn knew that the barn would burn down in a week when a slaving caravan would pass by and attack the townsfolk. He had no qualms about purloining the kitten from its mother. He could not remember if Buttercup survived but knowing how fond Ringi’s grandchild was of the old cow, he had hopes for her rescue. Besides, there was absolutely no way he was running off with a cow in tow.

When the sun rose and threw light over the emerald forest of Ganinova, Syryn was busy catching fish from a river that babbled happily. It was a clean, warm morning and the forest birds were chorusing a cacophony of sounds that lent the forest an air of liveliness. His heart was free and light.

“Milky, you haven’t had roasted fish until you’ve tasted mine. To celebrate our newfound friendship, I will treat you to something amazing.” He informed the kitten who was basking on a rock and watching Syryn with lazy blue eyes. The cat was extraordinarily beautiful and had the disposition of an elegant prince. Milky closed his eyes and continued to slumber on the rock.

7 glistening fish were gutted and cleaned. Syryn had collected damp wood from the forest and laid them out in the sun but the wood had not dried yet. Given that his magic wielded ice and dark energy, fire did not come easily to his kindling. He would never be able to start a bonfire at this rate. Milky was watching him with intelligence that belied its feline brain. It was almost as if the kitten was making fun of him.

“You disrespect me, kitten?” He raised a brow at the kitten. Milky stared back unimpressed. You are useless, his expression seemed to say.

Out of frustration, Syryn wished and he willed desperately for fire. With a crackle, the damp wood began glowing hot and burst into tall flames. Both feline and master jumped out of their skins.

Syryn stared at the orange-red flames in shock.

“I did that.” He said to the kitten who had padded over to stand beside him.

Syryn had been aware that the powers in his 12-year-old body had inherited the strength and expertise that he possessed just before he had died. He was an overpowered 12-year-old human demon hybrid time traveller. He hadn’t tested out his powers and it appeared that it had been a mistake, one he would have to immediately rectify.

“Stay back Milky, daddy is about to play with fire.” He cautioned the kitten but he hadn’t expected it to obey. Syryn watched dubiously as Milky put a safe distance between them. He would puzzle out his kitten later.

Syryn glared at another damp piece of wood and willed it to burn. Once again, flames erupted obediently.

Syryn then watched in silence while the flames consumed the piece of wood. He hadn’t truly accepted that the world he was living in was real, and he would always have his doubts until he found an answer to why this had happened. But for now, Syryn relished in his newfound power and set to task on building a bonfire for the fish that awaited roasting.