The smell hit first.
Savory. Smoky. Buttered garlic thick in the air, riding on a breeze of sizzling fat. Eggs—soft and slightly runny—folded into thin crepes. Golden toast with honey glaze rested beside a bowl of roasted root vegetables peppered in seared herbs. And in the center of it all: thick-cut slices of spiced meat, still steaming, kissed with char and drizzled in pan juices.
Klaus stirred.
His eyes cracked open, unfocused, then blinked lazily as he sat up, shirt wrinkled and hair a mess. A long yawn stretched out of him.
He padded into the small kitchen, barefoot, the scent dragging him like a siren.
Kuro and Kaen were already seated at the table—silent.
Klaus rubbed his eyes. "…Good morning."
No answer.
They just stared blankly at their plates.
Klaus frowned slightly.
Then flicked his fingers.
A gust of wind swept across the room, rustling Kaen's hair and knocking Kuro's fork off the table.
Both of them snapped to attention like they'd just been yanked from a trance.
"Oh—hey," Kaen muttered, awkwardly.
"Mornin'," Kuro said quietly.
Klaus raised an eyebrow at them but didn't press. He went to the sink, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and returned to the table.
The food was perfect.
But the silence wasn't.
They ate without words. No teasing. No insults. Not even a grunt.
Kaen finally broke it.
"So, Klaus," he said, trying to sound casual, "only two months left till the big day, huh?"
Klaus nodded, chewing slowly. "Mm. Which means I need to sharpen up more than ever."
He looked over to Kuro—who hadn't said a word about training. No schedule. No challenge. No cryptic speech about his next evolution.
Klaus narrowed one eye.
He waited.
Watched.
But Kuro just stood, took his plate, and began rinsing it under the sink.
Klaus spoke slowly. "…Kaen."
Kaen looked up, already nervous.
"What's wrong with him?"
Kaen gave a strained smile. "Eh—he's just tired. You know him. Overthinks stuff. Probably drank too much. It's nothing—"
"Kuro," Klaus said directly.
Kuro didn't turn around. "Repeat everything I've taught you. Every technique. Every form. That's all you need to focus on."
"…That's it?" Klaus asked.
Kuro didn't answer. He dried his hands, hung the towel, and walked out of the room—boots quiet on the floorboards.
Klaus just sat there, staring at the door.
His instincts whispered.
That wasn't normal.
He frowned, picking up his fork again.
Something must've happened last night.
But until Kuro spoke, there was nothing he could do. So Klaus finished his food in silence, stood, and walked outside.
There was still training to do.
And whatever shadow had unsettled Kuro…
…Klaus knew he'd face it sooner or later.
The midday sun cast long shadows as Kuro adjusted the straps of his black and navy coat, high-collared and lined with silver cords along the edges. It swayed gently in the breeze, the fabric crisp and clean despite years of battle. Beneath it, his fitted combat vest clung over a lean, honed frame. His gloves bore faint symbols etched in old silver, and at his hip—resting in a sheath of midnight lacquer—was his katana.
A long blade, unnaturally thin, bound in runes. The hilt curved back slightly, wrapped in dark blue cloth. It radiated a subtle pressure, like a storm sealed in steel.
Kaen stood just behind him, uncertain.
"…You're really going, huh."
Kuro nodded once.
"I need you to stay," he said without turning.
Kaen blinked. "Wait—me?"
Kuro reached into his coat and pulled out a knife. Sleek. Elegant. Glowing faintly with threads of pale blue.
He placed it into Kaen's hand. "This blade's been imbued with a piece of my energy. Keep it close. As long as I'm alive, the rift I've anchored here will never disappear."
Kaen's eyes flicked toward the blade. "…Wait, what does that mean—?"
Kuro just looked at him, not answering.
Then he walked.
Sand shifted under his boots as he made his way toward the edge of the training plateau.
The wind stirred gently.
Klaus stepped out of the cabin, hair still damp from training. He paused when he saw the katana on Kuro's waist—the gear.
"…You're leaving."
Kuro turned. His face was calm—but softer than usual.
"Yeah. I won't be back for the tournament. Got…things I need to deal with."
Klaus's brows furrowed. "That serious?"
Kuro didn't answer.
Instead, he placed a hand over his chest.
And breathed out.
Light bloomed from his sternum, like liquid spirit being drawn from a well inside him. It swirled outward in wisps—twisting, shifting—and then formed.
A creature hovered in the air, the size of a puppy—barely. But its presence was anything but small.
Jagged black scales wrapped around a sinewy body like obsidian armor. Its eyes glowed a deep molten gold, burning like twin eclipses. Tiny horns swept back along its skull, ridged like dragonbone, and its wings were thin veils of void-touched flame. It looked ancient. It looked awake.
Kaen froze.
His body locked up, trembling.
He began to shake violently.
"W-wait… Is that—? No. No fucking way."
Kuro tilted his head. "Yeah. He agreed to help out while I'm gone."
Kaen pointed, voice cracking. "IS THAT—THAT THING—?!"
Klaus tilted his head, unfazed. "You're scared of this little thing?"
Kaen turned to him, face pale as chalk.
Kaen's voice cracked, eyes wide and body trembling."L-Little?! Klaus… that 'thing' isn't just some summon. That's a Type-Deity."
Klaus blinked. "A what?"
Kaen swallowed.
"That's Varnyx the Dreadwyrm. The World Eater. The Twilight God. The First Dragon. The God of Time."
The dragon let out a tiny, high-pitched yawn.
He pointed a shaky finger at the snoozing hatchling on Klaus's shoulder."That little yawn just now? That's the same mouth that once swallowed a dying star."
Klaus looked at the baby dragon, now curled on his shoulder like a napping cat, and muttered, "He seems... chill."
Kaen hissed through clenched teeth. "That thing devoured five moons during the Elder Skyfall. It feasted on titans, Klaus. Titans! Its roar shattered space in four planes simultaneously. The Celestial Order labeled it an extinction-tier anomaly!"
Kuro sighed.
He crouched, patted the dragon gently. "Varnyx."
The little dragon opened one eye—its slitted gaze still deep as eternity.
"Watch over those two for me."
The dragon gave the smallest nod…then continued snoozing.
Kuro stood tall, looking at Klaus one last time.
"Don't slack off while I'm away."
Klaus nodded.
"I won't."
Kuro unsheathed his katana—its steel shimmered unnaturally, like moonlight trapped in a blade. With a fluid slash through the air, a rift opened—violent wind swirling around its edges, distant stars flickering inside.
He stepped halfway through, then paused.
Glancing back over his shoulder.
"…Kick some ass at that tournament."
Klaus smiled.
But it wasn't just any smile.
It was genuine—warm, proud, the kind that rarely surfaced from the storm in his chest.
"You better come back. I want a rematch."
Kuro just chuckled, disappearing into the rift.
The portal sealed with a sigh of wind.
And then silence.
Klaus looked around.
Kaen was face-down in the sand, twitching.
A god-dragon the size of a watermelon was snoring softly on his shoulder.
"…Yeah. This is fine."
---
The Imperial Study was quiet—lined with black marble, gilded bookshelves, and a single towering window casting golden light across a bloodwood desk.
Seated behind it was Emperor Malrik Vortan, draped in crimson and silver, his golden eyes sharp as blades.
A ripple in space. A quiet hum.
Kuro stepped through the rift.
Long coat flowing, katana at his side. Calm. Cold. Unshakable.
Malrik didn't look up.
"…Kuro."
Malrik's gaze rose the moment the rift hissed shut behind Kuro. The quiet hum of power lingered in the study's golden-trimmed air, the only sound in the vast obsidian-tiled room.
"It must be a world-ending threat," the Emperor said, his voice calm but cold, "for you to come here unannounced."
Kuro gave the faintest nod, his eye unreadable. Wordlessly, he stepped forward and sat, the weight of his presence seeming to darken the very light in the room.
"I felt it again," Kuro said at last, his voice low, cut from iron. "The same aura. The same stench. The force humanity bled against in the first war… it's back."
Malrik didn't move. His fingers tightened behind his back.
"You're sure."
Malrik's golden eyes narrowed, the weight of Kuro's words sinking like iron into still water. A silence thick with old blood and unspoken memories spread across the chamber.
Outside, the wind howled once against the imperial stone—but within, the world held its breath.
Then, as if struck by the same echo from a past neither man dared forget, both voices spoke at once—cold, grim, in perfect sync
"The Nexomorphs."
The name rippled through the room like a curse, sharp and ancient—like something that never belonged to this world.
Kuro's eyes stayed locked on Malrik's. "We buried them once."
Malrik Vortan stood in silence, the weight of memory etched into the sharp lines of his face. The Emperor's gaze drifted toward the towering window behind his desk, where soft rays of daylight pierced through crimson drapes. His eyes were calm—but behind them, storms brewed.
"The last time we fought them," Malrik muttered, "half the planet burned."
He turned to Kuro, the sharp edge of command softening in his gaze. In that moment, Malrik didn't look like the ruler of a world—but like an old soldier, weary and wise.
"How long will you be gone this time?" he asked, voice lower now, touched with something personal.
Kuro, seated with arms folded, shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Might take months." His tone was cool, but the weight behind it was clear. "Depends on what I find."