Several days passed quietly after the incident at Ronan's school.
Life in the Ashford palace slowly returned to its usual rhythm, but something had changed—something subtle, yet undeniable.
The twins had now begun formal weapon training, preparing for the day they would apply to the Hunter's Association at thirteen.
Each of them was assigned a personal instructor.
Draven trained under a renowned warrior from England's Hunter Association—a man feared for his precision and discipline.
Ronan, on the other hand, was entrusted to a calm and composed swordsman from Japan—Hiroshi Hayate, sent personally by one of King Alistair's closest allies.
Palace Training Grounds
The afternoon sun burned overhead as Ronan stepped back, wiping sweat from his forehead. His breathing was heavy, his arms sore, but his grip on the wooden blades never loosened.
Across from him, Hiroshi watched quietly.
"You are improving," the master said calmly. "Slowly—but improving."
They moved to the fountain nearby and sat, letting the cool breeze ease the tension in their bodies.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Hiroshi broke the silence.
"Tell me, Ronan… what burdens you?"
Ronan hesitated, then looked down at his hands.
"The people… the whispers… they think I'm cursed."
Hiroshi didn't look surprised.
"Then let their fear fuel you," he said. "Let their hatred sharpen your blade—not break it. You must become like water. Calm… steady… but strong enough to carve through stone."
Ronan clenched his fists slightly.
After a pause, he spoke again—more carefully this time.
"Master… do you know anything about demon powers?"
Hiroshi's expression shifted slightly, though his voice remained calm.
"I have seen what demons can do. Long ago, during the Great War, they brought nations to ruin. Cities burned. Families were torn apart."
He looked directly at Ronan.
"Those who carried demonic power were often feared… and many met tragic ends. But that does not mean their fate was sealed."
Ronan nodded slowly.
"I've read about the war. Father made sure we learned everything."
Hiroshi smiled faintly.
"Good. Knowledge is your first weapon. But remember—fate is not fixed. It flows… and you can change its course."
The silence that followed was no longer heavy. It felt… peaceful.
After a while, Hiroshi stood and walked toward the weapons rack.
"What weapon speaks to you, Ronan?"
Ronan's expression brightened slightly.
"Dual swords. I've always liked them. The strongest fighters in stories always use two blades."
Hiroshi chuckled softly.
"A difficult path. It requires balance, speed, and precision. But… it suits you."
He turned back.
"Next lesson, we begin properly. I'll bring you a pair of wooden dual swords. If your heart is with them, then that is where we start."
Ronan nodded eagerly, a small spark lighting inside him.
Royal Barracks
Not far from there, Draven stood over his opponent, who had just been knocked to the ground.
His breathing was steady. Controlled.
Effortless.
His instructor, Cedric Hale, clapped slowly with a grin.
"Excellent. Sharp instincts. Clean execution."
Draven sheathed his blade and walked over.
"Master… can I ask you something?"
Cedric smirked. "Go on."
Draven hesitated for only a moment.
"Do you think Ronan could ever become stronger than me?"
Cedric laughed.
"Stronger than you? Not a chance."
He stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Draven's shoulder.
"You are a gift. By the time your training is complete, you might become the strongest hunter alive."
Draven smiled faintly, clearly pleased.
Cedric's tone darkened slightly.
"But your brother…"
Draven's expression hardened.
"He's a demon. That's what mother says. He shouldn't even be here."
Cedric nodded.
"Then remember that. If he ever becomes a threat…"
He tapped the hilt of his sword.
"You'll know what to do."
Draven didn't respond.
But he didn't disagree either.
The Next Day — Training Grounds
Ronan moved fluidly now, both wooden swords slicing through the air as he practiced.
For the first time, it felt right.
Natural.
"Stay light," Hiroshi instructed. "Flow—don't force it."
Then—
A voice cut through the air.
"So this is what you've been working on?"
Draven.
Ronan didn't stop.
"That's stupid," Draven continued. "Do you really think you can beat me with those?"
Still, Ronan said nothing.
That only made it worse.
Draven stepped closer, irritation growing.
"Don't ignore me."
Ronan slowly turned.
Their eyes met.
The tension was immediate.
Both instructors approached.
Cedric smirked. "Looks like the demon thinks he can compete."
Hiroshi's voice remained calm. "Every warrior deserves a chance."
Draven raised his sword.
"Let's see what you've got."
He attacked first.
The clash was instant.
Wood struck wood in rapid succession. Sparks of effort, speed, and emotion filled every movement.
Draven was powerful—but Ronan was faster.
More precise.
With each exchange, Ronan pushed him back.
Even Cedric's confident expression began to fade.
"Impossible…" he muttered.
Ronan pressed forward, his strikes growing sharper, stronger.
Then—
He stopped.
The blade hovered near Draven's neck.
Victory.
Clear.
Undeniable.
But something inside him surged.
Cold.
Dark.
Dangerous.
If he continued…
He wouldn't just win.
He would hurt him.
Badly.
Ronan's grip trembled.
And in that moment—
He let go.
Draven seized the opening instantly, tackling him to the ground.
The fight ended.
Cheers followed.
Draven stood tall.
Victorious.
He leaned down slightly.
"Stay down," he whispered. "This world will never belong to you."
That Night — Dining Hall
Draven spoke loudly, full of pride.
"I crushed him. He didn't stand a chance."
Queen Evelynn smiled warmly—at Draven.
"Of course you did."
Then her gaze shifted to Ronan.
Cold.
Sharp.
"I still don't understand why that thing sits at this table."
Ronan's hands tightened.
He stood abruptly.
"I'm not hungry."
And he left.
Later That Night — Courtyard
The moonlight washed over the silent palace.
Ronan sat alone by the fountain, his thoughts heavy.
"I'm not a monster…"
Footsteps approached.
Hiroshi sat beside him.
"You fought well."
"I lost."
"Not everything is about winning."
Ronan looked at him.
"I saw you stop," Hiroshi continued. "That restraint… that's real strength."
Ronan swallowed.
"It scared me."
Hiroshi nodded.
"That's why we train. Not just to fight enemies… but to control ourselves."
He stood.
"Tomorrow, we begin properly."
A faint smile touched Ronan's face.
For the first time in a long while—
He felt something different.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Hope.
CHAPTER 18: The lonely boy and his friends
The midday sun bathed the school playground in soft golden light.
Children laughed and ran across the field, their voices blending into a lively hum. Some chased each other, others played games, while a few sat in groups sharing jokes.
But one boy sat alone.
Ronan Ashford.
He sat quietly at the edge of the playground, cross-legged on the grass, a worn notebook resting on his knees. His pencil moved slowly, carefully — like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.
On the page, he sketched a warrior.
A boy holding two swords.
Strong. Free. Fearless.
The exact opposite of how he felt.
From a distance, two boys watched him. They had seen him before — always alone, always distant. They had heard the whispers too.
"The cursed one…"
"Stay away from him…"
But they didn't feel fear.
Just curiosity.
And maybe… understanding.
They walked up to him.
"Hey," the taller one said.
Ronan looked up, slightly startled.
"Mind if we sit?" the other asked.
Ronan hesitated… then nodded.
They sat beside him like it was nothing.
"I'm Elias."
"And I'm Lucan."
Ronan blinked.
"I'm… Ronan."
Lucan leaned closer, peeking at the notebook.
"What are you drawing?"
Ronan shifted slightly. "Myself… I guess. Fighting with two swords."
Elias lit up. "That's actually cool."
"You wanna be a Hunter?" Lucan asked.
Ronan gave a small nod.
Elias grinned. "You will be."
For a moment, Ronan just stared at them.
Then quietly—
"Don't you hate me?"
They both frowned.
"Why would we?" Lucan asked.
"Everyone else does."
Elias shrugged. "We don't."
"You seem… normal," Lucan added.
That word hit him harder than anything.
Normal.
For the first time in a long time…
Ronan smiled.
The Bond
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into a year.
Ronan wasn't alone anymore.
They ate together, laughed together, walked home together.
Sometimes they were mocked — called weird, called outcasts.
But it didn't matter.
Not anymore.
Because he had them.
The Day Everything Broke
One afternoon, after school, they joined a group of boys playing football.
Ronan hesitated at first.
But something felt different.
"Join us," one of the boys said.
No fear. No judgment.
Just… acceptance.
They played.
And Ronan was incredible.
Fast. Sharp. Controlled.
They won 5–3.
For the first time…
Ronan felt like he belonged.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky orange—
He asked quietly,
"Have you guys heard about the demon attacks lately?"
One boy laughed. "That's just stories."
Ronan's expression darkened slightly.
"I've seen things…"
Before anyone could respond—
The sky cracked.
A dark, swirling portal tore open above the field.
Silence.
Then—
Chaos.
Creatures poured out. Twisted. Inhuman.
Red eyes. Black flesh.
Screams erupted.
"RUN!"
But it was too late.
One of them struck Ronan.
Hard.
His body flew, crashing into a wall.
Everything blurred.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Could only watch.
Lucan ran toward him—
A blade pierced through his chest.
Elias tried to fight—
He was torn apart.
The others…
Didn't stand a chance.
The laughter from minutes ago…
Gone.
Replaced by silence.
And blood.
The Awakening
Ronan lay there.
Helpless.
Broken.
Tears streamed down his face.
Then—
Something moved.
Behind him.
Shadows.
Two figures emerged.
Dark. Formless. Alive.
They moved faster than thought.
Within seconds—
Every demon was gone.
Reduced to dust.
Silence returned.
The shadows faded back into him.
His wounds healed.
But something inside him didn't.
Aftermath
Hunters arrived minutes later.
They saw the bodies.
The destruction.
And one thing that didn't make sense—
Ronan.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Alone.
The Palace
He woke in his room.
His father sat beside him.
"Ronan… how do you feel?"
No response.
Just emptiness.
Then—
A voice from the door.
"Maybe he killed them."
Draven.
Cold. Unbothered.
King Alistair stood instantly.
"That's enough."
Draven scoffed and left.
Silence returned.
His father's voice softened.
"You're safe. That's all that matters."
But Ronan didn't feel safe.
Not from the world.
Not from himself.
The Weight of Suspicion
Later, in the war chamber—
Hunters spoke in careful tones.
"Ten children dead."
"One survivor."
"The prince."
Queen Evelynn's voice cut through—
"And not a single injury."
The implication was clear.
King Alistair's voice hardened.
"We will not accuse him without truth."
But doubt had already begun to spread.
That Night
The palace was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ronan sat on his bed, shaking.
He couldn't escape it.
The screams.
The blood.
Their faces.
"I couldn't save them…"
His voice broke.
His hands trembled.
"They died because of me…"
His breathing became unstable.
Tears wouldn't stop.
And then—
A whisper in his mind.
"Misfortune follows those like you…"
He clutched his head.
"No… no…"
His body curled in on itself.
And finally—
He screamed.
A broken, shattered sound that echoed through the night.
Then—
Darkness.