Cael ran.
Sweat blurred his vision, every ragged breath scraping his throat. He tried to outrun the monster. Outthink it. Outmaneuver it.
But the pepper spray had only enraged the creature. Now it was faster—furious. Its eyes glowed with a rabid hunger, locked on him like a predator counting down to the kill.
If it caught him, it wouldn't hesitate. It would tear him limb from limb.
Cael gulped, teeth clenched. His legs were giving out. He could feel the burn in his thighs, the collapse looming. His body screamed for rest.
Is this it? Is this really the end?
He had always told himself that being powerless was better. That no qi meant no expectations, no burdens. But now—
Staring down the jaws of death—
Being powerless meant he was prey.
Tears blurred his sight. He didn't even notice when they started falling.
Why don't I have qi?
Is this why I have no parents?
Did they die protecting someone not even worth saving? Me?
Then—
BAM.
The ground tore the breath from his lungs as he slammed into it, face-first.
Pain shot through his body like lightning.
A weight—heavy, hot, and monstrous—pinned him down. The creature's claw dug into his back, sharp and unrelenting, crushing him into the pavement.
"ARGHHHH!"
He shrieked—raw, human, helpless.
He could feel its claws sink deeper, through skin, through muscle. Blood soaked into his shirt. The heat of it shocked him more than the cold.
Is this how I die?
Never having friends. Never knowing laughter. Never even having the chance to live.
"ACKK!"
Another cry, louder—blood dripping from his side now.
Damn the Night Watchers.
Where were they? The ones trained and paid to protect them. The elite, the legends. Where the hell were they when someone like him was dying on the street?
Damn them.
Damn the government that pays them to sit on their thrones while the powerless die in alleys.
His hands scraped weakly at the concrete, trying to crawl away—but the creature leaned closer, breath hot and foul against his ear.
This was it.
He was going to die alone.
And then—
Clink.
The sharp sound of steel chain links slicing through the air.
With a metallic whip, a chain latched onto the monster's torso. In one swift, violent pull, the creature was ripped off Cael's back and hurled across the alley like a ragdoll. Its body slammed into the wall with bone-shattering force, cracking concrete.
Cael choked on his own breath, coughing up blood. He blinked, disoriented, pain blooming through every nerve. Through the blur, he lifted his head—barely—trying to see what just happened.
That's when he saw him.
A silhouette in the smoke.
Tall. Still. Unshaken.
The haze curled around him like a curtain, hiding his features. But as the dust settled, the figure stepped forward—and Cael finally saw the man clearly.
He had dark brown hair, tied in a classic ponytail. He wore the unmistakable black military garb of the Night Watchers—custom-fit, sleeved with reinforced armor, almost clinging to his honed form like it was built onto him.
A deep navy scarf was wrapped tightly around the lower half of his face, hiding everything but his eyes.
Cold. Focused. Burning with purpose.
Cael exhaled. A long, ragged breath of relief.
Help. Finally.
His body sagged slightly, and he looked down at the pool of blood beneath him. A bitter, trembling laugh escaped his lips.
"So much for surviving alone," he muttered, smiling weakly. There was nothing funny about it, yet he laughed anyway—bitter, broken.
The monster staggered to its feet.
The impact would have crushed any human—but this was no human. This was a monster. For creatures like this, pain was fleeting. Bones mended. Flesh reformed. It would take more than brute force to kill it.
But the man with the scarf wasn't interested in brute force.
Before the creature could even growl, he moved.
Clink—
The steel chain hit the ground like thunder, and then, in a blur, he whipped it forward. The links spiraled, fast and precise, coiling around the monster's torso. With a single, fluid twist, he tightened the chain, yanked—
—and the monster was ripped off its feet, flying helplessly toward him.
The man sprinted forward, leapt, and in midair, drew his blade.
A traditional kampilan, long and curved, glinting with deadly elegance.
The two collided midair—and in a flash, it was over.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Three strikes. Each clean. Each surgical.
The monster's body shattered apart in midair—sliced into grotesque fragments that rained down like bloody confetti. Bits of muscle, bone, and sinew splattered the alley.
Cael lay on the ground, eyes barely open. His breath ragged, his body broken—but his gaze stayed locked on the man in black.
He watched, dazed, as pieces of the monster fell like meat from the sky. He blinked, barely processing what he'd just seen.
A god in the form of a man.
And for the first time tonight... the darkness felt a little less terrifying.
The man didn't glow with power. No flames. No lightning. No monstrous aura.
Just steel. Precision. Control.
He fought without magic—but still, he won.
Cael's blood-soaked hand trembled. Could he be like that? A powerless human... but still powerful.
That thought clung to him, fragile and burning, as his eyes fluttered.
His vision blurred. The world dimmed.
And just before the dark claimed him, he saw the man rushing toward him—swift, sure, silent.
Then, everything went black.
.
.
.
"I've got his records," said a man with a childlike face and a wiry frame, his voice carrying the crisp detachment of the Night Watchers' Archives Division.
"Mhm. What do you see? Who is he?" came the calm voice of a woman—tall, statuesque, and almost unnaturally serene. Her raven-black hair was pinned neatly, her sleek Victorian blouse spotless despite the tension in the room. Gloved fingers paused over Cael's chest as her healing grimoire floated before her, pages faintly glowing.
Ezren hesitated, his brows furrowed. "It's... strange. I'm having a hard time accessing the boy's past. Like something's been scrubbed—or sealed."
That made her stop. Rhosyn turned sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Sealed? How?"
"I don't know. The system recognizes his name, but every deeper detail... it's as if it's been redacted at a divine level."
Before she could press further, the door opened with a hiss of shifting air.
Seren walked in, eyes scanning the ward until they landed on the unconscious boy. "How's that kid?" he asked, concern lining his voice.
Rhosyn cocked an eyebrow. "Do you know him?"
Seren paused, then eased into the nearby chair, leaning back. "No. I saw him at the academy ceremony earlier today. He stood out."
Seren's gaze shifted to Ezren. "So... what have you found about this child?"
Ezren didn't answer right away. Instead, he raised his left arm, where a string of translucent orbs hovered—each a fragment of data from the Archives. They flickered like dying stars.
"Cael," he finally said. "That's all I could retrieve. No surname. No origin. Nothing." His voice dropped. "It's like he isn't supposed to exist."
The room fell into heavy silence. Seren froze, processing the weight of those words.
Then Rhosyn's voice cut through. "Do either of you see that? The little... black aura—right at his back?"
Both men turned to her, then to the boy lying unconscious on the cot.
A faint wisp of smoke-like shadow curled behind his shoulder blades—barely visible unless you looked with intent.
It was the same thing Seren had noticed earlier during the ceremony.
What is that?
That's the question no could answer. But this?
This was something else.