Kael woke up in a shabby room, his skull pounding like a second heartbeat. He looked around the dim space. Though the lighting was poor, the room was neat. There was a coat and a white mask resting on top of a dressing table in the corner.
The door creaked open, and a girl with auburn hair stepped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. Without looking at him, she walked over, set the tray on the nightstand, and said flatly, "Eat up. Then come down and meet Grandpa."
Kael blinked. "Who are you?" he asked, voice raw. "Where am I? Who's Grandpa? What do you people want with me? Where is my sister?"
He threw off the blanket and tried to get out of bed, stumbling toward the door. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him. He instinctively tried to shrug it off, spinning to knock it away—but it didn't budge.
He turned, eyebrows raised. "I think I mistook you for a little girl," he said, glaring. "You'd better run home if you know what's good fo—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Her fist connected with his face, sending him flying across the room.
Kael slammed into the wall, groaning. He pulled himself up slowly, fury rising in his chest. His eyes locked on her. But the girl stood there like a statue—emotionless. Cold. He swore he saw disgust in her gaze.
She stepped forward and looked him dead in the eye.
"Weak."
The word hit harder than her punch. Kael froze. His thoughts blurred into a storm—the image of his sister stabbing her own heart, the helplessness in his bones, the scream caught in his throat.
His chin dipped in shame.
Then, like a spark catching dry grass, something inside him lit. A vow.
"Never again".
He roared and lunged forward, throwing a punch at her jaw.
She tilted her head. His fist missed by inches. Her shin slammed into his side.
Kael hit the ground hard, coughing from the pain. He scrambled up, tried again. A jab. A feint. A hook.
She dodged each with ease, dancing just out of reach. Then her foot swept low, knocking his legs from under him. He collapsed.
Again, he rose.
He charged, fists flailing in a mix of instinct and rage. One strike grazed her cheek.
For a moment, he smirked.
Then her knee hit his gut, folding him in two.
He staggered back, barely upright. She didn't stop.
Kael blocked two strikes, but the third broke through—an elbow to his ribs, a palm to his chest, a spinning heel kick that sent him crashing into the far wall.
Panting, battered, he clenched his fists. Come on. Give me something. He reached for the fire inside him—the stigmata, the power from that night.
Nothing.
He strained. Searched. Still nothing.
Her eyes flicked. She saw him reaching.
And she came at him like a storm.
Punches. Kicks. Knee strikes. Kael tried to defend, arms raised in vain. Each blow landed like thunder, breaking him down inch by inch.
Then she stopped.
Disgust etched deep on her face, she stepped back, spat on the floor, and said in a flat, icy voice, "Eat your food. Meet me downstairs. I'll take you to Grandpa."
Kael, bruised and shaking, looked up with defiance. "I don't want your fucking food. Let me go. What do you people want from me?"
For the first time, her face shifted—annoyance flashing through.
She marched forward, grabbed his collar, and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
"You couldn't even protect your sister," she hissed. "And now you want to act high and mighty?"
Her eyes were daggers. "Being weak is a choice. You're weak because you didn't value anything enough to protect it."
Kael's voice cracked. Tears brimmed in his eyes. "You're wrong. I—I did everything I could to protect her. I did—"
She cut him off, voice low and venomous.
"I would die before anyone laid a hand on something precious to me. And here you are—still breathing. Don't fool yourself into thinking you survived. You were spared. Because your sister made the hard choice. She died because you were weak. And when the weak pretend to be strong, others pay the price for their lies. And i just showed you the truth—before you get someone else killed."
She let him go, and he slumped to the floor. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He just stared at the tray of food, chest heaving, eyes burning. Her words rang in his skull like a curse. Her stare, hard and unwavering, wasn't just anger—it was grief. A kind of grief that made his own feel small.
Kael lowered his gaze.
"…Fine," he muttered. "Leave me. I'll eat. I'll come find you."
The girl stared at him a moment longer.
She turned and left, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Alone, Kael stared at the soup. The broth shimmered—not from heat, but from the faint black veins creeping up his reflection's neck.