Chapter 52
The scene shifted once again.
This time, the air was filled with laughter and music. Vibrant decorations danced in the gentle breeze as cheerful voices filled the estate. Ronan stood at the center of it all, surrounded by friends and family, celebrating his birthday. A colorful cake sat before him, stacked high with candles, and wrapped gifts piled nearby like tiny treasures.
He smiled as he reached for the cake knife—his father standing beside him, helping guide his hand. Just as they were about to cut the first slice, a man stormed into the courtyard, panting and pale, eyes wide with panic.
"Speak," Ronan's father ordered, stepping forward with a frown.
"I bring urgent news… regarding the squad sent to the northern region."
Everyone quieted. The festive atmosphere collapsed instantly into a heavy silence.
"Go on," the father urged, voice low and tense.
"I'm sorry, sir... but the entire squad… they're dead. Every single one of them."
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Ronan's heart clenched as the words hit him like a blade. Without a second thought, he bolted toward the holding area where the returned corpses were being prepared. His siblings and several others followed closely behind.
Row after row of bloodied and broken bodies lay before them—men who had served their family with loyalty. Ronan's eyes scanned every face with frantic desperation.
But Jaime wasn't among them.
He didn't know how to feel—relieved that Jaime might still be alive, or terrified that his brother's fate remained unknown.
"Bury them," his father said solemnly, and the order was carried out.
That day—the day that began with laughter and joy—became the worst birthday of Ronan's life.
---
Days passed.
Ronan sat quietly at the edge of the family estate, overlooking the forest. He hadn't spoken much since that day—barely eating, barely sleeping. The world seemed distant.
A familiar presence sat beside him.
"I told you, I'm fine," he muttered, not needing to look.
"Don't lie to me, Ronan," Jane replied softly. "He'll be fine. Jaime is strong."
Ronan remained silent.
"You haven't eaten in days," she continued, her voice laced with worry. "You keep saying he's alive… but you need to take care of yourself too."
"He is alive," Ronan said firmly, though his voice trembled. "He must be… maybe he's wounded… trapped somewhere… but Father—he won't help. He already believes Jaime is dead."
Jane sighed and stood. "Then let me speak to him. Maybe he'll listen to me."
Ronan followed her quietly to their father's study, stopping just outside the door.
Inside, their father sat with their mother, discussing matters in low, tired voices.
"According to the reports, the mission was successful," their father was saying. "The Greydawn are gone. But there are no signs of survivors."
"That's what troubles me," he added after a pause. "If they wiped each other out, then who brought our dead back to the city gates?"
Jane stepped forward. "Father…"
He turned toward her, his stern expression softening slightly. "What is it?"
"I just want to confirm something… about Jaime."
The moment she spoke the name, a spark of rage flickered in the man's eyes.
"Don't speak of Jaime like he was some coward who ran from battle!" he snapped. "He is my son. If he were alive, he would've brought back his comrades himself."
"But maybe—"
"Enough! Out!"
"But, Father—"
"I said OUT!" he roared.
Jane flinched, backing away from the room. But when she turned, Ronan was no longer there.
Panic surged through her. She searched the estate, then the city, asking guards and staff, but Ronan had vanished without a trace.
She rushed to report it to their father, hoping he would act.
A lone figure stood at the city entrance—hulking and monstrous, drenched in blood that was clearly not his own. A twisted smile crept across his face as his eyes gleamed with menace.
"This… is going to be fun," he muttered.
Several miles away…
Ronan sprinted through the dense forest, breath ragged, his voice hoarse as he cried out, "Jaime! Jaime!" again and again, the echo swallowed by the trees. He had been running for hours, his legs heavy, hope thinning with every unanswered shout.
Eventually, exhaustion won. He collapsed beneath a towering tree, sweat clinging to his skin, heart hammering in his chest. Strapped to his back was a long, gleaming blade, and at his side, two black pistols. The Steele might favor close combat, but that didn't mean they ignored modern weaponry.
As he caught his breath, a chilling sensation crept up his spine. Something was wet beneath him. He looked down—and froze. Blood. A thick, dark stream pooled beneath the grass, soaking into the soil.
His breath caught in his throat as he followed the trail with cautious steps. The deeper he went, the more grotesque the scene became. Corpses littered the ground—some decapitated, others missing hearts or with their throats torn wide open. Ronan didn't recognize most of them; they weren't from his city. And yet, the massacre chilled him to the bone.
Drawing his pistols, he moved forward, every nerve on edge. A flicker of movement zipped past his peripheral vision. He turned sharply—nothing. Spinning around—still nothing.
Then came the growl.
Low. Guttural.
He turned—and froze.
A monstrous wolf stood a few feet away. No—not normal.Three heads, each with bloodshot eyes, foam dripping from their fangs. It snarled, then charged.
Ronan bolted. Fear overtook him. He was the fastest kid in his city, but now he felt like a toddler running through quicksand. Trees blurred past, but the beast was faster.
A violent blow struck his back. Ronan was flung through the air, crashing into the earth with a painful groan. Dazed, he looked up to see the monstrous wolf looming, its jaws open wide. He closed his eyes, bracing for death.
But death never came.
A thunderous impact knocked the beast back. Ronan opened his eyes to see a bloodied figure atop the creature, blade flashing. One of the wolf's heads was already severed, the second barely hanging on. With a final roar, the figure sliced through the last two heads. The beast collapsed, lifeless.
The warrior rose, bloodied and panting. He turned toward Ronan.
"How've you been, little bro?" he asked, voice strained but familiar.
Ronan's eyes widened with tears. "Big brother!" he shouted, throwing himself into Jaime's arms.
Later, they sat together near the still-smoking carcass of the beast, eating its meat in silence.
"What was that thing?" Ronan asked, having regained some composure.
"That wasn't a wolf. Not a normal one," Jaime replied, eyes distant. "That's a Beast—not from our world. They come through rifts—portals—bringing chaos, death... worse."
Ronan shuddered. He'd once dreamed of owning a Beast as a pet. That dream was now dead. Totally dead.
"Why didn't you come back, Jaime? We were all so worried…"
Jaime's gaze turned hollow. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me!" Ronan snapped, frustration boiling over. "I want to understand!"
Before Jaime could reply, he shoved Ronan aside, saving him from an ambushing Beast. Jaime struck quickly, slashing the monster across the chest. The creature fell, but not before landing a devastating blow. Blood poured from Jaime's already injured side as he dropped to his knees, struggling to breathe.
"Jaime!" Ronan yelled, rushing to him.
The damage was beyond repair. Ronan could see it in his brother's eyes—the fight was already lost.
"You need to go," Jaime wheezed, blood leaking from his mouth. "Warn the city. Warn Father."
"I'm not leaving you!" Ronan cried, voice cracking.
"You have to…" Jaime whispered. "The Greydawn… we didn't defeat them. He did… The Exterminator. He killed them all… we lost so many men… and nearly died myself. He's coming, Ronan… and he's not done."
"Who is he? What does he want?!"
Jaime clutched Ronan's hand with the last of his strength. "He's going to wipe out the Steele… unless you stop him. You must run. Find an S-ranker… warn Father…"
With that, his grip loosened. His eyes faded.
Jaime was gone.
Ronan screamed—a raw, heartbroken sound that echoed through the trees. He clung to his brother's lifeless body, but he had no time to grieve.
He gently laid Jaime to rest beneath a grove of flowers, marking the place with a blade.
Then he turned toward the city, eyes burning with purpose.
He had one mission now.
Warn them.
Tell them to run.
To be continued...