A week after the tribe's ceremony—or maybe two weeks, I can't quite remember—time passed in the same dull routine. Wake up, train in the yard during the day, then sneak out to the forest behind the castle at night.
Before my mother's passing, before the ceremony, I had never truly desired strength. But after that day, after seeing the chief's proud gaze fixed on Lucas, something shifted in my childish mind. I thought—no, I believed—that if I became as strong as Lucas, maybe, just maybe, my father would look at me like that too.
And so, that night, the night that changed everything, I stood in my hidden training space in the forest, swinging my wooden sword without any technique.
I had no mentor, no guidance—only the desperate hope that if I swung hard enough, long enough, something would happen. My arms ached, my hands stung, sweat dripped into my eyes, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
Then—movement.
Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow sprinted across my field of vision.
I froze.
"What was that?" I whispered to myself, my breath still heavy from exhaustion. Curiosity got the better of me. I lowered my sword and followed the shadow's path, weaving through the trees until I reached an open clearing.
And that's when I saw them.
Two figures stood in the moonlight. One of them was Nisrin.
"Nisrin?" I mumbled, barely believing my eyes.
She stood opposite a woman I had never seen before.
"So, how did the ceremony go?" the stranger asked.
Nisrin let out a small laugh. "Well, the tribe has gained plenty of new talent—especially the adopted son of the chief. He has incredible potential. He even awakened a red Aether type." Her voice dropped slightly. "I think he might become a problem for your plans. We should kill him before it's too late."
I held my breath. My body went rigid. Nisrin…was a spy?
The woman nodded. "And what about Isabel's son?"
A cold chuckle escaped Nisrin's lips. "Oh, no need to worry about him. Unlike his parents, he has no talent. He's weak. And besides, the tribe already despises him because of his mother. I doubt he'll survive for long." Then, her voice turned sharp, filled with venom I had never heard before. "Maybe I'll be the one to kill him. I hate every minute of pretending to care for him."
The world around me cracked.
I wanted to move. I wanted to run. But I couldn't. I could only stand there, barely breathing, barely thinking.
"And the other plan?" the stranger asked.
"Yes," Nisrin replied smoothly. "I'm sure that brat knows about the item the chief wants. I still plan to make him trust me and get him to hand it over. Once I have it, I can get close to the chief." She paused, then added with chilling indifference, "Of course, if that doesn't work, I'll just torture the kid and make him talk before I kill him."
Blood burned in my veins, From fear and betrayal. From the raw, agonizing realization that the only person I had trusted wanted me dead.
"Understood. Keep me aware of any updates."
With those words, the figure vanished, moving with supernatural speed through the thick forest, leaving Nisrin behind. Just as she was about to move, a presence made her freeze. Instinctively, she turned toward the towering trees.
A sharp crack echoed through the stillness.
Anazor cursed under his breath. He had stepped on a dry branch.
Fear took hold of him, and he turned to flee—but before he could take another step, Nisrin appeared in front of him. A smile stretched across her lips. A smile that, just hours ago, had given him warmth. Now, it made his blood run cold.
"What are you doing here, Anazor?" Nisrin asked, her tone calm, almost playful.
"I—I'm not… I was just…" Anazor stammered.
"Did you hear our conversation?" Nisrin's voice remained gentle, but her eyes gleamed with something dark, something hungry.
"No! No, I didn't—I swear!" Anazor's heart pounded.
Nisrin chuckled, shaking her head. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"
Her warmth vanished in an instant, replaced by icy malice. "Since you overheard us, I have no choice but to kill you. But…" She took a slow step forward. "If you tell me where your mother hid that item, I promise to make it quick."
Anazor swallowed hard. "I don't know anything, I swear! I—"
Before he could finish, a blur of movement—then snap!
Pain exploded in his leg as Nisrin's kick twisted it at an unnatural angle.
"AAAAH!" Anazor screamed, collapsing to the ground.
Nisrin's grin widened. "I've always imagined how it would feel like doing this to you," she said, giggling.
Another brutal kick—his ribs cracked, and blood splattered from his lips.
"Tell me where it is, and this will all be over," she cooed, lifting her foot for another strike.
Anazor curled up, gasping for air.
"Who would've thought you'd follow your mother so soon?" Nisrin mused, tilting her head. "Just like her, you deserve to die. Everyone wants you dead—even your father. But I can't blame him. Your mother was a bi—"
"Don't talk about my mother."
Even through his agony, Anazor's voice was steady. His hands clenched into fists.
Nisrin's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"
Anazor ignored the searing pain in his ribs. With every ounce of strength left in him, he lunged, throwing a desperate punch at her.
"DON'T INSULT MY MOTHER!"
For the first time, Nisrin's expression changed—from amusement to rage.
"You dare attack me?"
Without hesitation, she countered with a devastating kick. Anazor's body lifted off the ground, sent flying through the air. Blood trailed behind him as he crashed against the earth, motionless.
Nisrin blinked.
"Shit… I didn't control my power."
She stared at Anazor's broken form, his consciousness slipping away.
As darkness swallowed him, one final thought crossed Anazor's mind.
'Why… Why did I do to deserve this?'
But it wasn't the end as Anazor's eyes fluttered open and the pain was gone. Completely.
"Where am I?"
He stood in an endless field of tall grass, the green blades swaying gently with the wind, brushing against his waist. The sky above was heavy with thick, unmoving clouds, casting an eerie, muted glow over the landscape.
Then, something caught his attention.
A row of red wooden boxes stood in the distance—ten of them, each nearly three meters tall. Their surfaces were covered in ancient scrolls, strange symbols scrawled across them in a language that made Anazor's skin crawl. Just looking at them sent an unnatural chill down his spine, as if they didn't belong in this world.
Movement.
From the corner of his eye, he saw them—shadowy human figures, ten in total, standing in a line. They were just as confused as he was, their heads turning, scanning the surroundings.
Before Anazor could try to interact with them, he felt it—something calling to him. A silent, irresistible pull toward one of the boxes. His feet moved on their own, his eyes never leaving the mysterious structure.
He wasn't the only one.
The shadowy figures moved in unison, each drawn to a different box.
Anazor stopped before his. The wood was old, splintered, and yet… something had been scratched onto its surface.
A single word.
"The Parasite."
The word was in a language Anazor never saw before but somehow, he understood it perfectly.
His hand rose slowly, reaching for the box—
.
.
Back in the forest
Nisrin stood over Anazor's lifeless body, his face streaked with blood and tears, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
She sighed, annoyed. "Shit. I killed him. Now how am I supposed to find the damn item?"
Looking around, she scoffed. "At least this is far from the castle. No one will suspect me. Not that anyone would care about him anyway."
Insatisfied, she turned to leave—
Crack.
A sickening sound of bones snapping back into place.
Slowly, she turned around.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Anazor was standing. His leg, once shattered, was now perfectly healed. The wounds on his face had sealed, leaving no trace of injury.
"No way… he has a regeneration ability?" she whispered.
" So he's not as talentless as I thought " Then, a smirk curled on her lips. "Wait does that mean I can torture him as much as I want without worrying about him dying."
She stepped toward him.
"I'm so glad you're still alive," she sneered. "Now, are you going to tell me where the item is—"
But Anazor didn't respond.
He didn't even seem to hear her.
His eyes were locked on his own hand, his fingers twitching as he mumbled to himself. "I don't feel it anymore…"
Then, a strange sensation crept up his arm.
His veins darkened, swelling unnaturally beneath his skin. Something moved inside them, crawling, twisting toward his fingertips.
A black glow erupted from his fingers, taking shape—like brittle, dry branches sprouting from his flesh.
"What is this?" His voice was hollow, void of emotion.
Nisrin kept approaching, annoyed at being ignored.
"You're ignore me?!" she snapped.
Anazor finally raised his head.
Nisrin froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Something about his face made her shock…
His expression was completely blank. Not just emotionless—lifeless.
No fear. No anger. Not even confusion.
And this aura around him it wasn't the face of a human.
A strange fear slithered into Nisrin's chest, tightening around her like a cold grip.
Without thinking, she lunged at him, her fist aimed directly at his skull, only one thought controlled her body.
'I don't want to look at that face,'
But before the punch could connect—
Anazor vanished.
A blur. A whisper in the air.
"What the—"
Her hand met nothing.
A sharp pain tore through her body before she could even react.
Anazor's small fist buried itself in her back with terrifying force.
"AGH!" Nisrin cried out, crumbling to her knees.
Anazor stood behind her, his arm still extended in a punch, his veins pulsating with that unnatural black energy. He stared at his own hand, confused.
His body moved again—on its own.
Before he could stop it, his hand shot forward, gripping Nisrin's skull.
The black branch-like energy crawled from his fingers, sinking into her scalp.
Nisrin gritted her teeth, trying to suppress the pain. But then—she felt something else.
Something moving under her skin.
A crawling sensation, slithering like a parasite from the tips of her toes, creeping upward.
Her feet went numb.
Then her legs.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she realized—she couldn't feel them anymore.
"What did you do to me, you monster?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking in terror.
She tried to move, but it was too late.
Raising her arms, she watched in horror as black veins pulsed beneath her skin, thick tendrils of shadow racing toward her shoulders. The eerie substance twisted and writhed like living ink, consuming her flesh from the inside.
Her mind raced. Is this… Vahl?
The thought barely formed before her right arm dropped, limp and lifeless.
The Vahl climbed higher, reaching her neck. Nisrin's breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling violently, every instinct screaming for her to run.
But she couldn't.
Tears welled in her eyes. With the last ounce of control she had, she turned her head—the only part of her body still hers—to look at Anazor.
His face was utterly devoid of emotion.
Cold.
Empty.
Not human.
Nisrin's lips trembled. "Please… please, young master, forgive me… I will—"
She never finished.
The Vahl reached her lips, sealing them shut.
Her voice—gone.
Her body—paralyzed.
Only her eyes remained, wide with terror, locked onto Anazor's expressionless face.
Then—she stopped shaking.
Her body straightened, shoulders rolling back into an unnatural stillness.
Slowly, mechanically, she lifted her head.
The fear was gone from her face.
The desperation, the pain—all erased.
She stood before him, blank, soulless… waiting.
For orders.
For him.
And Anazor… simply stared.