The years blurred together, but the pain never softened.
Ace grew taller, sharper, older—but still, to his parents, he was nothing. A mistake that breathed.
His father's fists were lessons in silence. His mother's words were daggers sharper than any blade. Together, they taught him to bow his head, to bury his screams deep inside where no one could reach.
But sometimes, even silence wasn't enough.
It happened on a night drowned in thunder. The storm outside mirrored the storm within the house. His father's rage had spilled from drink, and Ace found himself shoved against the wall, the impact rattling through his bones.
"You were born cursed," his father spat, his breath sour with liquor. "Everything you touch rots. Even that boy who followed you around like a lost dog."
John.
The name sliced deeper than any blow. Ace's vision blurred with heat, his nails biting into his palms until blood welled. His mother stood behind his father, arms crossed, her eyes cold and gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
"He's weak," she said flatly. "We should've left him in the gutter when we had the chance."
The words cracked something inside Ace.
For years, he had endured. He had bowed, obeyed, hidden his rage beneath silence. But that night, silence betrayed him. A sound escaped—low, sharp, alive with fury.
It wasn't a scream. It wasn't a cry.
It was a growl.
His parents froze, startled by the sound, but only for a moment. Then his father struck him again, harder, knocking him to the floor. Blood filled his mouth, the copper taste sharp against his tongue.
And in the dim light, the ring on his finger pulsed.
Ace's hand curled around it instinctively. For the first time, the glow was not faint. It throbbed with his heartbeat, veins of color racing like fire across its black surface. The shadows of the room bent toward him, trembling as if waiting.
His parents didn't notice. They only saw a beaten boy, not the storm rising within him.
But Ace noticed.
The power answered his rage.
That night, lying broken on the cold floor, bloodied but unbowed, Ace swore an oath.
He would never need them.
He would never need anyone.
Love was weakness. Trust was a lie.
He would carve strength from knowledge and sharpen it into a weapon. He would never again let anyone decide his worth.
As lightning split the sky outside, Ace closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he thought he heard a voice—deep, ancient, waiting.
A whisper from the ring.
Not yet words.
Not yet a presence.
But enough to remind him that he was not as powerless as they believed.
And with that thought, Ace Dragon was reborn—not in death this time, but in defiance.