Raiden Alaric

I hadn't sat down since we got back.

My legs felt steady, but my thoughts were scattered. The lab buzzed with quiet machinery, sigils pulsing in the walls like steady heartbeats, but it all felt too small now. Like I'd outgrown the room in twenty minutes.

Selena offered me a drink I declined. Chronos leaned on the far wall, arms folded, saying nothing.

"I don't think those were visions," I said finally, breaking the quiet.

Selena glanced over. "What makes you say that?"

"That feeling. That sensation was too real for a dreamscape or projection. I wasn't watching from the outside."

I flexed my fingers, still remembering the pull.

"I was inside them. In their heads. Their bodies. I could feel how they moved. What they noticed. What they chose to ignore completely. It felt too precise to be fabricated. Too detailed."

"So memories," Chronos said, voice low.

I nodded once. "Yeah. That's what it felt like. Like I stepped into someone else's past."

Chronos pushed off the wall and walked over, stopping just short of the table. "Then the seal wasn't just suppressing your power. It was keeping you from accessing this. These memories, this weight."

"That's not the right way to put it." Selena folded her arms, expression pinched in thought. "From what I've seen, between the data and physically restraining Rai-Bear every time he tries to wriggle away during testing, this isn't about blocking access. It's more like… a warning system."

"A warning?" I raised a brow. "So, what, my seal came with prophetic horror trailers now?"

Selena pointed at me with a wrench. Where she pulled that out from I have no clue. "Exactly. The seal cut off your Aura while suffocating your insight. These visions, real or not, are teaching moments. Grim ones. They're showing you what Ascendants become when they stop caring about consequence."

Chronos remained against the wall, his gaze fixed elsewhere. "If I wanted to keep something hidden, I would've removed it entirely. This isn't censorship. It's exposure."

"So I'm being scared straight?" I asked. "That's the strategy now?"

"More like scared… slightly cautious," Selena muttered. "Assuming that works on you."

I wasn't convinced. "Does it?"

She shrugged. "Probably not. But maybe it's less about scaring you and more about preparing you. Think about it, those places you saw? They don't match anything I've logged. No names. No coordinates. Nothing in the Veritas Vault. Which means either they're beyond Earth's reach… or no one's come back to tell the story."

That landed with a silence that carried weight. Heavy and loaded with implications.

Chronos remained quiet, but the shift in his posture was enough. Arms uncrossed. Eyes narrowing with calculation rather than confusion.

I looked at him. "You've seen them."

He chose not to answer, which was answer enough.

"Regardless. Whether it was meant to be or not." She pointed a finger toward my chest. "You just stepped into the world of the awakened. That was your welcome package. Here's what's waiting. Here's what's out there. Be afraid."

I remained silent.

She crossed her arms. "And you're not?"

"I am," I admitted.

She arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I still want to see more."

Chronos let out a chuckle.

Selena shook her head. "Great. He's broken! Chronos tie him down so I can try to fix him."

I smiled faintly. "A little fear's not going to slow me down."

Chronos slid his hands into his coat pockets. "Then it means you've got a goal now, doesn't it?"

I looked up.

He nodded once. "Curiosity's a good start. Fear makes sure you don't waste it. The rest? You'll figure it out."

Selena groaned. "Great. You're enabling him."

He chose not to respond. "Anyway. That's enough sitting around. It's getting late. You've got a long walk ahead unless you plan on sleeping on the floor."

I stood and put my shirt back on. "Alright, well I'm fully expecting a long training session of aura suppression since you called mine sloppy."

Chronos smirked faintly. "You are finally understanding, glad to see it."

Selena snorted. "It's always training with you two."

The portal snapped open with a low hum. Chronos stepped through without a word.

I glanced at Selena.

She remained at her workbench, giving me a lazy wave before returning to her screens analyzing… is that a diagram of my… actually I don't want to know.

I followed him through.

And stopped. We were in his garage and I was fully expecting to be outside my house.

Chronos motioned toward the fleet and muttered, "Pick one."

I blinked. "What?"

He repeated the instruction without elaboration. "Pick one."

For a second I thought it was some weird lesson. Then I figured it out. He wanted to avoid me teleporting home and giving my family a panic attack thinking someone is breaking in. Gotta keep up appearances.

I chuckled. "You already know which one."

Chronos walked over, typed in the keypad behind the car, grabbed the keys, and tossed them to me.

I caught them, already walking around to the driver's side, half-smiling to myself. Funny how normal this felt now.

The car I chose was an Aston Martin Valhalla. This car doesn't get released for another few months but this man has connections with Aston Martin.

I used to be weird about the cars. For a year straight, I only picked from the two that looked like actual cars and not alien prototypes. Once I got my license, I started branching out, baby steps at first. Then full throttle. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling guilty about it.

The Valhalla had become my favorite.

I was about to slide into the seat when I noticed Chronos walking away. Toward the entrance to his house.

I frowned. "Wait, you're not coming?"

He lifted a hand in that half-lazy way of his without stopping. "It's yours."

I stared. "W–what?"

He glanced back, just enough for me to catch the smirk. "Happy birthday, Rai." A pause. "Or should I say… Ascendant, Rai."

He walked out without another word.

He left me standing there. Holding the keys to a car that's worth more than all of my worldly possessions and my organs on the black market combined.

I ran my thumb over the edge of the fob.

The seat felt comfortable when I slid in. The guilt had quieted too. That part used to be louder. Now it was manageable.

The engine came to life with a low rumble, smooth and waiting.

I eased it out of the garage. The tires gripped quietly, with no need to announce anything.

The night was still young, but the roads were mostly empty. Streetlights passed in a steady rhythm, and I chose not to turn on music. I had enough noise in my head.

"Happy birthday, Rai. Or should I say... Ascendant, Rai."

The words stuck with me. They carried just enough weight to feel different. Like something old had been swapped out for something I hadn't gotten used to yet.

The wheel fit my hands. The drive was smooth. I took my time with it.

For once, I wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.

—

I parked in front. I had texted my mom beforehand as a precaution. The last thing I need is her panicking that I haven't come home yet.

The engine cut off clean. I stepped out and walked up to the front door, still thumbing the key fob in my pocket like I was trying to convince myself it was real.

The porch light was on. My new senses have now officially ruined everything for them. With my aura now running through my body, while suppressed, I could sense all of the auras in the house. They were all waiting at the front door to surprise me.

I'm sorry. Blame my aura for ruining your surprise rather than me.

I opened the door.

"Surpri—!"

The word choked midair and died on impact. It never made it past the first syllable.

Everyone froze.

My parents stood near the table, my mom's famous chocolate cake between them. Iris was beside the couch, holding a single balloon and looking way too proud of it. All three of them froze.

I paused in the doorway, staring back. Took me a second to realize why they looked horrified.

Right… Dried blood. Soot. Some pieces of popcorn in my hair. I looked like I had a fight with a concession stand worker and had to take the walk of shame home. My wounds were healed yes, but the state I was in wasn't doing me any favors.

I cleared my throat. "...Hey."

Silence greeted me.

My mom was staring straight at me. Her eyes remained unblinking as she silently calculated how many people she had to maim.

I panicked.

"I Awakened!"

My dad's brow twitched. My mom remained motionless.

I lifted both hands. "I'm fine. It went well. Nobody touched me."

That wasn't technically true, but it felt like the kind of lie that prevented homicide.

Her eyes narrowed. The slight change was enough to make the air feel heavier.

"They tried," I added quickly, "but they failed. Dramatically."

Her expression remained unchanged.

Then Iris glanced between us, looked down at her balloon and popper. "…So do we still say happy birthday?" Iris asked.

The silence broke soon after.

My mom finally moved. She crossed the room with controlled steps, eyes scanning me like she was mentally reconstructing the entire fight from the blood patterns on my shirt.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, already reaching for my face.

"I'm fine," I said, stepping back. "Everything healed."

She brushed her thumb across a smear of dried something on my cheek, probably soot, hopefully not popcorn butter, and gave me a once-over like that settled nothing.

"Was it sanctioned?" she asked.

I blinked. "What?"

"The fight. Was it sanctioned?"

"I—" I paused. "Technically?"

She narrowed her eyes again.

"Okay, no," I admitted.

Her jaw clenched. "Name. I want names."

"Mom—"

"Give me a first name. One. Give me a direction and a shoe size and I'll do the rest."

Before I could dig myself any deeper, my dad burst into motion behind her with both arms in the air.

"MY BOY AWAKENED!" he shouted. "HELL YEAH! HAHA! I KNEW IT!"

He grabbed me in a one-armed hug that nearly dislocated my shoulder.

Mom glared at him. "Language!"

Iris jumped in right after, practically vibrating. "WOO! GO BIG BRO!"

I gave her a look. "You knew nothing."

"I did too," she grinned. "I've been waiting for this since last year. I even made a list of revelations. Wanna see?"

My mom stayed out of the celebration.

She was still standing there, proud but clearly fighting the urge to grab a coat and leave a trail of bodies.

"I'm serious," she said. "You don't have to give me all their names. Give me the one who hit you the hardest."

"I'm fine," I said again. "I hit them harder anyways."

She looked at me for a long moment, then pulled me in for a hug that restricted my breathing.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered. "But if I ever find out someone laid a hand on you and walked away..."

"I made sure they wouldn't walk away easily," I muttered.

"Good," she said. "Now wash your face. You smell like burnt rubber and popcorn."

Later that night, I lay in bed, wide awake.

I stayed awake by choice rather than from insomnia. I raised my hand above me and watched my aura. Palm tilted just enough to catch the faint glow dancing under my skin.

It pulsed in slow waves, soft, warm, fluid. Traces of azure light coiled around my fingers with every breath. I shifted my hand slightly and watched it respond. It moved with me. Listened.

This was actually real. This was mine.

I grinned, too wired to care that it was late. Sleep felt like a waste of time.

I flipped my hand over again and let the aura roll through it, watching the pattern shift, compress, expand. I must've done it twenty times already. It still hadn't gotten old.

Then the Anchors pulsed.

The weight returned instantly, dense and familiar, like the mattress had turned into lead.

"Damn you, Chronos," I muttered.

Of course there was always something that had to ruin my happiness. The Anchors were back.

He hadn't even asked. He'd reactivated them the second I got home. Said something about "building habits" and "help train your aura."

I said something about being able to walk, and how that's generally considered a good thing.

He hadn't cared.

So now I was here. Lying flat. With the density of a small planet. Am I exaggerating? Yes. Am I being a little petty? Absolutely. Am I justified in my irritation? Obviously.

If I let my aura drop, the weight kicked in full force. My limbs felt like they were made of stone, and I immediately started sinking into my bed like Glen Lantz.

Okay, I'm not really sinking into my bed but it feels that way and it also makes it just a little more difficult to breathe. So in other words, I could die from suffocation if I'm not careful. I'm starting to wonder if the Oath he took with my mom had an expiration date or something.

The weight made itself known constantly.

I shifted slightly, re-centering the aura flow in my chest. The weight lessened enough for me to breathe without sounding like a haunted accordion.

"Happy birthday to me," I muttered. "Here's your present, kid: controlled sleep paralysis."

Still, I looked at my hand again and smiled.

I wasn't sure I'd ever get tired of this. I recall in my class having to fill out a form about what I wanted to do in life. At first I wasn't sure what to put, now I know what I want. My answer to life.

I chase… the unyielding sky.

Vaelik Brightmoor

The burn of the amber liquid made me wince. I poured another glass and let it sit on the desk.

This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

I chose not to return to the viewing box.

There was no recovering from what happened. The moment I left the arena, I knew I couldn't step back into that room and pretend I still had control. Every second I spent in that arena pulled me further down, and staying there would've only made it worse.

They all had to have known. Ella, her sister, her father, the other heirs watching from the side. Even the ones who pretend they don't care about the sect politics, especially them. There was no way I could show my face. I felt it when I left. I already knew what they'd say without needing to hear the whispers.

I spent the ride home replaying every detail I could remember. My driver asked no questions. He avoided looking in the mirror. Either someone warned him ahead of time, or he picked up on my mood the second I stepped into the car. I spoke not a word the whole way back.

Now I'm standing in my office, coat still on, hand on the edge of the desk. One glove is gone. I dropped it near the front door and couldn't care enough to pick it up.

I poured the drink because I needed something to do with my hands rather than because I wanted it.

Losing wasn't the issue. That happens. It's expected. What happened tonight wasn't about losing, it was about what I lost in front of everyone who matters.

Raiden Alaric awakened.

I hadn't expected it. I never even considered the possibility. The rumors said he was a damn cripple who couldn't Awaken. I chose not to question it. He had no backing, no real value, no known history. Nothing about him suggested potential. He talked big, but I assumed that was all it was.

I thought he was beneath me.

He waited. He sat on his revelation and remained patient until I forced the issue. I pressured him into breaking, and instead of folding, he used it. He turned everything I did into fuel.

He planned it. He baited me. And I played right into it.

The worst part isn't that I failed. It's that he saw the path before I did and used me to walk it.

And Ella was his catalyst.

I've done everything I could to show her the future we could build together. I gave her what her family couldn't. Influence, wealth, protection. Every opportunity, every gesture, I made sure she knew her value. I made sure everyone else did too.

And she never looked at me like she looked at him.

She never had to say anything. I saw it in her face. The way her eyes followed him when he walked around the viewing box. The shift in her expression when he spoke to her. She smiled genuinely. The expression was real rather than polite or for show.

She never smiled like that for me. No matter how much I showered her in wealth… she never looked at me.

I looked down at my desk, the printed photo that was sent to me. This… filthy human claimed my woman's lips. Dared to take what was rightfully mine, and think I would sit by like a fucking cuck.

I stepped away from the window, I couldn't look at that photo. I needed something to put between me and the fact that tonight, everything I've worked toward cracked in front of me.

The marriage was supposed to happen. The Vel'aeris family was already leaning into it. If we joined houses, we'd have enough presence to finally push to have another elder into the sect. This was our chance to move up the ladder even further.

I know my father won't let this go. He's pragmatic rather than emotional. He cares about results. If he sees a way to salvage this, he'll do it. If Ella hesitates, he'll pressure her father until it's sealed.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

If only the damn Sentinels weren't watching the sects interactions with civilians we'd have rid of him already…

He'll fix it. Because if he doesn't then I've already lost more than this interaction.

"You only had one month left. You couldn't wait four more weeks."

My whole body locked up.

I chose not to turn around right away. I needed to be sure I wasn't imagining it.

But the weight in the air confirmed it. Someone was in the room with me. I hadn't heard the door open. I hadn't felt anyone approach.

I turned slowly.

He stood there like he'd always been part of the room. Hands clasped behind his back.

Chronos.

That was the only name I had. First name. No house. No title. Chronos was passed around in whispers between certain Vel'aeris conversations when they thought I wasn't listening.

I know he was Raiden's mentor, but I hadn't thought he was someone I needed to worry about.

Until that day he arrived in my office.

He watched me, his expression completely unreadable.

I straightened up, but my hand stayed on the desk behind me.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"You had one job," he said. "Wait. That's all. Four more weeks and none of this would've mattered."

"You came all the way here to gloat?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

He shook his head. "I came to see if you understood what you've done."

I chose not to answer. He stepped farther into the room, slow and casual.

"You were warned," he said. "You were warned to do such a simple thing, yet you couldn't even do that."

I swallowed. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with."

He raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was going to kill you?"

That answer made everything worse rather than relaxing me.

"What was it that I said? Ah that's right, 'The only thing left of your family will be ashes in a crater.' right?" His head tilted down, the shadows covering his face, only his glowing crimson eyes could be seen. "You crossed the line," he said. "The one I gave you. Clearly drawn in the sand and engraved on those empty plates of armor."

"I—"

"However, as a result, my disciple managed to Awaken," he said. "That's why you're still breathing."

I remained motionless as he closed the space between us.

"But you're not getting away with it," he added.

I braced, expecting a strike.

Instead, he reached out and grabbed me by the collar like I was a disobedient dog. His grip wasn't tight, but I couldn't move. My legs went cold. My core locked up.

"Your punishment begins now," he said.

Then he turned, dragging me with one hand as he reached out with his free arm.

His fingers pressed against empty air like it was solid surface. The space around his fingertips began to crack, hairline fractures spreading outward like he was pressing against glass. The sound was sharp, crystalline, each crack echoing with a resonance that didn't belong to this world.

With deliberate force, he pulled his hands apart. The cracks widened, reality splitting along the fault lines his fingers had created. Through the jagged tears, I glimpsed something else, another place entirely, visible through the fractured portal.

"This will be a good lesson," he said.

Before I could respond, he shoved me through the broken gateway. The jagged edges of cracked space scraped against my consciousness as I tumbled through. There was no smooth transition—just the violent sensation of being forced through a wound in reality itself.

I stumbled forward into my father's office. I landed ungracefully face first.

He looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing the moment he saw me. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a hesitation I wasn't used to seeing.

My eyes widened. There was no way I could be in my fathers office. Absolutely no way. My father wasn't even in the same estate, let alone realm. He should be in Eldoria for another two years.

How are we…

Father chose not to stand, but his posture shifted. His back straightened, one hand flattening on the desk as if anchoring himself. His other hovered near the drawer beneath the table's edge, where he always kept a short blade. A precaution more than anything.

Then he realized it was me on the floor. "Vaelik? When did you …What—how did you—" he asked.

He stopped talking the moment Chronos stepped out of the portal.

My father's gaze landed on him, and I watched the shift of tone. His confusion faded as offence replaced it.

His eyes scanned Chronos like he was inspecting some poorly dressed court clerk who'd stumbled past five locked doors.

He took in the simple coat, the relaxed posture, the complete lack of formality. Then he looked back at me.

"You brought a human into my office."

It wasn't a question. There was no invitation in his tone, nor curiosity. The quiet authority of someone who'd already decided that whoever had entered belonged elsewhere.

"Father I—"

"Elias Brightmoor, descendant of Nathaniel Brightmoor from the realm of Eldoria." He walked forward, somehow dragging me along side him without touching me. "While I was fully expecting an introduction like this, I was hoping it would be at a later date."

"Who are you? Who let you into my—"

Chronos cut him off, "While it's not really in my interest to get involved in sect politics, my disciple happened to get involved simply by proxy. Your son had broken a rule I had given him. 'Don't touch my disciple' very simple rule to follow. I have to give him some credit. He managed to hold on for almost the full four years I gave him."

Elias remained silent, but his hand curled slightly at his side. He was listening, but impatiently.

Chronos continued regardless.

"He had one rule. Don't interfere. Don't touch him. Don't escalate. And for a while, your son was smart enough to follow that."

Chronos stopped walking once we were both centered in the room. His voice never rose. He projected no power. He had no need to.

"At first it was nothing really to be worried about. Staged confrontations. Rigged fights. Slowly at first, but it built up. He began sending people after him. He wanted to make my disciple crack. Wanted to break him in public. In the name of pride. For politics. For the illusion of control, he wishes he had."

Elias narrowed his eyes. "If this is some kind of—"

Chronos cut him off again.

"I told him what would happen. I told him there would be one consequence if he couldn't follow that rule."

He turned to face Elias fully.

"You're a man of legacy. A man who understands the cost of reputation. So I'll explain it in terms you'll appreciate."

He paused to make sure the next words settled properly.

"If your son broke the rule—if he crossed the line—then the only thing left of your family would be ashes in a crater."

The room felt like it stopped breathing. Chronos never raised his voice. It wasn't a threat, but a simple fact to him. And there wasn't a single part of me that doubted he could do it.

My father stood taller.

He showed no anger, no shouting, no visible shake. He met Chronos' words like they were a negotiation tactic rather than a sentence. Like the man in front of him was playing at being dangerous instead of being dangerous.

"You speak with confidence," my father said, voice low. "But do you truly think threats hold weight here? You appear in my office uninvited, speak my name like we've met, and now threaten to destroy my bloodline over a boy."

Chronos remained unmoved.

"This isn't a threat," he said. "It's what was always going to happen."

My father narrowed his eyes. "You think power gives you the right to dictate terms in my house?"

Chronos finally smiled. It wasn't amused. It was understanding.

"Power gives me nothing," he said. "But consequence does."

Chronos remained still.

He let the silence stretch long enough to make it clear he wasn't here to posture. Then he spoke again, calm, even.

"'The soul that sinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.'"

My father's brow twitched slightly.

Chronos continued. "Ezekiel eighteen."

He stepped to the side, giving Elias a clear line of sight to me.

"Your son disobeyed. But his actions led to something useful. Raiden awakened. That has value. So instead of immediate consequence, I'm offering a trade."

My father chose not to speak.

Chronos looked him in the eye. "Everything your family owns on Earth. Every manor, every estate, every holding registered under Brightmoor influence. All of it, turned over to my disciple."

Then came the alternative.

"If you refuse… I erase the Brightmoor name. You will vanish so completely that no one remembers your house ever existed. I know I just quoted scripture, but don't act like you didn't have any involvement. You are also facing the results of your own iniquities."

The room went still. Then my father chuckled.

The sound came from dismissal rather than amusement.

"You're joking," he said. "Is this how your people negotiate? Empty ultimatums dressed up with borrowed words from a filthy book?"

He smiled faintly.

"You come into my office, drag my son behind you like a beaten animal, and threaten to wipe out generations of legacy over one disciplinary failure?"

Chronos said nothing.

"You may have power, I don't doubt that," my father went on. "But you're out of your depth. We are in the estate of a sect elder who is Red Rank, like me. If you think I'm going to hand over nearly $1.2 billion dollars of real estate so easily, you've got to be out of your mind."

He gestured to the door. "Take your warning and go."

Chronos remained unmoved. Instead, he only waited.

One beat. Then another.

"I offered you mercy," he said. "For his sake rather than yours."

His hand lifted, with just enough movement to snap his fingers. The sound was sharp.

I felt nothing at first. Then I heard something behind us. A low rumble off in the distance.

My father straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing.

Chronos turned his head. "You'll want to look east."

A second passed before the screen on the wall behind his desk flickered to life. No one had touched the remote. No one gave a command.

The feed showed a city skyline, one of ours. Owned by the Brightmoor family through a chain of shell fronts and buried paperwork.

At first, nothing seemed wrong. Then the buildings in the center began to fold. They collapsed inward rather than fell downward.

Steel twisted inward like it was being erased from the middle out. Entire floors compressed into silence. There was no fire, screaming, or falling debris.

It continued beyond one building. Street by street. Block by block. My father stared at the screen, his smile gone.

Chronos lowered his hand.

"That was property number fourteen on your registry," he said. "You'll find it no longer exists. No record. No claim. No resistance."

He looked my father in the eye.

"Like father, like son I suppose."

The silence in the room held for a moment longer. Then my father stepped back from the desk.

His jaw clenched. His gaze flicked to the screen again, then back to Chronos.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he said. His voice had weight, but it was no longer steady.

Chronos chose not to answer.

"That was infrastructure. Contracts. Investments tied to major firms—"

"That was yours," Chronos said. "Now it's nothing."

My father's hand curled into a fist. He opened his mouth again, but whatever he meant to say never made it out.

He looked at me and back at Chronos.

"You destroyed a Brightmoor holding without even declaring an intent. That's an act of war."

Chronos tilted his head slightly. "Do you have the strength to make it one?"

My father had no response.

The screen behind him showed only static now. The city was gone. The feed had nothing left to show.

Chronos let the silence settle, then spoke again.

"This is your final decision. You turn over your holdings to my disciple, or I erase the rest. No debate. No delays. No names left to sign the paperwork."

He looked at me briefly, then returned his gaze to my father.

"I told your son what would happen. Now I'm telling you."

My father took a slow breath. He was trying to re-center himself.

"There's no need to escalate further," he said. "We can come to an arrangement. Partial ownership. Limited term leasing. A percentage in your disciples name, if that's what you want."

Chronos had no response. He started humming. A tune with no clear melody. A calm, idle rhythm that filled the space like it belonged there. It wasn't threatening. That's what made it worse.

My father stopped speaking. Chronos kept humming.

I felt it before I saw it, my father's posture breaking. Shoulders not quite as straight. Chin slightly lower. He looked at me again, and for the first time in my life, I saw hesitation in his eyes.

Then he turned back to Chronos. His voice was low and dry.

"Name the papers you want signed…"

Chronos stopped humming.

"The deeds. The accounts. The transfer of legal authority. All Brightmoor assets held on Earth," he said. "Put them in Raiden's name. He'll decide what to keep."

My father gave a tight nod.

Through his teeth, he said, "I'll have it done."

Chronos turned away, walking toward the exit without looking back.

"See that you do."

Thank you, Father…

I was certain he would have me killed in order to keep all of our assets on Earth. I made the mistake of calling his bluff as well. I was now fully aware of how quickly the consequences could catch up to me if I tried anything again.

Then, to my absolute horror, my father couldn't help himself and repeated the same mistake I made.

"Don't think our sect leader will sit by idly."

Chronos stopped walking. He chose not to look back.

My father straightened, clearly believing he had struck something solid. But the hair on the back of my neck rose and goose flesh covered me.

"You're powerful," he said, "I won't deny that. But even someone like you has limits. Our patriarch is an Orange Rank is not someone you want as an enemy."

I wanted to speak. I wanted to stop him. But my voice caught in my throat.

Chronos still hadn't turned around.

Father please stop!

My father had a sinister grin. "Don't think you or your disciple, or his family, can get away with thi—"

The pressure in the room changed in an instant.

My knees buckled. Then my entire body hit the floor like something had dropped a house on my back. The stone cracked beneath me in a perfect spiderweb pattern, each fracture etched with mathematical precision. My shoulder dislocated, and I couldn't even cry out. The weight pressing against my lungs made breathing an act of will.

My father dropped to one knee, hand braced on the desk, his expression twisted in confusion as his body betrayed him. The polished wood beneath his palm began to splinter, stress fractures spreading outward in perfect symmetry.

Then the bloodlust hit.

An instinct deeper than thought that screamed we were insects caught in the gaze of something vast and predatory. Every cell in my body understood that this moment was unsurvivable.

Father and I vomited simultaneously, our bodies rejecting the very air around us.

"I don't know if I'm hearing this right…" he said.

The floor beneath us didn't just crack, it flowered. Stone peeled away in perfect geometric patterns, each piece rising with surgical precision. Support beams deep in the foundation sang a low, harmonic note as they bent without breaking, twisted into impossible curves that somehow still held the structure aloft.

The estate itself began to ascend.

Not violently. Not with the chaos of destruction. With the measured inevitability of a tide. Every brick, every stone, every grain of mortar lifted away from its foundation in perfect orchestration. The walls separated into component parts, each element floating in its designated space, as if the building were an elaborate puzzle being disassembled by an unseen master.

Through the windows… windows that now hung suspended in midair, their frames maintaining perfect right angles despite having no walls to support them. I saw the grounds below. Residents, guards, guests, all suspended in the air like carefully placed ornaments. None of them moved. None of them fell. They simply existed in the space Chronos had designated for them, their positions maintained by forces that bent physics to their will.

The air itself had become thick, viscous, holding everything in place with the casual authority of someone arranging flowers in a vase.

We weren't floating in chaos.

We were suspended in absolute order.

Chronos stood at the center of it all, the only fixed point in a reality that had become fluid around him. His feet remained planted on a section of floor that hadn't moved, while everything else, thousands of tons of stone, steel, and lives, orbited him in perfect, silent arrangement.

The display wasn't about destruction.

It was about control so complete that destruction became irrelevant.

Every floating stone, every suspended beam, every helpless figure in the air. All of it held in place by the casual exercise of power so vast that rearranging reality was no more difficult than breathing.

Chronos finally turned to face us fully. His crimson eyes blazed as they looked right into our souls. "Are you threatening me?"

The question hung in the air like everything else, suspended, waiting, perfectly positioned in the space he had created for it.

No one spoke. My father stayed on one knee, shoulders trembling under pressure that redefined what weight could mean. His mouth hung open, but the air itself seemed to prevent sound from escaping.

We couldn't breathe because he had decided breathing was a privilege we hadn't earned.

Chronos stood alone at the center of his orchestrated reality. The estate's components floated around him in perfect formation, a three-dimensional mandala of stone and steel and human lives, all arranged according to his will.

The air pulsed with intent rather than simple pressure. Each pulse was a reminder that our continued existence was a choice he was making, moment by moment, breath by breath.

He looked down at us with certainty. Not the certainty of anger or cruelty, but the certainty of someone who had never encountered a problem he couldn't solve by rearranging the fundamental structure of reality.

"I'll only say it once more."

His voice moved through the suspended air like water through a carefully designed channel, reaching us with perfect clarity while the space around us muffled everything else.

"Transfer the assets to my disciple."

The words settled into the air with the weight of natural law.

"Don't touch my disciple."

Each syllable hung in its designated space, forming a sentence that became part of the architecture of this moment.

"If you do... I'll snuff out your existence like a dying sun."

The threat wasn't spoken with heat or passion. It was delivered with the same casual precision that held thousands of tons of matter in perfect suspension around us.

Without saying another word, Chronos turned to leave.

And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, it was over.

The estate settled back into place with the gentleness of a sleeping child being tucked into bed. Every stone found its proper position, every beam returned to its designated load, every person was placed exactly where they had been standing before the world came apart.

The transition was flawless. Not a single element was out of place, not a single crack remained in the floor, not a single picture frame hung askew on the walls.

The only evidence of what had occurred was the silence that followed—the profound quiet of minds trying to process what they had witnessed.

My father was still on one knee, hand pressed to the desk, his breathing shallow as his body remembered how to function without permission. I stayed on the floor, too shaken to move, staring at stones that had been floating in perfect formation moments before.

Everything looked exactly as it had been.

But we had seen behind the curtain of reality itself, and that knowledge changed everything.

Raiden Alaric

My whole body ached.

This wasn't the good kind of ache you get after a fight or the satisfying burn that you get after a good session at the gym. This was the kind of fatigue that sits in your bones and waits.

Training had gone long today. Long and frustrating.

Aura control.

The words sounded simple enough when Chronos said them. "Control your aura, suppress your presence, regulate your flow." Like I was supposed to nod along and immediately become a master of internal spiritual pressure.

But Raiden what's the problem? Can't you see his aura technique and try to mimic it?

Chronos had no aura I could see. Still pisses me off.

It's like trying to learn painting from a ghost who swears he used to be good at it.

He demonstrated the technique, of course he did. Walked me through the motions, explained the logic behind suppression, the necessity of perfect regulation, the whole "don't crush the furniture by existing" thing.

I watched him trying to match the rhythm. But there was nothing to read. No pressure. No light. No flow.

The man radiated nothing unless he felt like it. So I had to figure it out the hard way.

The suppression technique was sharp, internal, and annoyingly fragile. It wasn't about pushing aura down or hiding it. It was about folding it inward, creating balance in the flow, anchoring each pulse without letting it spike or dip.

It felt like trying to stop myself from breathing... while running uphill.

Still, I was slowly getting the hang of it. Mostly. He said once I get to Nexus I can learn veils but until then this is what I have to work with.

The rest of the day was channeling work. Letting the aura flow naturally through each stance, guiding it through my limbs, setting intention without force. That part felt... calm. Repetitive. Relaxing, even.

Chronos spoke little during that part. He corrected posture, occasionally flicked a pebble at me when I drifted too far into habit. Said it would help me reset my instincts. I chose not to argue. I was too focused on not frying the grass every time I exhaled.

He ran me through the same stances over and over again until I felt the flow without having to look for it. Aura moving through breath. Through thought. Through intent.

That part I liked, but then there was the sleep thing.

Apparently, the Anchors don't stop because I want to rest. That would be too kind.

Chronos told me if I let my aura drop while sleeping, the weight wouldn't turn off.

They did last night. I woke up feeling like someone had dropped a boulder on my chest.

Chronos' explanation?

"It builds unconscious control."

Of course it does.

Now I sleep with my aura circulating enough to keep the Anchors at bay. Which means I'm never fully off. Even in my dreams, I'm fighting gravity.

The worst part is... it's working.

I'm learning to maintain flow while resting. Adjusting my pressure without thinking about it. Holding suppression even when I'm barely conscious.

It's miserable and it's exactly the kind of thing that makes me better. That's what pisses me off most. Because I'm starting to feel it. That edge. That shift in how my body moves. How my aura listens. I'm getting stronger.

Later that day, Ella asked me to come over. I won't lie, driving up to her family estate in my car felt... normal?

The sensation wasn't about getting used to it. More like it fit now. The way the engine purred, the way the gates opened without me having to wait, it matched.

I used to walk here. Or worse, Chronos would drop me off at the front gate with a cheeky grin.

Now I drove up and parked in front. The look on Ella's face, kind of worth it.

She played it off fast, credit where it's due, but the way her eyes widened for that split second. Like she had to recalibrate what she thought she knew about me. I burned that image into memory.

She knew I wasn't wealthy.

So when I pulled up in a car she'd have to pause and consider before buying... yeah, that hit different.

She met me halfway down the stairs, arms crossed, expression neutral. I stepped out of the car and casually locked it behind me. Made sure she heard the chirp.

"You steal that?" she asked.

"Of course not. It was sitting on the sidewalk and the door was open, so someone obviously was asking me to take it for them."

Her eyebrow twitched. "So you did steal it."

"It was a gift. From a man who could silence a room of pompous nobles."

She paused. "Right, him."

"Chronos sends his love," I said. "Along with about six hundred pounds of torque."

She glanced at me once, seeming to check if I still wore a tracksuit or if I'd sold my soul for wealth.

"You are wearing your sweats again," she said. "Honestly, this fits you better."

I gave a slight bow. "I aim to impress as usual."

She smirked, then turned. "Come on. I want to show you something."

We walked through the estate like I hadn't parked a status symbol outside. Ella chose not to explain where we were going, but I could already feel the aura concentration thickening the deeper we went.

Training wing.

Oh?

We stepped into the large open hall where most of their elite-level sessions happened. The space was huge, polished floor, reinforced barriers, walls lined with equipment that made my anchors feel outdated.

I still remember being thrown into that wall over there. Good times~

What did catch me off guard, though, Illya was already inside, leading a group.

She was mid-instruction, demonstrating a sharp lateral step followed by a precise spear thrust.

Her movements were efficient. Authority in motion. I don't usually see her like this.

A few trainees followed her rhythm, a few barely kept up. None of them spoke.

Then I spotted someone in the formation, Ivander.

He was moving alongside the others, neither in charge nor standing out. He was simply there. I hadn't seen him since the tournament.

Before I could say anything, Illya clapped her hands once and called out, "Break. Ten minutes. Get water. Fix your form."

The group dispersed. Some sat, some stretched, some simply lay down like their souls had left.

Ivander peeled away from them, walking toward us like we'd passed each other in a hallway rather than endured months of radio silence.

He stopped a few steps from me, then gave a familiar grin. "Raiden."

I smiled. "Ivander."

He nodded, hands behind his back like he'd never skipped a beat.

"I hadn't expected to see you here," I said.

"I get that a lot." He glanced at Ella and gave a subtle bow. "Ella."

"Ivander," she replied, giving him a quick nod before stepping to my side like she was trying to claim me as private property. I chose not to say anything. I had no need to.

Illya approached soon after, a towel slung over her shoulder and that knowing smirk already locked in place.

"Hey Raiden. So it looks like Ella wasn't kidding after all."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know, right? Now pretend for a second I have no idea what you're talking about."

She motioned between the two of us. "You. Her. Sparring. No restraints. She said you can finally fight her properly now, aura and all."

My smile pulled wider before I could stop it.

"She said that?"

"She did," Illya said. "Said you've been waiting for it. Looked a little too smug when she brought it up."

I looked at Ella. She chose not to deny it.

"You excited?" Illya asked.

I had no need to answer, the grin on my face was all she needed.

Bring it!

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