Who? A six years old [TCF FANFIC]

Chapter-1

~ Bastard ~

In a lavish room, adorned with opulent furniture, a white-haired boy sat diligently attending to his work. He possessed an ethereal beauty, with smooth, pale skin and a slender yet toned physique. His one pale grey eyes and other golden-yelllow held an icy depth, and his silky white hair fluttered lightly with the breeze that drifted through the room. He wore a flowing white robe trimmed with golden linings, accented by exquisite jewels that shimmered under the soft glow of the room.

As he worked, papers floated around him, dancing with a life of their own. A soft sigh escaped his lips, betraying his quiet irritation. "What do you want now?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience and a hint of disdain.

A moment of silence followed, before the atmosphere shifted, the light in the room dimming as darkness swirled. From the shadows, a man appeared, his hair the same white, though a shade duller, and his skin bronzed from an eternity under the sun's gaze. The man's lips curled into a playful smile as he greeted, "My child, you've finally decided to give me some attention!"

The boy's delicate features twisted into a scowl. "Who's your child? Go and whine to your priestess, God of Death," he replied coldly.

The God pouted, feigning offence. "So cruel! Must you be so heartless?"

Azrial scoffed, not even glancing up from his papers. "What did you expect? Sweet, honeyed words?"

The God stared at him, bewildered by the boy's shameless honesty. "Come now... Azrial..."

But Azrial remained focused on his work, choosing to ignore the deity. Undeterred, the God of Death edged closer, peeking over Azrial's shoulder at the documents. With an almost playful persistence, he began to murmur in a low, sing-song tone, "Azrial... Az... Child... Azzy..."

Slam!

Azrial's hand slammed down on the table, scattering papers as his face twisted in annoyance. He growled, his voice colder than winter's bite, "Spit it out already."

The God stepped back, laughing nervously. "Haha... well, you see..."

Azrial's piercing gaze narrowed on the deity, who immediately regretted testing his patience. "Mother.... like son," the God muttered under his breath.

Azrial's expression darkened, his voice dripping with menace. "You dare speak of my mother... and still flirt with her?" A dark aura began to seep into the room, the weight of Azrial's wrath palpable.

Panic flashed across the God's face as he recalled the last time he had crossed paths with Eurynome, the Goddess of Creation. The memory of nearly being destroyed by her son was still too fresh to ignore.

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, the God stammered, "Azrial, surely we can discuss this calmly, but... Eek! Put that sword down, Az... please..."

Azrial's lips curved into a deceptively kind smile, one that sent a chill crawling down the God of Death's spine. In a sweet, almost melodic tone, he murmured, "Bastard, spit it out before I stab the hell out of you."

The God of Death began to sweat, knowing full well that Azrial was dead serious. Stammering, he knelt, clearly aware of the danger looming over him. "S-so... you're aware of the child I currently have? The one sent into our world as part of a... deal?"

Azrial raised a brow, his voice dripping with biting sarcasm. "Oh, you mean the poor unfortunate soul you've been dying to turn into your beloved saint? How could I forget?"

The God of Death ignored the sharp retort, nodding quickly. "Yes, yes, that child."

With a sigh, Azrial shifted his posture, resting a hand on his knee as he gave the God a scrutinizing look. "What about it?" he asked, though the growing suspicion in his chest warned him that whatever came next was far from good.