The wind howled gently, carrying with it a strange melody, almost like a whisper of the past. Above them, the black clouds thickened, layering upon each other until they cast their shadow across the land, stealing the sunlight away. The sea responded, restless and alive, its waves pushing against the shore, its sound echoing like the voice of an ancient hymn.
For Aron, it felt the same as his kingdom once did—untamed, full of beauty, yet heavy with sorrow. He crouched on the damp sand, his fingers digging into it, letting the grains slip through his hand. The gentle waves rushed forward, washing over his palm, clearing it, as though the sea itself wanted to cleanse him.
Carlos stood nearby, smiling faintly.
"See, Aron? I told you it was so good. And you noticed."
Aron looked up, his eyes shimmering. He stood, tears spilling down, unable to stop them. He turned toward Carlos and hugged him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder.
"Thank you, brother. Thank you."
Carlos laughed softly, patting him on the back.
"Haha, Aron, don't cry, man."
But Aron stepped back, wiping his face, and walked toward the waves. He lowered himself close to the water, sitting where the tide could reach him. His clothes were quickly soaked, clinging to him, but he didn't care. Soon, Carlos joined him, sitting across, while the waves splashed between them.
Carlos broke the silence first.
"What are you thinking, Aron?"
Aron didn't answer immediately. He stared at the restless water, dipping his hand inside, feeling its coolness. Finally, he spoke in a low voice.
"I just think… what's even good for me? I came here for revenge, to prepare myself for it. But yet here I am… feeling completely opposite." His hand sank deeper until his fingers touched the seabed. "I don't know what I'm becoming anymore."
Above them, the clouds rumbled, and a streak of red thunder cracked across the sky, painting it with an ominous glow.
Carlos looked at him seriously.
"Hey, Aron. It's okay, man. Everyone feels like this when they go through something big. I was just four when I heard my parents planning to kill me… but they didn't. I never thought much about it since, but the memory never left me."
Thunder roared louder, and the clouds crept closer together. Raindrops began to fall, one by one, casting beautiful patterns across the sand. The waves grew wilder, as if the sea itself shared their emotions.
Carlos's voice trembled slightly.
"I think we should head back, Aron. The weather… it seems too dangerous."
Aron watched the horizon quietly. For a moment, it felt like the storm mirrored his own heart. But then he stood, nodding.
"Let's go."
Carlos widened his eyes at how calm he sounded, then quickly rose.
"Yes… let's head back."
They packed their things quickly and began to walk down the path leading back toward the road. The rain grew heavier, pouring in sheets, thunder raging above them. The sky darkened until it felt like night had swallowed the world. As they walked, Carlos complained, his voice half-drowned by the storm.
"Bro, man, this rain—I hate it. The plan got ruined."
Aron chuckled, his wet hair plastered across his forehead.
"It's okay, man. You said you would take me there, and I liked it. As for the weather… it's natural, nothing we can do."
Carlos sighed, but then laughed.
"Well… you're right."
Their clothes grew heavy with water, sticking to their skin, but eventually they reached a small restaurant with warm light glowing inside. They rushed in, dripping wet, and found themselves in a cozy space. Waiters moved about, and several groups of people were seated. The warmth inside contrasted sharply with the storm outside.
But there was something else too. A certain tension hung in the air, coming from a group of large men huddled together in one corner.
Aron and Carlos sat down, and Carlos gestured to the waiter.
"Two meat soups with eggs."
Soon, steaming bowls arrived, the aroma rich and inviting. They devoured the food eagerly, gobbling every bite.
Carlos wiped his mouth with satisfaction.
"So delicious, man."
Aron nodded, smiling.
"Yeah, man. So delicious."
But suddenly, a glass of water struck Carlos on the head, splashing across his face.
"Ow! Who was that?!" he shouted, rubbing his head.
Aron instantly turned, his sharp eyes locking onto the group of big men.
Across the room, the waiter argued nervously.
"Give me my money back!"
One of the men sneered, towering over him.
"Huh? What will you do? Fight me?"
Before the waiter could respond, the man's fist slammed into his chest, knocking the air out of him. The waiter collapsed, clutching his stomach.
Carlos grabbed Aron's arm quickly.
"Aron, stop it—it was just a—" But then he froze. He saw the rage burning in Aron's eyes.
The man raised his hand, ready to slap the waiter again.
"What will you do, huh? Tell me—"
But before he could finish, a knife flashed through the air. It struck his hand, slicing across it. He howled in pain, stumbling backward, knocking into a chair and crashing to the floor unconscious.
The other two men sprang to their feet. One charged at Aron with a punch, while the other ran to help their fallen boss.
Aron whispered to himself.
"Come on, Aron. Show the training. Show them what you're made of."
In an instant, his body moved like lightning. The man's punch never landed—he was knocked flat on the floor, unconscious before he realized what had happened.
Aron felt it then—that strength he had built, not only from training but from working the fields, enduring hardship, and pushing himself. His blood roared with energy. He glared at the last man with a death stare.
The man hesitated, but Aron's leg already moved. A kick so fast it blurred slammed into his face, sending him sprawling, unconscious.
The restaurant fell silent. Tables were overturned, food scattered, people whispering in shock. Aron walked calmly to the counter, pulled money from his pocket, and handed it to the trembling waiter.
"Here. For the trouble."
Then, instead of leaving the mess behind, Aron and Carlos helped the waiter fix the place, tying up the unconscious thugs.
The waiter bowed deeply, his voice shaking.
"Thank you… I'm so sorry for what you went through."
Aron smiled faintly.
"It's okay."
The storm still raged outside, but they stepped back into it anyway, leaving the restaurant. Strangely, their meal had been free, their bond stronger than before.
Carlos couldn't stop talking, his voice full of awe.
"Man… that felt so unreal. You really are Norm's blood. Where did you learn that?"
Aron answered simply.
"I learned it by watching my dad. And my aim… I've always been good at that. But the work I've done—it made me stronger, more durable. I can feel it… that energy pumping through my body."
Carlos's eyes lit up.
"Can you teach me? Please?"
Aron laughed, smiling at him.
"Haha. I'll teach you."
They continued chatting and laughing together until they reached home. Aron said goodbye to Carlos, then headed toward Mr. Wood's place. The old man was seated outside, waiting. Aron slipped inside, changed his clothes, and listened to the endless rain beating on the roof.
The storm showed no signs of stopping.
Elsewhere…
Deep inside a dark cave, a man smiled wickedly. His aura filled the cavern, chilling and terrible.
A figure rushed in, his hat dripping with water, his voice hurried.
"Master Zeiris. As you command… Lockhead has been killed."
The cave shook with a terrible laugh. Shadows twisted, and the air itself seemed to shiver at the sound. Something terrifying was awakening.