[DARIUS's POV]
"Tell me exactly what happened, Darius."
His father stood there, holding a golden cup, his expression unreadable.
The voice was intimidating, and the pressure emitted could not be withstood by untrained people.
Darius slightly stumbled but stood properly.
He replied, "It had already happened when I reached the place, Father."
"Who dares to hurt our family like this?"
"It was likely those bastards."
Father's face was brimming with anger now. "What of your mission? Did you find their hideout yet?"
He lowered his head as if he was ashamed of what he was about to say.
"We caught a few of them, along with the help of elven warriors. But by the time we reached the mountain, there was no one."
His father shattered the cup with his bare hands, his gaze landing on him.
"Is that why I sent you there? Aren't you angry about the fact that they took your brother's life for three years and came back to take it again?"
"I'm angry too, Father," Darius retorted. "I ran as soon as I saw the illusion Lucia made. I came back to see him. To not let go of him again."
His father's gaze slightly softened. Gene was the one who suffered the most in this family. And he hadn't even started living his life yet.
"Where were the guards?"
"Their throats were cut open, and their bodies were thrown beside the alley."
"And the thugs?"
"They disappeared. Even left Lucia behind in a hurry."
"And how do you know it was the cult?"
"I felt his mana," Darius said, his eyes narrowing. "The energy lingered around the alley. He must have used a portal."
"What about Gene's awakening?"
"I will talk to him about it."
His father nodded, then looked at the portrait on the wall. "They've been watching us," he said. "For years, perhaps. Waiting for the boy to wake. Waiting for the blood to stir."
Darius pushed off the wall and stood near him at the table. "The seer told you his awakening would 'call the rift's hunger.' I thought she meant a metaphor. Now I'm not sure."
"The cult probably wanted to use his ability to summon a rift. The Riven family was the one obstacle they couldn't overcome, and since he's awake now, everything will start to move fast."
"You should train him. Inside the home for some days."
"Should we send him to the academy?" Darius asked
"It's probably safer there. We'll see."
"But he just woke up. Shouldn't we give him some time?"
"Also, if other nobles knew Gene woke up, they would demand an audience. Some will help, while others plot for our downfall."
"I do not care about that. We cannot always be by his side."
"And let them come. Be it the demon's cult or the bastard nobles. I'm not letting go of my son again. To reach him, they have to go through me. And I will make sure they know not to mess with the Riven family."
Darius agreed. Their family is anything but weak. And they would do anything to protect Gene.
GENE'S POV
I woke up again, properly this time.
Somehow, I got into bed while the memory was flowing through.
The room was quiet. Afternoon light slanted through the curtains, dyeing everything green and gold.
I lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together what I actually knew about this body.
Gene Riven.
It was normal for me not to have heard of this name since not every extra was mentioned in the novel. After religiously reading 1500 chapters of Bloodhound Chronicles, I could say this with confidence.
Riven, though... that name I knew.
The Riven family. Rift Guardians. One of the strongest bloodlines was still standing when the novel was running its prologue.
They were legends; people whispered about them the way you whispered about gods who might strike you if you spoke too loudly.
Father's stories about murdering demons matched exactly. The red hair, the rift connection, the raw power radiating off him... it all perfectly matched it.
But in the novel, they were already dead.
The prologue mentioned it casually, like background flavour: "The Riven line fell when the first major rift tore open the capital. Only scattered remnants survived."
No names. No survivors. Just a note to show how bad things were about to get.
So what the hell was this?
'Did I travel to the prequel of the novel I read? But that was unlikely.'
I sat up slowly, ignoring the pull of the scar. I walked straight to the mirror.
Red hair, sharp features. Young, maybe eighteen or nineteen.
Handsome in that "noble protagonist sidekick" way. But the eyes... they looked tired. Older than the face.
I stared at my reflection.
"If the Rivens are dead in the original story… then this isn't just me being an extra."
The realisation hit slowly, then all at once.
My entire family was an extra.
I let out a laugh. Can you believe that?
Not just me. All of them. Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, the whole bloodline. We were background noise in someone else's plot. Cannon fodder dressed up as legends. The rift opening in the capital? That was supposed to wipe us out. And in the book, it did.
But here I was. Alive. Awake. With a system that forced me to die to unlock power.
And now I'd just given myself a near-death experience... in a timeline where my family was supposed to be extinct.
I laughed; it was short and bitter.
"Great. Not only am I the extra who talked shit to the author... my whole fake family is extra too."
The door opened.
Brother stepped in, still in armour, cloak over his shoulder. He looked like he hadn't slept either.
"You're up," he said. Not a question.
"Yeah."
He closed the door, then leaned against it.
Looks like this was his favourite position.
"Show me what you did in the bathroom."
Shit. Caught red-handed.
I raised an eyebrow. "Those maids are not loyal."
"They are loyal to the family." He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Come on. I want to see it properly."
I didn't argue, then moved to the side to not stain the sheets.
It was the same needle from under the pillow, the same one from earlier. Pricked my finger with it. Blood dripped down.
Brother watched, arms crossed.
I focused. The drop rose, quicker this time, as the power remembered me.
My face showed a hint of a smile.
He stepped closer. "Again. More."
I cut deeper, a small line across my palm. Blood flowed. I made it up into a sphere.
Brother exhaled sharply. "That's not elemental. That's blood."
"Yeah."
And it was mine.
He held out his hand. "Cut me. Make it small."
I hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
"Do it."
I sliced the back of his hand, barely a scratch, but it did the job.
"Now take it."
I focused on the drop. It slowly moved. It lifted off his skin, floated to my side, and landed on the sphere in my hand.
Brother stared at the blood floating between us. His expression was in awe.
"Fuck," he whispered. "You can take from others."
"Seems like it."
'Who swore in front of their family?'
He wiped his hand on his cloak. "That's not awakening magic. That's... forbidden."
Hehehe, I knew where this story goes.
I let the blood dissolve after sixty seconds.
Brother paced once. "The old stories say the first guardians used blood before the kings put a curse on it. He said it was too close to the rift's hunger. If Father finds out- "
"He won't."
"Not yet." Brother stopped. "But you need to know the limits. Now. Before someone else does."
He pulled a small dagger from his belt, simple, sharp, and tossed it toward my side.
"Again. This time, outside your body. Try to shape mine."
I caught it.
Then proceeded to cut my hand a little deeper. This time I tried to mend it into a shape.
The blood slowly formed into a dagger. It was very thin and small, but its edges were threatening, to say the least.
Brother held out his arm. "Here. Just a nick."
This time, I didn't ask for permission again. I just wielded it to the side, trying to make a small scratch on his forearm.
Slash.
He hissed, then his lips curved upward. "It works very well and also fast."
Brother watched, eyes narrowed. "Now pull it back."
I focused on the bead of his blood still on his forearm. A pull, stronger than before. It lifted, floated across the space between us, and merged into the wound on my palm.
The moment it touched my blood, heat exploded in my chest. The scar flared like someone pressed a brand to it. I hissed, nearly dropping the sphere.
What?
Brother stepped forward fast. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I lied, gritting my teeth. "Just... burns when I take it in."
He frowned. "How much?"
"Like fire. Worse than before."
He grabbed my wrist, inspecting the sphere, now slightly larger, darker red. "You absorbed it. My blood. Into yours."
I nodded. "Seems like it. I couldn't do that before."
He let go slowly. "That's not just manipulation. That's... consumption."
We both stared at the floating orb. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Brother whistled low. "Dangerous. Very dangerous."
I let it hover, testing the weight. It felt... alive. Warm. Like an extension of my pulse.
"Range is short," he muttered. "Ten feet, maybe twelve."
He turned back. "You can't tell anyone. Not Father. Not Mother. Not even our sister. They love you. Love makes people stupid. They'd lock this away to 'protect' you."
I nodded. "What about you?"
He smirked, but his eyes were serious. "I'm the bad brother. I don't do protection. I do survival."
He sat on the chair backwards again. "We train. Quietly. Every day. You need to know the limits before someone forces them on you."
We spent the next hour pushing.
Small cuts. Small amounts.
I hardened blood into a brittle shield and stopped his thrown dagger (barely).
Pulled it into threads, sharp enough to slice paper from across the room.
Tried absorbing again, each time the scar burned hotter, like the power was eating the wound itself.
Brother noticed every wince. "It's costing you."
"Yeah."
"Old texts say blood powers burn life force. Yours... or someone else's."
Great.
After the last test, a blood whip that cracked a panel, he stood.
"Enough for today. Rest. Tomorrow we go again."
He paused at the door.
"And Gene?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't die again. I just got you back."
He left the room.
I sat there, staring at my palm. The cut was closing, faster than normal.
Blood Manipulation. Sixty seconds. Twelve-foot range. Burns me every time.
And somewhere far away, a blind man is laughing.
The rift cults had started to move.
I could feel it, like the scar was listening.