Raiden Alaric

  You ever get a text that feels like a trap? Yeah, that’s where I’m at.

  Ella had sent me a message earlier, no greeting, no playful banter, not even a well-placed passive-aggressive emoji. Just a location pin. Some random pier on the north end of the bay, and a timestamp.

  That was it. No explanation. No “can’t wait to see you~” or “come alone” like a cliché movie villain. Just:

  [Pier. 4:00 PM.]

  Cryptic much?

  I shoved my hands in my pockets as I strolled down the dock, boots thudding softly against old wood. The air smelled like salt and rusted iron, kind of nostalgic in a weird, unexplainable way. Waves lapped lazily beneath the pier, seagulls screamed like they were being mugged two pilings over, and the wind kept tossing my hair like it couldn’t decide on a style.

  Still no sign of her. I glanced around, nothing but scattered tourists, a few boats bobbing in their slips, and an old guy trying to win a staring contest with a pelican.

  “Romantic,” I muttered, eyeing the water. “Real subtle, Ella.”

  And yeah, maybe I was a little annoyed. Not at her, exactly. But the whole setup. Vague location? Minimal detail? It felt... weird. Not like her. Usually she at least pretended to be aloof with style. This just screamed I need to talk to you but don’t want anyone else to know.

  Which is great. Just the kind of thing I needed on a slow day. Oh I absolutely couldn't be more thrilled!

  But what really had me irked? The fiancé still hadn’t tried anything.

  It’s been weeks. WEEKS. And sure, I’ve been dialing things up, maybe resting my hand on Ella’s shoulder a little longer than necessary, maybe brushing her hair back during photo ops when I knew someone was watching, but nothing.

  Not a warning. Not a, “stay away from her.” Not even a grumpy note left in a locker.

  Disappointing.

  I kicked at a stray pebble on the pier, watching it bounce and roll before plopping into the ocean.

  “Come on, man,” I muttered to no one. “How long do I have to flirt with your fiancé before you grow a spine?”

  Seriously, what was the point of poking the noble hornet’s nest if none of the hornets bothered to come out?

  I sighed, stretching my arms behind my head and glancing up at the sun. Still a little early.

  “Alright, fine,” I murmured. “I’ll play along. Cryptic waterfront meetup it is.”

  I scanned the pier again, slower this time, checking not just for Ella, but for anything out of place. She may have picked this spot for privacy, but I wasn’t stupid. Something about this was off. Maybe she was being cautious. Maybe she was being watched.

  Or maybe... something was about to happen… hopefully.

  Because if today turns out to be just another “walk by the water and talk about our feelings” thing, I swear, someone better try to stab me by the end of it or I’m starting drama myself.

  That’s when my phone buzzed.

  Finally.

  I checked the screen:

  [Odyssey Fishing Warehouse. #186]

  Wait… is this?

  A slow grin spread across my face.

  Took you long enough, Herbert.

  With a spin on my heel, I strolled toward the warehouse like I was walking into a surprise party I helped plan.

  I don’t think he understands subtle.

  The building was… new. Not rundown. Not suspicious. Just sterile and corporate in the most unsettling way. Clean metal siding. Tinted windows. A digital keypad at the front door. I was expecting rusty hinges and a bloodstain or two. You know, ambience. Instead, I was standing in front of a shiny, completely regulation-approved warehouse like I was here to deliver bait and salmon. And of course, no keycard.

  “Guess I’m sneaking into this bitch then,” I muttered.

  That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  I turned, already prepping a wide-eyed innocent face, and came face to face with a man. Tall. Decently built. Sunglasses indoors. Classic.

  Polo shirt, black belt, khakis. Hair slightly disheveled, like he’d dunked his head in water five minutes ago and called it grooming. A scruffy beard framed his jaw. Yellow eyes. Tired.

  Blue rank.

  Had to be. Either that, or he wasn't human. You don’t get unnatural eye color from bad sleep and energy drinks.

  “Forget your badge, part-timer?” he asked, voice scratchy and dry, like he smoked a few regrets this morning with his breakfast.

  I blinked, then remembered what I was wearing. Leather boots, jeans, a white tee, and a red flannel with the sleeves rolled up.

  Yeah… I looked like I belonged here.

  Except for the fact that he had a solid head of height on me. Gotta admit though, props to me, I’d grown from 5’4 to 5’6. Thanks, anchors… and puberty…

  “Ah—no, sorry,” I said, keeping the stammer just shy of awkward. “I think I’ve got the wrong place. My girlfriend told me to meet her here. Not sure if it’s a prank or… something else.”

  I held up my phone, letting him see the message. I made sure her contact was saved as Ella Vel’aeris, hearts and sparkles included. Just in case moments like this happened.

  He leaned down, scratching his chin as he scanned the screen. “Hmm. No idea why your girlfriend’d want to meet you here. Maybe her dad works here or something?”

  “Maybe?” I shrugged. “Should I just call her?”

  He waved it off. “You can wait inside. I’ll let you into the lobby. Safer than standing out in the heat.”

  I tried to look hesitant. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna, you know… intrude.”

  He shrugged. “Front desk’s fine. Inside the warehouse, that’s a safety hazard. Just sit tight and figure it out.”

  “Thanks so much! Really appreciate it.”

  Your eyebrows totally didn’t twitch when you saw her name.

  As we walked in, my phone instantly lost all signal.

  Classic.

  I have officially entered your trap. Please don’t disappoint me.

  I played along, sitting politely in one of the plastic lobby chairs. He glanced back at me. “You want a snack or something? Vending machine’s in the break room.”

  Internally, I was already rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain.

  “Uh—are you sure?”

  “Yeah. C’mon. Just follow me.”

  I nodded and followed like the innocent little duckling he thought I was.

  The warehouse floor was pristine, too pristine. Racks of shipping containers stacked neatly. Industrial-grade machines humming idly in the corners. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

  And not a single employee in sight.

  No forklifts in motion. No clipboards. No coffee breaks. No background chatter. Just silence. Not a warehouse. A stage.

  “Umm… so how far is the break room?” I asked once we hit the center.

  He sighed, stopping. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m just here to make sure the job gets done.”

  Then he snapped his fingers. It echoed like a gunshot. Sharp. Loud enough to make my ears ring. Laced with aura for sure.

  “Make it quick,” he muttered. “I’m not being paid enough to be here on my day off.”

  Figures started to emerge from the edges of the warehouse, five of them, moving in loose formation like they’d done this plenty of times.

  One tall and lanky with fingerless gloves, flexing his knuckles like he missed punching someone. A woman in a half-zipped bomber jacket, chewing gum and already looking bored. A stocky guy dragging a heavy chain behind him. Not ominous at all. Someone with a hood and a mask, classic ninja cosplay. And a younger guy with a slick haircut and a smug expression that made me want to hit him first.

  They were all grinning. Except some of them… were starting to hesitate. Why? Because I was grinning too. Wider. Sharper. Matching theirs.

  I dropped the clueless act, arms opening like I was welcoming them to my birthday party.

  “Ahhh~ finally! He makes his move. Jeez, how long were you guys gonna make me wait?”

  They looked at each other. Confused. Uneasy.

  I sighed dramatically. “Really? No insults? No cheesy monologue? Not even one slur about me daring to court a high elf?”

  Silence.

  I rolled my shoulders, I can feel my chest pumping.

  “Alright then,” I said, voice calm as the storm before a riot. “Let’s just get this started.” Five opponents. One warehouse. No exits.

  Finally… fun.

  The first one came at me fast, I dubbed him, Mr. Hands. Fingerless gloves, quick feet, twitchy like a junkie with something to prove. His jab clipped my chin before I even adjusted my footing. The second went straight for my ribs, and I felt that one. Hard. I staggered back, guard up.

  Alright. No aura. No safety net. Real fight, then.

  Two more closed in, Chain Boy swinging that heavy steel link like a wrecking ball, and Bubble Jacket Girl circling with a smirk like she thought this was already over.

  A fist, chain, boot, knee, a world of noise and chaos, flashing limbs and grunts of effort.

  I was already bleeding from my lip and had the wind knocked out of me in the first ten seconds.

  Not ideal, but then my instincts kicked in. I stopped reacting and started watching. Reading.

  Mr. Hands was fast, but sloppy. He overcommitted on every combo, leaned into his jabs too hard, dropped his back shoulder when switching from right to left. Amateur mistakes. Desperate moves. He was trying to overwhelm, not outthink. His stance had a bounce to it, street fighter style, no foundation. My kind of puzzle.

  Bubble Jacket had flare. Loved to twirl into her kicks, get a little spin going to add some flair, and power. But the moment her heel lifted off the ground, her balance gave her away. Pretty moves. No core control. She didn’t hit like someone trying to win, she hit like someone used to showing off.

  Chain Boy? Walking muscle spasm. Every swing was wide, slow, brutal. Zero footwork. Once that chain was in motion, he was all momentum and no adaptability. Couldn't feint, couldn't reposition. His tells were basically blinking lights. But damn, that chain packed weight.

  I let them come again. But this time, I had the rhythm. The tempo. The advantage.

  Bubble Jacket launched a spin-kick. I stepped into the rotation, jammed my shoulder into her gut, and flipped her with her own momentum. Her skull cracked the floor with a dull thud. I followed with a stomp to her midsection just to be sure. Her body went limp.

  Mr. Hands reached for my collar. Bad move. I twisted his wrist, slammed an elbow into his temple, and when he staggered, I grabbed his arm and twisted until I heard the snap of his elbow joint giving out. He howled, knees buckling. I finished it with a boot to the jaw that spun him onto his back, eyes rolling.

  Chain Boy roared and swung wide again. Predictable. I slipped inside the arc and slammed my forearm across his throat to knock him off-balance. As he stumbled, I grabbed a hanging hook from a nearby chain pulley and drove it into his shoulder, hooking him like a side of beef. He screamed, flailed, and dropped.

  Three down.

  And I was smiling.

  Blood trickled from my lip. My ribs ached. My breathing was jagged. But my heart? It was singing.

  Then came Edge Lord and Slick Hair.

  Yeah I know my name sense is bad today don’t judge me.

  The moment they moved, I knew. My skin prickled.

  Edge Lord had precision. The way he held his knives told me he was trained to kill, not intimidate. Short, efficient strikes. Always aiming for joints, tendons, arteries. No wasted flair. Just death by inches. He moved like a surgeon who liked his job too much.

  Slick Hair was methodical. Footwork tight, center of gravity low. He didn’t swing to hurt. He struck to break structure, knees, hips, balance. One was the knife. The other was the crowbar. Clean. Efficient. No ego, just the job.

  Their first pass nearly ended me. Blade across my shoulder. Fist into my ribs. I hit the floor hard, rolled under a kick, and scrambled up with a laugh that surprised even me. My lungs burned, my bones screamed, but my grin only grew wider.

  "Okay," I breathed, wiping my mouth. "You two might actually be worth my time."

  They didn't answer. Professionals. I respected that.

  They came again, this time coordinated. Edge Lord flanked left, knives flashing. Slick Hair took the front, jabbing fast and hard. I read the pattern forming, one drew the eye, the other exploited it.

  I danced between them, catching a slice to the thigh for my trouble, but I was learning. Every strike they threw told a story. Every block I made rewrote it. My brain lit up with angles and spacing, with the twitch of a wrist, the shift of a stance.

  Edge Lord favored his right, overused the shoulder. Old injury, maybe. I baited that side, let him reach for a lunge, then slammed my elbow into it mid-swing. He screamed, his form buckling as he stumbled.

  Slick Hair kept shifting his weight before each punch. Left foot back? Sweep incoming. I stomped on that foot and cracked him across the jaw. He staggered, surprised. They regrouped, warier now.

  I licked blood from my lip and gave them a wide, wild grin.

  "C'mon," I laughed, voice ragged but electric. "Don’t get shy on me now."

  Edge Lord lunged again. I caught one wrist, twisted, and pulled him between me and Slick Hair. The punch meant for me landed square in his gut. I used the moment to slam Edge’s head into a support beam and pivoted fast, momentum carrying me into a brutal sidekick into Slick's chest.

  He hit the ground hard. I followed, grounded a knee into his side. I felt a rib crack beneath the blow. He wheezed, curled slightly. I rolled off just as Edge Lord came in with a slash.

  Back up. Bleeding. Drenched in sweat. Thigh burning. Shoulder stinging. Alive. They were slower now. Breathing harder. The confidence was cracking.

  Mine wasn’t.

  I ducked under another swipe, grabbed a broken crate slat, and slammed it across Edge Lord’s face. His nose shattered in a spray of blood and he crumpled. Maybe out. Maybe not. Didn’t matter.

  Slick Hair lunged one last time, desperate. I sidestepped, caught his arm, twisted, and snapped it clean at the elbow. The scream that followed was music. He dropped. I finished it with a punch to the throat. He twitched. Stopped.

  I stood there. Chest heaving. Knuckles raw. Vision swimming. And I couldn’t stop smiling. I looked toward the upper catwalk, where the Ascendant was still watching, unmoving.

  I raised my hand and beckoned. Smiling.

  "Next?"

  The air shifted. A quiet sigh echoed from above. Then the groan of metal as boots dropped onto the catwalk rail.

  “Unbelievable,” the Ascendant muttered. His tone was dry, flat, like a man who’d just realized he left his wallet at home after already ordering lunch. “Five of you. Five. And not one of you could handle a kid your own age? Where does he find these imbeciles?”

  He leapt. Landed without sound. Dust puffed around his feet, barely a breeze disturbed.

  He rolled his neck, stretching his arms with a lazy shrug. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, voice hoarse and lazy, “I respect it. You earned that ass-kicking title fair and square. But I swear to every star in the sky—I am not paid enough for this bullshit. So don’t make this difficult, I just need to be sure the message is sent.”

  I didn’t move. My legs wouldn’t let me. Because my heart—

  THUMP.

  My heart was pounding like war drums in a canyon.

  THUMP.

  My body screamed at me, every nerve on fire, but not from fear. Excitement.

  He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “No aura,” he said. “That’s the rule we were given. Guess we get to play fair.”

  Fair, my ass.

  He moved first, fast. Not blur-fast. Not teleporting. But every movement was precise, heavy with intention, grounded in mastery.

  The first hit caught me in the ribs. I didn’t see it until I was already reeling. He didn’t let up. A shoulder slam followed. I tried to twist away, only to get swept onto my back with a leg hook I didn’t even see coming.

  I gasped. Rolled. Blood in my mouth. He didn’t gloat. Didn’t slow. Just kept coming.

  What the hell is this style?

  It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. Fluid like water, sharp like shattered glass. It shifted angles mid-strike. Flowed around defenses. Hit with weight without momentum.

  I was bleeding. Bad. Lip split. Eye swelling. Ribs cracked for sure. And I was laughing.

  I rose to one knee, chuckling through clenched teeth. “You’re... good,” I breathed.

  He tilted his head. “You’re an odd one for sure.”

  THUMP THUMP THUMP.

  That rhythm again. My heart was howling. It was happening again. My vision shook, not from pain, but pressure. My thoughts spiraled.

  Why? Why do I want this? Why do I crave it?

  The answer was right there—right there—

  THUMP THUMP THUMP.

  Revelation.

  So close.

  I want to reach it. I want to keep going. I want to tear the ceiling off and see what’s beyond. I want more. MORE.

  And just like that, it slipped.

  Gone…

  Like chasing a dream that fades the moment you open your eyes. My body locked. Like something had slammed the brakes on every synapse in my brain. The seal, it blocked me. It yanked me back from the edge. Again. And I snapped. I didn’t think.

  I lunged. Rage roared through me like wildfire. No technique. No strategy. Just raw, wild force. I clawed at him, fists flying like shrapnel. He ducked, blocked, dodged, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed to break something, him, the seal, the world, I didn’t care.

  Pain meant nothing. Every hit I took fueled me. Every drop of blood was a drumbeat.

  He struck my shoulder, I rammed him back. He tried to sweep, I jumped over it and drove a knee toward his head.

  He blocked it, barely. His arm trembled with the force. I grinned in his face, wild-eyed.

  “Don’t stop now,” I growled. “We’re just getting started.”

  He scowled. “You really don’t value your ribs, do you?”

  And then we clashed. It was fists. Knees. Palms. Elbows. Bone cracking against bone. I could tell, his style was meant for suppression. Take away space. Break posture. Strip away options.

  But I wasn’t a textbook fighter anymore. I was improvising. Learning. Every block that failed taught me something. Every time he redirected my force, I adapted. The more pain I took, the more pieces I picked up.

  I started mimicking his angles. I stepped the way he stepped. Pivots low. Twisting hips. Compact force. He hit me again. Lip split wider.

  I answered with a palm strike of my own that cracked against his jaw. Not clean. But enough to make his head whip. We kept trading.

  He went low, I caught it. He tried the sweep again, I jumped it. His eyes narrowed. I could feel it.

  He was realizing I wasn’t slowing down, I was speeding up. Bleeding. Bruised. Grinning.

  Closer. Closer. Closer.

  THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

  The pressure swelled. My mind tunneled. The world around me dulled as something inside me began to pulse. Rhythmic. Hungry. Familiar.

  I will always pursue… no

  The words formed in my mind. Unbidden. Raw. Primal. They came not as thoughts, but as truth.

  I will always be on the chase—

  Snap.

  Gone.

  My thoughts imploded. My breath caught. The seal slammed back into place like an iron door. My knees buckled.

  “No,” I hissed through my teeth.

  It was right there.It was mine and it slipped away again. My vision went red.

  I roared, lunging forward without thought, without control. I became a blur of instinct and fury, slamming into the Ascendant with wild, vicious abandon. And for the first time, he staggered. He caught my wrist, but not clean. I twisted in midair, bringing my elbow into his jaw. It connected, not solid, but enough. Enough to make him blink, to make him feel it.

  His smirk faltered and weight shifted. I surged again, dragging him into a half-step he hadn’t meant to take. Momentum. Pressure. No technique, just raw movement.

  A kick caught his side, not enough to drop him, but enough to make his feet slide.

  He felt that one.

  And then his expression changed. Dropped like a curtain. From bored amusement to something colder.

  “Alright,” he said flatly, brushing my fist aside. “I’m getting sick of this.”

  A pulse, I felt it before I even saw it. A shift in the air, like gravity, just decided to get personal.

  He used his aura. It wasn’t a slow build or a warning pulse, it hit like a freight train. In an instant, his leg swept low. I moved, tried to move. Too slow.

  CRACK.

  Pain detonated through my legs. Both of them. The sound was wet, violent, final. The ground vanished beneath me. I was airborne, spinning, weightless, broken.

  He broke my legs. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Just pure, blinding agony flooding every nerve in my body. And then, his fist was there. Already in front of me. Barreling toward my face with the force of a wrecking ball. I had no defense. No counter. No chance.

  But it didn’t hit me, because something stopped it. A sound tore through the warehouse, not the impact, but the halt.

  A shockwave erupted as the fist came to a dead stop, air cracked, crates were tossed, and I was thrown back like a ragdoll, sliding across the concrete floor with a painful thud.

  My vision spun, ears ringing, chest heaving. I blinked up through the haze, just in time to see what stopped it.

  A hand. Casual and effortlessly wrapped around the Ascendant’s wrist like it was nothing. Chronos.

  He stood beside me like he’d been there the whole time, shoulders relaxed, coat still clean, like he hadn’t just walked into a war zone. The Ascendant’s eyes went wide, the color draining from his face. Chronos gave a lazy smile, still not even looking at me.

  “I leave him alone for one afternoon, and suddenly he’s got broken bones and someone is trying to take off his head? Really?” He clicked his tongue. “The petty things like cancelling contests or slipping some letters into his mail are one thing. This is unacceptable.”

  The Ascendant yanked his arm back, stepping away like the contact had burned him. He didn’t look terrified, no wild panic or trembling hands, but he was shaken. He knew now. Knew he’d just picked a fight he couldn’t win.

  Chronos stepped forward, rolling his neck with a small sigh. “I was hoping to stay out of it,” he muttered. “Let Rai have his fun. But I think we both know…” He let his gaze cut sideways at the Ascendant. “You overstepped, whether you did it consciously or not.”

  He crouched beside me like we were just two guys hanging out after a long day. His eyes flicked to my legs.

  “Yeah… I think I’m going to have to take you to Selena for this. There’s no excuse I could come up with to prevent your mother from killing both of us.”

  I let out something between a laugh and a groan, blood still in my mouth. “You think?”

  He grinned, and I could tell, he was proud. Not just of what I did, but that I kept pushing. “You did good.”

  And then everything started to fade. The pain surged. My vision swam. My body finally remembered that it was broken in multiple places.

  But through the haze, through the agony, one thought kept burning in my mind like a low flame:

  I chase—no… I reach... I rise... I... something.

  I was so close. So damn close. Chronos placed a hand on my shoulder, steady, warm, grounding.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, his tone oddly soft. “Don’t lose heart.”

  I blinked at him, barely able to keep my eyes open. Everything inside me felt like it was either screaming or falling apart.

  “You're close,” he continued. “I can feel it. That fire in your chest? That storm in your blood? You’re almost there. But until then…”

  He stood slowly, dusting off his coat like this was all just a warm-up.

  “…watch closely,” he said, cracking his knuckles, voice shifting back to that usual edge. “I don’t get to stretch my legs often.”

  The Ascendant took a cautious step back. Chronos rolled his shoulders and smiled, not cruelly, not out of ego, but like a man who’d been waiting for this.

  “Before we start…” he said, voice casual as ever, “…call the other four.”

  The Ascendant blinked. “What?”

  Chronos pointed lazily at the shadows around us, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You had five others on standby, didn’t you? Just in case someone like me showed up?”

  Silence. I squinted from the ground.

  Wait—five? But he said call the other four. What happened to the fifth?

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The Ascendant hesitated for a long second. Then, reluctantly, he gave a subtle signal. Four figures stepped out from the shadows like ghosts. Silent. Armed. Ready.

  I could barely move, but even from where I lay, I could feel it, the shift in the air. The tension winding tighter. These weren’t amateurs. These were killers, through and through. Chronos exhaled like a man finally clocking into a job he actually liked.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Can’t put on a real show with just one target. Forgive me though, I’m gonna show off a bit since my student’s watching.” He glanced back at me with a cocky little smirk. “Hope you’re taking notes, Rai. This one’s for you.”

  One of the four didn’t waste time. His aura exploded outward like a detonation, raw, unrestrained. The pressure in the room shifted violently. Dust whipped from the ground. The lights overhead flickered and groaned. Then he moved, a punch thrown with full force. Aura surging behind it, screaming through the air.

  The ground beneath his feet shattered from the recoil, a spiderweb of cracks radiating out. The shockwave slammed into the room like a wall of wind, knocking debris loose and sending me skidding back.

  I hit a crate hard, my vision swimming. When I looked up, Chronos was still standing there, unflinching, and untouched.

  The man’s fist was frozen inches from Chronos’ body. Not from impact. Not stopped by flesh or bone. It just… never made it. Suspended mid-strike like time had forgotten it existed.

  Chronos glanced down at the hovering fist, one brow lifting. “Well,” he said calmly. “That was dramatic.”

  The attacker snarled and tried to yank his arm back. Nothing. His fist remained hovering over Chronos’ abdomen, locked in place like it had hit an invisible wall made of gravity and shame.

  Then the rest charged. One lunged in, twin crescent blades coated in a violet haze, poison-type aura, judging by the oily shimmer. Another descended from above, greathammer howling with molten fire, the weapon roaring like a forge with a heartbeat. A third flickered forward with a wind-wreathed spear, each step flaying gashes into the concrete. The fourth stayed back, hand raised, six silver daggers orbiting him in perfect formation, until they launched like bullets.

  The warehouse exploded with motion and killing intent. And Chronos? He didn’t blink. Everything stopped. Not a metaphor. Not slow motion. Stopped.

  The hammer hung mid-air, fire raging uselessly around the head as if the heat had lost permission to burn. The wind spear’s tip hovered a hair’s width from his chest, the gales shrieking but circling away like frightened birds. The poison blades, both, trembled beside his neck, unable to move forward, back, or even shake. The daggers quivered in the air, locked mid-flight, frozen as if the very concept of momentum had been vetoed.

  Five attackers. Five weapons. Five deaths waiting to happen ...and not a single one able to budge.

  Chronos stood in the center of it all, statues of violence surrounding him. He glanced around, mildly unimpressed.

  “C’mon,” he said dryly. “You’re making me look bad in front of my student.” He finally looked at the frozen fist again. Still hovering. Still strained with effort. “For a bunch of Green and Blue ranks, I expected a little… more?”

  He didn’t shove it away. Didn’t touch it. The air simply shimmered, just slightly, around his body. A pulse, like a heartbeat in reverse. A ripple of pressure that shouldn’t have existed, brushing out from where the punch had stalled.

  The Ascendant’s veins bulged. His arm shook. He grunted, sweat rolling down his face as he tried, tried to pull back. Then, without a word, Chronos released him.

  All at once, the fist snapped back like a rubber band, and the man stumbled away, gasping. He took his place beside the others, weapon still drawn, hands shaking. The other four, daggers, hammer, spear, and blades, stayed locked in place for one long, humiliating moment before they were released too. Every weapon jerked, a second too late, returning to its wielder’s control.

  Chronos looked at them all now, smiling pleasantly. The room felt colder.

  “Alright,” he said, voice warm and absolutely terrifying. “Let’s start the second round.” He cracked his neck. “You’d save me time if you all went at once again.” A beat. “I’ll be fighting back this time, just so you know.”

  They didn’t hesitate. Not because they were brave. Because they were too scared not to.

  One leapt into the air, charging a downward strike wreathed in compressed wind. Another flanked from the right, twin daggers flickering with crackling static. The third disappeared in a blur, blinking with short-range speed bursts. The last came dead center with heavy gauntlets glowing red with molten energy.

  Chronos took a breath. Then he moved. To Rai’s half-conscious eyes, it looked like the world skipped a beat.

  The airborne spearman fell first, his attack interrupted mid-swing by a palm strike that cracked his ribs and sent him crashing through a stack of steel crates. He didn’t get back up.

  The one with daggers lunged, Chronos twisted his body, avoiding the slash by inches and catching the assassin by the wrist. A pulse of aura surged through his grip and the daggers shattered instantly. The assailant screamed. Chronos finished it by crushing his wrist and then throwing him to the otherside of the warehouse.

  The blur appeared behind him, going for a kidney shot, Chronos leaned just enough to avoid it, then from my perspective it looked like his arm just twitched. Looking at the man, he just suddenly spun twice in the air before hitting the ground unconscious.

  Only the gauntlet bruiser remained, and he actually managed to connect. His fist hit Chronos square in the chest with a blast of heat and kinetic force. The warehouse trembled. Dust and heat exploded outward. Chronos didn’t budge. He tilted his head slightly.

  “Not bad,” he admitted. “But unfortunately it’s the gauntlets that have the power here, not you.”

  Then he tapped the man's chest with two fingers. The man dropped like a marionette with cut strings. Chronos exhaled slowly and turned back to Rai, dusting his hands off casually.

  “Like I said,” he called over, grinning. “You’re gonna get there. Just use this as more motivation. You’ll be able to do this as well once you start advancing.”

  Chronos exhaled slowly and turned back to Rai, dusting his hands off casually. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at the last one.

  The original Ascendant who “lured” me in here. The only one still standing. The man tensed, fists clenched. His gaze shifted between his fallen allies and the man standing so casually among them. His mouth moved slowly before words came out.

  “Who... who the hell are you?”

  Chronos didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head like he was deciding whether or not it was worth it to even speak. Then he took a step forward. The air snapped.

  I felt it before I saw anything, an oppressive, suffocating weight that dropped over the warehouse like a thundercloud of sheer presence. My chest tightened. Even breathing became work. The Ascendant’s body jolted.

  Chronos’s voice cut through the silence like a cold wind. “Your name is Delvan Aren. Blue Rank. Not bad. You could’ve been something, if you didn’t waste your time pretending to be unbothered while playing errand boy for cowards.”

  Delvan’s pupils shrank. He dropped to one knee, breath shaky. Tried to drop to both, but his body refused.

  “I-I didn’t know—”

  Chronos stepped forward. The floor cracked. My vision swam from the pressure. “You took money to do someone else’s dirty work. Fine. That's survival. I get it.”

  Another step and another crack in the concrete. The warehouse lights flickered. “But then you raised your hand to my student. An unawakened no less. You tried to kill him with that punch. I truly despise you Ascendants thinking that you can do as you please with no consequence. I’ve wiped out planets with that mindset.”

  Delvan gasped for breath. His body trembled uncontrollably.

  “And let me tell you,” Chronos said, his tone suddenly razor-sharp, “I felt that punch. If I’d been a half second later, his head would have exploded from the impact alone.”

  I was watching through bleary vision, felt like I was staring at a black hole in human form. The killing intent radiating off Chronos wasn’t theatrical. It was real, heavy, and unavoidable.

  Delvan's mouth quivered, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could barely think. Chronos towered over him now. And in that moment, nothing else existed. No noise. No movement. No breath in my lungs. Just him.

  That wasn’t a man standing there. That was a force. A judgment made flesh. A living consequence.

  Delvan’s lips moved again, but no sound came out. He wasn’t holding back words, he couldn’t form them. His throat locked up. His body trembled like a collapsing building, every instinct in him screaming to run, to grovel, to do something. But Chronos didn’t give him permission to.

  “You don’t even know what you almost did,” Chronos said, voice low and final. “You thought this was just another job. Just another brat to stomp out because some coward with a family name backing him told you to.”

  Another step. The floor beneath him buckled, concrete webbing with fresh fractures.

  “But you almost killed someone under my protection.”

  Delvan whimpered, but it didn’t even sound human. It was the noise a cornered animal made when it realized there was no escape. Chronos’s eyes locked onto him with something ancient, something colder than hate, contempt.

  “And the worst part?” he continued. “You had no idea what you were walking into. You didn’t even ask. Just nodded, smiled, and took the cash.”

  He leaned forward slightly, and though he never raised his voice, the pressure surged again, turning the warehouse into a coffin with walls made of fear.

  “If I hadn’t been here, you would’ve killed him,” he said, each word slow, deliberate, carved into the air like a sentence being handed down. “And you never would’ve known why it was a mistake.”

  My heart was pounding. My arms were shaking. I wasn’t even the one he was talking to.

  Delvan wasn’t kneeling anymore, he was collapsing, face nearly to the ground, spine locked up like his body was trying to fold itself in submission. His eyes were wide. Unfocused. He’d broken. Not physically. Not yet. But something inside him had snapped. And Chronos hadn’t even touched him.

  Chronos didn’t look angry. That’s what made it worse. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t glowing with power. He wasn’t even raising his voice. He was just... speaking. Low. Cold. Final.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he said, crouching slightly so Delvan could hear every word. “You’re going to crawl your pathetic ass back to whoever signed your paycheck.”

  Delvan didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  Chronos leaned just a little closer. Not enough to invade his space, just enough to own it.

  “And you’re going to deliver a message.”

  I felt the air tighten, like the world itself held its breath. “You tell your employer…” Chronos whispered, “…if he comes after my student again—”

  The lights overhead popped, one by one, blown out by the sheer pressure rolling off him. “—then all that will be left of his family... is ashes in a crater.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was expectation. It was gravity. It was a countdown that hadn’t even started ticking yet. Chronos stood up slowly, gaze still locked on the shaking, kneeling husk of a man who’d walked in here thinking he had power.

  “Now go,” he said, voice like the scrape of metal. “Before I change my mind.”

  Delvan nodded furiously and desperately. Like his head was the only part of his body still allowed to move. Then he ran. No launched off.

  The moment Chronos stepped back, Delvan exploded off the ground like a bullet, aura flaring as instinct overrode dignity. He didn’t look back. Just blurred into motion, crashing through a section of the warehouse wall that caved in under the force of his panic-fueled escape. And just like that, he was gone.

  Chronos exhaled, slow and steady, like the entire scene had just been mildly inconvenient. Then he glanced down at me, the menace draining from his expression as casually as flipping a switch.

  “See?” he said, like we’d just finished watching a movie together. “Told you it’d be fun.”

  I groaned from the floor, still half-buried in debris and pain. “I was getting close, you know...”

  Chronos raised an eyebrow. “Close to what? Death?”

  I scowled, coughing. “No, to it. The revelation. I felt it—I had it.”

  He crouched beside me again, checking my injuries with that casual precision of someone who’s seen way worse. “Yeah? And if I had been one second later, he would’ve had your jaw.”

  I glared at him through the blood in my eyes. “You could at least let me get there before dragging me back from the brink.”

  Chronos smirked. “Reaching the brink is fine. Falling off it? Less so.” He stood, brushing dust off his coat again like this whole encounter had been a minor detour. “Besides, we need to check how much strain the seal took. It’s getting too fragile to keep pretending you’re not almost there.”

  I blinked. “Wait, really?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. After today, we’re getting you scanned. Selena will want to see exactly how much damage it took.”

  For a moment, I forgot the pain in my legs.

  I grinned. “Alright. Crazy research lady it is.”

  Chronos chuckled, offering me a hand. “That’s the spirit. Let’s go see how much strain your seal actually took.”

  I reached up to grab his hand, and that’s when it hit me. Or rather... what didn’t hit me.

  I frowned. “Wait. My legs are broken. Like, shattered. Why don't I feel anything?”

  Chronos raised a brow. “Oh. Right. I’m numbing the pain right now. Forgot to mention that.”

  “You forgot to mention that?”

  “Mm,” he said, clearly not sorry. “You were talking. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Gee,” I muttered, voice flat. “How thoughtful of you.”

  He lifted me effortlessly, like I didn’t weigh anything, and I let out a breath, feeling the distant thrum of everything wrong inside my body. My nerves knew. My brain just hadn’t caught up yet.

  “Think Selena’ll let me off easy this time?” I asked. “Maybe just dive into my Aether Realm, skip the bloodwork and five million scans?”

  Chronos actually laughed. “You think she’s not already preparing for more tests after this? Also we need to— Oh nevermind she saved me the time.”

  I started to speak again, but then, snap, a shimmer of light opened in the air beside us. A portal, it clearly wasn’t his since the color wasn’t the same.

  Chronos simply said, “She’s so impatient.”

  “Uh—” I started, but before I could finish, two pale, gloved hands shot out from the glowing rift and grabbed me by the front of my shirt. “What the—?!”

  I was yanked clean off my feet, pain flaring for a split second before something cold and soothing wrapped around my legs. I tumbled through the portal like a ragdoll, barely catching a glimpse of Chronos giving me an amused smile before the portal sealed shut behind me.

  I landed softly, too softly, and immediately knew something was wrong.

  There was no pain. No concrete. No angry Ascendants. Just the quiet hum of an air-regulated room, the scent of sterilized stone, and the lingering scent of caffeine.

  Then a shadow leaned over me.

  “Oh good,” Selena said, beaming like she just found a new test subject. “You’re still alive, Rai-Bear. So he made it in time.”

  Her voice was bright. Too bright. Which only ever meant one thing.

  I blinked up at her, still dazed. “...Hi?”

  She crouched beside me, eyes already scanning every inch of my body with gleeful efficiency. “Chronos beat me to you. I was this close to pulling you out myself, thankfully, he was able to read the situation and save my future husband. Honestly, I’m touched.”

  I squinted at her. “You say that like I’m not bleeding internally.”

  “Oh, you’re bleeding,” she agreed, chipper as ever. “Just not anywhere important.”

  A figure stepped beside her and immediately knelt. A healer. Mid-thirties. Quiet, focused, glowing hands already hovering over my legs.

  Selena waved vaguely in their direction. “This is Yavin. Don’t worry about him, he’s very competent, and extremely boring.”

  “Thanks,” the healer muttered.

  “See?” she said, grinning down at me.

  Then the pain returned. Not gradual. Not gentle. Just, pop. One of my legs snapped back into place with an audible crack. I choked on air.

  “Could’ve warned me,” I hissed.

  Selena patted my head. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides most people would have screamed at these kinds of adjustments.”

  Another pop, this one sharper. I saw stars. “Seriously—this feels personal.”

  “It’s not,” she said, grinning like it definitely was. “But now that you’re here, I can finally check what that little seal of yours has been up to.”

  Chronos had been right, I’d pushed the seal further than ever. Close. So close. And now I was back here. Being patched up. Poked at. Prodded by a researcher who smiled too wide and enjoyed her job way too much.

  I glanced at the healer, “Are you sure this is information you want Yavin to know?”

  She waved me off, “Oh don’t worry about him, he’s under an Oath of the Open Heart, so he couldn’t spill any information even if he wanted to.”

  I turned back to the healer, and gave him a nod of sympathy. He also returned the nod.

  Lord, what have you done to this man Selena?

  Chronos Elior

  After reappearing in Rai’s Aether Realm, it was immediately obvious. This was no small shift. This… was the strongest reaction I’ve seen yet.

  The last time I was here, it had started to stabilize, an erratic storm finally taming itself, wild terrain beginning to take shape. It had begun listening, adjusting for us, recognizing intent.

  But now it wasn’t just aware. It was purposeful.

  The atmosphere felt denser, not hostile, but heavy, like a presence looming just beyond perception. The ground no longer shifted passively beneath my steps. It didn’t just react to me being here. It recognized me, and ahead of me, a path had formed.

  No slow adjustment, no slow reshaping beneath my feet, this time, it had already prepared itself. As if it knew exactly why I was here. The path was smooth. Solid. Lined faintly by pale stones etched in patterns I didn’t recognize, not random, but not yet refined either. A reflection of someone who hadn’t quite realized what they were becoming, and it led straight to the seal.

  A low whistle escaped me as I walked forward, hands tucked behind my back.

  “You’ve been busy, haven’t you.”

  The terrain beneath me shimmered with intent. No more erratic pulses, no more shifting hills or flickering tiles. Just a stillness. A hush. Like the realm itself had taken a breath and was now holding it, watching.

  It wasn’t reacting to me anymore. It was waiting. That kind of ambient will? That quiet expectancy? It usually only showed up after someone awakened. And yet… here we were.

  I walked the path without haste, letting the world shape itself around me. This realm didn’t just belong to Rai—it was him. His spirit etched into every curve of color, every ripple of space. And from the way the lights bent subtly in deference, from how the nebulas paused their swirl when I passed, I could tell. His will was no longer wandering. It was anchoring.

  At the end of the path, the glow deepened. A single point of gravity pulled my eyes in, there it was. The chain.

  Still coiled tight around his core like a noose forged from pressure and promise. Still cracked, but now with three jagged fractures, like lightning bolts frozen mid-strike across a field of steel.

  Now the fractures had deepened. I stepped closer. The ground didn’t shake. The realm didn’t resist. It watched. Energy pulsed faintly from the seal. Strained. Defensive. Alive. He had slammed against it again. Harder this time. Probably closer than ever before. And the seal hadn’t broken… but it was wounded.

  Just like him.

  I crouched down and ran my fingers across the path’s final step—the one closest to the seal. Faint pulses rippled beneath my hand, like a heartbeat echoing through stone.

  “He’s still not ready,” I muttered. “But damn... he’s getting close.”

  The realm pulsed once, soft but insistent.

  “He’s chasing it,” I added, almost to myself. “And if this keeps up... it’s only a matter of time before he catches it.”

  I stood slowly, giving the seal one last look. It wouldn’t hold forever. And when it broke? He wouldn’t be the same boy he was before.

  I turned away, the realm already shifting subtly to accommodate my departure, guiding me back with silent understanding.

  It knew I had seen enough.

  With a final glance at the deepened fractures running across the chain, I let the realm release me. The air shimmered, bending for me as I stepped out.

  Light snapped back into place. The sterile white of Selena’s lab bled into my vision. The moment I appeared, she didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

  “He’s close, isn’t he?” she said, already poking at a glowing projection of Rai’s core. Her fingers flicked through windows of data, mental pathways, Aether structure readings, pulse fluctuations. None of it looked stable. All of it looked fascinating. Aside from the fact that she somehow ran these tests without my knowledge and most likely without his consent.

  “Closer than ever,” I said, crossing my arms and stepping to her side. “That seal won’t hold much longer.”

  She grinned without looking. “Good. I was hoping for something dramatic.”

  I arched a brow. “That punch to the legs not enough for you?”

  Selena snorted. “Please. Physical trauma is boring. This,” she gestured to the projection, “this is exciting.”

  I glanced at the display. The visualization of Rai’s seal pulsed in front of us like a cage made of light and pressure, fractured, strained. On some level, it was still suppressing him… but just barely.

  “He tried again,” she said softly, more to herself than me. “Tried to push past it.”

  I nodded. “Same result. Cut off right before the finish line.”

  Selena’s gaze narrowed slightly. “The seal's structure is fraying. Every time he slams into it, it doesn’t just resist, it adapts. That’s why it’s getting more fragile. It's not healing anymore. It’s compensating.”

  “Buying time,” I muttered.

  She nodded once. “But it’s not going to last much longer. One more push like this, and either it shatters… or he does.”

  I let that hang in the air for a moment. Then I looked down at Rai, still unconscious, bandaged, but stable. The healer had done their job well. Now it was Selena’s turn.

  “I assume you’ll monitor him while I prep the next phase,” I said.

  Selena grinned, finally looking away from the display. “Chronos, please. You act like I’ve been doing anything else since he walked into our lives.”

  I smirked. “Just don’t keep too many souvenirs.”

  “No promises,” she said sweetly, already turning back to her console.

  And with that, I stepped away. The next time that seal broke, the world would see who Raiden Alaric really was. I have front-row seats when it happened.

  Delvan Aren

  I didn’t stop running. Didn’t look back. Didn’t breathe right. My aura burned at my heels, driving me forward like death itself was just behind me. Because for all I knew, it was. I had to get away. Far away As far from that warehouse, from him, as possible.

  The wind screamed past my ears, my legs blurring against the ground as trees, rooftops, and city blocks vanished behind me. I wasn’t moving like a man. I was moving like something cornered, hunted. And gods help me, I’d never run like this in my life. Not even when I was still clawing my way to Violet Rank and gave up.

  My chest heaved, lungs burning, muscles screaming. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Because the moment I did, that feeling—that presence—might find me again.

  That pressure. That impossible, suffocating weight. I don’t even know what to call it. He didn’t use his name. Didn’t need to. Names are for people. That thing… that monster wrapped in human skin… he wasn’t something you could name. But I’ll remember what I felt for the rest of my life. It’s carved into me now, stitched into my soul.

  My body had stopped obeying me. My aura, my damn aura, froze in place like it had been told to kneel. I’d seen warlords, sect enforcers, combat masters… none of them had made me feel like that.

  He didn’t need to attack. I attacked myself, just by being in the same room. All this. All of it. For ten thousand dollars.

  “Ten grand?” I gasped, a broken laugh choking out between ragged breaths. “I almost died—for ten goddamn grand—”

  A root nearly caught my foot, I blasted through it. Didn’t care. Blood dripped from the corner of my mouth. My legs were raw from overuse. My core felt like it was close to tearing itself open.

  Didn’t matter. I had to get to the Brightmoor family estate. I had to tell him. That smug little noble brat who hired me like I was some disposable pawn. He didn’t say anything about that man.

  Didn’t warn me. Didn’t know, but I did. Now I couldn’t forget. Not even if I wanted to. I’ll never forget what it felt like to cease existing in someone else’s presence. So yeah, he’s getting the message. If he doesn’t like it he can send someone else next time. I’m not dying over some elf’s wounded pride.

  Not for money. Not for status. Not for anything.

  By the time the estate came into view, my lungs were fire, but I didn’t stop.

  The House of Elderglen, Brightmoor’s main family estate, rose like a monument to tradition and generational ego. Grand spires of obsidian and darksteel pierced the skyline, wrapped in cascading ivy enchanted never to wither. The outer walls were high and old, the kind that had seen wars, sealed pacts, and buried secrets.

  Now a fist for hire was about to walk through them.

  Lucky me.

  I staggered toward the main gate, half-sliding to a stop. The two guards took one look at me and immediately shifted their posture, hands hovering near their weapons, expressions hardening.

  I didn’t blame them. I looked like I’d survived a warzone. Because I had.

  Without a word, I reached into my coat and pulled out the onyx-stamped token, the one bearing the family insignia and a special design for the Fifth Son, sealed with crimson wax. Their expressions changed instantly.

  The one on the left cleared his throat. “Token confirmed. Proceed.”

  The gates opened without another question. The moment I passed through, I heard one of them murmur behind me.

  “What was with that look in his eyes? Looks like he had a brush with death”

  They aren’t entirely wrong. I just kept walking.

  The interior grounds were immaculate, crimson-leafed trees lining stone paths, silver lamps casting elegant light as dusk settled, fountains of starlight-fed water trickling in musical rhythm. Every inch of the estate screamed influence and prestige. But all I could think about was how quickly a crater would erase it all.

  A servant was waiting at the inner gate. No hesitation, he must’ve been warned ahead of time.

  “This way, please,” he said with a bow, already turning to lead me through the manor.

  I followed in silence, my boots echoing across polished obsidian tile and plush red carpet. I passed artifacts I couldn’t name and paintings that probably cost more than my rank was worth.

  Not that any of it mattered. I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who’d let me live.

  We reached a set of darkwood double doors inlaid with shimmering glyphs, this was one of the main offices. Where the Fifth Son handled his business when he wanted to feel like an emperor instead of a nuisance to his elders. Then again it’s not like his family is around enough to actually use most of these rooms.

  The servant gave one last bow. “The young master is inside.” Of course he was.

  I pushed the doors open, and there he sat. The Fifth Son of Brightmoor. My employer. Vaelik Thorne Brightmoor.

  Eighteen years old. Born into status, wealth, and centuries of expectation. And now? Reclining in a throne-like chair at his oversized crescent desk, sipping red wine like he owned the room, because technically, he did.

  By the Celestial he is a walking cliche.

  He was dressed in deep blue formalwear with silver trim, the kind tailored specifically to make him look older, wiser, more important than he was. His hair was braided with polished platinum threading, Brightmoor tradition, and his high-collared tunic was pinned with the sigil of the Fifth Branch.

  He hadn’t even looked up yet. Arrogant little…

  “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” Vaelik said lazily, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’re late.”

  My jaw clenched. Not because of the insult. But because he said it without even glancing at me. As if I hadn’t been through hell just to crawl back here in one piece. His eyes finally flicked up, and for a brief second, he studied me.

  “…Huh. You look awful.”

  “You sent me after a student,” I said flatly. “Didn’t mention he had a guardian demon watching from the shadows.”

  That got his attention.

  Vaelik blinked. “What?”

  I stepped forward, reached into my coat, and dropped the job token on the desk. The wax seal cracked on impact. He stared at it. Then at me.

  I leaned in, voice low. “Your little problem is no longer my problem.”

  Vaelik’s brow furrowed. “You’re backing out?”

  “I’m surviving,” I snapped. “You didn’t tell me he was being watched by someone like that. Someone who didn’t need to lift a finger to crush the room. Someone who made me forget I existed.”

  He scoffed, trying to wave it off. “You’re being dramatic. You’re Blue Rank—”

  “And I almost died,” I hissed. “You think I care what rank I am when that kind of pressure lands on you like a mountain? You think I stuck around to ask his name? Because I didn’t. I ran. And I’m still trying to convince my body we’re not dying.”

  Vaelik’s face tightened, but only slightly. He took another sip of his wine, swirling it thoughtfully. I hated that. The wine. The calm.

  The fact that he just turned eighteen and was already playing power games like he understood the weight of them. Probably threw a tantrum when he found out Earth’s drinking laws wouldn’t let him have his bottle early. Not because he wanted to get drunk, but because he couldn’t stand being told “no.”

  Now here he was, throwing death contracts around over a girl four years younger than him, someone who wasn’t even his.

  Possessive. Obsessed. Deluded. I didn’t get it. Didn’t want to get it. That wasn’t my job. But today, I was doing a different job entirely.

  “I’m here to deliver a message,” I said, straightening up. “Whoever that man is? Whoever’s watching over the boy you want to destroy?”

  I leaned forward, letting every ounce of fear I’d bottled up bleed into my words.

  “He said if you keep pushing… the only thing left of your family will be ashes in a crater.”

  An unnatural silence followed, hollow, still, and unsettling.

  Vaelik barely blinked. He lifted his wine glass as if discussing the weather. “Dramatic,” he muttered, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but the atmosphere shifted palpably behind me. There was no tremor, no flicker of light, yet the pressure dropped, dense and suffocating, as if gravity had singled me out.

  A hand settled on my shoulder, freezing me in place, not out of fear, but primal survival instinct.

  Then, a voice, calm and chilling, whispered past my ear, “Since you’ve delivered my message, you’ve earned yourself a bit more time on this earth.”

  I turned slowly. The man from the warehouse was already there, nameless, with no need for introductions, just an overwhelming presence. His aura was undetectable, yet his presence was unmistakable. The air seemed to thicken, compelled to obey as he entered the room.

  Now, Vaelik looked up, his usual smugness absent. The mentor, if that was even a title adequate for him, took a step forward, and the floor cracked beneath him, not violently, but as if it simply couldn’t support him. My legs faltered, my breath caught.

  “I’ll be generous,” he continued, his gaze fixed on Vaelik. “I’ll assume the attempt on my disciple’s life was an unfortunate error in judgment.”

  With each word, Vaelik seemed to shrink a little more, his lips parting but silent. Another step, another subtle crack. The building itself seemed to strain, its structure groaning in an attempt to reinforce its integrity.

  “Your recklessness nearly ended my disciple’s life.”

  He paused before Vaelik’s desk, imposing and immovable. “I am training him. You’ve interfered, repeatedly. I didn’t pay much mind to the small interferences with contests and other miscellaneous things. This time it’s different.”

  His voice softened but grew colder, “Here’s what will happen next. You will not touch him. You will not move against him. You will not even breathe in his direction for the next four years.” The silence that followed was deafening.

  His voice then turned to steel. “Break that agreement, and all that will remain of this estate is a crater, smoldering, silent, forgotten. With you standing in its center.”

  He straightened, adjusted his collar, and turned to leave as if he had just concluded a polite business deal. He never said his name. He didn’t need to. None of us dared to ask. I followed silently, his footsteps echoing in the hall, louder than any explosion I’d ever survived.

  The promised crater? I had no doubt he could create it, and worse. Because the only reason this house still stood… was simply because he allowed it.

  Vaelik, regaining some composure, snapped his fingers sharply. At his command, several guards rushed into the room, their intent clear as they charged towards the threatening figure. "Detain him!" Vaelik ordered, his voice a harsh command.

  The chamber doors burst open. Six guards marched in, fully armed and perfectly synchronized, elite Violet Ranks, by the look of them. They didn’t hesitate.

  The man didn’t move. He simply breathed out… and spoke.

  “Vareth.”

  One word. Soft, calm, and utterly wrong. The air buckled. Light twisted. Sound fled. Then—

  Collapse.

  Armor clattered to the floor, hollow and smoking. No screams. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just six steaming shells where men had once stood. Their bodies were gone. Not destroyed, unmade.

  My legs gave out. I dropped to the floor, shaking, the stench of scorched reality still lingering in my nose. Vaelik looked like he’d aged ten years in a second.

  He adjusted his coat sleeve. Didn’t even look at the remains.

  “That was restraint,” he said, voice quiet, almost bored. “The next one won’t even leave the armor behind.”

  My face paled, my knees buckled, and a dark stain spread across my trousers as I stumbled backward in horror.

  “I think we understand each other now,” he said, voice cool, almost bored. “No interference. That’s in your best interest.”

  He turned and began to walk. But Vaelik, the fool that he was, found his voice again.

  “Wait.” His tone tried to be firm, but I could hear the tightness in it. The strain. “I didn’t authorize an attempt on the boy’s life. We’ve overstepped, yes, but that doesn’t give you the right to make demands. You—”

  He stopped. He didn’t turn fully. Just... shifted his head. Then the room dropped.

  The temperature plummeted. The floor groaned. My heart skipped a beat. Vaelik only sat down. Not because he wanted to, but because something unseen pinned him to the chair like a nail through parchment.

  The mentor finally turned his gaze fully toward him. His voice remained calm, but there was something in it now, weight.

  “I will say this only once.” He took a step forward, and I could feel the room tighten like it was holding its breath. “You will not touch my disciple,” he said, each word precise and final. “Under any circumstances.”

  His eyes flicked to the broken wine glass in Vaelik’s trembling hand.

  “Until he awakens,” he continued, “he is off-limits. You will not watch him. You will not reach for him. You will not think about him.”

  Another step. The marble beneath his foot cracked.

  “I’m not asking for your obedience,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I am stating the condition of your survival.”

  Then he turned again, no urgency, no fear, no doubt. Just finality. I stood frozen. My mouth dry. My knees still weak. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing… and the slow, steady sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor. But the dread he left behind? That stayed.

  Vaelik didn’t speak for a long moment. He simply slumped back into the chair like the strength had been wrung from his bones. His face pale. His jaw clenched. His fists dug into his palms, nails drawing blood. He looked at the empty armor. At the space where loyal men had stood seconds before. He didn’t need to say it aloud. He’d been outmatched. And he knew it.

  With a bitter breath, he straightened his spine, though it clearly cost him.

  “Clean this up,” he muttered, barely audible. Not just a command to remove the wreckage. A plea to erase his own humiliation.

  Then he turned to me. His eyes were hard, but burning. Not with strength. With fury. With helplessness.

  “We’ll comply,” he said through gritted teeth. “For now, we have no choice. But this… this isn’t over. It can’t be.”

  But the finality in his voice didn’t match the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He was grasping for control in a game where the rules no longer belonged to him.

  I gave a small nod, already moving to summon the cleaners, but the weight of that moment clung to my skin like oil. The room felt smaller now. Like a cage. This incident would become a whisper, then a rumor, then legend. But for now, silence reigned, heavy and absolute. A reminder of what had just walked out the door …and what could walk back in at any moment.

  Four years… I don’t think he can wait that long.

  Discord!