Atwell Orphanage
Lakane district
Pele city
Nation of Haumea
13th June 385 Post Global Unification
Eighteen years after the Hailey Incident
Eren jolted awake, breath tearing from his lungs as sweat soaked through his back. For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was. His heart hammered violently as he dragged in air, chest rising and falling too fast. Whatever had pulled him from sleep clung to him like a lingering chill, the kind that seeped into the bones rather than the skin. It had been weeks since the fight at the local cage. Weeks since he'd returned to his routine—training harder, pushing farther, demanding more from his body every day. Just last night, he'd run from the Lakane District all the way into Downtown and back again, repeating the circuit until his muscles screamed and his legs felt like they might give out beneath him. He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember the dream, either. Only the fear remained—sharp, irrational, and cold. Eren exhaled slowly and turned his head toward the other side of the room. Ash's bed was empty, sheets neatly made. Of course, he was already gone. Today was graduation day. The final day of public school. Eren stared at the ceiling for a few seconds longer, letting the weight of it settle in. He still hadn't chosen a technical school for the fall. Mother Ruth had insisted—more than once—that he needed backup plans. But his heart had already decided.
Namer University.
Whether he was accepted or not… that was the path he wanted. The graduation ceremony would take up the morning and bleed into the afternoon, and Mother Ruth had made it clear she wouldn't miss it for the world. Eren pushed himself out of bed and dressed carefully. Yellow shirt. Gray pants. Tie knotted tight around his neck. He picked up his gray uniform jacket and paused. His eyes drifted to the poster on the wall.
Alexander—the Sword King. She stood clad in emerald armor, its contours accentuating both elegance and power. Her black hair was braided tightly, her expression calm and unyielding. Beauty and strength, perfectly balanced.
Eren smiled.
"One day," he murmured.
He bowed slightly toward the poster, hands clasped together. He wasn't religious—not like Ash, and certainly not like Mother Ruth. Eren had never cared much for gods or faiths that allowed the world to remain so cruel and unequal. But he still prayed. Not to gods. To the universe. Because there was one thing he believed in completely. Himself.
He reached into the drawer and withdrew the book. The same black, unmarked volume that had saved him in the cage. It looked as ordinary as ever. No title. No markings. Just blank white pages. The strangest part wasn't its appearance—it was that nothing could be written in it. Ink slid off the pages as if they rejected it entirely. Eren had tried more than once during the past week before finally giving up. Now, he only took it out when he wanted to pray.
Eren held the book for a moment longer, then returned it gently to the drawer. Just as he closed it, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Mother Ruth standing there, already dressed for the day, her expression warm and expectant.
"Good morning, Eren," she said.
Graduation day had begun.
Mother Ruth stood waiting for him, dressed in a sleek black gown that caught the morning light. Her hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, a far cry from the modest veil she usually wore. For once, she wasn't dressed as a nun—she had dressed up for him. Despite her age, there were few lines on her face. Years of cultivation had slowed time's touch, lending her a quiet vitality that made her seem far younger than she truly was.
"You know you don't have to come, right?" Eren said, adjusting his jacket. "It's just a ceremony."
She gave him a look, equal parts fond and reproachful. "Nonsense. It's not every day my boys graduate."
Eren grinned. "Makes me wonder about the ones who came before us."
She laughed softly and looped her arm through his, guiding him toward the stairs. "Don't worry about them," she said. "Today is yours."
Most of the older children had already left for school. The remaining little ones were under the watchful eyes of the sisters. Sister Amber had been left in charge for the day—a short woman wrapped in her black habit, already corralling a handful of energetic toddlers.
"Aren't you going to eat before you go?" Sister Amber asked.
"Not hungry," Eren replied.
"Come on," Mother Ruth said gently. "Asher's already waiting in the carriage."
Eren waved goodbye to Sister Amber and followed Mother Ruth outside, climbing into the orphanage's modest transport.
The ceremony took place beneath the blazing sun, held on the same field used for physical education. Rows of chairs had been arranged for students, faculty, and guests, the air shimmering with heat. At the front stood a podium where the headmaster droned on through his speech. Eren fought to stay awake. The sun pressed down on him like a weight, making his eyelids heavy. With all the magic in the world, you'd think someone would've figured out how to cool the air. Seated on the podium beside the headmaster was Ash.
Valedictorian.
Top of the district.
Eren snorted faintly to himself. His own rank—tenth—was respectable, but years of missed classes and selective studying had taken their toll. He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to focus. Part of him was still unsettled by the nightmare that had woken him earlier. Even without remembering it, the unease lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts. When the headmaster finally concluded, Ash rose to speak.
Eren straightened slightly. Ash wasn't the type for speeches. He stood there, tall and composed, red eyes sweeping calmly over the crowd. His expression was unreadable, stoic as ever, as the murmuring quieted and all attention settled on him.
"Still as cold as ever," Eren muttered as the headmaster whispered something to him.
Ash didn't respond. He simply returned to his seat. An awkward silence settled over the field for several long minutes before the headmaster cleared his throat and took the podium again, resuming control of the ceremony. Names were called one after another. Time dragged. By the time Eren finally heard his own, the heat had soaked through his clothes and sweat clung uncomfortably to his skin. He climbed the steps to the podium, accepted his diploma from the headmaster, and turned to face the crowd. Almost immediately, he spotted Mother Ruth in the guest section—on her feet, waving both hands and calling his name like she was cheering at a championship bout. Eren felt his face warm for an entirely different reason. Embarrassed but smiling, he waved back. Then he stepped down and returned to his seat, silently begging the universe for the ceremony to end already.
"How wonderful was that?" Mother Ruth said brightly as Eren and Ash joined her once the ceremony concluded. Around them, former students clustered with parents and loved ones, laughter and conversation filling the air.
"I just want to go home," Eren groaned. "This heat is brutal."
"That's Pele City for you," Mother Ruth said knowingly. "The weather never behaves."
She glanced at Ash, who stood quietly beside them, one hand tucked into his pocket, eyes fixed on the school building across the field. He looked distant. Eren followed his gaze, wondering what was going through his head. If Ash had been the one fighting Onyanko, the match would've ended in a second. Eren knew that much. He still had a long way to go if he ever hoped to stand on equal footing with him.
"You okay, Ash?" Mother Ruth asked gently.
"Yeah," Ash said after a moment. He exhaled, then turned back to her with an easy smile. Eren clicked his tongue in annoyance. Ash was always like that—reserved and unreadable with him, yet perfectly open when it came to Mother Ruth. He yawned and looked away, scanning the crowd of classmates posing with their families.
That's when he noticed it. A photographer's booth.
"Hey, Mother," Eren said suddenly, pointing. "Why don't we get a picture? Something to remember today by."
Her face lit up. "That's a wonderful idea. Come on, boys."
They joined the line of families waiting for their turn. When it was time, Eren slipped off his jacket and loosened his tie, sitting to Mother Ruth's right while Ash took the seat to her left. The photographer raised his device and gave them a thumbs-up.
"Smile, boys," Mother Ruth said.
They did.
A flash of light filled the booth, stinging Eren's eyes for a moment. He blinked rapidly as they stepped back outside—and froze. The sun was gone. Dark clouds had rolled in while they weren't looking, blanketing the sky in a heavy gray.
"Looks like rain," Mother Ruth said. "We should head back. Wouldn't want to be late for your dinner party."
"You didn't have to do all that," Eren said softly.
"As I said," she replied, smiling through the tears welling in her eyes, "it's not every day my boys graduate."
Eren smiled back as they turned toward the waiting vehicle, the weight of the day settling warmly in his chest.
****
The weather took a sharp turn for the worse after dinner. Rain battered the windows, thunder rolling through the sky as the storm raged with a violence that mirrored the turmoil inside Asher Asterion. He stood near the window, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a bottle of apple cider. He took a slow sip, eyes fixed on the roiling clouds beyond the glass. Something about the storm unsettled him. It wasn't just the thunder or the way the wind howled through the streets—it was the feeling in his gut. A deep, nagging unease that refused to fade. It had been there for over a week now, growing stronger by the day.
Stronger whenever Eren was nearby. Ash didn't know why. But when he'd woken up that morning, the sensation had been unmistakable—the same feeling he'd had ten years ago. The day his family was taken from him.
Fear tightened his chest. Not for himself—but for the people around him. For the family he had now. For the thought that history might repeat itself, that everything he cared about could be torn away again. He clenched his jaw. That fear was why he trained, why he pushed himself harder every day. Why he was determined to attend Namer University and become a Hunter. Power wasn't a luxury—it was survival. He refused to be that helpless ten-year-old ever again. And yet—
Stupid Eren was determined to follow him down that same path.
Ash turned away from the window and glanced across the living room. Eren sat on the floor with a few of the older boys, watching the replay of his MMA fight against Onyanko on his Comm Amulet. The match had already made its way onto the NET. Patry shouted excitedly, and the other kids joined in, cheering as Eren sent the champion flying. Ash exhaled slowly. He'd watched the fight—mostly because Eren had shoved it in his face—but he couldn't deny the truth. Eren had beaten a seasoned MMA fighter. That alone was impressive. But it wasn't enough. Ash knew the real world. He'd seen it. The things that lurked beyond the safety of districts and barriers—true monsters. Things no amount of raw strength or street fighting could handle. He never wanted the kids here to see that world.
Especially not Eren.
The thought that Mother Ruth and the sisters might discover Eren's late-night excursions made Ash uneasy. He was thankful they didn't know how to access the NET. If they ever found out—and realized Ash had known all along—he'd be punished right alongside that idiot. Even Ash wasn't fond of modern magitech. The newer systems introduced by the Nri Empire were powerful, yes, but invasive. Too much information, too easily shared. He set his bottle down and quietly left the living room, heading into the kitchen.
Sister Amber and Sister Judith were washing dishes by hand, sleeves rolled up. The steam-powered washer sat idle in the corner—out of mana crystals again. They hadn't had time to make a market run, and most of the building's power was already being drawn from the emergency reserve Mother Ruth had provided just so the kids could enjoy the dinner party.
Running an orphanage wasn't easy. Ash knew that better than most. He leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching the sisters work, a sense of gratitude settling in his chest. If it weren't for Mother Ruth, he would've ended up on the streets of Namer Island after his loss. This place had saved him. And he would do whatever it took to protect it.
"Do you need some help?" Ash asked.
"No, thank you, darling," Sister Amber replied with a warm smile. "You should rest. We've got this—"
The lights died. Not dimmed—vanished. The hum of power cut out completely, plunging the orphanage into darkness. Only the relentless drum of rain against the windows remained, wind howling as trees thrashed outside. For a heartbeat, the silence held. Then the children began to cry.
"Oh dear…" Sister Judith whispered.
A spark flared. Sister Amber raised her hand, conjuring a small flame in her palm. The light pushed the darkness back just enough to reveal anxious faces and trembling shadows along the walls. Footsteps hurried down the hall. Mother Ruth appeared, confusion etched across her features.
"The power was supposed to last the entire week," she said.
"It should have," Sister Amber agreed. "Brother Mark said the crystals were enough for seven days."
Mark Heno—the groundskeeper—had gone to the market earlier that afternoon to restock.
"Maybe it's the main switch," Eren said, stepping in from the living room. "It's happened before. I can check it."
"In this weather?" Ash shot back.
"It's just rain," Eren replied, already grabbing a coat from the wall. "Besides, it's not my first time fixing that stupid outlet."
Mother Ruth opened a drawer and pulled out a lamp. She tested it—still charged—then handed it to Eren.
"Be careful," she said quietly.
Eren smiled. "Always am."
He stepped out into the storm. Ash followed immediately, tugging on a coat as thunder cracked overhead. A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the compound in stark white for a split second. Something felt wrong. Ash couldn't place it—but every instinct he had screamed that Eren shouldn't be alone out there. The rain came down in sheets as Ash switched on the lamp. Together, they headed toward the groundskeeper's shed, where the main power switch was housed.
"You know you don't have to babysit me," Eren muttered, irritation edging his voice. "I can handle rain. I've fixed that thing a dozen times—"
"I know you can," Ash said calmly. His eyes swept the darkness, senses probing for anything out of place. Then he stopped.
Eren bumped into his back. "What the hell—"
Ash raised a hand. There was a shape ahead of them. A figure standing motionless in the rain. Ash felt it instantly. The pressure. The World energy responding to the Anima of the figure before them.
"Get inside," a voice said. The stranger stepped forward into the lamp's glow. He was tall, with brown skin, pale beneath the harsh light. Black hair fell loosely over sharp hazel eyes. He wore a black, form-fitting, high-collared tunic, pristine despite the storm. On his right breast gleamed a pin—a winged star encircled by a halo. The symbol of the Hunter Association.
"Who the hell are you?" Eren demanded. Ash already knew. He grabbed Eren's arm— The ground exploded. A deafening boom tore through the air as lightning struck the shed they'd been heading toward. Wood splintered, metal screamed, and debris flew outward in a violent spray. The Hunter spun toward the impact, swearing sharply. He raised his right arm, the cross-shaped focus at his wrist glowing as he opened a brown grimoire in his other hand.
"Arise," he muttered. "Ijagoon." White light detonated across the compound—brilliant, blinding. Ash felt the chill before he saw it. A cold far deeper than rain. From the light emerged a massive Maleficant—a grotesque, towering cockroach-like creature wrapped in a writhing veil of negative anima. Its chitinous body gleamed wetly as six segmented antennae—Athenas—clicked and twitched in erratic patterns. The air grew heavy. Oppressive. Ash's breath caught as dread flooded his veins—an instinctive, bone-deep terror he couldn't explain.
This wasn't a monster from stories. It was real. And it was here.
"What's going on?" Eren said, panic creeping into his voice. "What the hell is that— is that—"
"Eren, shut up!" Ash snapped.
The idiot couldn't see it. Without Internal Sense, the Maleficant was nothing but empty space and pressure to him—but that didn't make it any less real. Outside, the Hunter moved. With a sharp gesture, he swung an enchanted blade that he had summoned from his grimoire. The weapon materialized with a heavy thrum—a massive sword, thick and broad, its sheer size bordering on absurd. The hilt was wrapped in white cloth, the double-edged blade bleeding anima that hissed and rolled off it like heat. Ash's eyes widened. To wield something like that so casually, the Hunter had to be reinforcing his body constantly.
The Maleficant screeched as a violet light was produced from the Hunter's swing of the greatsword. A wave of accursed power rippled outward from the spirit, distorting the air. This time, Eren didn't speak. His body locked up as the pressure finally reached him—not sight, but presence. His knees trembled, breath hitching as a primal fear clawed its way up his spine. Then both the violet light and the dark power collided and sent an explosion of force.
"What… what the hell was that?" Eren screamed as he nearly lost his balance from the explosion.
"Boys! Get back inside—now!" the Hunter roared.
Ash didn't hesitate. He seized Eren by the arm and dragged him toward the building at a sprint. He needed to warn Mother Ruth. They needed a barrier—immediately. Eren yanked his arm free but kept running alongside him. As they burst into the hallway, Mother Ruth was already there. She held a magitech rifle in her hands—sleek, rune-etched, and humming with restrained power. The weapon she'd once carried as a Hunter.
"Asher! Eren! Close the door!" she ordered. They slammed it shut and locked it just as Mother Ruth pulled a talisman from her sleeve. Her lips moved rapidly, voice low and precise. Ash watched as glowing runes gathered in the air, snapping into place like pieces of a formula. A barrier bloomed outward, wrapping the orphanage in a translucent veil.
Eren bent forward, gasping. His breath came in ragged bursts, his body shaking—not just from the cold rain, but from the lingering chill of the Maleficant's presence. He couldn't see it, but he felt it. Felt the hollow where the shed had once stood. Felt the wrongness pressing against the walls.
"Basement," Mother Ruth said sharply.
Eren looked up.
"No," he said. "We can't just—"
"Don't argue," Ash cut in, voice hard.
"We can't leave him out there alone!" Eren hissed.
"Now is not the time, Eren," Mother Ruth said. "Get to the damn—"
The words died in her throat. The roof exploded inward. Wood and debris rained down as the Hunter crashed through the ceiling, sliding across the floor on one knee. He braced his massive sword in front of him, using it like a shield as sparks and dust scattered. A second later, the Maleficant followed. It tore through the gaping hole, its massive form unfolding inside the building, antennae clicking in sharp, excited rhythms. Negative anima poured off it in suffocating waves.
Then—
It turned. Not toward the Hunter. Not toward Mother Ruth. Its faceless presence locked onto Eren.
"Fucking roach," the Hunter snarled.
He launched himself upward, sword flashing as he wove a blur of steel and light. Each strike landed with terrifying speed, the blade screaming through the air. The Maleficant answered in kind—two massive hind legs burst from beneath the black veil shrouding its body, intercepting the sword again and again. Metal and accursed force collided, the impact freezing the space around them beneath the crushing weight of unleashed anima. Eren couldn't feel the Anima itself—but he felt the fight. The air trembled. Vibrations crawled across his skin, pressure warping the space around his lungs. He had trained his senses in tandem with his body, sharpening them until even the slightest shift was detectable. And everything about this clash told him one thing:
Whatever the Hunter was fighting was dangerous.
Mother Ruth moved. She raised her rifle and fired with flawless precision. Bolts of concentrated anima slammed into the Maleficant, detonating across its form in bursts of light. The creature recoiled—but only for a moment. Black flesh knitted itself back together, regenerating with grotesque persistence. Just like a cockroach. The clicking of its antennae intensified, the sound grating, unnatural. Then the Maleficant opened its mouth. A flood of movement poured out.
Roaches.
Dozens—hundreds—swarming into the air like living shrapnel.
"That's an accursed technique," Ash said tightly.
The swarm bypassed the Hunter and Mother Ruth entirely, veering instead toward Eren and Ash. Several lunged straight for Eren—
—and vanished.
The Hunter appeared between them in a flash, his sword carving a crescent of violet light through the air. The slash vaporized the roaches instantly, their bodies dissolving into ash before they could reach their target. The Hunter whirled on Ash, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You!" he barked. "Get him out of here—now!"
"I'm not leaving Mother—"
"Don't you get it?!" the Hunter snapped, blood streaking down from a gash at his temple. "That Maleficant is after you."
"What?!" Eren shouted.
"Asher!" Mother Ruth screamed, still firing relentlessly. Her movements were fluid, precise—retirement had done nothing to dull her edge. "Get Eren out of here! Only you can!"
Ash stood frozen. The pressure crushed in on him, murderous intent flooding the room from three overwhelming presences. For a heartbeat, he was no longer in the orphanage. He was ten years old again. Watching his family die. Powerless. Helpless.
No.
Something snapped inside him. There was something he could do. Ash moved. He seized Eren's arm and flooded his muscles with anima, reinforcing his strength as he dragged the protesting idiot down the hall.
"If I'm getting you out," Ash growled, "I'm doing it properly."
"We can't just leave Mother Ruth!" Eren shouted as they burst into their room.
"That thing is after you!" Ash fired back.
He dropped to one knee and yanked open the box beneath his bed.
"What about everyone else?!" Eren demanded. "We need to protect them—"
"Getting you out is protecting them!" Ash snapped.
His hands hovered over the box. The last thing he had left of his tribe. Images slammed into his mind—his homeland burning, his brother pressing the box into his hands, telling him to run. Protect yourself. Protect them. That was the last time he'd seen his brother alive… or so he believed. The box was carved from Maginieum wood, dense and dark, harder than steel. Its lid was plated in dull gold, sealed with a single strip of inscribed paper.
Ash inhaled sharply.
He wove hand signs, anima surging through his circuits, and began to chant—voice low, steady, unwavering—as he invoked the incantation to break the seal.
"From the darkness of Aset Ra, and into the light of Menes, I command thee—release."
The paper seal ignited, curling into ash as it peeled away. With a sharp crack, the lid split open, the enchantment binding it collapsing inward.
Eren stared. "What… what is that?"
"One of the last enchanted tools left by my clan," Ash said.
He reached into the box and withdrew a silver bow, its surface etched with faint, flowing runes that shimmered even in the dim light. Enchanted tools were rare—artifacts forged to amplify and refine magical power, treasures most often unearthed in the depths of dungeons.
Eren swallowed. "What can it do?"
Ash didn't answer. He moved to the window and threw it open. Rain lashed in, soaking his face and sleeves, but he didn't flinch. Magic manifested in many forms. Some abilities were unique to individuals; others were carried through bloodlines. The Asterion clan had once been nomads—never lingering, always moving, crossing lands until the Great Migration forced them to settle on Namer Island. Because of that history, they were known as the Nomad Ones. Their bloodline ability reflected that nature perfectly.
Asterion Style — Anima Control Art: Spatial Awareness
Time slowed.
No—stopped.
Each raindrop hung suspended in the air, individually distinct. Ash's perception expanded outward in all directions, space unfolding inside his mind like a living map. Distances became numbers. Angles became instinct.
He knew exactly how far the local park was. Strengthening his arm with Anima, Ash drew the bowstring. A translucent arrow formed, condensed Anima taking shape as he released it in a single, flawless motion. The arrow streaked through the storm and cleaved cleanly through a distant tree. The mark was set. Ash released the technique, reality snapping back into motion. He grabbed Eren by the arm—
—and the world folded. In the span of a heartbeat, they vanished from the room.