The ring began to glow a bright, searing crimson that illuminated everything within twenty meters of Osa.
After draining the life force from the two attackers, the ring pulsed hungrily, as if still unsatisfied. Then, like iron drawn to a magnet, every drop of blood flowing from Osa's head wound began to move—floating through the air, defying gravity, streaming directly toward the ring.
The ring absorbed it all.
After a few moments, the crimson glow faded. The ring returned to its normal size, resting on Osa's thumb.
But it had once again transformed.
The ring's usual crimson color became even more deep. Etched into the band was a symbol Osa had seen before: the head of a dragon,but now it became even more fierce, ancient and look alive.
Osa stared at it, his vision blurring.
Did I... only need my blood to open it?
That was his last thought before darkness swallowed him whole.
**********
Time passed—how much, Osa couldn't say.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, the world felt... different.
He blinked, disoriented. The sun was still low in the sky—dawn, maybe? Or dusk? He couldn't tell. But that wasn't what made him freeze.
He accidentally spotted a spider climbing a tree over hundred meters away.
Osa could see it. Not just see it—he could count its legs. All eight of them. He could make out the texture of its body, the way its spinnerets trailed silk behind it, the individual hairs on its limbs.
H..how is this possible?
Osa shot to his feet—and nearly stumbled from the shock of it.
His body felt impossibly light. When he shifted his weight, it was effortless, as if gravity had loosened its grip on him. His muscles coiled with energy he'd never felt before.
Then he heard something.
A soft, rhythmic scraping sound.
His head snapped to the left.
Ants. A small colony of them, dragging a strange insect across the dirt—something that looked like a cross between a butterfly and a fly. He could hear their tiny legs scraping against the ground. Could see the individual segments of their bodies.
Osa's heart began to race.
What's happening to me?
Then he remembered.
The bottle. The blood. The ring.
His hand flew to the side of his head where the glass had shattered against his skull. He remembered the pain—blinding, excruciating. He remembered the hot rush of blood pouring down his face.
But now...
His fingers probed his scalp frantically.
Nothing.
No gash. No dried blood. No pain. Not even a scar.
It's gone.
"You appear to be awake."
Osa spun around so fast he almost lost his balance.
A man stood—no, floated—a few feet away. He was transparent, like a ghost made of shimmering air with a crimson ring slowly rotating on his forehead.
He appeared to be in his early twenties, with striking translucent red hair that cascaded all the way down to his waist. Even in his ethereal form, he was unnervingly handsome.
Osa stared, momentarily speechless.
The transparent man chuckled. "I'm not interested in men, if that's what you're thinking."
Osa's face burned, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed.
But the embarrassment lasted only a heartbeat. His mind snapped back to what mattered—his transformation, the healed wound, the impossible senses.
He turned back to the translucent figure. "What... what happened to me?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gazed toward the distant horizon, as if reminiscing about something long past. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a strange weight.
"Time truly waits for no one."
Then he turned back to Osa, his expression unreadable.
"You are indeed my descendant. Otherwise, the ring would never have reacted the way it did."
"Descendant?" Osa's confusion deepened. "What do you mean? And my blood—that's why the ring activated?"
He paused pause, pointing to the side of his head. "I was hit with a bottle. Right here. The wound was serious. I should have bled to death without medical intervention."
He looked at the transparent man, desperation creeping into his voice. "What happened to it?"
"You healed," the man said simply.
"How?" Osa demanded. "It is impossible for a normal human to heal naturally from that, only hybrids can heal from wounds like that! But I'm not a hybrid, so how—"
The transparent man's smile widened, almost amused. "Are you certain you're not a hybrid?"
Osa froze.
Am I... a hybrid?
His mind raced. He thought back to the moment he'd woken up—the spider a hundred meters away, the ants he could hear moving across dirt, the lightness of his body. Only hybrids had senses like that. Only hybrids could heal life-threatening wounds.
But how?
His parents had once told him about a legendary substance—a hybrid serum—that could transform ordinary humans into hybrids. It was supposed to be impossibly rare.
Could the serum have been inside the ring?
But that didn't make sense. If the ring truly contained a serum, why would it have taken six years to activate? And according to what he'd learned, hybrid serums were injected into the bloodstream.
So when did I inject it? I didn't—
His thoughts spiraled, enlightenment flashing across his face before dissolving into confusion again.
The transparent man watched him with faint amusement, as if even the gods couldn't follow the boy's chaotic train of thought.
After a few minutes, Osa finally collected himself. He looked up at the ghostly figure.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Henry Dean."
Osa's breath caught. "Henry? Are you part of the Henry family?"
"I am not merely part of the Henry family," Dean said, his tone turning solemn. "I am the Henry family. I am the one who brought our bloodline to this universe."
Osa staggered backward. "You're... my ancestor?"
Dean nodded.
"But that's impossible, how can you be?" Osa stammered. "My parents never mentioned you. Not once. I've never heard your name. I've never even seen this ring before I found it in their belongings. How do I know you're telling the truth?"
Dean's expression didn't waver instead, he pointed and said. "This ring on my forehead can only be opened by one of my direct descendants, using my bloodline. That is your proof."
Osa fell silent.
It made sense. The ring had remained dormant for six years—until his blood touched it. Until the bottle shattered and his blood spilled onto the band.
Only my blood could open it? But what about those time it chooses to save me from danger?.
Osa still felt like Dean was still not being fully honest, but after a long moment, he broke the silence.
"If you're my ancestor... why are you like this? Transparent are you a ghost or is this your hybrid ability?." He hesitated. "And if you're powerful enough to have something like this ring, you must have been a powerful hybrid. So what happened to you?"
Dean's gaze grew distant.
"Being a hybrid does not guarantee you invisibility and besides what you see before you is my soul form. I died a very long time ago—shortly after the Ancient War."
Osa's jaw dropped. "The Ancient War? The one that killed over 90% of humanity's strongest existence?"
"Yes," Dean said quietly. "That war."