The dimly lit room was silent except for the faint rustle of papers as the Clan Head sat in his seat, staring at the monitor in front of him. The glowing screen showed footage of the attack on Alina Rowe, or Serena, as she was once known. The image flickered between scenes: two assassins dressed in black, knives raised toward the girl, and then—Blaze. His hair had turned white, his aura darkening the room as he stopped their blades effortlessly.
A low hum escaped the Clan Head's lips—not surprise, but contemplation. This was not unexpected.
He pressed a button, and the live feed switched to his Branch Manager, seated in a similar dark room, waiting for instructions. The man was one of four who managed the elite bloodline powers granted to each branch—Blaze's being from the Demon Blood Branch, a force the clan held in check only through strict codes and constant testing.
"Report," the Clan Head's voice was cold, authoritative. There was no room for excuses.
The Branch Manager nodded, composed. "The test proceeded as you ordered, my lord. The assassins engaged the girl to observe whether he would intervene. As expected... he used the Demon Blood."
The Clan Head leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing at the screen. "So he made his choice."
"Yes," the Branch Manager replied. "He activated the power with no hesitation. The form was stable... controlled. But the issue remains: he prioritized the girl over the mission."
The Clan Head was silent for a moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he said, "He is my grandson. I knew he would struggle... but I needed to see just how deep that bond runs."
The Branch Manager lowered his head respectfully. "Your foresight, as always, was correct. Still, the use of Demon Blood on school grounds risks exposure. Shall we initiate damage control?"
"Yes. Clean up the traces," the Clan Head said, voice flat. "But this is only the beginning. I don't care that he saved her... I care that his heart wavered. That power—our power—must belong fully to the clan. He must become a weapon that chooses us every time. No hesitation. No mercy."
"Understood," the Branch Manager replied. "Shall we prepare another test?"
"Yes," the Clan Head answered firmly. "Test him again. And again. Until he breaks free of this childish attachment. Until he chooses the clan not out of fear or duty... but because nothing else remains."
"And if he doesn't?" the Branch Manager asked quietly.
"He will," the Clan Head said with certainty. "He was born of the clan's core bloodline. Even if we must drag him into loyalty, screaming. Blaze is not disposable. He is the future."
The Branch Manager gave a deep nod. "Then we begin preparations for the second trial."
The Clan Head turned back to the screen one final time, his voice a whisper in the darkness. "You will serve us, my grandson. Whether by love... or by force."
The warehouse was cold. Dust clung to the broken beams, and the air stank of rusted metal, old oil, and dried blood. Its emptiness was eerie, its silence only broken by the occasional creak of rusted pipes and the shallow, ragged breathing of the two attackers sprawled near the center. Their bodies bore the marks of a fight they hadn't expected to lose.
Blaze stood over them, his eyes half-shadowed by his hood, expression unreadable. The remnants of his power still lingered, a faint black mist curling around his boots and fingertips like smoke unwilling to disperse. His white hair, a manifestation of the Demon Blood running through his veins, slowly shifted back to its usual black—though the darkness within him hadn't receded at all.
He hadn't spoken since they arrived. Hadn't needed to. The two assassins had recognized him the moment he struck—had understood just how badly they'd misjudged their target. They were supposed to observe, test, report. They hadn't expected to be interrogated by the very boy they were sent to deceive.
He had dragged them here the moment he vanished from the classroom—an instant jump between shadow folds, slipping unseen through the cracks of space and perception. The students' screams were still probably echoing in the lecture hall. But Blaze had no time for confusion or explanation. He had to know why.
The interrogation was silent now. Bloody. Efficient. His hands were steady, every movement precise, and his voice had barely risen above a whisper during the questioning. These were not men he could negotiate with—only extract what little they knew.
But in the end… it wasn't enough.
They hadn't known who exactly sent them. They had no names, only orders. Just targets. Just protocols. Disposable tools. Nothing more. They knew of his power—of course they did. It wasn't coincidence. They were watching him. Judging him. Manipulating the outcome.
And he had failed.
He had chosen her.
That single moment, that single move—to catch the blades aimed at Alina rather than continue the mission—had told the clan everything they needed to know.
Blaze stood still, breathing deeply, the heavy scent of sweat and blood clawing at his nostrils. His gaze moved to the cracked window where dusk was fading into night. Somewhere out there, the city buzzed on like nothing had happened. Somewhere in a warm room, Alina was likely shaken, confused, maybe even terrified. Trying to piece together how someone had tried to kill her in the middle of class… and how someone else had saved her before disappearing.
She had no idea it was him. The quiet boy in the back row. The one who'd talked to her once. The one who watched her from afar like a shadow clinging to the edges of light.
And he wanted to keep it that way.
He couldn't let her see what he was becoming.
But he also knew—this was only the beginning.
The clan wouldn't stop. They never stopped. Especially not when a tool began to think. Not when their blood-bound weapon showed signs of disobedience. They had seen his hesitation. His humanity. His flaw.
To them, that was unacceptable.
To them, he was broken.
Blaze clenched his jaw, his hand tightening into a fist. "They know," he muttered to himself, voice like gravel. "They know I defied them."
He walked toward the two bound assassins, their heads slumped in unconsciousness, their bodies broken but alive. For now.
He stared at them in silence for a long moment, the dark shadows around him rising like a tide in response to his shifting anger. It would be easy to spare them. Easy to let them crawl back and warn the others.
But he wasn't going to play by the clan's rules anymore.
A flick of dark energy surged from his palm, sharp and absolute. It didn't make a sound—only left silence in its wake.
No witnesses. No warnings. No traces.
Just ghosts.
He turned toward the exit, pulling his hood up as the last of the fading sunlight disappeared behind a tower. The shadows welcomed him like an old friend—cool, familiar, and ever-hungry.
His body ached, but his mind burned. The weight of choice pressed down on him heavier than any mission he'd ever undertaken. He had stepped off the path the clan laid for him—and there would be consequences.
"If this is war they want," he whispered, his voice calm but filled with cold resolve, "then I'll show them what the Demon Blood really is."
Alina… she didn't know the truth. Not yet.
But Blaze would protect her.
Even if it meant turning against everything he once was—even if it meant becoming the monster they always feared he could be.