Zena Fortune's heels clicked with precision as she walked down the stone steps, posture straight, expression calm. The moment her feet hit the ground, silence rolled through the arena like fog across a frozen lake.
"As our tradition holds the Breakers clan closest ally will be performing the marking of the next leader. This cycle we nominate The Fortune Keeper to perform the mark," one of the ceremonial guards announced.
I didn't flinch. I wasn't a kid no more i understood who my mom was. She stood at the apex of the world
Zena turned slowly, her gaze falling on me. "Miscah," she called, voice calm but absolute. "Come."
The entire arena shifted, whispers slicing the quiet like blades.
"He's stepping in for Fortune?"
"They're letting him mark the heir?"
"He's just a kid…"
But none of them mattered.
I stood, shrugging off my jacket. The breeze hit the sweat on my skin, Scars riddled my body from unofficial missions, intense training sessions at home, even the bruise Taurus left behind yesterday.
Now I got to mark Zach for the clan he calls home.
My shoes echoed in rhythm as I crossed the field. Zach met me halfway, kneeling, back straight. We didn't speak. We didn't need to. The nod he gave me was all I needed.
I raised my right arm showing the Seven of Spades tattoo etched on my forearm—clear and sharp against my skin. A tradition of my clan a single playing card the mark of a quadrant leader.
The tool rested in a small ceremonial box: a wakizashi, The essence around it reeked of blood.
Ronan stepped beside me. "This blade," he began, voice steady, "once belonged to the first Breaker Clan Leader's wife. When enemy clans stormed their land, she chose death over dishonor—committing seppuku rather than be taken. The grief fueled her husband's awakening, transforming him into the first Level 3 in Breaker history. He poured his essence and rage into this blade—swearing to dominate all evil."
A pause.
"And so the Scar became tradition. A reminder of that vow."
I took the blade from the box and stepped behind Zach.
My hand tightened. I felt nothing but pure despair.
Then I felt it—no, we felt it.
A crackling in the air. Wrong. Off. Not from the scar. Not from me.
Something was coming.
I swung instinctively—not at Zach, but behind him—intercepting a strike mid-air. Steel clanged violently, my blade vibrating with the force.
Taurus stepped in behind me, giant axe gripped in both hands like it had always been there. I blinked.
I hadn't even seen it yesterday.
Cancer leapt forward too, her crescent blade flashing to my left. "Eyes up," she muttered, smile gone.
Deya, Nel, Amir—my team—appeared beside me as if summoned by instinct. And from the stands, one of the Breaker elders slammed down into the dirt, the impact sending a wave of dust through the arena.
We surrounded Zach in a half-circle.
Then came the fire.
Not ours.
Not from above.
Behind us, the Azure Clan emerged, igniting the edge of the platform in a perfect burning ring—flames dancing like coiled vipers. A barrier. A warning.
The crowd erupted into panic, scattering, unsure if this was still part of the ceremony or an act of war.
The air cracked.
And then…
From the dust at the far end of the arena, he stepped out.
Ragged robes. A heavy cloak draped over one shoulder. Eyes shadowed, but his aura was unmistakable—controlled, powerful, ancient.
He didn't need to announce himself.
But someone did.
Ronan Break's voice rang out, deep and sure.
"Stand down."
He stepped forward, every muscle still, but his tone? Iron.
"I know that man," he said. "He was once our comrade. A former elder of the Breaker Clan. Thought to be dead."
Gasps echoed.
A former elder? Alive?
Zach turned his head slightly. "That's…"
I didn't answer. I was still staring at the robes.
Old, dark blue, frayed around the edges—but the insignia was clear: the symbol of the Breaker Clan, half-buried beneath dust and time.
He didn't speak. Just stood there—like a ghost that had finally decided to haunt the living.
I tightened my grip on the marking blade.
We weren't giving Zach up.
Not now.