The Two Thousand Year Burden │ Anos Voldigoad
The morning sun filtered through the crystalline windows of the Demon King Academy, casting prismatic patterns across the polished obsidian floors. Anos Voldigoad sat at his desk with his characteristic air of casual indifference, crimson eyes half-lidded as he observed the unusual bustle of activity among his classmates. There was an edge of anxiety in the air—something that seemed to affect everyone except him.
"A written test," Misha Necron murmured softly beside him, her pale fingers clasped together atop her desk. "I wonder what kind of questions they'll ask."
Sasha, her more outspoken twin, scoffed from Misha's other side. "Probably something ridiculous. Everything in this academy is designed to make the 'royals' look good and make everyone else look like fools." Her purple eyes flicked toward Anos with a knowing glance. "Well, everyone except Anos."
Lay Glanzudlii, seated behind them, leaned forward with his characteristic gentle smile. "I heard from some of the upper years that Professor Erdomaid likes to ask... unconventional questions. Things that can't be answered with simple magical theory."
"How tedious," Anos replied, his voice carrying that particular tone of supreme disinterest that had become his trademark. Yet beneath that facade, something stirred—a faint unease he refused to acknowledge. He'd lived for over two thousand years if one counted his previous life. There were precious few things that could unsettle the Demon King of Tyranny.
The classroom door opened with a dramatic flourish, and Professor Erdomaid strode in, his elaborate robes trailing behind him. He was a demon of considerable age, though nowhere near as ancient as Anos in his previous incarnation, with silver hair and eyes that gleamed with an almost mischievous intelligence.
"Good morning, students," he announced, his voice carrying easily through the room. "Today's examination will be... different from your usual assessments."
A collective groan rose from several students. Anos remained silent, watching with detached curiosity.
"You will each receive a single question," Professor Erdomaid continued, producing a stack of pristine white papers from thin air with a casual display of magic. "This question requires no magical knowledge, no recitation of ancient spells, no demonstration of power. It requires only honesty."
The papers began distributing themselves, floating through the air to land gently on each student's desk. Anos caught his with two fingers, noting the single line of text inscribed in elegant script:
"What is the burden you carry that weighs most heavily upon your soul?"
For the first time in months, Anos felt his carefully maintained mask of indifference crack—just slightly, imperceptibly to anyone who didn't know him as well as his friends did. But Misha noticed. She always noticed.
"Anos?" She whispered, concern coloring her soft voice.
He didn't respond. His crimson eyes remained fixed on the paper, on those simple words that somehow managed to cut through two thousand years of carefully constructed emotional armor.
"You have thirty minutes," Professor Erdomaid announced. "And before you ask—yes, these answers will be shared with the class. Anonymously, of course." His smile suggested he found the entire exercise highly entertaining. "Consider it a bonding experience. Understanding the burdens of others helps forge stronger connections, or so the academy board believes."
"That's insane!" Sasha burst out, only to be shushed by several nearby students who didn't dare challenge a professor so openly.
Professor Erdomaid merely chuckled. "You may begin. And remember—the magic imbued in these papers will know if you lie. There's no point in being anything other than truthful."
The scratching of quills began almost immediately. Anos stared at his blank paper for a long moment, his hand resting near the enchanted quill that had appeared beside it. Around him, his friends were already writing—some hesitantly, others with surprising speed.
What is the burden you carry that weighs most heavily upon your soul?
He had so many answers he could give. The weight of having destroyed thousands in war. The responsibility of having orchestrated his own death to separate the realms and create peace. The knowledge that even now, in this era of supposed harmony, prejudice and hatred still festered beneath the surface.
But none of those were the truth. Not the deepest truth.
Anos's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as unbidden memories rose from the depths where he'd buried them two thousand years ago. Memories he'd locked away so thoroughly that even reincarnation hadn't dulled their edges.
A laugh—bright and genuine, so different from the screams that usually filled his days.
Hands—smaller than his, more delicate, yet unafraid to reach for him even when the world called him a tyrant.
Eyes—filled with warmth instead of fear, seeing him rather than his title.
His hand moved before he could stop it, the quill scratching across the paper with a will that felt separate from his conscious mind. The words flowed like blood from a wound that had never truly healed:
"The burden I carry is the weight of cowardice dressed in the robes of duty. Two thousand years ago, I was the Demon King of Tyranny—a title that demanded I prioritize the many over the few, strategy over sentiment, victory over personal desire. I told myself that the war between humans and demons left no room for the weakness of love, that to acknowledge what stirred in my chest would be to create a vulnerability that could be exploited, a weakness that could cost countless lives."
"I was wrong."
"There was one who saw past the title, past the power, past the blood on my hands. A human who should have feared me but instead chose to love me. I was too proud, too convinced of my own reasoning, to give her what she deserved—public acknowledgment, true protection, the full measure of what she meant to me. I gave her a ring forged from my magic and called it enough. I gave her secret meetings and stolen moments and called it love."
"It wasn't enough."
"When General Jerga's blade found her—when he discovered what she meant to me precisely because I had hidden her instead of protecting her openly—I learned the true cost of my cowardice. He killed her not just to hurt me, but to erase what he saw as an abomination: the Demon King's human bride. He killed her, and he killed the child she carried—my child, growing within her womb, a future I would never see."
"I have destroyed armies. I have razed cities. I have made demons and humans alike tremble at the mention of my name. But I could not save the one person whose life mattered more than all the rest. And the burden I carry—the one that weighs heavier than any crown, any responsibility, any duty—is knowing that if I had been brave enough to truly reach beyond the limits of war for my own personal feelings, she might still exist somewhere in this world. Perhaps reincarnated, perhaps living a new life. But she is gone—truly gone—because I chose the path of the coward."
"I am the Demon King of Tyranny, and I am a coward. That is the burden I will carry until the end of time itself, and it is one I will never forgive myself for."
The quill stilled. Anos stared at what he'd written, at the truth he'd never spoken aloud, not even to Shin Reglia, his most trusted subordinate. His hand trembled—imperceptibly to anyone else, but he felt it, that crack in his absolute control.
A soft gasp to his left made him glance over. Misha was staring at her own paper, tears gathering in her eyes though she seemed to be trying desperately to hold them back. Whatever she'd written had clearly affected her deeply.
The thirty minutes passed in what felt like both an eternity and an instant. Professor Erdomaid collected the papers with a wave of his hand, the enchanted sheets flying through the air to stack themselves neatly on his desk.
"Excellent," He said, though his expression had become more somber, more serious. "Now, as promised, we will share these. Remember—no names will be attached. Only the burdens themselves."
The first paper manifested in the air above the professor's desk, the text enlarging so everyone could read it:
"My burden is that I was born a mixed-blood, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be accepted by the royals or the purebloods. I carry the weight of not being enough."
Several students shifted uncomfortably. Mixed-bloods were common in the class, and the prejudice they faced was an open secret.
Another paper appeared:
"I carry the burden of my family's expectations. They expect me to be powerful, to be ruthless, to uphold the legacy of our bloodline. But I don't want to be what they demand. I just want to be myself."
One by one, the burdens were revealed. Stories of loss, of inadequacy, of fear, of regret. Some students wiped away tears as they recognized their own struggles reflected in others' words. Even Sasha seemed moved, her usual sharp demeanor softening as she read burden after burden.
Then Anos's paper appeared.
The classroom fell absolutely silent as the words materialized, line after line of confession that seemed to freeze the very air. Anos kept his expression carefully neutral, but he could feel the weight of dozens of eyes turning toward him—because even without his name attached, everyone knew who had written it. There was only one person in the academy, in the entire demon realm, who had been the Demon King of Tyranny two thousand years ago.
Misha's hand found his under the desk, her fingers wrapping around his palm with surprising strength. He didn't pull away.
"The Demon King..." Someone whispered from the back of the classroom. "He lost someone?"
"A human," Another voice murmured, awed and horrified in equal measure. "He loved a human?"
Professor Erdomaid cleared his throat, his usual jovial expression replaced with something approaching reverence. "As you can see, burdens come in many forms. Power does not exempt one from loss. Status does not protect against regret." His gaze swept across the classroom. "The purpose of this exercise was not to embarrass or expose, but to remind you all that everyone—everyone—carries weights that others cannot see. The demon next to you, the rival you face in combat training, even the strongest among you—all are fighting battles you know nothing about."
The professor's eyes found Anos for just a moment, a flash of understanding and perhaps sympathy crossing his features. "Class dismissed. I suggest you all take some time to reflect on what you've learned today."
The students filed out slowly, many of them still processing what they'd read. Several cast glances toward Anos—not mocking or pitying, but thoughtful, measuring him with new eyes.
Lay was the first to speak once they'd gathered in one of the academy's quieter courtyards, beneath a ancient demon oak tree whose leaves shimmered with natural magic. "Anos... I had no idea."
"None of us did," Sasha added, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You never talk about your past life. We always assumed it was because—"
"Because I was the Demon King, and the Demon King doesn't have personal attachments," Anos finished, his tone dry. "Yes, I'm aware of the image I project."
"What was her name?" Misha asked softly, still holding his hand. "The one you loved?"
Anos was quiet for a long moment, his crimson eyes distant as he gazed at something only he could see—a memory two thousand years old yet fresh as yesterday's wound.
"[Y/n]," He finally said, and the name felt like both a prayer and a curse on his tongue. "Her name was [Y/n]."
The memory came unbidden as he spoke her name, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday rather than two millennia ago.
The forest had been burning—another casualty of the endless war between humans and demons. Anos had been tracking a particularly dangerous magical beast that had been wreaking havoc on both sides of the conflict, making an already complicated situation even worse.
"Shin," He'd said to his right-hand man, who materialized from the shadows at his summons. "The beast is close. I can sense its magic signature."
Shin Reglia, ever efficient, had merely nodded and disappeared again, moving through the forest like a wraith.
That's when Anos had heard it—a scream, distinctly human, filled with genuine terror rather than the battle cries he was so accustomed to. He'd moved without thinking, which was unlike him. The Demon King did not rush to save random humans. The Demon King certainly didn't care about collateral damage in a war zone.
But something had pulled him forward, some instinct he didn't understand.
He'd found her cornered against a ravine's edge, a magical beast—not the one he'd been tracking, but another, smaller yet no less deadly—advancing on her with predatory intent. Her ankle was twisted at an awkward angle, preventing escape. She held a broken branch like a weapon, laughably inadequate against a creature that could tear through steel.
"Stand down!" she'd shouted at the beast, her voice shaking but defiant. "I'm warning you!"
The beast had lunged.
Shin's blade had intercepted it mid-leap, the Spirit God Sword Saint moving with the casual grace of someone swatting an insect. The beast fell in two neat halves, its blood steaming as it hit the forest floor.
"My lord," Shin had said, kneeling immediately. "I apologize for the delay."
Anos had barely heard him. He was staring at the human woman, at the way she'd held her ground even when facing certain death, at the defiance in her eyes that refused to become despair.
Then the ground had trembled. The larger beast—the one they'd actually been hunting—burst through the tree line, drawn by the scent of blood.
Anos had moved on instinct, gathering the woman into his arms in a bridal carry even as he called his magic to life. Destruction magic obliterated the beast before it could take two steps, reducing it to ash that scattered on the wind.
"Your ankle is sprained," he'd informed her, noting the swelling, the way she'd unconsciously been favoring the other leg. "You hadn't noticed."
She'd stared up at him with wide eyes—eyes that were surprisingly calm given the circumstances. Eyes that studied his face rather than his power, that seemed to see something other than the Demon King of Tyranny.
"You're... him," She'd whispered. "The Demon King."
"Yes."
He'd expected fear then. Expected her to struggle or scream or demand to be released. Instead, she'd smiled—actually smiled—and said something that would change the course of his existence:
"You have kind eyes."
No one had ever called any part of him kind before.
That had been the beginning.
"Anos?" Misa's voice broke through his reverie. She'd joined them at some point, her usual cheerful demeanor subdued. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," He replied automatically, then paused. After what he'd written, what he'd confessed to the entire class, pretending to be fine seemed pointless. "I'm... managing."
"How did you meet?" Lay asked gently. "If you don't mind sharing."
And so Anos told them. He told them about the forest, about Shin slaying the first beast, about carrying [Y/n] to safety and realizing she'd sprained her ankle without even noticing due to the adrenaline. He told them how she hadn't feared him, how she'd seen past his reputation to something he'd forgotten he possessed—humanity, or whatever the demon equivalent was.
"I should have left her there," Anos said, his voice flat. "Healed her ankle, ensured she was safe, and never seen her again. That would have been the logical choice. The smart choice."
"But you didn't," Misha observed.
"No. I didn't."
Their courtship—if it could even be called that—had been conducted in shadows and stolen moments. [Y/n] lived in a small village on the border between human and demon territory, one of many settlements that suffered under the constant warfare. She was a healer, tending to wounded soldiers from both sides when she could manage it without being caught.
"You shouldn't help demons," Anos had told her during one of his secret visits, watching as she stitched up a demon soldier who'd collapsed near her home. "Your own people would execute you for treason."
"They're people," She'd replied simply, not looking up from her work. "Demon, human—when they're bleeding, they're all the same. They all hurt. They all want to live."
"You're naive."
"And you're cynical." She'd finally looked up, meeting his eyes with that direct gaze that never failed to unsettle him. "But you keep coming back here. If I'm so naive, why do you keep visiting me?"
He hadn't had an answer for that. Not then.
It had been six months before he'd kissed her. A year before he'd admitted—first to himself, then to her—that what he felt went beyond curiosity or respect. Love was not something the Demon King was supposed to feel, especially not for a human. Love was a weakness, a vulnerability, a tactical disadvantage.
But [Y/n] had somehow become essential to his existence. The thought of a world without her in it had become unbearable.
So he'd forged the ring from his own magic—dark metal that gleamed with an inner fire, set with gems that matched his crimson eyes. It was all he could give her, all he dared give her.
"I can't marry you publicly," he'd said when he placed it on her finger. "Not while the war continues. Not while—"
"I understand," She'd interrupted, smiling even as tears gathered in her eyes. "I know what you are, what you have to be. This is enough, Anos. You are enough."
But it hadn't been enough. He'd known it even then, in the deepest part of himself that he refused to acknowledge.
"She got pregnant," Sasha said quietly, piecing together the story from what Anos had written. "That's when things went wrong."
Anos nodded slowly. "Three months. She was three months along when..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
"General Jerga," Lay said, his usually calm voice tight with anger. "I've read about him in history texts. He was known for his absolute hatred of demons, his refusal to consider any peace treaty. He was supposed to be working with the Hero Kanon, but..."
"Kanon wanted peace," Anos confirmed. "He and I had been secretly negotiating, laying the groundwork for what would eventually become the separation of the realms. Jerga discovered this. And he discovered [Y/n]."
He'd been in the demon realm when it happened, dealing with a skirmish on the eastern front. By the time he felt the disturbance—that sudden, horrifying absence where [Y/n]'s life force had been—it was already too late.
He'd found her in her home. Found Jerga standing over her body, his holy sword still dripping with her blood. The general had been waiting for him, a trap that Anos had walked into with his eyes wide open because nothing else mattered except reaching her.
"She was an abomination," Jerga had declared, his voice filled with righteous fury. "The whore of the Demon King, carrying his demon spawn. She had to be purified."
Anos remembered very little of what happened next. Shin had later told him that his destruction magic had been so uncontrolled, so absolutely devastating, that it had taken three of his most powerful subordinates to contain the damage. Jerga had escaped—barely—and would live to continue his crusade against demons for years to come.
But [Y/n] was gone. And the child—his child, their child, the future they'd carefully begun to dream of—was gone with her.
Anos had held her body for hours, until Shin had gently, carefully pried her from his arms. He'd taken the ring from her finger—she'd never removed it, not once in all the time since he'd given it to her—and placed it in his pocket dimension, a keepsake of his greatest failure.
He'd cried then. Only once, only that day, and never again. The Demon King of Tyranny did not weep.
But Anos Voldigoad, the demon who had loved a human woman named [Y/n], had shattered.
"I still have the ring," Anos said quietly, and his friends stared at him in shock. "I've kept it for two thousand years. Even through reincarnation, even through death itself, I've kept it."
He reached into his pocket dimension—a skill that had carried over from his previous life—and withdrew a small object. The ring gleamed in the afternoon light, its dark metal and crimson gems as pristine as the day he'd forged them.
"Anos..." Misha breathed, reaching out tentatively before pulling her hand back.
"You can touch it," He said, offering it to her. "It's just a ring now. The magic faded long ago."
But that was a lie, and they both knew it. The ring thrummed with power, with the essence of Anos's magic at its most fundamental level. It was a piece of his soul, crystallized and shaped, given form for the only person who had ever truly held his heart.
Misha took it carefully, reverently, examining the craftsmanship. "It's beautiful," She whispered. "She must have treasured it."
"She did." Anos's voice was barely audible. "She wore it every day, even though it risked exposure. Even though it marked her as mine. She was braver than I ever was."
"That's not true," Lay protested. "Anos, you orchestrated your own death to create peace. You gave up everything—"
"I gave up everything except the one thing that mattered," Anos cut him off, his crimson eyes blazing with an emotion his friends had never seen before—raw, unfiltered guilt. "Don't you understand? I could have protected her. If I'd been willing to claim her publicly, to damn the consequences and the strategic implications, I could have surrounded her with guards. I could have kept her at my castle. I could have made it clear that anyone who touched her would face annihilation."
"And started an even bigger war," Sasha pointed out. "Anos, if you'd openly claimed a human bride during the height of the conflict—"
"Then I would have fought that war!" The words burst from him with uncharacteristic vehemence, enough that several passing students turned to stare. Anos took a breath, forcing his emotions back under control. "I would have fought the entire world if it meant keeping her safe. But I didn't. I chose the greater good over her life, and I've regretted that choice for two thousand years."
Silence fell over the group. Even Sasha, usually quick with a retort, had nothing to say.
"She didn't reincarnate, did she?" Misa finally asked, her voice small. "That's why you've been searching."
Anos stiffened. "How did you—"
"We've noticed," Misha said softly. "Sometimes, when we're in town or at gatherings, you'll scan the crowd. Like you're looking for someone specific. We always wondered who."
He should have known his friends would notice. They were too observant, too close to him now, for such things to escape their attention.
"Reincarnation magic is complicated," Anos explained. "Most souls return to the wheel of existence, being born again with no memories of their previous lives. But [Y/n]... her soul was damaged beyond repair. When Jerga's holy sword struck her, it didn't just kill her body. It destroyed her soul itself, specifically because she carried my child. He used purification magic designed to eradicate any trace of demon essence."
"That's barbaric," Lay said, his voice shaking with rage. "Even in war, to deliberately destroy a soul—"
"Is considered the ultimate sin, yes." Anos's laugh was bitter. "But Jerga considered himself righteous. In his eyes, he was purifying the world of an abomination."
"And the baby?" Misha's voice was barely a whisper.
Anos closed his eyes. "Gone with her. They were one life, at that point. When her soul was destroyed, so was..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
Misha returned the ring to him, and Anos slipped it back into his pocket dimension, where it had resided for two millennia. A talisman of his failure, a reminder of the cost of cowardice.
"You're not a coward," Misha said firmly, startling him out of his dark thoughts. "Anos, you're one of the bravest people I've ever met."
"Misha—"
"No, listen." She gripped his hand tightly, her usual soft demeanor giving way to surprising intensity. "You loved someone in the middle of a war that demanded you be a monster. You gave her what you could, even knowing it might not be enough. And when you lost her, you didn't let that loss consume you. You kept fighting. You orchestrated peace. You died and came back two thousand years later to see your dream of coexistence realized. That's not cowardice, Anos. That's incredible strength."
"She's right," Sasha added. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I understand what you went through. But from everything you've said, you made the best choices you could with the information and circumstances you had. Could you have done things differently? Maybe. But you can't know if those different choices would have saved her. Jerga might have found another way to hurt you. The war might have escalated beyond control. You can't carry the burden of every possible outcome."
"And yet I do," Anos said simply.
Lay leaned forward, his expression serious. "Anos, may I ask you something that might be difficult?"
"More difficult than this entire conversation has already been?"
"Fair point." Lay smiled faintly. "Would you make the same choice again? If you could go back, knowing what you know now, would you still love her? Even knowing how it would end?"
The question struck Anos like a physical blow. He'd asked himself the same thing countless times over the past two thousand years, in the lonely moments between his death and reincarnation, in the quiet hours of his new life when memories rose unbidden.
"Yes," He finally answered, his voice steady and certain. "Every time, I would choose her. The pain of losing her is unbearable, but the alternative—never knowing her at all, never experiencing what we had—would be worse. She taught me that I was more than just the Demon King of Tyranny. With her, I was simply Anos. And that version of myself, the one she saw and loved... that's the person I'm trying to be now, in this era."
"Then you're honoring her memory," Misa said, smiling through her tears. "By living the life she would have wanted for you. By being the person she saw beneath the title."
Anos considered this. He'd never thought of it that way—that living, truly living rather than simply existing, might be a form of remembrance. A way to ensure that [Y/n]'s impact on his life hadn't been erased along with her soul.
"Perhaps," He admitted.
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold—colors that reminded Anos of [Y/n]'s smile, of the warmth she'd brought to his cold existence. His friends sat with him in comfortable silence, offering the kind of support that required no words.
For the first time in two thousand years, Anos felt the burden he carried become... not lighter, exactly. But shared. His friends knew now, understood the weight he'd been bearing alone for so long. And maybe that was what Professor Erdomaid had intended all along with his seemingly cruel exercise.
Burdens were meant to be shared.
"Thank you," Anos said quietly, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. "For listening. For... not judging."
"We're your friends, Anos," Misha said simply, as if that explained everything.
And perhaps it did.
That night, alone in his room, Anos took out the ring once more. He held it up to the moonlight, watching the gems catch and refract the pale glow into patterns of red and shadow.
"I'm sorry, [Y/n]," He whispered to the empty room, to the memory of a woman who'd been gone for two thousand years. "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough. I'm sorry I didn't give you what you deserved. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, or our child, or the future we should have had."
The ring seemed to pulse with warmth, or perhaps that was just his imagination.
"But I promise you this—I will never forget. I will carry you with me, always. Every choice I make, every step I take toward the world of peace you believed in... it's for you. Because you saw something in me worth loving, and I refuse to let that faith be misplaced."
He slipped the ring onto his own finger for the first time in two thousand years. It fit perfectly, as if it had always meant to belong there. The magic within it sang in recognition, resonating with his soul.
"I loved you," Anos said to the darkness, to the ghost of a smile and kind eyes and hands that had held his without fear. "I love you still. And that will never change, no matter how much time passes."
The burden on his soul remained, as heavy as ever. But somehow, having spoken it aloud, having shared it with friends who understood and accepted rather than judged... it felt different. Not lighter, but less isolating. Less like a weight he had to carry alone through eternity.
Anos Voldigoad, the Demon King of Tyranny, lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would continue building the world of peace he'd died to create. He would forge bonds with his friends, face whatever challenges the academy threw at him, and slowly reshape demon society into something [Y/n] would have been proud of.
But tonight, he allowed himself to remember. To grieve. To honor the love he'd lost and the cowardice he still couldn't forgive.
Because some burdens were meant to be carried forever.
And some loves never died, even when death destroyed everything else.
(I fear Anos has me in a Chokehold once again.) (This is by all means NOT CANNON!!)
