The hearth crackled weakly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the worn oak table. Alextro Vargren's massive frame trembled with barely contained fury as he paced the length of the room, his boots leaving deep impressions in the rug.
"Do you understand what this means?" His voice was a guttural growl as he whirled on Yukita. "We've become laughingstocks in our own territory. My men can't even collect tribute without being spat upon!"
Yukita Clausia remained still as a statue, her delicate fingers tracing the rim of her porcelain teacup. The golden serpents embroidered on her sleeves seemed to writhe in the firelight.
"Your theatrics won't solve anything, Alextro," she murmured, taking a measured sip. "The Black Wolves didn't defeat us through strength. They outmaneuvered us."
Alextro's fist came down hard enough to make the teacups rattle. "By what? Some twisted charity campaign? Protecting orphans and rebuilding houses?" His lip curled in disgust. "Since when did thugs become saints?"
Yukita's nail tapped against china with a sharp click. "Since a certain child became their mascot."
A heavy silence fell between them. Outside, the wind howled through the eaves like a wounded animal.
"Nayra." Alextro spat the name like a curse. "That fragile little worm who somehow survived when all our enforcers vanished that night."
Yukita's eyes gleamed like polished amber. "Tell me, Alextro... have you ever seen a four-year-old with such perfectly timed tears?"
The air was thick with the scent of burning oil and youthful rage. Liam Vargren, heir to the Red Hawks, drove his dagger deep into the wooden table where it quivered with pent-up energy.
"I should have cut his throat when I had the chance," he snarled, his father's fiery temper burning in his eyes.
Zefora lounged on a velvet divan, idly twirling one of her golden braids around a finger. "Oh please. You had dozens of chances. What stopped you? His big, watery eyes?" She mocked a pouting face, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sistie, silent as a shadow in the corner, finally spoke. "We were all fools." Her voice was soft but carried the weight of a blade being drawn. "That child played us like a cheap flute."
Liam yanked his dagger free, sending wood chips flying. "Then we make him pay. Publicly. Brutally."
Zefora's smile turned feral. "I know just the place. The old tannery by the river. No one goes there after dark."
Sistie's fingers flexed, her nails gleaming like claws in the lamplight. "First we break his fingers. One by one. Then we'll see how well he can act without hands."
The Black Wolf leader, a grizzled veteran with scars mapping his face like battle lines, leaned back in his throne-like chair and roared with laughter.
"Listen to the little mouse squeak!" His booming voice made the torches flicker. "You want our protection? What can you possibly offer the Black Wolves?"
Nayra stood small but impossibly steady in the center of the rough-hewn hall, his oversized tunic making him look even younger than his years. When he spoke, his voice carried surprising clarity.
"Respect."
The laughter died. The leader's bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Explain."
Nayra tilted his head, the torchlight catching in his too-knowing eyes. "The town still not fully believe you. But they'll never believe you. Not like they could." He took a small step forward. "Protect me openly. Be seen as my guardians. The people will whisper that even the mighty Black Wolves have hearts."
A murmur ran through the assembled warriors. The leader stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And what do you get out of this arrangement, little mouse?"
For the first time, Nayra smiled. It was a small, fragile thing.
"Safety. For now."
As the Black Wolf leader erupted into another round of laughter, slapping his knee in amusement, none of them noticed how the shadows seemed to cling to the child just a little too closely.
Nor how his fingers twitched toward something unseen beneath his tunic.
The moon hung low, its pale light spilling over the quiet town, painting the cobblestones silver. Shadows stretched long and thin, flickering like restless spirits between the buildings. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant smoke from a dying hearth.
Nayra walked without hurry, his small frame moving with an eerie calm. His face was blank, his dark eyes reflecting nothing—no fear, no anger, just stillness. But beneath that quiet surface, something stirred.
Something awake.
A rustle. A shift in the air.
Three figures stepped from the mouth of an alley, blocking his path.
Liam. Zefora. Sistie.
They had been laughing moments before, their voices sharp with arrogance. But now, their words died in their throats.
For a heartbeat, they stared.
Then—
Liam's lip curled into a sneer. "Look who it is. The little orphan brat, wandering around at night like he owns the streets."
Zefora smirked, though her fingers twitched at her sides. "Maybe he's looking for his dead parents."
A joke. A cruel one.
Sistie didn't laugh. Her eyes locked onto Nayra's face—and for the first time, she hesitated.
Something was wrong.
Nayra didn't react to their words. He didn't flinch. He just stood there, watching them.
And then—
A shimmer. A flicker of light, like the barest breath of flame.
Zefora's smirk faltered. Her breath hitched.
"That's…"
Liam's sneer twisted into confusion, then disbelief. His fists clenched. "What the hell is this?"
The glow around Nayra deepened, pulsing faintly—like a heartbeat made visible.
The First Chakra Gate.
Unlocked.
Liam's face darkened. "You think this changes anything?" His voice was rough, but there was an edge to it now—a crack. "You're still just a—"
He lunged.
And then—
THUD.
His knees hit the ground before he even realized he had fallen. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body shaking.
Sistie stumbled back, her hands rising instinctively. But there was no attack to block. No physical strike.
Just…
Pressure.
A weight in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on her chest like a boot on her ribs. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Zefora hadn't moved. She stood frozen, her wide eyes locked onto Nayra.
Because this wasn't just chakra.
This was something else.
Something that didn't just push—it clawed.
Nayra took a slow step forward.
Liam tried to rise. His arms trembled. His teeth ground together. But his body refused to obey.
"On your knees," Nayra said. His voice was soft. Almost gentle.
It made the words worse.
Sistie's legs gave out. She caught herself on her hands, her fingers digging into the cold stone beneath her.
Zefora's breath came in short, panicked bursts. "H-how…?"
Nayra tilted his head slightly. His eyes—empty. Endless.
"You know what they did."
A statement. Not a question.
Liam's head snapped up. "We don't—"
"Lie again," Nayra murmured, "and I'll peel the skin from your bones."
Silence.
Sistie's throat tightened. She had heard stories. Whispers of what happened to those who crossed certain lines. But this—
This was a child.
A child who shouldn't know these words.
A child who shouldn't be able to do this.
Nayra's gaze shifted to her.
She flinched.
"You will go to the academy," he said. "You will tell them that Alextro and Yukita murdered my parents."
Zefora's breath caught.
Liam's face twisted. "You're insane! They'll kill us if we—"
The pressure shifted.
Liam choked. His body arched, his fingers clawing at his own throat.
Nayra watched, unmoved. "Do you think I care?"
Sistie's vision blurred. Tears? Fear? She didn't know. She just knew she couldn't breathe.
"You will cry for me," Nayra continued, his voice still so quiet. "You will scream for justice. You will make sure the whole town knows."
A pause.
"Or I will find you."
The weight lifted—just enough to let them gasp.
Sistie didn't think. She nodded, fast, desperate. "I-I'll do it. I swear."
Zefora's voice was a whisper. "Me too."
Liam said nothing. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. But his hands shook.
Nayra smiled.
It was a small thing. Almost sweet.
Then he turned and walked away.
The pressure vanished like it had never been.
Behind him, three figures remained on the ground—not wounded, not bleeding, but broken in a way no healer could mend.
And as the night swallowed Nayra's small form, only one thought echoed in Sistie's mind:
What have we just seen?
As Liam stand up and still shaking slithly look at the Zefora and Sistie and said "So we have to do what he said...."
as Liam thinking that framing his own father on fake aligation is too much for him and as he think his attitude and facade crumbled and he started crying
as Zefora still shaking because she cant even move and her legs like its not here anymore and her mind cant able to think anything clearly too
and as sistie also in uttermost terror because she have to choose btw her life and her sister life and she first time her brain not able to make decision perfectly...