Chapter 97: Things Don’t Just Fix Themselves

The old man watched the crater Aden stood in moments ago before he let out a low sigh and flew back to the remains of the Platinum–tier where the nobles sat.

A flash of disdain passed through his face as he noticed their shivering forms. Some had already fallen unconscious as a result of Aden’s words, while others managed to maintain their composures and respect in the eyes of their butlers.

The tip of his staff made contact with the padded ground and a low hum of golden energy expanded outward from it, and strangely enough, it soothed the panic noticeably.

Noting their stabilized breaths but lingering fear, the old man began.

“None of you are to mention what happened here to anyone beyond these walls.”

The breaths of the nobles hitched, but none dared voice their refusal.

The old man didn’t particularly care about this as he continued.

“Go back to your houses. Your patriarchs await your presence. But you—” his eyes traveled to a man calmly seated in the corner of the room, a small smile present on his lips, as he twirled a golden pen between his fingers. “You’re going back to the Redwyns under my supervision. You’ve spent too much time in the Demon continent already.”

A low chuckle left the man’s lips. “Tell me, Anthemius. Was that my little brother?”

Anthemius looked towards the crater once more with an unreadable expression. He didn’t answer, mainly because the both of them knew the answer to that.

But knowingly and accepting will always be two vastly different things.

Without wasting time, he wrapped the shocked nobles in a golden orb and tossed them out the Arena and into a large carriage that hovered a distance away from it.

With the distractions disposed of, Anthemius spoke. “Only the Fifth remains in the manor. The rest of you have refused to return from that land for thirteen years. Surely, subjugation of the Abyssal

Plains has yielded enough results for the King to grant your family a respite,” Anthemius finished, his voice echoing in the hollowed-out suite.

The man with the golden pen stood up. He was tall, leaner than Aden, with the same sharp jawline but eyes that carried the cold, tired light of a veteran. He wore a simple, dust-stained trench coat over high-tier tactical gear, gear that looked far more practical than the ornate armor of the Tetrarchy.

“The Abyssal Plains are boring, Anthemius,” the brother said, tucking the pen into his pocket. “Monsters follow patterns. But that thing in the pit… the way it consumed the Tetrarchy’s suicidal move? That was art.”

He walked to the edge of the broken balcony and looked down at the cooling glass crater where Aden had stood.

“He’s messy,” the brother continued, a dark glint in his eyes. “Too much emotion. Too much despair. He’s still trying to be human. It’s pathetic, really.”

“He is an anomaly,” Anthemius warned. “One that I allowed to walk away. Do not interfere with the path I have set, Caspian.”

“We both know he’s going to come back to us sooner or later. So why act oblivious?” Caspian Redwyn replied.

Anthemius tapped his staff, and the golden energy swirled, preparing to teleport them both.

As the energy wrapped around him, Caspian muttered, “I wonder if Father knows.”

****

Aden burst through the streets, his speed creating a sonic crack that shattered the remaining cobblestone. He didn’t slow down until he was several blocks away, deep in the Grey District where the smog was thick enough to mask even his violet-tinted Resonance.

’Master,’ Zero’s voice returned to full clarity as the golden interference faded. ’Distance from the Universal Constant: 1.2 kilometers and rapidly increasing. Pressure levels normalized. Recommendation: Immediate medical attention for the thermal scarring and the shoulder dislocation.’

“Later,” Aden grunted, his feet skidding to a halt in an alleyway.

The violet crack in his eye was still humming, pulsing in time with the Desperation he had stolen. He looked down at his bare, scarred chest. The jagged red lines were no longer glowing, but they had left permanent marks—a map of the pain he had tanked.

Lorelei stepped out from the shadows of a collapsed tenement, her eyes widening as she took in his state.

“Master—”

Aden raised his hand in annoyance. “Why did you call?”

Lorelei let her words of concern die in her throat before she began the major purpose of her call.

“The kids are stabilized, but I didn’t heal their trauma. I didn’t have permission.” She turned and led Aden toward one of the rooms. “But the eldest… He keeps staring at the horizon.”

Aden didn’t answer. He walked past her into the dim light of their temporary sanctuary. The two younger children were asleep on a pile of tattered blankets, but the eldest boy was sitting by a cracked window, his eyes fixed on the distant, glowing spire of the Arena.

As Aden entered, the boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at the scars. He only looked at Aden’s eyes.

“Did you kill them?”

Aden stood in the center of the room, the violet light in his pupils fading back into obsidian then a dim blue.

“I killed those who needed to be killed,” he replied.

The boy looked at the gold pouch sitting on the floor between them. He picked it up and tossed it back to Aden.

“But you didn’t kill everyone,” he whispered as he walked back to the window.

Aden handed the pouch to Lorelei who stood at the door alongside Zero before he took a step forward.

“I’m not a monster who kills for the fun of it,” he said in a low voice.

The eldest scoffed. “Whatever makes you sleep well at night.”

Aden didn’t know how to respond to that. This child was the only person who managed to keep him silent no matter how hard he tried to exert dominance.

The eldest, however didn’t let the silence linger too long.

“Teach me. I want you to teach me how to make them feel what I feel.”

Aden looked at the boy… Really looked at him. Within the child’s eyes, he noticed a flaming turbulent energy only attributed to one thing.

An awakening

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