The assassins lunged again, but they weren't ready.
Not for this.
One strike.
That's all it took.
Dreck's palm strike hit like a wrecking ball, sending his target into the ground with a thundering crack. The concrete caved beneath the body.
Lucas didn't even blink—just slipped past his opponent's wild swing and tapped him once in the chest with two fingers. The masked man froze, eyes wide, before collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.
Silence returned.
Dreck exhaled. "Hmph.
Lucas dusted invisible dirt from his sleeve. "They always fold fast when someone hits back harder."
Without another word, Dreck strode to Liam's side. The boy lay unconscious, bruised and bloodied. His breathing was shallow but steady. Dreck knelt beside him and lifted him gently.
Lucas moved to Kaela, doing the same. She stirred slightly in his arms, eyes fluttering for a second before slipping back into unconsciousness.
"Don't die on me, kid," he muttered.
Dreck looked over. "We taking them home?"
Lucas shook his head. "No. Too risky now. We're exposed. Take them to Saint Zephra's Hospital. It's off the grid."
Dreck nodded once and took a step. Aether shimmered faintly under his feet.
Then they vanished—leaving only dust, broken bodies, and a cracked alley behind.
At The Saint Zephra's Hospital
The room was quiet. White walls. Dim light. The soft hum of machines.
Liam's eyelids fluttered. Then again. His chest rose slowly as he stirred beneath crisp sheets. Pain greeted him like an old friend—his ribs ached, his arms burned, and his head throbbed.
But he was alive.
"…Kaela," he rasped.
His vision was still blurry, but he turned his head to the side—and saw her.
Kaela was in the next bed, unconscious but breathing, a soft oxygen mask over her face. Her usually wild hair was matted with sweat, and her arms were bandaged.
He relaxed, barely.
The door creaked open. Dreck stepped inside, followed by Lucas.
"Look who's awake," Dreck said, his voice low but relieved.
Liam blinked at him. "Uncle…?"
"You nearly died," Lucas added bluntly, crossing his arms. "Again. Impressive consistency."
Liam coughed weakly, trying to sit up. Dreck was at his side in an instant, pressing him down gently.
"Rest," Dreck said. "You pushed past your limits. You both did."
Liam's throat tightened. "We lost."
"No," Dreck replied firmly. "You survived."
Lucas nodded. "And from what I saw, you held out against Stage Two Awakening assassins. Most grown warriors would've been torn apart."
"But I wasn't strong enough," Liam said, eyes dropping. "I thought I was ready. I thought I could handle it."
Silence lingered.
Then Dreck leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"That doubt you feel? Keep it. Let it burn. But don't let it bury you. You weren't ready."
Liam flinched.
"Not yet," Dreck added. "But that's why we train. That's why we bleed. You think power is just handed out like candy? You earn it."
Lucas chuckled dryly. "You did alright, kid. Not perfect. But you showed grit. That counts."
A long pause passed.
Then Kaela stirred beside them. "If anyone says 'I told you so'... I'll stab you with my IV."
Lucas smirked. "She's awake."
Kaela opened one eye and groaned. "Remind me never to fight two assa
ssins at once again."
Liam smiled faintly. "Deal."
"And then Lucas and dreck left the room;
The door clicked shut softly behind Dreck and Lucas.
Silence settled.
The low beep of the heart monitor pulsed in rhythm with Liam's heartbeat.
He turned his head slowly to face Kaela again. She had both eyes open now, looking at the ceiling, her expression unreadable beneath the dim light and oxygen mask.
"…Kaela," he whispered.
She looked at him.
Liam's throat tightened. He gripped the edge of his blanket, knuckles whitening.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. "I thought I could protect you."
Kaela's brow creased slightly, but she didn't interrupt.
"I really thought I was strong," Liam continued. "I trained every single day. I gave everything to it. I kept telling myself I had to get stronger. That I could fight back. That I could avenge my parents if I just trained hard enough…"
His voice trembled.
"But when it mattered—I froze. I hesitated. I couldn't even keep you safe. You got hurt because of me."
Tears welled in his eyes. He turned his face slightly, ashamed.
"I'm weak. Just a scared kid pretending to be something he's not."
Kaela was quiet for a long time.
Then she slowly turned her head toward him.
"No," she whispered. "We were both wrong."
Liam blinked, surprised.
Kaela stared up at the ceiling again. "I thought I was strong too. I was confident. Cocky, even. I thought I could handle anything. That I didn't need help. That if I just kept moving forward, I wouldn't fall."
Her hand twitched beside her. "But I did."
Her voice quivered.
"When I saw you get knocked down… something broke in me. I wasn't angry at the assassins—I was angry at myself. For believing we were invincible. For thinking we could do this on our own."
She turned her eyes back to Liam, and this time, there were tears in them too.
"We're not weak, Liam. We're just… not there yet."
Liam's lip quivered. His shoulders shook slightly.
"How can I avenge them?" he whispered. "How can I face the people who took my parents from me if I can't even win one fight?"
Kaela looked at him with a softness he hadn't seen before.
"You won't do it alone."
She reached out slowly, wincing, and placed her hand over his.
"I'm always here for you. You hear me?"
Liam looked at her, eyes wide and shining.
"We'll avenge your parents together," Kaela said, her voice firm despite the tremble. "I don't care how long it takes. Or how hard it gets. I'm not going anywhere."
Liam's breath hitched. A tear slid down his cheek, then another.
Kaela smiled faintly. "So don't worry. After this, we train. We keep going. We get better. We push past every limit they thought we had."
Liam choked on a sob.
"We become stronger—not just for revenge, but for each other. For everyone they tried to break."
Kaela squeezed his hand gently.
"They took everything from you. But they don't get to take your future. They don't get to win."
Liam wept.
But it wasn't hopelessness anymore.
It was release.
Years of grief. Of anger. Of loneliness. Finally cracked open.
And in its place—a spark.
Not of power.
But of purpose.