By dawn, the body was gone.
Someone had dragged it into the gutters and let the rats finish what the blood had started. In Ironshade, a corpse in the slums was nothing new. But the way the boy had died—that was different.
His chest had been split clean open.
No blade could've done it.
Only blood magic.
The whispers started by morning.
"Some freak in the alley killed Nox's runner."
"I heard it was a rogue Bloodline. Red lightning."
"No. No. He bled a weapon. Out of his hand."
"Impossible. No one from the slums gets a Bloodline."
"That's why the Academy's coming."
By the time the sun reached its filthy arc over the rooftops, the city's fear had teeth.
And they called it Blood Heresy.
Kairo sat in the shadows of an abandoned forge, breathing slow, steady.
He hadn't moved in hours. Not since he'd seen the enforcers arrive.
Black-cloaked. Silver-masked. Bearing the white crest of the Academy: a sun wrapped in chains.
Each one carried a sigil-blade and a crystal mirror.
One by one, they moved through the slums.
They weren't looking for a criminal.
They were looking for a threat.
[Blood Core: 0.2 – Flickering Ember]
Caution: Blood Signature Active. Suppression Recommended.
Kairo focused.
His breath slowed.
The light around him dimmed, not physically—but through his sense. His blood cooled, the Sovereign Core pulsing like a silent drum.
The system helped him vanish.
And yet, the danger grew.
The forge's walls were cracked stone and rusted metal. It had long ago stopped serving the city's needs. But for Kairo, it became sanctuary.
He hadn't eaten in two days.
He didn't feel hungry.
He didn't feel much at all—except for the ever-present thrum inside him. The feeling of motion, pressure, sound beneath sound.
And then, he noticed it.
The heartbeats.
At first, faint.
Then sharper.
When someone passed outside, he heard a slow, steady beat—ba-dum. ba-dum.
When a stray dog limped near, it skipped faster—ba-dum-da-dum.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
The sound of the forge faded.
And in its place, rhythms.
Three people. No—four. One with an irregular rhythm, limping. Another with a fast pulse, nervous.
His eyes snapped open.
A new system message appeared:
[Trait Unlocked: Bloodsense – Tier I]
Perceive life through pulse resonance. Range: 10 meters. Accuracy increases with progression.
Kairo exhaled slowly.
This wasn't just strength. It was awareness.
Later that day, he overheard two men talking near the street vendors.
"They say he's marked," one muttered.
"With what?"
"Something worse than fire or frost. Something… forgotten."
"Academy's calling him a Blood Heretic. If they catch him, it's public execution."
"Doesn't matter if he's a kid. If he awakened something old, they'll burn the whole slum block to find him."
Kairo felt a chill, despite the warmth in his veins.
His mark. The one on his chest.
It had reacted when the temple opened. When the Voice in the stone spoke.
"Do you accept the Reign?"
He hadn't answered then.
But maybe he had—without words.
And now the world would answer him.
By nightfall, the enforcers were torching alley corners. Forcing people to line up. Pressing crystal mirrors to their chests.
Looking for a match.
Kairo knew it was only a matter of time.
He slipped deeper into the bones of Ironshade—into its ruins, into its cracks. Moving like shadow. Heartbeat silent. Blood masked.
[Blood Signature Suppression: 86% effective]
Not perfect.
But enough.
Still… something was shifting. In the people. In the streets.
He saw children drawing in the dust, making shapes like red suns and blades.
He heard mothers whispering old prayers to forgotten gods.
And he saw an old woman slit a chicken's throat before her doorway—not for food, but as a ward.
They felt it.
Change.
And they were afraid.
Kairo sat on the rooftop of an abandoned silo that night, staring at the black Academy towers far beyond the slums.
He remembered Claine Morvan.
The mud. The laughter.
The hate.
The Academy had judged him as nothing. Bloodless. Worthless. Unfit.
But now, they hunted him.
And deep within him, the Sovereign Core thrived.
[Current Directive: Rise. Reign. Rule.]
A second heartbeat had formed.
Not just his own.
The Core had one too.
It beat with every breath he took.
And somewhere—maybe in the depths of that ruined temple—something ancient watched.
And waited.
•
"Ena's Return"
The slums had always been cold.
But tonight, they felt like a grave.
Kairo moved through the mist-soaked alleys with his hood pulled low, Bloodsense flickering across the rhythms of rats, restless drunks, and old walls whispering secrets. The Sovereign Core pulsed in his chest—a heat that no cold could touch.
He followed a trail he hadn't expected to find.
A heartbeat.
Familiar.
Fragile.
Ena.
She was sweeping the stone steps of a spice den on the edge of Ironshade's trade line, her hair tied back, clothes patched and too thin for the night air. A heavy iron band locked around her wrist, inscribed with the sigil of House Velren—a noble house with reach far beyond the slums.
She didn't see him at first.
Kairo stood at the edge of the street, hands trembling.
Alive.
She was alive.
But not free.
He stepped forward.
"Ena."
She dropped the broom.
Turned.
And then—"Kairo?"
She ran to him, half-sobbing, half-laughing, throwing her arms around him before the weight of everything pulled her back. The iron band on her wrist clanked against his coat.
"You're alive," she whispered. "I thought… they said the shelter was—"
"Burned," he said. "They killed everyone."
She swallowed. "I barely escaped. I waited, but… I had nowhere to go. No coin. No name anyone cared about."
He looked at the band. "So you sold yourself."
"Three years' bond," she said, forcing a smile. "Food. Bed. Safety. That's more than most girls here get."
Kairo felt the fire inside him stir.
Safety.
Bondage.
They were calling cages safety now.
They sat on a broken cart near the trade quarter's back wall, sharing a single roasted root from a merchant's refuse pile.
"I heard things," Ena said quietly. "Strange things. About the Academy. About… someone marked."
Kairo stiffened.
"Marked how?"
"By Sovereign ash."
His breath caught.
The Core flared—just once.
Ena glanced around. "The nobles don't say it out loud. But I clean floors. I serve wine. People don't watch what they say when they think you're no one."
"And this noble house—Velren. They're searching?"
"Not just them. House Morvan too. And the Ministry of Flame. Someone's offering coin. Power. Bloodline exemptions. For anyone who brings them the ash-marked child."
Kairo's blood ran cold.
They weren't just hunting a heretic now.
They were hunting him.
"You have to leave Ironshade," Ena whispered. "Now. If they find you—"
"They won't," he said.
But his voice lacked the certainty he wished it carried.
She looked at him closer. Eyes narrowing.
"You've changed."
He hesitated.
"I bled," he said finally.
She didn't flinch.
"I heard someone say… blood's just truth, spilling. If that's so, maybe it's time we let the city drown in it."
A silence stretched between them. And in that silence, Kairo realized something terrifying.
He didn't want to run.
He wanted to rule.
Before she returned to her quarters, Ena paused, eyes full of worry.
"They want your blood, Kairo. Not for justice. For power. For something older than the Academy. Older than the Trials."
He nodded once.
"I know."
And when she was gone, he stood under the cracked moonlight, the Sovereign Core pulsing in his chest.
The world had begun hunting him.
But it would soon learn:
He was the one who would end the hunt.
To Be Continued.
*
*
*
Author's Note:
The Sovereign System has awoken, and the world is beginning to tremble. A bloodline long buried now burns beneath Kairo's skin… but power always has a price.
Who is truly hunting him—and why was the "ash mark" erased from history?
Comment your theory below.
Keep reading, Sovereigns.