Chapter 7 – Ashes of Blood and Grief
The scent of incense lingered faintly in the air as morning light filtered through the high windows of the Draeven estate. Rigorus stood beside his mother's bedside, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. She had grown weaker, her eyes sunken, yet something in them still shone — a survivor's light.
"You've gotten stronger," she said softly.
"Not enough," Rigorus replied.
Celestia Draeven gently reached for his hand, her grip frail but firm.
"Rigorus… there are people moving in the shadows," she whispered. "Even your father and I never knew who they were — only that they existed. Watching. Waiting. They want the Draeven clan to fall… or worse, to control it from the inside."
"Why tell me now?"
"Because since your father's death… they've grown bolder." She coughed weakly. "And after what happened at the duel… not everyone is happy to see you return. Be careful, my son. Don't assume all allies wear friendly faces."
Rigorus didn't answer. He only nodded, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders.
One Month Earlier…
The forest paths of the northern Draeven territory were dark and damp, overgrown with thorns and twisted roots. Liora Draeven rode at the head of fifty elite soldiers, their armor bearing the crimson crest of House Draeven.
They had been tracking Kairos for weeks — since the night he shattered his prison cell, killed the guards, and vanished into the shadows. Every trace of him led deeper into the wild, until now… something new appeared in the dark woods.
Not Kairos.
Something worse.
Trees cracked like bones. The scent of blood drifted through the air before the attack even began.
And then — Dreadmaul descended.
A mountain of a man, arms like fallen pillars, face twisted into a permanent sneer. His skin was laced with black scars that shimmered like steel under the moonlight.
"You Draeven dogs hunt one of your own… pathetic."
"You're not who we came for," Liora said, stepping forward. "But if you stand in our way…"
"I won't," Dreadmaul grinned. "I'll crush you instead."
The forest became a battlefield.
Liora shouted orders. Blades drew. Arrows flew.
But Dreadmaul was a storm made flesh.
He caught spears in midair, snapping them like twigs. He crushed soldiers beneath his feet. Each swing of his fists shattered bones and sent men flying like broken dolls. And all the while, he laughed — a deep, echoing sound that chilled the blood.
"Is this all the Draeven elite has to offer? Tch… I expected more."
Liora's aura surged, and her hands formed seals.
"Draeven Secret Art: Thousand Seraph Blades!"
Dozens of radiant blades formed in the air and rained down upon Dreadmaul. He roared as the blades sliced through the trees and struck him across the chest, leaving deep gashes.
For a moment — just a moment — it looked like he could bleed.
Then he stood.
Still laughing.
"Nice trick. But not enough."
She unleashed technique after technique — Spirit Chain Dance, Heaven's Pulse, Crimson Fang Barrage — each more desperate than the last. Her soldiers fought valiantly, even landing a few fatal blows. But for some reason… Dreadmaul wouldn't fall.
His flesh healed too quickly. His aura pulsed with something unnatural.
Liora found herself on the ground, a deep wound across her side, blood dripping from her temple, vision blurring. Around her, the bodies of all fifty soldiers lay twisted and broken — some burned, others crushed. Her hand trembled as she gripped her sword, struggling to stand.
She looked up at him one last time.
Liora (internal monologue, breathing ragged):"This… can't be the end. Not here… not like this. Rigorus… you were supposed to see what I became. I wanted to prove I stood with you. Not with them."
"I hope this… doesn't hurt him too much," she whispered. "He's been through… so much already…"
Dreadmaul cocked his head.
"Those are your final words? Hah. The so-called strongest of the Draeven clan... What a bunch of bullshit."
And then, with a casual swing of his massive blade, he decapitated her.
Present Day…
The room was silent.
Too silent.
Rigorus sat on the edge of a stone bench in the clan's inner sanctum, his body wrapped in bandages, still aching from the duel. Naelira sat beside him, her hands gently wringing a damp cloth as if she sensed something ominous in the air.
Then the door creaked open.
An elder guard stepped in, helmet pressed against his chest, face sunken with sorrow.His voice trembled.
"Young Master Rigorus... we found them. In the forest north of our land. Lady Liora… and the fifty soldiers that rode with her…"
The words didn't need to finish. Rigorus stood. His hands shook.
"She… she's dead?"
The guard gave a slow, silent nod. "She fought to the end. Her body was barely holding together… but she died standing."
The world blurred.
Rigorus's breath caught, his chest caved inward like something inside him cracked open. A single tear broke free, hot and sharp, rolling down his cheek.
It never hit the ground.
The moment it left his skin, it evaporated in a flash of heat — and the floor beneath him fractured, a thin crack splitting the marble beneath his feet as energy surged around him like the mourning cry of the heavens.
"Kairos…!" he whispered.
He didn't wait. His rage gave him direction. His sorrow gave him strength.
He rushed toward the exit of the chamber, steps thundering through the corridor.
But then—
A voice.Calm. Cracked. Ancient.
"Stop right there."
The words rang out not with power — but with presence.
And Rigorus's body... froze.
Mid-stride, muscles seized. Veins tensed. His body refused to respond, even though his mind screamed to move. It was as if time had shackled him.
A figure stepped out of the shadows of the corridor.
Old. Hooded. Withered and wrinkled like time itself had etched scripture into his skin. His voice was brittle, but undeniable.
"As you are now," the old man said,
You think a mere duel is the same as a fight? As you are now… you wouldn't last a second against Kairos. Hell—whatever's out there, it might not even be your brother anymore