At Ryuki dojo, silence ruled the empty wooden hall. Old floorboards creaked faintly under the weight of time, incense smoke lingered from the morning rituals, curling into the rafters like fading whispers. Outside, cicadas screamed into the heat, their sharp cries breaking through the still air.

Hoshin Maru and Ryden sat cross-legged on the floor, a small kettle steaming between them, the faint smell of roasted tea rising. They weren't men who talked for comfort—every word weighed like steel dropped on stone.

"Less than two months left," Hoshin Maru said, breaking the silence. His voice was deep, heavy, carrying no excitement, only a flat determination. His face was vacant, unreadable, but his words burned. "After that… we'll move. We'll invade Yuzen in secret and take Zackey's head. Blood in my veins boils like lava, just waiting for that moment—when we erase our final threat. The blood of the Siroka family."

Ryden sipped his tea slowly, the thin sound of liquid cutting the silence, sharp as a blade. His eyes stayed on the floor as he spoke, voice calm but edged, carrying the weight of truth. "We all know it won't be easy to take down a commander of elite level. This invasion will bleed us. Pain will follow us in every step. And the last thing we should fear is… all-out war."

The wind outside pushed against the paper walls, rattling them faintly, like the world itself was listening.

Ryden set the cup down gently. "The Tideborns are moving. Their shadows crawl across every corner of Windland. If they cross our path in Yuzen… our strike won't stay secret. And we don't know who among us is already tied to them."

The tea cooled between them, untouched now. The silence stretched again—thicker than before, as if even the dojo itself understood the weight of what was coming.

Hoshin Maru leaned back in his chair, wood groaning under his weight. Both arms folded behind his neck, stretching until bones cracked like old branches snapping in a storm—releasing tension that felt carried for ages. His eyes narrowed at the ceiling beams, then slid back to Ryden.

"Tideborns," he muttered, almost spitting the word. "Ravi, the brother of Raman City's kings, sent us word. We've never dealt with him directly, but Ravi carries respect, and I take his parchment seriously."

The room felt colder as he went on, voice sinking lower. "The parchment said this—listen closely. The one who once attacked Ryuki City… the one who cut down my son, Veon—Obara Rakuji—was Tideborn."

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding, but his face remained empty of emotion. Only his words carried the weight.

"That worries me. If Tideborns start stepping into our peace, it's a red signal. Obara Rakuji wasn't just some blade-for-hire. He was an elite threat. Tideborns work in the shadows of the underworld, yet they take the front seat on the oceans. Always watching. Always pulling strings where no one dares to look."

The paper door shivered against a gust of wind, shadows quivering over the floor like dark waves.

Hoshin's voice sharpened. "I suppose that attack wasn't just fate. Zackey's hand was in it. He must've paid the Tideborn back then."

Silence sat between them again, heavy as iron, only broken by the kettle's last hiss of steam.

Ryden stayed silent for a long moment. Only the faint hiss of cooling tea filled the room. His eyes drifted toward the paper window, where the light had turned pale and thin, like winter sunlight. Finally, he spoke—his voice low, deliberate, like someone testing the edges of a blade.

"What if Zackey didn't do that?" he said. "What if the Tideborn had their eyes on us for a long time? What if we have something… something of value that's caught their attention. Maybe some secret even we don't know ourselves."

His fingers tightened around the warm clay cup, knuckles pale.

"A child," Ryden went on, eyes narrowing. "A child born into the Ryuki family. In our bloodline, everyone became a mage—there were no exceptions. Until Auren. Our blood was so strong it carried vita to every soul born of it. Yet when Auren left this city, the Tideborn attacked. And he—he killed them. Alone."

Ryden's voice deepened, almost a growl. "That kid… he's different. He became a mage now—the second one in history to develop vita after Lyrax, the King of Rampo. And he did it not through inheritance, not through ritual, but through pure hatred."

A breath escaped him, heavy, like smoke.

"So I think the Tideborn came for him," Ryden said at last. "Maybe they know something we don't. Maybe Auren carries more than he realizes."

The room seemed to shrink around his words. Outside, a crow called once and the sound hung in the air like an omen.

Meanwhile, Ryden didn't know the truth.Auren didn't become a mage from sheer hatred. He never felt that way for his father—not even after all the wrongs done to him. If hatred alone could shape destiny, then Auren would have been consumed long ago. But that was never his path.

He became a mage, yes—but from his own destiny. From something deeper than rage. He carried the pride of Ryuki city on his shoulders, continuing the legacy of their bloodline, not tearing it apart.

After all that Ryden did, Auren never held that black weight of hate against him. That was not his way. What Auren truly despised was different: the pain people suffered for no reason. The cruelty of those who bullied others, who crushed the weak under their feet. That was the wound he could not forgive. Because he knew that pain. He had lived it.

Auren could endure it—he had endured it, again and again. But he would not let others endure the same. That was the flame that burned in him.

He did not become a mage to avenge himself.He became one so that no one else would have to feel that silent agony.

Auren is more than Auren.

Auren was the one everyone called foolish. Maybe he was. But he lived with his heart, nothing else. That heart—pure, always yearning for peace—now lay still on the snow. His body, broken and blood-soaked, his eyes closed as if surrendering to sleep.

The pain in his body faded, vanished like anesthesia. He had won his first fight—but it was no easy victory.Without even realizing it, he had carried out revenge. Revenge for the girls murdered by Aazin and Ryzin. Revenge for Tina. Revenge for all who couldn't survive the horror those brothers unleashed.

If there was a heaven, surely they were smiling now. Surely they were happy.

Above him, the sky turned heavy. Dark clouds swallowed the sun, painting the world black. And then it came—the sudden rain. A rain not of sorrow, but of release. A rain of calm. A rain of beauty.

It fell for only one reason. To wash away the blood of catastrophe that stained Auren's face.Drop by drop, the crimson was carried away, leaving only the boy beneath—the boy who fought not for glory, but for others.

And maybe—just maybe—in the shadows of those raindrops, there were tears hiding. Tears no one could see, except the sky itself.

Auren's dream began quietly.

He was no longer lying on the snow, no longer soaked in blood. Instead, he stood in a place that felt both familiar and distant. His breath fogged in the air, and before him, fragments of memories swirled like broken glass—reflecting scenes of his past.

I hope I'll be a mage someday, he thought. No... no, not just a mage. I want to surpass Veon and Kaen, so Father pays attention to me. So the people of this town regard me as someone important, he said with a hopeful smile, gazing at the sky.

The deep thought was crushing him. Auren's voice shook.

He looked down, seeing his hopeless hands. "Why? Why don't they care about me?" His breath caught.

"Why do my brothers and my dad treat me as though I'm not here? Like whether I'm alive or dead, it doesn't make any difference?"

His heart twisted with unspoken desperation. "I just... I wish to be something great too," he said softly, looking up with desperation.

"Hey, sky... that's enough already."

Morning arose. The skies above the city were covered with clouds, like the failure of Ryuki.

Auren woke quietly, washed himself, wrapped a scarf around his head, and set out for the market as he did every morning. Another unwanted day.

The city was already active—hovercarts floated low as shopkeepers held up enchanted fruits, potion scrolls, and mage-crafted items.

Auren kept his head down, clutching a small note his mother had prepared: tomatoes, rice, carrots, and some sea herbs.

As he approached the central square, a cluster of kids played in front of a floating market stall. One of them noticed Auren and cracked a fake, evil smile.

"Hey! Look, the magicless Ryuki!" one of them shouted.

Another boy, his eyes glinting with a wicked grin, quickly chanted a spell and summoned a little magical creature—an orange monkey fighter with blazing fists.

"Go! Show him your moves!"

The monkey charged at Auren and landed a gentle but fast blow to his chest. He stumbled back, losing the carrots he had just purchased. Thud! He crashed into a wall on the street.

"Wha? A Ryuki who can't even protect himself? Maybe his dad didn't give him powers!"

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