The hideout was dimly lit, the flickering candle casting wavering shadows along the walls. Orion sat cross-legged on the worn-out rug, a small pile of valuables spread before him. Gold rings, jeweled brooches, and silver chains gleamed under the soft light. Ra leaned back against a stack of crates, tossing an apple up and down, while Tsuki carefully wiped ink-stained fingers on a rag.

  Kannie, perched on a makeshift stool, was already counting her cut with a pleased grin. Gabriel, hovering a few inches off the ground as always, flipped a coin through his fingers before letting it disappear into his pocket. Nerpheus sat nearby, quiet as usual, his wrapped hands resting on his knees.

  They had done well tonight. Tarris and his men never even saw them coming. Orion’s plan had gone smoothly—strike when their enemies were drunk and sluggish, take what they came for, and leave them broken.

  Ra snorted, shaking his head as he inspected a handful of gold. “Still can’t believe how easy that was. They didn’t even know what hit ‘em.”

  Tsuki frowned slightly, glancing at Orion. “What if they come after us?”

  “They won’t,” Orion said with certainty, pocketing his share. “They’ll be too busy licking their wounds. Besides, Tarris was just another rat in Xylodia’s underbelly. We’re better than him.”

  A pause.

  Unbeknownst to them, the man they had stolen from—Tarris—was already dead. Torn apart in a storm of living shadows, his screams swallowed by the abyss that came for him. Lucian had ensured that their petty revenge had far worse consequences than any of them could have imagined.

  For now, though, they remained unaware.

  As the night settled and their spoils were divided, exhaustion began to weigh on them. One by one, they found their corners of the hideout, wrapped in blankets or curled up against the crates.

  Orion lay on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling, his golden eyes reflecting the dim candlelight.

  Sleep came slowly.

  And when it did, it brought the past with it.

  He was 7 years old again.

  The door burst open with a deafening crash.

  Orion barely had time to register the shadows that flooded into their small home. The scent of sweat, unwashed bodies, and alcohol thickened the air. His mother tensed, gripping his shoulders one last time before she turned to face them.

  He tried to follow, but her final command was clear.

  Stay hidden.

  His small body curled into the corner behind an old wooden cabinet, where the dim firelight barely touched him. His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide as he watched.

  Seven men stepped inside.

  Their leader was tall, with a scar that twisted his lip into a permanent sneer. A massive blade hung from his belt, but it was his eyes that frightened Orion most—cold, void of anything human. The others were filthy, clad in tattered armor and cloth, carrying rusted weapons.

  They leered at his mother.

  “She’s a rare beauty,” one of them murmured, licking his lips.

  “Could fetch a fortune,” another agreed, his gaze hungry.

  One man palmed himself through his trousers, grinning. "Why sell her when we can have some fun first?" His companions chuckled in agreement.

  Orion's mother didn’t flinch.

  Instead, she moved—so fast that the flickering fire barely caught the steel in her hand before it flashed across the first man's face.

  He shrieked as blood splattered onto the wooden floor. He staggered back, clutching his cheek where deep red gashes had split open his skin.

  But she was outnumbered.

  The leader stepped forward and backhanded her, sending her crashing into the wooden table. Her dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground. Before she could grab it, two men seized her by the arms, yanking her up roughly.

  The scarred man wiped the blood from his face, his expression twisting into something darker. “Bitch.”

  He struck her hard, his knuckles cracking against her cheek.

  She spat blood at his feet. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  The men laughed, cruel and eager.

  Then they tore at her clothes.

  Orion couldn’t move.

  He couldn’t look away.

  His mother fought. She thrashed, kicked, tried to break free, but they were stronger. They forced her down onto the floor, their weight pressing against her, pinning her.

  The first man—the one she had cut—ripped at the fabric of her dress. He reached between her legs, forcing them apart. His breath was heavy, reeking of alcohol. His fingers fumbled at his belt as he freed himself, pressing against her.

  She screamed.

  Orion’s hands clamped over his mouth.

  Hot tears blurred his vision.

  His mother turned her head away, her eyes squeezing shut as the man pushed into her, his body slamming against hers. She whimpered. The sound cut deeper than anything Orion had ever heard before.

  He should do something.

  He had to do something.

  His fingers curled against his chest, nails digging into his palms. His breathing was shallow, erratic, his body shaking so hard he thought they would hear him.

  But he did nothing.

  He could do nothing.

  The second man crouched beside the first, eagerly waiting his turn. “Hurry up.”

  The first man grunted, thrusting harder, his grip bruising her wrists.

  She turned her head toward Orion’s hiding place, as if she knew he was there.

  Her violet eyes pleaded.

  Don’t come out. Stay hidden. Live.

  But when the second man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up for his turn—she snapped.

  With a sudden, feral snarl, she twisted against their grip and bit down.

  The second man screamed as she tore into his nose, her teeth sinking deep into flesh. Blood gushed over her lips as she ripped it clean off, spitting the chunk onto the floor.

  The leader cursed. “She’s a wild one.”

  He grabbed a broken chair leg and struck her across the face.

  She crumpled.

  Orion barely heard what happened next.

  The leader loomed over her, rubbing his chin. “She’ll be trouble to sell.”

  The others grumbled, still in the haze of their cruel excitement.

  He sighed. "Kill her."

  One of the men drove a blade into her gut.

  The world stopped.

  Orion didn’t breathe.

  His mother gasped, choking on something thick. Blood. Her eyes widened in shock before dulling, her body slumping forward.

  Her blood pooled, dark against the wooden floor.

  Orion heard himself.

  A sound that barely resembled his own voice.

  Something dark and raw tore from his throat.

  The men turned.

  His mother’s body twitched.

  Her fingers barely moved.

  Her lips parted.

  “…Orion.”

  The flame inside him ignited.

  He moved.

  The dagger was in his hand before he even knew how he had grabbed it.

  The first bandit never saw him coming.

  Orion lunged, driving the blade deep into the man’s ribs. The impact sent a crack up his small arm, but he didn’t feel it.

  Didn’t care.

  The man choked, eyes widening in disbelief. "The fuck—?"

  Orion twisted the knife. Ripped it out.

  The first man fell, gurgling on his own blood.

  The second man—the one missing his nose—screamed and swung at him, but Orion was too fast.

  He ducked. Slid under the man’s reach.

  His hands moved before he could think, grabbing a loose torch from the fireplace and jamming it into the man’s mouth.

  Fire and flesh sizzled as he choked on the embers.

  Orion whirled.

  The third man grabbed him by the arm.

  Orion twisted like an animal, biting down on the man’s wrist. The bandit howled, releasing him for just a second.

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  A second was all Orion needed.

  His dagger found the man’s throat.

  A sharp slice.

  A gurgle.

  The third dropped.

  Four left.

  Orion breathed like a beast.

  The leader stepped forward, sword raised. “What in the—”

  Orion moved.

  His feet barely touched the ground.

  The dagger sank into the leader’s knee.

  The man collapsed with a roar, his weapon clattering to the ground.

  Orion pounced, driving the blade into his chest.

  Over.

  And over.

  And over.

  A blur.

  The leader stopped moving.

  Three left.

  They hesitated.

  A child should not move like this.

  A child should not kill like this.

  Orion’s small body trembled, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the firelight.

  His breath was ragged. Unsteady.

  The others ran.

  Orion didn’t let them.

  The dagger flew from his hand, embedding itself into the spine of the man closest to the door. He collapsed, twitching.

  Two left.

  One tripped.

  Orion was on him before he could crawl away.

  He grabbed the man’s head.

  Slammed it into the stone hearth.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  The final bandit sobbed, scrambling toward the exit.

  Orion stalked toward him, slow, methodical.

  The man turned.

  Saw the fire in the boy’s eyes.

  Saw death.

  His mouth opened—to beg, to plead.

  Orion didn’t let him.

  The dagger sank into his throat.

  Silence.

  The house burned around him.

  Orion stood in the center of it all, panting, his chest rising and falling with erratic, shallow breaths. His small fingers, trembling and slick with blood, still gripped the dagger. The room stank of iron, smoke, and the acrid scent of burning wood. The bodies of the men who had taken everything from him lay motionless, crumpled like discarded rags.

  Seven men.

  Dead.

  Slaughtered.

  By him.

  His vision blurred.

  The last man, the one who had tried to run, lay at his feet. His blood seeped into the wooden floorboards, his face frozen in twisted horror, his lifeless eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

  It was over.

  But Orion didn’t feel anything.

  He should have felt satisfaction.

  He should have felt rage.

  Instead, a cold, hollow emptiness settled in his chest.

  The fire crackled louder, the hungry flames spreading up the wooden walls, licking the ceiling with their golden tongues. The heat pressed against his skin, making the sweat and blood cling to him like a second layer.

  Then, he remembered.

  His mother.

  Orion spun, his breath catching.

  She lay there, exactly where she had fallen.

  Her once beautiful white dreadlocks were spread around her, now soaked with blood, tainted with the filth of the men who had destroyed her.

  Orion dropped the dagger.

  It hit the floor with a dull clink, swallowed by the growing roar of the fire.

  He ran to her, stumbling over debris, his small legs shaking with exhaustion. He dropped to his knees beside her, his bloodstained hands reaching out, shaking her.

  “Mama,” he rasped. His throat burned—whether from the smoke or his choked-back sobs, he didn’t know. “Mama, we have to go. The fire—it’s—”

  She didn’t move.

  Orion pressed his hands against her shoulders, gripping her with all the strength he had left.

  Nothing.

  His mother’s violet eyes, once so filled with warmth and fierce determination, were dull. Her breathing was shallow, barely there.

  But she was still alive.

  His heart leaped.

  He grabbed her arm. “Come on, I’ll carry you, I’ll—”

  His mother stirred.

  Her head lolled toward him, her lips parting slightly. Her smile was faint. So weak. So… wrong.

  Her trembling fingers brushed against his cheek, smearing blood onto his already dirt-streaked skin.

  Orion felt something inside him shatter.

  “Orion…” her voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it cut through him deeper than any blade ever could.

  He shook his head. “No. No, no, no, don’t talk like that. We’re leaving. We have to go, Mama.” His fingers dug into her arms, desperation bleeding into his voice.

  She coughed, blood staining her lips, but still, she smiled. “You… are special.”

  Orion’s face crumpled. “Mama, please—”

  Her fingers tightened on his cheek, her grip firmer, even as the rest of her body failed.

  “One day,” she rasped, her voice growing weaker, “you… will understand.”

  Orion’s vision blurred with tears. The heat from the fire became unbearable, but he couldn’t move.

  He wouldn’t leave her.

  Not like this.

  She wasn’t gone yet.

  He could still save her.

  With a small grunt, Orion tried to pull her up, his tiny arms straining as he hooked them under her shoulders. He dragged, his feet skidding against the blood-slicked floor.

  She was too heavy.

  No.

  No, this wasn’t happening.

  Orion growled, summoning whatever strength he had left.

  Nothing.

  The raw power that had surged through him just moments ago—the unnatural strength, the speed, the instincts—was gone.

  Like it had never been there.

  And now, he was just a boy.

  Just a weak, powerless child.

  “No,” he choked. “Please, Mama. You have to get up. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”

  The house groaned, the fire consuming it, walls splitting apart as embers rained from the ceiling. Smoke thickened in his lungs.

  Still, he wouldn’t leave her.

  “I won’t go,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around her. “I won’t—I won’t leave you.”

  Her fingers weakly combed through his dreadlocks, her touch so soft, so fragile.

  “Orion…” she whispered. “Live.”

  He froze.

  Her voice was barely there now, her breath feather-light against his forehead.

  She knew.

  She knew she wasn’t leaving this house.

  She knew he had to.

  Orion’s grip tightened, his body shaking as his heart screamed no.

  But his mother—his strong, beautiful, fierce mother—smiled.

  “Go,” she murmured, her eyes sliding shut.

  And then—

  Her fingers slipped from his hair.

  Orion broke.

  A scream tore from his throat, raw and animalistic, louder than the roaring flames.

  He clung to her, his body wracked with sobs, shaking as if his very soul was being ripped apart.

  The fire crashed through the ceiling beams, sending burning debris tumbling around them.

  It would swallow him too.

  He didn’t care.

  But then, the house shifted, the structure caving, the walls trembling—

  He had to move.

  His mother’s words rang in his ears.

  Live.

  Orion’s chest heaved, his body screaming in agony as he forced himself to his feet.

  He took one last look at her.

  Then, he ran.

  He burst through the door as the roof collapsed behind him, the flames engulfing the only home he had ever known.

  Orion collapsed onto the dirt outside, gasping for air, his body aching, his soul crushed.

  He turned, staring at the inferno.

  His mother was gone.

  And for the first time in his life—

  He was alone

  Orion stayed there.

  For two days, he didn’t move.

  He sat in the ashes of his home, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, body motionless.

  He didn’t cry.

  Not anymore.

  There were no tears left.

  He waited.

  Waited for his mother to walk out of the rubble.

  Waited for the nightmare to end.

  But she never did.

  The once-vibrant home, filled with the warmth of his mother’s voice, was now nothing more than smoldering remains. The scent of charred wood mixed with something worse—a lingering stench of burnt flesh, a cruel reminder that the fire had stolen even the last piece of her from him.

  His fingers curled into the dirt, nails scraping against the brittle ground. The wind howled through the desolation, kicking up ash that stung his eyes, but he didn’t move. His mother’s voice no longer filled the silence, no reassuring hum, no gentle whisper calling his name.

  There was nothing.

  Just silence.

  On the third day, he moved.

  The Search for What Was Lost

  Orion's small hands dug feverishly through the wreckage. His fingers bled as they scraped against splintered wood and hot embers, but he didn’t stop.

  He couldn’t stop.

  There had to be something. Anything.

  A sign that she had been real.

  A sign that she hadn’t just been erased.

  But there was nothing.

  Not even bones.

  The fire had stolen her from him completely, leaving only scattered, unrecognizable fragments of their life together.

  His throat burned as if the smoke still lingered there.

  His heart beat painfully, a slow, hollow thud in his chest.

  He gathered what little remained—a piece of her jewelry, a charred bracelet that had once been silver, the melted handle of the dagger she had fought with.

  They weren’t enough.

  They would never be enough.

  Yet, they were all he had.

  With slow, deliberate movements, he gathered a small collection of wildflowers from the nearby meadow, hands shaking as he placed them in the middle of the wreckage. He didn’t know why he did it.

  His mother had never been particularly fond of flowers.

  But she deserved something beautiful.

  Even if she would never see it.

  Even if it didn’t matter.

  He knelt before the makeshift burial, his small fingers brushing against the petals.

  The wind howled through the trees.

  But no one answered.

  He was truly alone now.

  Orion stood.

  And without another word, he walked away.

  The First Night

  The first night was the hardest.

  The forest swallowed him whole, its towering trees stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground was damp beneath his bare feet, the scent of wet earth filling his nostrils.

  His stomach ached, an emptiness gnawing at him that was more than just hunger.

  He curled up beneath a fallen tree, the cold seeping into his bones. He closed his eyes, but the darkness behind his eyelids only brought back images of fire, of blood, of his mother’s violet eyes going still.

  Sleep didn’t come.

  Only the cold.

  Only the silence.

  Only the ache that would never leave him.

  Days passed.

  Or weeks.

  He wasn’t sure anymore.

  He didn’t count time in the way others did.

  He counted in the number of times he woke up hungry.

  The number of times he watched the sunrise alone.

  The number of times he had to kill.

  At first, it had been a struggle. He had never needed to hunt before.

  But hunger made him desperate.

  Desperation made him dangerous.

  His body adapted faster than it should have.

  His small, delicate fingers became steady.

  His feet moved with unnatural speed, dodging unseen roots before his mind had even registered them.

  His body reacted faster than it should.

  The first time he caught a rabbit, he didn’t understand how.

  One moment, the creature was running.

  The next—his hands were around its throat.

  It thrashed wildly, kicking, fighting, its tiny heart hammering against his palm.

  Orion squeezed.

  No hesitation.

  No remorse.

  He killed it.

  Survived.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  It became easier.

  The hesitation faded.

  He didn’t question it.

  Didn’t think about it.

  Because thinking led to memories.

  And memories led to pain.

  He wasn’t normal.

  He knew that much.

  There were moments—fleeting, unexplainable moments—where he should have died.

  When wolves had found him in the middle of the night, their glowing eyes watching from the shadows, he should have been prey.

  But something stopped them.

  The largest wolf, a beast with silver fur and eyes like the moon, had taken one look at him and turned away.

  Its pack followed.

  Like it had recognized something in him.

  Or feared it.

  Orion never understood why.

  But he never forgot.

  The days blurred together.

  He walked.

  And walked.

  And walked.

  Through forests.

  Over rivers.

  Across empty plains.

  He didn’t stop.

  Because stopping meant remembering.

  And remembering meant pain.

  Then, finally—

  He saw it.

  A sprawling city of stone and shadow.

  Xylodia.

  He stared at it, his breath catching.

  It was massive. Towering walls lined with torches, streets bustling with people, rooftops stacked so high they almost touched the sky.

  He had never seen anything like it.

  The Kingdom was alive.

  It was chaos.

  It was opportunity.

  For the first time in what felt like forever—

  Orion felt something other than hunger and loss.

  He felt a purpose.

  His journey was just beginning.

  Orion woke with a start.

  His chest heaved, his body coated in sweat despite the cold air.

  His hands clenched the fabric of his blanket, his muscles rigid, his breath shallow.

  It took him a moment to remember where he was.

  The hideout.

  Xylodia.

  His family.

  He blinked, feeling something warm on his face.

  Tears.

  They rolled down his cheeks, silent and unrelenting.

  He wiped them away, frustrated. Weak. He was weak.

  Why did this dream still haunt him?

  Why, after all these years, did it still hurt?

  Orion exhaled, closing his eyes.

  He listened to the quiet breathing of his friends around him, the familiar sounds grounding him.

  His chest tightened.

  He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket tighter.

  He didn’t want to sleep.

  Didn’t want to dream again.

  But the exhaustion weighed too heavy.

  Eventually, despite himself—

  He drifted back into the abyss

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