Morning never truly came.
The sky above the fortress remained bruised purple, clouds locked in unnatural stillness—as if time itself was hesitant to move forward.
Arin sat beside Rudra's body.
The shadow chains had dissolved hours ago, leaving behind deep, blackened marks across the old master's chest. Each breath Rudra took was shallow, uneven.
Arin clenched his fists.
Your sister was the anchor.
Those words echoed again and again, drilling into his skull.
"So… what does that mean?" Arin asked quietly.
Rudra opened his eyes with effort.
"It means," he said, voice hoarse, "that your bond to demon blood was stabilized through her life force."
Arin's breath caught.
"She's… keeping me human?" he whispered.
Rudra nodded slowly.
"The ritual links three things," he continued. "The human. The demon. And the anchor."
Arin's nails dug into his palms.
"If the anchor is taken—"
"The demon side will grow unchecked," Rudra finished. "Your chakra will corrupt. Your mind will fracture."
Silence followed.
Then Arin stood.
His chakra flared—not wild, not enraged—but focused. Sharpened.
"Then we get her back," he said.
Rudra studied him carefully.
"That's not enough," the old man said. "The Collector is not a hunter. He's a judge. If he's involved, then the Demon King himself is watching."
Arin didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll make them watch me kill their chains."
Rudra coughed—a broken laugh.
"Spoken like someone already halfway lost."
Arin turned away.
Across the courtyard, hunters repaired shattered walls. Some avoided looking at him. Others stared openly—fear, awe, and suspicion mixing in their eyes.
Whispers followed him.
Demon-blooded.
The Link.
Weapon.
Arin ignored them.
Instead, he focused inward.
He felt it now.
The demon blood wasn't just power—it was pulling him. Tugging gently, constantly, like an invisible leash stretching toward something far away.
Toward his sister.
Toward the Collector.
Toward the Demon Realm.
Suddenly—
Pain.
Arin dropped to one knee as the markings on his body flared violently.
His vision blurred.
The world split.
For a brief second, he wasn't in the fortress.
He stood in a vast black hall lined with towering pillars carved from bone. Chains hung from the ceiling like veins.
At the center—
A throne.
And upon it sat a massive silhouette crowned with horns of burning crimson.
Two glowing eyes opened.
"So," a voice echoed inside Arin's skull, deep enough to shake his soul.
"The Link awakens."
Arin tried to move.
Couldn't.
"You carry my blood," the voice continued. "And soon… you will carry my will."
The throne leaned forward.
"Bring me the anchor," the voice commanded. "Or become the vessel."
Arin screamed—
And the vision shattered.
He gasped, collapsing onto the stone floor.
Rudra was suddenly beside him, gripping his shoulders.
"You saw him," Rudra said grimly. "Didn't you?"
Arin nodded, breath shaking.
"The Demon King," he whispered.
Rudra closed his eyes.
"Then the war has truly begun."
Outside the fortress, far beyond human lands, a ritual circle ignited in crimson light.
A small figure stood at its center.
A girl.
Chains wrapped gently—but firmly—around her wrists.
She looked up, eyes glowing faintly with the same markings as Arin's.
And smiled.
"Brother…" she whispered.
"I can feel you getting closer."
The circle activated.
The chains tightened.
And somewhere deep inside Arin—
Something answered.
To be continued…