The academy halls buzzed with whispers as Nayra strode past Liam, Zefora, and Sistie. He didn't just ignore them—no, that would have been too merciful. Instead, he paused, tilting his head with a slow, venomous smirk.
"Oh?" His voice was silk over steel. "What's this? The mighty heirs, reduced to glaring like common street thugs."
Liam's knuckles whitened around the strap of his bag. "Watch your tongue, worm."
Nayra chuckled, leaning in just enough to make their muscles tense. "Or what? You'll hit me? Go ahead. Let the whole town see their precious faction heirs beating up a 'helpless' boy." His gaze flicked to the students lingering nearby, their eyes already sharp with judgment.
Zefora's lip curled. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"Am I?" Nayra sighed, feigning pity. "Funny. I thought the dangerous ones were the people who let their own factions crumble under their feet."
Sistie's nails bit into her palms. "You're nothing. A speck. We could erase you before you blinked."
"Ah, but you won't." Nayra stepped back, spreading his hands. "Because you need the town's love even more than you need my blood. And look at them now." He gestured to the crowd, their murmurs thickening like storm clouds. "They already hate you."
For a heartbeat, fury burned in their eyes—raw, untamed. But then Liam snarled and shouldered past him, Zefora and Sistie following like shadows.
Nayra watched them go, his smile never wavering.
Perfect.
The sun bled into dusk as Nayra took the long route home, his footsteps deliberately slow. He didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know they were there—Liam's heavy tread, Zefora's light steps, Sistie's near-silent prowl.
He let them follow. Let them think they were the hunters.
Then, as he turned into a narrow alley, shadows swallowing the last of the light, their voices cut through the stillness.
"No audience here," Liam spat, blocking the exit.
Zefora materialized beside him, arms crossed. "Just us and you. Finally."
Sistie stepped closer, her voice a blade. "You've got a lot of nerve, taunting us like we wouldn't gut you the second we got the chance."
Nayra's breath hitched. His shoulders hunched, hands trembling as he backed against the wall. "P-please…" His voice cracked, thin with fear. "I didn't—I didn't mean anything! Just let me go!"
Liam laughed, cracking his knuckles. "Oh, now you're scared? Where's that smug little—"
"HELP!" Nayra's scream ripped through the alley, raw and desperate. "SOMEONE, PLEASE—!"
Footsteps pounded. Lantern light spilled into the alley as a group of merchants rounded the corner, their faces hardening at the scene.
"You three again?" a baker growled, gripping his rolling pin. "Harassing kids now, are we?"
Zefora's eye twitched. "This doesn't concern you."
"It does when you're cornering a boy in the dark!" a woman snapped.
Sistie hissed under her breath, but Liam yanked her back. They couldn't afford another scandal. Not now.
With one last searing glare, they melted into the shadows.
The townsfolk fussed over Nayra, who sniffled and stammered thanks. But as they led him away, his fingers brushed the tears from his cheeks—and his lips curled.
Just a little longer.
Moonlight pooled on the floorboards as Nayra knelt beside his parents' bed. Their chests rose and fell in steady rhythm, their bodies honed to perfection by the Bone-Tempering Weed. Strong. Resilient.
Perfect.
He trailed a finger along his father's wrist, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. "You never understood," he whispered. "All those years, you thought weakness was something to be ashamed of."
His mother stirred, murmuring in her sleep.
Nayra's hand drifted to the dagger under his pillow. Cold steel met his palm.
"But weakness is just a tool," he murmured. "And you? You're the final stroke of the brush."
The blade caught the moonlight as he raised it.
"Thank you," he breathed, "for making me strong."
And then—
The night swallowed the sound.
The room was silent.
The blade fell—once, twice—in two clean, precise arcs.
No struggle. No final words. Just the whisper of steel parting flesh, the dull thud of weight hitting the floor.
His parents' heads rolled, their expressions still peaceful in sleep.
A merciful death.
Nayra exhaled, long and slow, as he gazed down at them. His fingers traced the edge of his dagger, wiping away the blood before kneeling beside their severed heads. He cradled them gently, turning their faces toward him as if they could still hear him.
"Mother… Father…" His voice was quiet, calm. "You never understood. You thought strength was only in the body. But real power?" He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "It's in the choices we make."
He set them down with care, arranging them side by side.
"You did nothing wrong. Not in this life, not in the last. And so… I gave you peace."
His fingers lingered on his mother's cheek for a moment before withdrawing.
Then, he stood.
His eyes were dry.
His hands, steady.
And yet—
A single tear escaped.
It slid down his cheek, warm and unbidden.
He touched it, staring at the wetness on his fingertips.
"...Hm."
A soft chuckle bubbled up from his throat.
"How strange."
He wiped it away, his smile never fading.
Then, he turned his back on their bodies.
There was work to do.
The bones were still warm.
Nayra worked methodically, stripping flesh from bone with practiced ease. His hands moved with reverence, as if this were a sacred ritual—and perhaps, to him, it was.
"Strong bones," he murmured, running his fingers along his father's femur. "Hardened by the weed. Perfect."
He arranged them before him in a neat circle, kneeling in the center. The moonlight spilled through the window, painting the scene in silver and shadow.
Then, he closed his eyes.
And began.
A deep breath in—
His hands ignited in a crimson glow, the air around him humming with ancient energy.
CRACK.
The first bone splintered, then reshaped itself under his will.
CRUNCH.
Another followed, twisting, elongating—becoming something new.
SNAP.
The sound was rhythmic, almost musical, as the fragments of his parents' skeletons knit together under his command.
His lips moved silently, whispering words lost to time—a language older than the world itself.
And then—
It was done.
Before him lay the Headslayer Cutter, a blade of pure, polished bone, its edge gleaming like pearl under the moon's gaze.
He reached out, fingers trembling—not with fear, but with something deeper. Recognition. Belonging.
The moment his skin touched the hilt, he felt it.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.
His.
Theirs.
Theirs together.
A weapon born of blood and bone, bound to his soul.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed the blade against his chest—
And let it sink into him.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
But deeper.
FWOOSH.
Fire erupted in his veins.
Power surged, raw and untamed, flooding every fiber of his being.
His back arched, his breath coming in sharp gasps as the energy threatened to tear him apart—
And then—
CRACK.
Something broke.
No—
Opened.
The world shifted.
Colors burned brighter. Sounds sharpened. The air itself felt thicker, heavier—alive with energy he had never noticed before.
Nayra staggered to his feet, his limbs humming with newfound strength. He flexed his fingers, watching as the veins beneath his skin pulsed with a faint, crimson light.
"So this…" He laughed, breathless. "This is what real power feels like."
He took a step—
And the floorboards splintered under his foot without meaning to.
He stilled, staring at the damage.
Then, he grinned.
"Ah. I'll need to control that."
A breeze drifted through the open window, cool against his skin.
And then—
Another tear fell.
He didn't sob. Didn't tremble.
It simply… happened.
He touched his cheek again, curious.
"Reflex, perhaps," he mused. "The body mourning what the mind has already let go. Well its natural most peoples cried when they lost there parents But my mind is already well trained due to my Previous lifes but my body dont."
He looked back at the remains of his parents—now nothing more than empty vessels, their purpose fulfilled.
Then, he turned.
And walked away without another glance.
The night swallowed him whole.
The Headslayer Cutter thrummed in his soul.
And the world—
Had no idea what was coming.
He said to himself that "Nice now my parents are dead and due to deal of mine with the BLACK WOLF FACTION no one will suspect me and i use my parents death on the head of RED HAWK AND GOLDEN SNAKE FACTION because of Liam , Zefora and Sistie Threatened me"
He look at the moon and said "EVERY PERSON IS SEE THE REFLECTION OF HIM IN THE OTHER PERSON thats why EVIL ALWAYS ATTRACT EVIL AND ASPECT EVIL FROM OTHERS TOO...."
"Life is not given—it is taken. Every breath is a battle won against the universe. The gods preach morality, but their laws are just chains for the weak. I reject their destiny. My will is the only truth that matters, and I will enforce it upon existence itself." -By NAYRA.