The six boys sat in a quiet hallway, each of them occupying a metal chair lined neatly against the wall.
It was the next day.
The clock on the far end read 8:40 PM.
Twenty minutes.
That was all that remained before the meeting began.
Nerves settled over the group like a heavy fog—especially for the four Wallborns. One wrong word. One poorly phrased sentence. And it wouldn't be them who paid the price.
It would be their families.
So they watched their tongues. Every breath felt measured.
"Okay… okay," Harkel muttered, exhaling slowly. "Stay calm. Stay calm."
Luka glanced over at him. "Why are you nervous?" he asked. "These are your family members. If anything, they should be the nervous ones."
Harkel shot him a sharp look.
"Let me remind you," he snapped, "the same people you're calling my family have tried to get me killed. So forgive me if I'm a little on edge."
Luka paused.
"…Oh. Right."
That was the entire reason for this meeting in the first place.
The late hour didn't help either. There was no convenient way to travel without Luka risking exposure to sunlight. His Sun Resistance sat at 2.5—not much, but better than nothing. Still, the tension lingered in his shoulders.
Joey leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Hey, since we're already waiting," he said, "I never really asked—why is it called the Clinton Games?"
Harkel looked over at him, surprised.
That question caught everyone's attention.
"The name comes from my great-great grandfather," Harkel explained. "Clinton Voss. He founded the clan—and more importantly, he's the one who put us on the path to becoming one of the most influential powers in the known world."
Jordan nodded thoughtfully.
"Then who's the current clan head?"
Harkel blinked. "I could've sworn I already told you guys."
Five heads shook at once.
He stared at them for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "…You're lying. You just forgot."
They didn't argue.
"The current head of the Voss Clan is—"
"Our father, Shen Voss."
The voice came from behind them.
All six boys stood instantly.
A boy with bright blue hair—almost identical to Harkel's—stood at the far end of the hallway. Five others lingered behind him, their postures stiff and guarded.
Sinclair Voss.
"Thanks for answering my question," Jordan said cautiously. "But… who are you?"
Sinclair scoffed. "What, you're telling me you've been together for a week and Harkel never mentioned me? How rude."
"I mean," Parker whispered under his breath, "you didn't bring him up either—"
Sinclair's eyes flicked toward him.
Parker immediately shut up.
"My name is Sinclair Voss," Sinclair said smoothly. "Shen Voss is my father. Harkel and Axel Voss are my younger and older brothers, respectively."
The group froze.
Harkel had never mentioned either of them.
Then again… thinking back, Harkel rarely talked about his family at all—unless it had something to do with the Clinton Games.
"Oh—uh, nice to meet you," Riven said, extending his hand.
Sinclair smacked it away.
"Do you honestly think I'm shaking hands with you?" he said coldly. "With that evolved ability? Who knows what you'd try to pull with lightning."
Without another word, Sinclair walked past them, his companions following close behind.
As they passed, one of the boys—Matthew—tried to look away.
But something about Joey made his stomach twist.
Not attraction.
Disgust.
The same reaction flickered across the others' faces.
"That guy gives me the heebie-jeebies," Joey muttered.
Once the group disappeared into the room, the boys sat back down.
"How many teams are we still waiting on?" Leo asked, glancing at the door.
"One," Harkel replied. "Just one more."
Luka tilted his head.
"And that last team wouldn't happen to be led by your oldest brother… Axel?"
Harkel blinked. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"
"You didn't react the same way," Luka said. "Not like you did with Sinclair."
"…What reaction?"
"You went quiet," Luka replied. "No remarks. No smirk. Nothing. It looked like you owed him something—and didn't want to be reminded of it."
Luka knew that look well. His mother wore it whenever she ran into someone she owed money to.
Harkel stopped drinking.
His jaw tightened.
"I don't owe them shit," he muttered, downing the rest of the bottle before tossing it into the trash beside him.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
"All right," Harkel said, standing. "That should be the last group."
Luka watched him closely.
So now you want to be talkative, Luka thought.
A sudden flash of light washed over their vision.
When it faded, the six boys found themselves standing somewhere none of them—except Harkel and Leo—had expected.
They were inside a massive chamber.
At the very front stood four elevated seats, each occupied by an older man whose presence alone carried weight. The boys stood within a long central aisle, flanked by two opposing sections filled with students.
The uniforms weren't divided by year or level.
They were divided by academy.
One side bore the black-and-silver colors of Black Gate Academy.
The other carried the familiar insignia of Sigil Gate Academy.
It was obvious why they were separated—to prevent conflict before it even had a chance to spark.
Harkel began walking down the aisle without hesitation.
The others exchanged confused glances but followed quickly. No one wanted to waste these people's time. Not here. Not now.
At the end of the aisle, a stern-looking woman gestured sharply toward the right. Six chairs waited in front of a long desk.
They sat.
Jordan felt a strange sense of déjà vu settle in his chest.
His mother used to watch old shows like this—courtrooms, custody battles, trials where someone's fate was decided by strangers in high seats. This place felt disturbingly similar.
A court.
No one spoke.
Then the man seated in the center stood.
His blue hair flowed freely, lifting as though caught in an unseen tide. The air itself seemed to shift.
"All rise for the leader of the clan," the woman announced.
Everyone stood instantly.
Even the elders beside him—most of whom looked old enough that death could reach them at any moment—rose and bowed.
Only when the man sat did the rest follow.
"Today," Shen Voss began calmly, "Harkel Voss and his group have requested a meeting of urgency. We are here to determine whether this matter is truly worthy of our time."
His gaze locked onto Harkel.
"Proceed."
Harkel stood.
He was stiff—anyone could tell from a mile away that he was nervous.
He swallowed hard, forcing confidence into himself.
You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.
He cleared his throat.
"Hello. My name is Harkel Voss. My team and I requested this meeting because we discovered something—or rather, stopped something from happening."
"Stop circling the issue," one of the elders snapped. "Say it plainly."
"Yes," Harkel replied. "My group was attacked by an assassin."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
"Silence," Shen said softly.
Despite his calm tone, every voice died instantly.
"Now explain," Shen continued, "what this has to do with the Clinton Games."
"The Clinton Games are highly classified," Harkel said. "The location of the beast hunt isn't revealed until the final moment. That means someone leaked information early—someone who hired an assassin to kill us before the hunt."
"And who's to say the assassin wasn't acting alone?" an elder countered. "Some do it for chaos."
Harkel tapped his wristwatch.
A hologram flickered into existence.
"Enhancer," Shen ordered.
A device was placed over the watch, expanding the hologram into a large, three-dimensional projection visible to the entire chamber.
Harkel took another breath.
Gasps erupted again.
"This," Harkel said, "is a vow collar. Assassin Guild operatives only wear these when a contract is absolute. Failure means detonation."
He let the words sink in.
"That means this wasn't random. Someone scheduled our deaths—before the planet was announced. There was no other way for an assassin to reach us."
Silence followed.
The elders exchanged looks, some communicating silently through private channels.
Shen leaned forward.
"Alright," he said. "Let's assume this is true. What exactly are you accusing?"
Riven clenched his fists.
Sinclair had said this man was Harkel's father—yet here he was, surrounded by other children, addressing Harkel like a stranger.
"What I'm accusing," Harkel said quietly, "is something you won't want to hear, my lord."
He exhaled.
"Someone within the Voss Clan is attempting to eliminate competitors so their own child can inherit leadership."
The chamber exploded.
Voices clashed violently.
"You're saying someone in our family tried to kill us?!"
"This is cheating!"
"That kid's father's been backing him since birth—of course it's them!"
"Why are you looking at me?!"
Shen stood.
The room went dead silent instantly.
"These accusations are severe," Shen said coldly. "We will investigate. But if this proves false—your entire team will be expelled from the Clinton Games."
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Harkel replied.
Riven felt something snap inside him.
He was ready to stand.
Jordan grabbed his arm.
"Don't," he whispered. "If we're expelled, we can still take care of Mom and Dad. But if you speak now, you'll make enemies we can't survive."
Riven bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood.
"This meeting is concluded," Shen said. "Remove them from my sight."
Guards moved immediately.
Harkel and his group were escorted out first.
On the other side of the portal, more guards waited—leading them toward another glowing gate.
The six of them stepped through the portal and emerged back into the city.
No one spoke.
They walked in silence, passing through the streets and into the elevator that would take them back to the dorms. The hum of the lift was the only sound, each of them lost in their own thoughts—replaying the meeting, the accusations, the way power had pressed down on them like a weight.
When the doors finally opened, they filed into their dorm room.
Each boy claimed a space without a word. Some dropped into chairs around the room. Others collapsed onto their beds, staring at the ceiling.
The silence stretched.
"So," Riven finally said, his voice calm but tight. "That's your family, huh?"
Harkel stiffened.
"If you've got something to say," he snapped, standing up, "then say it. I'm done with everyone tiptoeing around me like I'm about to break."
Luka stood as well.
"They talked down to us like we were trash," he said firmly. "And they talked down to you like you were nothing. That's not how a family is supposed to work—especially not a father."
"Shut up," Harkel muttered, his voice low. "You wouldn't get it."
"You're right," Luka replied. "I probably never will. But Harkel—we fought a Level Four beast together. You saved my life. And back there?" His voice sharpened. "That was the weakest I've ever seen you. It felt like if I even breathed wrong, one of those elders would've erased us."
"THIS is how my family works," Harkel snapped. "You don't disrespect my culture. Got it?"
"To hell with your culture!"
Leo's shout stunned the room.
Even Harkel froze.
Leo was usually the calm one. The steady one.
"Harkel," Leo continued, voice hard, "wasn't the whole point of this to change your culture? Isn't that your goal? Then why do we have to follow rules you hate so much? They shouldn't treat you like that. And we shouldn't be afraid of them."
"Easy for you to say," Jordan said, standing up. "You come from a powerful family."
He looked around the room.
"Most of us are Wallborn. I grew up with both my parents, and I know that isn't how a family is supposed to act. But if we speak out of line, our families could be imprisoned—maybe worse. I hate it, but that's the reality. You don't get to play the hero without consequences."
"So how does the world work then?" Luka asked quietly.
"Strength," Joey said.
Everyone turned to him.
Riven clenched his fists.
"Fine then," he snapped. "If strength is the answer, then I'll get it. That's the whole point of my system, isn't it? Power that can rival theirs."
He looked straight at Harkel.
"If it means you never have to bow your head like that again—if it means you don't have to be humiliated like that—then I'll do it. I'll get strong enough for all of us."
He paused.
"But Harkel… you have to do it for yourself too."
Harkel didn't look up.
His gaze stayed fixed on the floor.
"…Fine," he said quietly. "Then I'll do it for you."
But even as he spoke, his thoughts weren't on Riven.
They were on his mother.