The valley had grown quiet again.
But it was no longer the peaceful silence it once held.
It was heavier.
Like something had shifted in the world itself.
Feroz stood still, staring at the place where the Seeker had vanished.
Freed.
Not destroyed.
Those words kept echoing in his mind.
"They turn people into that…" Feroz said slowly.
The grey-haired man didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he walked past him, toward the center of the valley.
"They don't just turn them," he finally said.
"They erase them."
Feroz's fists tightened.
"They take everything—identity, memory, choice—and replace it with purpose."
Feroz looked down at his arm.
The mark glowed faintly again.
"And that's what they want to do to me."
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
The old master of the Circle stepped closer.
"That is why you were hidden," he added. "Why your father tried to keep you away from all of this."
Feroz's voice dropped.
"And failed."
The old master did not deny it.
"No," he said softly. "He delayed it."
Silence followed.
Feroz exhaled slowly, trying to steady his thoughts.
Then he turned back to the grey-haired man.
"You said my father wasn't the first."
The man stopped walking.
"Yes."
"Then who was?"
The man didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out something small.
An old piece of metal.
Worn.
Scratched.
He tossed it toward Feroz.
Feroz caught it instinctively.
It was cold in his hand.
He looked at it closely—
A symbol.
The same circular pattern.
But broken.
A crack running straight through its center.
"What is this?" Feroz asked.
The man turned slightly.
"It used to belong to someone who stood where you stand now."
Feroz's heart beat faster.
"Another… like me?"
The man nodded once.
"Yes."
"What happened to him?"
The man's eyes darkened.
"They succeeded."
The word hit harder than anything else.
Feroz swallowed.
"You mean… they turned him into one of those things?"
The man didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Feroz's grip tightened around the metal piece.
"That's what they want from me."
"Yes."
Feroz looked up again.
"Then why didn't they just take me already?"
The old master answered this time.
"Because of your father."
Feroz turned sharply.
"What about him?"
"He broke their plan," the old master said.
"How?"
The grey-haired man spoke again.
"He interfered with the process."
Feroz's eyes narrowed.
"What process?"
The man stepped closer.
"The one that connects the Key to the source… completely."
Feroz felt the meaning behind those words.
"That tree…" he said slowly.
"The one I keep seeing."
The man nodded.
"The Silent Tree."
Feroz's chest tightened.
"That's where it happens, isn't it?"
"Yes."
The word came like a final truth.
"That's where they finish it."
Feroz looked away.
The vision flashed in his mind again.
A body under a tree.
People whispering.
Police calling someone.
Empty.
Cold.
"Then that future…" Feroz said quietly.
The man interrupted him.
"It is not fixed."
Feroz looked back at him.
"But it is possible."
The man nodded.
"Very."
The wind moved through the valley again.
This time colder.
Heavier.
The old master suddenly looked toward the sky.
"They've noticed."
Feroz frowned.
"Noticed what?"
The grey-haired man answered.
"The Seeker's fall."
Feroz felt a chill.
"That was just one of them."
"Yes."
Feroz took a step forward.
"So what comes next?"
The man's expression became serious again.
"Something worse."
Feroz let out a short breath.
"There's always something worse."
The man didn't smile this time.
"This time… it's not a weapon."
Feroz's brows furrowed.
"Then what is it?"
The man looked directly at him.
"It's a person."
Silence.
"A person?" Feroz repeated.
The man nodded.
"Someone trained. Controlled. Loyal."
Feroz's voice dropped.
"Another Hunter?"
The man shook his head.
"No."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Something closer to you."
Feroz didn't like the sound of that.
"What do you mean?"
The man held his gaze.
"They won't send something that doesn't understand you anymore."
Feroz's heart began to beat faster.
"Then who will they send?"
The man didn't answer right away.
Instead—
He looked toward the distant mountains.
Far beyond the valley.
As if he could already see what was coming.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Someone who knows your blood."
Feroz froze.
For a moment—
He couldn't breathe.
"My… blood?"
The old master stepped closer, his voice low.
"If they are moving this fast…"
He looked at the grey-haired man.
"…then they may already be preparing him."
Feroz's voice trembled slightly.
"Preparing who?"
The grey-haired man finally answered.
And this time—
His voice carried weight.
"Your uncle."
The word echoed.
Sharp.
Personal.
Real.
Feroz's fists clenched instantly.
The name alone brought anger.
Questions.
Pain.
"He's alive?" Feroz said.
"Yes."
Feroz's eyes burned.
"And he's with them."
"Yes."
The silence that followed was different.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Something else.
Personal.
Feroz looked down at his hands.
Then slowly raised his head.
"This isn't just their fight anymore," he said.
The grey-haired man nodded.
"No."
Feroz's voice became firm.
"It's mine."
The wind picked up again.
The valley lights flickered.
And somewhere far away—
A man stood in the shadows of a distant city.
His face hidden.
His presence calm.
Cold.
Watching.
Waiting.
And slowly—
A faint smile appeared.