This was a terrible idea.
Not might be.
Not let's see how it goes.
A certified, documented, engraved-in-stone bad idea.
I had Oma slung over my shoulder like an overgrown sack of bad decisions, his weight familiar in the way only unconscious people ever are—awkward, dead-heavy, and deeply inconvenient.
His head lolled slightly with each step, dark hair brushing against my back, breath shallow but steady. Alive. Unfortunately.
Zefar's orders echoed in my head like a curse.
From today onwards, you will be his mentor.
Right.
Because that made sense.
I adjusted my grip and started the long walk back to Victor's Castle, boots striking stone in a slow, steady rhythm. Babel was quieter now. Evening was settling in, the kind of calm that came after something violent had happened and the city didn't quite know it yet.
"Alright," I muttered, mostly to myself, partly to the unconscious kid on my shoulder. "First lesson, since we're apparently doing this."
I glanced sideways at his limp arm swinging with each step.
"Since I am your mentor now, we have to get a few things straight."
Of course I got no response.
"Let's start with the obvious. I'm a long-range fighter." I shifted him again when his weight slid. "Sound-Death. Ever heard of it? Probably not. First gun in the world. Sniper. Distance. Clean lines. One pull, one corpse."
I snorted.
"You?" I tilted my head back slightly, looking at the daggers strapped to his waist. "You like getting close. Too close. Daggers. Blood. Breathing distance. Intimate murder."
I shook my head as we passed under an archway.
"What exactly am I supposed to teach you? How not to stab people? Because I'm terrible at that."
Still nothing.
"Second problem," I continued, warming up now. "We're probably going to hate each other."
That one sat heavier.
"How does a Hunter get along with the son of a king who ruled a jungle full of monsters?" I scoffed softly. "Especially when that king is very, very dead."
I didn't say the name.
Didn't need to.
Apex.
I kept walking.
"This mentor-trainee thing?" I went on. "Statistically speaking, it ends one of three ways. One: I shoot you during training. Accident. Totally tragic."
I adjusted my grip again.
"Two: if I want to get away with it, I take you to an active war zone and let the battlefield do the paperwork."
The castle towers were coming into view now.
"Or three," I added dryly, "you stab me in the back for daring to give you orders in the first place."
I glanced down at him.
"My money's on three."
Victor's Castle rose ahead of us, all white stone and quiet authority. Home. Safe. A place where people pretended children weren't trained to kill gods.
I exhaled.
"Welcome to your mentorship, kid."
The infirmary lights were already on when I arrived.
Perfect.
I had hoped—prayed—to drop Oma off quietly. No witnesses. No questions. No small angry healers with terrifying hands and zero tolerance for Slayer nonsense.
I gently lowered Oma onto one of the beds, careful despite myself. He didn't stir. Just breathed.
Good.
I turned immediately, already planning my escape.
Then—
"HUNTER!"
I froze.
Slowly, painfully, I turned my head.
Naya stood there.
Hands on hips. Eyes blazing. Healer's coat still on. Fury incarnate in the body of a ten-year-old girl who could probably dissect me while explaining why it was medically necessary.
She looked at Oma.
Then at me.
Then back at Oma.
"What happened to him…"
I stared at the ceiling.
Walked toward the exit like I hadn't heard a thing.
Almost made it.
Then Ruse stepped directly into my path.
Of course he did.
Ruse took one look at the scene—me, Oma unconscious on the bed, Naya vibrating with rage—and smiled.
"Oh," he said pleasantly. "I have improved my reading of social cues. Let me demonstrate."
I closed my eyes.
"That's why I am your only friend," I muttered.
Ruse pointed at Oma. "The new kid got into a fight with you."
Then he pointed at me. "You showed him who's boss."
Then he gestured vaguely at the infirmary. "You tried to sneak his unconscious body in here and accidentally met Naya."
He nodded, satisfied.
"Hunter, you really messed up. I told you Naya is always in the infirmary unless it's Saturdays or family dinners. Also, you could have buried the kid. Who would have cared?"
My eyes went wide.
I slowly turned.
Naya was no longer angry.
She was dangerous.
"Thanks," I snapped at Ruse. "For a twenty-year-old genius, you still haven't learned how to read a room."
I turned fully to Naya, hands raised. "And no, I am not a child beater. I didn't hurt him."
Ruse opened his mouth.
"He went into the city alone," I continued quickly, "got into a big fight, got knocked out. Lucky for him, I was passing by and brought him back here for our beloved Naya to help him."
Ruse smiled.
"Yeah," he said. "You're lying."
I seriously considered strangling him.
Then Naya spoke.
"He went after Father, didn't he?"
Silence.
She didn't look at me when she said it. Just sat down beside Oma, took his hand, checked his pulse like she'd done it a thousand times before.
"I know he's a True Slayer," she continued calmly. "He disappeared this morning. No one saw him leave. I thought he left Babel."
She swallowed.
"But he just wanted Papa dead. Like the rest of his enemies."
I stared at her.
She sounded… tired.
Not angry.
Not shocked.
Just tired.
"Naya," I said quietly, "you can't get attached to this kid. He's not like us. He never will be."
She looked up at me then.
"Whose fault is that?"
The question hit harder than any blade.
"Oma wouldn't want Dad dead unless you guys hurt him."
She held my gaze.
"Tell me, Hunter," she said softly. "What did you do to turn a ten-year-old into a killer?"
I froze.
Because I knew the answer.
Because we all did.
We waged war on his kingdom.
Killed his uncle.
Killed his aunt.
And I—
I killed Apex.
I never meant to. The bee stings. The allergy. The confusion. The panic. My finger pulling the trigger before my brain caught up.
Still.
The result was the same.
I looked away.
"Naya," I said, my voice flat, "you know there's only one rule in this castle."
She didn't blink.
"Never ask a Slayer what happened in a war."
I turned and walked out.
Behind me, Ruse stood scratching his head, clearly lost.
Naya stayed.
Sitting by Oma's bed.
Holding his hand like only her touch could wake him.