While the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the courtyard of the Catholic orphanage, the air in the dormitory felt thin. The children who had followed Asm from the ruins—the original witnesses to his "Silent Madness"—sat huddled together in a corner. They were safe from the outside world behind these brick walls, but they knew better than anyone that the real danger was currently sitting in a classroom miles away.
"We have to tell the Mothers," Noah whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sound of the nuns chanting evening prayers. "The caretakers... they are women of God. They have to have some way to protect us. If we tell them what he did at the festival, they'll call the High Priests."
Kade, whose hands hadn't stopped shaking since they crossed the river, snapped his head around. "No! Are you trying to get us all buried? If we tell anyone, it just creates a trail. Asm doesn't just kill—he harvests. If the authorities come and fail to stop him on the first try, he'll know we betrayed him. Do you want to be his next 'scientific project'?"
The room went deathly silent. The mention of Asm's "projects" brought back the vivid, copper-smelling memories of the square. No one knew what to say. They were trapped in a legal sanctuary that felt more like a waiting room for the grave.
After a few moments of heavy breathing, Lina spoke up, her voice small. "Why don't we find someone with a Gift? A real one. Someone who can stand against him."
Selene immediately shook her head, her expression grim. "That's impossible, Lina. You don't understand how the world works yet. Gifts are rare—the kind of rare that legends are made of. Among a hundred 'Cursed' people like us, you might only find one with a true Gift from above. And someone like Asm? He is an anomaly. You could search a thousand cities and never find a match for that boy."
She leaned closer, her voice quiet but firm. "Gifts and Curses are the twin engines of this world, but they aren't equal. Those with Gifts receive the cathedrals, the titles, and the glory. Those with Curses are the 'Rejected'—the ones left to rot in places like this. Even if we found someone with a Gift, they wouldn't waste their breath speaking to orphans like us. We are invisible to them."
The conversation faded into a hollow despair as the scene shifted miles away to the specialized camp where Asm was spending his second day.
The Library of the Chosen
Asm sat in the center of the school's grand library, a place filled with the smell of old parchment and the hum of hidden power. He was wearing a dazzling black suit and pressed trousers that had been donated to the orphanage. He had chosen them specifically; he liked the way the dark fabric felt—solid, formal, and authoritative.
To him, he looked like a king in the making, an adult mind trapped in a small, elegant frame. But as the teachers passed by, they only whispered about how "cute" and "precious" the little boy in the suit looked. They didn't see the predator beneath the silk.
Asm ignored them, his focus entirely on the massive leather-bound book spread across his lap. It was a history of the Divine Divide.
The Gifted: Those chosen by the heavens, granted powers that surpassed the laws of nature. They were called the God-Chosen, the architects of the world.
The Cursed: Those born with "defective" abilities or nothing at all. They were the Rejects, the fuel for the empire's machines.
He flipped a page slowly, his small finger tracing the jagged text. "So the world is filled with these so-called rejected people…" he muttered to himself. He felt a strange kinship with the word Rejected, though he knew he didn't fit into any category the book could describe.
For a moment, Asm paused and glanced up at the high, vaulted ceiling, pondering the nature of a world that would create such a cruel hierarchy. His expression didn't change, but the weight of the thought settled on him like a physical shroud.
"Who is this 'God' that chooses those who gain these Gifts?" he whispered. "By what right does he decide who is a king and who is a beast?"
He continued reading, his white eyes scanning the pages with surgical intent. He found a chapter titled The Eternal Cycle. It spoke of two beings who stood above all others: The Hero, who carried the ultimate Gift of Light, and the Demon Lord, the vessel of the world's ancient grudges. These two existed to balance the world, each possessing the raw power to destroy entire continents.
Suddenly, a cold chill bloomed at the base of Asm's neck. It wasn't the chill of a draft; it was the chill of a predator sensing something higher on the food chain.
He turned his head slowly to the left. A girl stood there, watching him. She looked no older than six, but her aura was a menacing, swirling violet that seemed to bruise the air around her. He turned to the right. A boy stood by the window, his presence so dark and overwhelming that the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to stretch toward him, hungry and cold.
For the first time since the hospital collapsed, Asm felt a tremor of fear.
It wasn't an obvious fear—his face remained a mask of stone—but deep down, his instincts were screaming. These were no ordinary children. They were the Demon Lord and the Hero, reincarnated or awakened, trapped in tiny, fragile bodies but carrying the combat experience of a thousand lifetimes.
Why? Asm's mind raced. Why would the authorities keep the Demon Lord here? I thought this was a place for 'misguided' children. And why is the Hero among the outcasts?
He tried to flare his own aura, pushing his bloodlust outward to protect his space. He wanted to show them that he wasn't prey. But he quickly realized the truth: his current power was like a flickering candle standing between two raging infernos. He was inferior in every way that mattered.
The teachers began to emerge from their offices, their faces turning pale as they clutched their chests. Chills ran deep into their bones, a spiritual cold that no heater could fix. Their eyes widened as they looked into the library and saw the three children. The air between Asm and the two newcomers was vibrating with such intensity that the books on the nearby shelves began to rattle.
Asm sat there, sweating and tense, his heart hammering against his ribs. Who is this God that gave these kids these Gifts? he wondered. If the children are this terrifying, how powerful would the Creator be in person?
Suddenly, the fear in Asm's heart didn't break him—it forged something new. A jagged, dark grin spread across his face, the most honest expression he had ever worn.
"I want to meet him," he said, his voice a low, gravelly promise.
He stood up, the black suit perfectly straight. He had found his purpose. He wasn't just here to test the limits of humans anymore.
"I've made up my mind," he muttered, looking from the Hero to the Demon Lord with a gaze that promised war. "I'm going to get stronger. I will grow until I am strong enough to crush this Hero and this Demon Lord under my heel. And then, I will go find that God... and I will challenge him for his world."