As Arya rushed back home, a terrible feeling gnawed at him. Something was wrong.
The moment he stepped inside, chaos greeted him. Broken furniture, shattered glass, everything was in ruins. His heart pounded as he stumbled forward, his foot catching on an overturned table. He crashed to the ground but didn't stop. Pain didn't matter—only his sister did.
Blindly, he moved through the wreckage, using the walls to guide himself. He reached Aisha's room and called her name.
Silence.
He took a deep breath, trying to catch her scent—but found nothing. His stomach sank. Someone had taken her.
Falling to his knees, he clenched his fists, his mind spiraling. Then, from deep within him, a voice echoed.
"What happened to you?"
Arya stiffened. The voice was familiar.
"I saved your life once. I warned you before. Accept me, and I'll help you find your sister."
Arya's hands trembled. "No. I swore to my mother—I won't kill innocent people. I don't need your help. I'll find her myself."
A dark chuckle echoed in his mind.
"You think you can save her? Look at yourself. A blind, helpless E-ranker. Even if you find her, you won't be able to protect her. You don't have power. Luck saved you before—it won't save your sister."
Arya gritted his teeth.
"Remember this. You will call for me yourself."
Then, the voice faded.
Arya stood up, his mind racing. He had no time to waste—he had to find his sister before it was too late. Panic clawed at his chest. He didn't know who had taken her or where she was, but a terrifying thought struck him.
Just moments ago, he had collided with a man rushing toward the city center, shouting about a monster.
"Could the assassin soldiers have taken Aisha, thinking she was a monster?"
His blood ran cold.
He forced himself to recall the man's words. The middle of the city. That's where it was happening. Without a second thought, Arya sprinted toward the city center.
His heart pounded in his chest. He was running so fast that he barely sensed the people around him. He didn't see the tree in his path until it was too late. His face slammed into the rough bark, splitting his skin. Blood trickled down his cheek, but he didn't stop. He staggered, then kept running.
Then—
A loud honk!
A car screeched toward him. Before he could react, the impact sent him rolling across the pavement.
Groaning, Arya tried to get up. A woman stormed out of the car, furious. "Look what you've done! My car is damaged! You have to pay for this!"
Arya barely heard her. His mind was elsewhere. He tried to move past her, but she grabbed his arm, blocking his way. A crowd gathered around them, watching.
He had no time for this.
With a rough shove, he pushed past her and ran. The voices behind him faded.
When he finally reached the city center, he skidded to a stop.
A massive crowd blocked his path.
People stood shoulder to shoulder, their voices merging into a deafening chant.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Arya's breath hitched. He couldn't see past the crowd, but a sinking feeling weighed in his chest.
Was his sister in there? Was she the one about to be killed?
His breathing grew ragged. He had to find a way through—before it was too late.
Arya was still far away, but he forced his way through the crowd, pushing past people. His senses sharpened as he moved forward, and then suddenly—he caught it. A faint, familiar scent.
His heart pounded. Aisha.
He focused all his energy, shutting out the noise around him. And then—he heard her.
"Brother… help me! I don't want to die!"
His breath caught in his throat. There was no doubt now. Aisha was here.
"Please! Let me through! She's not a monster!" he shouted, but the crowd ignored him.
On the execution stage, Aisha's face was covered with a black cloth. She couldn't see. A man in a dark coat stood beside her.
"Prepare to execute this monster!"
The crowd roared in approval.
Arya's blood ran cold. His hands trembled. He had no weapon, no strength, and no one would listen to him.
"Take my power," a voice whispered inside him.
"No," Arya growled, shaking his head. He didn't need it. He would save her.
The executioner pulled the lever. The floor beneath Aisha slid open.
"BROTHER!"
Arya moved.
He charged forward with everything he had, shoving past the assassin soldiers. They tried to block him, but he didn't stop. A wooden staff cracked against his head—pain exploded in his skull, but he kept running.
Aisha was falling.
He leaped. His fingers grazed her hand—
Someone yanked him back.
"NO!"
Aisha's body jerked as the rope tightened around her neck. She hung there, her body trembling, struggling for air.
The crowd cheered.
Arya lost control.
His vision blurred, dark spots creeping in at the edges. His head throbbed from the blow, his body screaming in pain, but he forced himself forward.
He grabbed a fallen sword. His grip was weak, unsteady—but he swung anyway. The blade sliced through the rope.
Aisha plummeted.
Arya staggered forward, arms outstretched. His legs nearly gave out, but he caught her just before she hit the ground.
His breath was ragged. His heart pounded against his ribs. But something was wrong.
The world around him spun. The shouts of the crowd became distant echoes. His limbs felt heavy. His grip on Aisha loosened.
"Aisha!" His voice cracked. "Aisha, stay with me!"
For a terrifying moment, she didn't respond. Then—she gasped, sucking in air.
Relief flooded Arya. He pulled off the cloth covering her face. Tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto hers.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Brother… I knew you'd come."
"You're okay," Arya whispered, holding her tightly.
Aisha clung to him. "Please… don't leave me alone. I don't want to die."
From the stage, the executioner's furious voice boomed.
"What the hell are you all doing?! Kill them both!"
Assassin soldiers rushed toward them.