the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds, threatening rain that had yet to fall.

The men went through their usual drills.

Off to one side stood Mastiff di Kairam—

a towering figure, broad-shouldered, his muscles drawn tight across his frame,

to the point one could almost doubt whether his body was made of flesh or forged from iron.

In his hand he held his massive steel spear as though it were no different from a limb of his own body.

His face bore no anger, only a warrior’s serenity…

the look of someone born in war, and destined to live only to fight.

A second-rank captain approached, holding a folder with the results of the recent bouts.

> “Lord Mastiff…”

“Your son, Rav… lost in the last match.”

Mastiff did not stop his training.

He simply nodded with calm composure and asked:

> “The victor?”

> “Severin Diuk Kairam… of Fang’s line. One of the middle blood.”

Only then… did the spear halt in midair.

Mastiff did not frown, nor show open surprise.

But he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear, with a faint smile tugging at his lips:

> “Severin? … That pup who survived the river?”

He stared at the sand for a moment, then turned his whole body toward a nearby training dummy.

Without hesitation, he raised his spear—

—and struck.

The wooden frame exploded under the blow,

iron fittings scattering as if it were no more than a bundle of straw.

All fell silent, yet the man’s voice never rose.

Lowering his weapon and turning away, he spoke:

> “I didn’t expect this… and that’s what makes it interesting.”

Then, with a note of excitement that only those who truly knew him would recognize, he added:

> “Strength… belongs to no one.

It only awakens where others fail to see it.

Only in those who prove themselves worthy of commanding it.”

He walked off, leaving splintered wood behind him… and a glint of curiosity in his eyes for a new name.

But he was not the only one who felt it.

All the other captains had shared a similar reaction when they heard the results.

Three years passed.

Three years of training, waiting, shaping.

The great arena at the heart of Kairam territory thrummed with life.

The children of the five branches stood in ranks, each group behind its banner:

Fang Kairam, the line of the Clan Head, carrying the weight of royal blood.

Kangal Kairam, the branch of war and raw physical might.

Shadow Kairam, the branch of assassins and unseen blades.

Naberos Kairam, the branch of discipline and the unbreakable shield.

Kalyan Kairam, the branch of knowledge and strategic thought.

In the third row stood Severin Diuk Kairam.

His face still bore the traces of childhood, yet in his eyes…

there was something new.

Something no one spoke of, yet everyone noticed at once.

His gaze burned redder than before,

and his stance—

it was not that of a boy standing among a group,

but of someone watching it from the outside.

High above, on the stone balcony, sat the five leaders:

Hyunkel Fang Kairam, current Clan Head.

Mastiff di Kairam, Lord of the Kangal Hounds.

Naberos Van Kairam, Mistress of the Naberos Hounds.

Alen Nyu Kairam, Lord of the Shadow Hounds.

And the fifth sister, who unlike the others did not wield the strength to command armies—

but instead possessed unmatched intelligence, vast knowledge, and a rare magical gift:

Alice Nerv Kairam, Head of the Kalyan Hounds.

While her fighters were no less deadly, their strength came from tactical training and deep knowledge.

Alice herself stood as the clan’s chief strategist and political advisor.

Back to the present—

the arena stirred as the matches were about to begin.

Mastiff searched for Severin,

or as he preferred to call him—

the red-eyed pup.

His gaze swept downward in silence.

And when he found the boy,

a faint smile touched his lips as he whispered to himself:

> “The time has come… Let’s see how far that seed has grown.”