_____MI'KAEL SERAPHANE_____

The gates loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, the wood worn from time but still sturdy. My hand rested on the grip of my blaster as I approached, every muscle in my body ready for what might come next.

Before I could reach the gates, a figure appeared, a shadow moving swiftly from the corner of the structure. A man stepped into view, his posture rigid and his eyes sharp.

He was dressed in dark armor, the insignia of the Seraphane Clan etched clearly on his chest. He didn’t look surprised to see me—he’d likely been expecting me.

“You must be the one the Commander has been waiting for,” the man said, his voice low, almost cautious.

I stopped, my eyes narrowing as I studied him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Varek, one of the Commander’s right-hand men,” he said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve been ordered to escort you inside. The Commander’s expecting you.”

I didn’t trust him. But I didn’t need to. He would guide me to the Commander, and then I would handle everything the way I always did.

"Lead the way," I said flatly, my gaze never leaving him.

Varek nodded, motioning for me to follow. As he stepped ahead, he rapped sharply on the gates twice, a coded rhythm.

The heavy wooden doors creaked and groaned as they began to open, the sound filling the air like a groaning beast waking from slumber.

The gates swung open, revealing a hive of activity.

Warriors of the Seraphane Clan filled the courtyard—some sharpening their blades, their eyes focused on their task, while others trained relentlessly, their strikes precise and brutal against wooden dummies.

Fires burned at scattered points, where others ate and laughed with the confidence of men who thought themselves untouchable.

But all of it stopped the moment I stepped through the gates.

Every sound seemed to drain from the air as dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto me. Bowls were set down, weapons gripped tighter, and murmurs spread like ripples in still water.

For a moment, it felt like the world itself held its breath.

Varek stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “This is the one the Commander’s been waiting for.”

The gathered warriors didn’t speak. Some glared at me with open hostility; others looked intrigued, their lips curling into faint smirks.

I didn’t falter.

Let them stare. Let them size me up and wonder if I was worth fearing. By the time I was done here, there would be no doubt.

Varek motioned toward the main building ahead. “The Commander is waiting inside. Follow me.”

I stepped forward, my boots crunching against the gravel.

The guards flanking the entrance tensed as I approached, their grips tightening on their weapons, but they didn’t move.

The doors creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

Varek didn’t speak as he led me through the winding halls. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the stillness, accompanied only by the distant hum of voices and the occasional clang of steel from outside.

My pulse remained steady, but my grip on my sword tightened.

We reached a large chamber, its heavy double doors carved with intricate patterns of war and triumph. Varek stopped before them and turned to face me, his gaze unreadable.

“This is where I leave you,” he said. His hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword before falling back to his side. “The Commander awaits.”

I didn’t reply, pushing the doors open with deliberate force.

The room inside was stark, its walls lined with weapons and banners bearing the Seraphane Clan’s insignia.

A single figure stood at the far end, his back to me as he gazed out a tall window overlooking the courtyard. His armor was polished, the dark metal catching the faint light.

“Mi'kael,” he said, his voice calm yet weighted with something deeper. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

The familiarity of his voice struck me like a blade. My footsteps faltered for the briefest moment as the figure turned to face me, his features illuminated by the dim glow.

Azem.

The name echoed in my mind, a ghost from a past I had tried to bury. He looked older, his face hardened by years of war and command, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

Caelus’s brother.

The man who had been there, that night, when everything fell apart.

A storm of emotions surged within me—rage, betrayal, and something I couldn’t quite name. He had once been someone I respected, someone I thought I could trust.

Now, he stood before me as the leader of the men who had taken everything from me.

Azem’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was no malice, no hostility. Just an unreadable expression, as if he was searching for something in me.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, his tone even, almost conversational.

“So it has,” I replied, my hand brushing the handle of my blaster, “Are the rest of the ashen vanguard here too?”

Azem chuckled—a sound that felt out of place, almost mocking. “Oh, Young Master, you’re quite funny,” he said, his voice carrying a strange warmth that quickly faded.

Then his expression changed.

The laughter disappeared, replaced by something fierce, primal.

His eyes burned with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. His bloodlust was palpable, suffocating, like a blade pressed against my throat.

He spoke again, his tone colder now. “No, actually. I killed them.”

The words hit me like a thunderclap.

My breath caught as I stared at him, my mind racing.

The elite squad… dead?

These were the clan’s most skilled warriors, men who had trained me, men who were supposed to be untouchable.

Why would Azem kill them?

What could drive him to destroy the clan’s greatest assets?

Azem smirked faintly, as if he could read my thoughts. His next move was so sudden that I didn’t have time to react.

In an instant, he was beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder with an unnerving familiarity.

His speed was unreal, his presence overwhelming.

I felt the chill of his touch seep through my clothes as a bead of sweat rolled down my temple.

Azem leaned in slightly, his voice low but calm. “Follow me. I want to talk to you. Catch up even.”

Before I could respond, he released his grip and strode forward, his boots echoing in the silence of the hall. He raised a hand, signaling for me to follow. It was not a request but a command.

For a moment, I stood frozen, my mind warring with itself.

Azem had always been Caelus’s brother, a figure I once respected.

But this wasn’t the same man I remembered. The easygoing cheer I’d known was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper.

I took a steadying breath and moved to follow him. Whatever Azem had become, whatever had driven him to kill the elites, I would get my answers.

As I continued to follow him, we went up a series of stairs before eventually reaching a balcony that gave a view of the outside.

I stood beside him, my hands resting on the cold metal of the railing, letting the night air wash over me.

The scent of smoke and roasting meat from below drifted upward, mingling with the faint tang of iron that seemed ever-present in places like this. My eyes wandered to the gates in the distance, catching sight of the bus still parked outside.

So that driver didn’t leave? Odd.

My gaze returned to Azem, his figure outlined against the dim moonlight. He seemed so at ease, yet something about him felt like standing on the edge of a knife.

Azem leaned against the railing, staring down at the courtyard.

For a moment, he looked… almost nostalgic.

“My brother used to stand here,” he said softly. “Said the view made him feel important.”

He laughed under his breath.

Then it stopped.

Instantly.

His head turned toward me — too fast.

“You killed him.”

There was no accusation in his tone. No anger.

Just observation.

“I know you killed him,” he repeated.

I stepped closer. “He deserved it.”

Azem blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he smiled.

Not angry.

Not amused.

Just… wrong.

“Oh, I believe you.”

He started laughing — sharp, high, breathless — before cutting himself off mid-sound.

“But do you know what’s funny?” he whispered.

His eyes darkened.

“I still miss him.”

His fingers tightened on the railing until the metal bent with a soft groan.

“You don’t get to decide who deserves to live, Mi’kael.”

His voice trembled.

“Only we do.”

Azem unsheathed his blade in one swift motion, the steel glinting under the faint moonlight.

His eyes darkened, their color shifting as his bloodlust poured out like a palpable force, thick and suffocating.

It wasn’t just a stare—it was a predator locking onto its prey.

The pressure of his intent felt as though it were physically choking me, the air around me growing colder.

A chill raced down my spine as my instincts screamed one thing: move.

In an instant, Azem surged forward, his sword aimed for my heart.

His speed was terrifying, a blur that closed the distance in a heartbeat. I didn’t hesitate—I planted my foot against the balcony railing and leapt into the void, the wind rushing past me as I descended.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, and a familiar heat ignited within me. My muscles tightened, my vision sharpened, and time itself seemed to slow.

[Boost].

I summoned my blade mid-air, the air crackling with blue energy, the weapon materialising as I held it in my grip, readying for the inevitable follow-up strike.

My crimson-tinged gaze scanned the darkened sky, expecting Azem to pursue me in his relentless fury.

But no attack came.

I twisted in the air, scanning left and right for any sign of him. Nothing. He wasn’t there.

I landed in a crouch, my boots kicking up dust as the world snapped back to its normal speed.

A murmur rippled through the courtyard.

Dozens of warriors emerged from the shadows, their weapons glinting under the moonlight as they encircled me, their expressions wary yet eager.

A trap. Was this Azem’s plan all along? To lure me here and let his lackeys finish me off?

Before I could act, a voice cut through the tense silence like a blade.

“Don’t touch him.”

Azem stepped out of the chamber doors, his blade resting casually at his side.

A sinister smile spread across his face as he descended the stairs, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the courtyard.

“If any of you so much as lay a finger on him,” he said, his tone calm yet venomous, “I’ll kill you myself.”

The nearest spearman swallowed.

Another shifted his stance, lowering his weapon half an inch.

No one laughed.

No one moved.

Even the chanting died for a breath too long.

They weren’t afraid of me.

They were afraid of him.

The warriors stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances, and took a collective step back. Azem’s smile deepened, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that promised nothing but chaos.

“This fight is mine.”

Suddenly, the courtyard erupted with rhythmic noise.

The spearmen began pounding the butts of their weapons against the ground in unison, a thunderous beat reverberating in the night.

Others joined in, clapping their hands or humming a low, guttural chant. The sound grew, a primal anthem that set the atmosphere ablaze, charged with bloodlust and anticipation.

Azem raised his hands high, commanding the uproar like a conductor with an orchestra. The cheering and chanting swelled, filling the air with a feverish intensity.

He began to circle me, his gaze never leaving mine, his steps slow and deliberate, a predator savoring the moment before the hunt.

“This is how we do things here, Mi'kael,” Azem said, his voice booming over the noise, every word laced with venom and madness. “You want answers? Then you’ll have to break me—crush my spirit and force me to kneel before you.”

His crooked smile widened, twisting into something almost inhuman.

His black eyes shifted, their color changing as the aura around him darkened.

The oppressive presence intensified, becoming a suffocating weight that bore down on me, more terrifying than anything I had faced before. It wasn’t just bloodlust—it was something darker, something primal.

“Show it to me. Your ‘Boost’.”

Azem stopped circling and took his stance. His posture was flawless, offering no clear openings, his blade steady in his hands.

The crowd quieted slightly, the hum of anticipation filling the silence as the warriors looked on, waiting for the clash to come.

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as the heat inside me began to rise once more.

My muscles coiled like springs, and my vision honed in on Azem.

Everything else faded away—the clamor of the soldiers, the ominous chants, the cold night air. There was only him.

I raised my blade, leveling its tip at Azem. “So be it,” I said under my breath, more to myself than anyone else.

[Boost].

The familiar rush flooded my senses. My irises burned into a crimson shade, my perception sharpening, time seeming to slow. The pulse of power coursed through my veins, and for a moment, everything felt clear.

This was more than just a fight for answers and I knew even the slightest mistake would be fatal.

I took my stance as we began circling each other, each step deliberate, our eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

The tension was palpable, the crowd’s rhythmic chanting fading into the background as the world narrowed to just the two of us. We waited, each daring the other to make the first move.

In a flash, Azem vanished from my sight, his speed blinding. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air. My heart pounded as I scanned my surroundings, focusing intently, my body tense and ready. Left? Right? Nowhere.

Then, a mocking voice rang out above me,“Hey hey, up here!”