Masks and Memories

Ajal returned home to the towering mansion that stood like a fortress, its grandeur matched only by the secrets it held within its walls. As he approached, the absence of visible guards belied the presence of hidden sentinels, whose watchful eyes monitored his every move.

At the entrance stood their butler, a figure of quiet elegance and unassuming authority. His calm demeanor masked a keen intellect, his sly smile betraying a depth of understanding beyond mere servitude. "You're back, young master," he greeted Ajal, his voice a smooth cadence of respect. "How was your trip?"

Ajal's response was curt yet polite, his tone betraying the weight of his experiences. "Just like the others," he replied, a hint of weariness in his voice.

The butler's smile widened, a silent acknowledgment of Ajal's prowess. "As expected of the young master," he remarked, his words laden with unspoken admiration. "Would you like something to eat?"

Ajal declined the offer with a shake of his head. "Thanks, I'm good," he replied, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere.

Entering the mansion, Ajal encountered the butler once more, his presence seemingly omnipresent yet unsurprising. Without missing a beat, the butler inquired if Ajal required anything, directing him to No. 3 upstairs should he need assistance.

Climbing the stairs, Ajal encountered No. 3, a mirror image of the butler below, his demeanor as composed as his counterpart's. Inquiring about Iris, Ajal learned that she was asleep, her absence felt keenly in the silence of her chambers.

Entering Iris's room, Ajal deposited a box on her wardrobe with a sense of detachment, the weight of his actions lingering in the stillness of the room. Without a word, he retreated, leaving Iris to her slumber.

Alone in his own quarters, Ajal lay upon his bed, the exhaustion of his journey weighing heavily upon him. His white mask remained a barrier between himself and the world, concealing the scars of his past and the burdens of his present.

As he stared at the ceiling, sleep claimed him, plunging him into a realm of haunting visions and tormented memories. Flames danced before his eyes, consuming everything in their path, the screams of the innocent echoing in his ears.

Amidst the inferno, a monstrous creature lurked, its predatory instincts honed on its hapless prey. Ajal watched in horror as the creature closed in, its claws tearing through flesh and bone with merciless precision.

With each agonizing moment, the creature toyed with Ajal, relishing in his pain and fear. It savored every scream, every futile attempt to escape its grasp, until finally, it unleashed a torrent of blue flames that engulfed Ajal's face in searing agony.

With a jolt, Ajal awoke, his body drenched in sweat, his screams echoing through the empty chambers of the mansion. Gasping for breath, he struggled to comprehend the nightmare that had gripped him in its clutches.

Rushing to the washroom, he confronted his reflection, the mask serving as a shield against the grotesque visage beneath. With trembling hands, he removed the mask, revealing not only his damaged face now obscured by deep burns and disfiguring marks but also a visage marred beyond repair, a testament to the trials and pain he had endured.

Disgusted by his own reflection, Ajal stripped off his shirt, baring his torso to the unforgiving light. The scars crisscrossed his skin, a roadmap of pain and suffering etched into his flesh. Each scar told a story, a tale of battles fought and wounds endured, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

As he traced his fingers over the scars, Ajal felt the weight of his past bearing down upon him. The memories flooded back with a visceral intensity, each scar a portal to a moment of agony and despair. He could almost feel the searing heat of the flames, the piercing claws of the monsters that had left their mark upon him.

With a heavy heart, Ajal placed his mask back on, its familiar weight a comforting presence as it shielded his scarred face from the prying eyes of the world. With each step, he felt the reassurance of its protection, a tangible reminder of the role it played in his life. "Staring at his reflection, Ajal felt the weight of self-loathing pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. "Why now?" he whispered to himself, the question echoing in the empty confines of the washroom. But deep down, he knew the answer. The scars were a reminder of who he was, a reflection of the darkness that dwelled within him. And no matter how hard he tried to hide from it, the truth would always find a way to surface.

In the opulent dining room, bathed in the warm glow of morning light, sat a young girl with golden hair that cascaded like liquid sunshine, her eyes as clear as glass reflecting the beauty of a goddess. She was engrossed in admiring a delicate bracelet laid out on the table before her, her movements graceful and mesmerizing.

As she toyed with the bracelet, her forehead furrowed in concentration, the air seemed to shimmer with the presence of multiple figures moving about. One of them, a copy of the butler, approached her with a gentle reminder, "Young miss, your food is going cold."

The girl, known as Iris, looked up with a smile that could rival the dawn itself. "I'm waiting for Aji," she replied, her voice tinged with anticipation.

Suddenly, she let out a joyful squeal as Ajal, elegantly dressed in a formal black uniform adorned with the school's crest, a symbol depicting the world split into mirages, each representing different dimensions entered the room. His white mask concealed his face as usual, adding an air of mystery to his presence.

"Iris," Ajal greeted her with a sigh, "you're a grown woman now. You shouldn't be doing this. You're no longer a child."

Iris pouted, her expression turning from joy to mock indignation. Ajal affectionately tousled her hair, earning himself a glare before she relented with a smile. "I saw your gift this morning, Aji, and I love it. Thank you!" she exclaimed, her happiness evident in her voice.

Ajal tried to hide his own joy with a nonchalant reply, "You're welcome." He then asked, "Aren't you late for school?"

Pretending not to hear him, Iris hurriedly finished her food, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm going to miss you so much when you leave," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion.

Ajal moved to comfort her, assuring her that she wouldn't be alone with Simon and the others around. Iris wiped away her tears, nodding in understanding but still feeling the weight of his impending departure.

As she ate, Iris brought up Ajal's upcoming enrollment at Morningstar, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I hear you're leaving for Morningstar," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ajal nodded, his heart heavy with the thought of leaving his sister behind. "I'll miss you too, Iris," he admitted softly.

Suddenly, Iris's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she spoke of Gauthier, the oldest son and successor to the Dragovich family. "You know Gauthier is never around," she remarked, her tone tinged with frustration. "Always helping dad around as his successor, hardly even seeing a glimpse of his shadow."

Ajal tried to reassure her, "Don't worry, you'll see him around. No one loves you more than him."

Iris sighed, her frustration evident. "But still, he's so stiff," she complained. "He's not fun like you, Aji. And Dad's always so serious. When I grow stronger, I'm going to beat him and force him to smile," she said jokingly, though with a hint of seriousness in her tone.

Ajal chuckled at her determination, "Sure, you have a long way to go." He then urged her to finish her food as she was running late for school.

Simon, one of the clones, offered to fetch Ajal something to eat, but he declined, insisting he was fine. With a heavy heart, Ajal watched as Iris was escorted to the car, her tear-stained face haunting him as she waved goodbye, her small form disappearing into the distance.

Turning away, Ajal was met by Simon's ever-present presence. "Don't worry, young master," Simon reassured him. "She'll be fine."

With a sigh, Ajal made his way to the main hall, his mind filled with thoughts of his sister and the challenges that lay ahead.

Standing before the towering picture frame, Ajal found himself lost in the serene smile of the woman depicted within, her silver hair cascading like moonlight, her eyes holding a warmth that seemed to envelop the room. With a heavy heart, he gazed upon the image, a pang of remorse and sadness washing over him like a tidal wave.

As he stood there, silently contemplating, a voice from behind interrupted his thoughts. "Shouldn't you be on your way?" The voice was cool and authoritative, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Turning, Ajal found himself face to face with Gauthier, his elder brother, his golden hair and dark blue eyes exuding an elegance that mirrored their father's, albeit with a touch less intensity. Ignoring the icy tone, Ajal replied, "Gauthier, I didn't know you were around."

Gauthier's response was equally cold. "Do I need your permission to be around?" he retorted, his demeanor rigid and unyielding.

Ajal brushed off the hostility, saying, "I was just leaving."

"Good," Gauthier replied, his voice tinged with authority. "I heard you start at Morningstar today. I hope you know what that means as a Dragovich."

Ajal nodded solemnly. "Yes, I know. No need to be worried. I have no intention of dragging the family name down."

"Good to know," Gauthier replied curtly, his gaze unwavering.

With a nod, Ajal took his leave, leaving Gauthier standing before the picture frame with a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "Mother, I'm trying my best," he murmured softly before turning and departing.

As Ajal made his way through the halls, his thoughts turned to Gauthier, the firstborn son of Gagliardi and Hera Dragovich, and the leading successor to the Dragovich family. With his position came a myriad of responsibilities, each one weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Despite his cold exterior, Ajal knew that Gauthier gave his all for the family, especially for Iris, their beloved sister. Since their mother's passing, Gauthier had grown even more distant, his grief buried beneath a facade of strength and stoicism.

Ajal couldn't help but sympathize with his brother, understanding the burden of expectations placed upon him as a Dragovich. In their world, showing any sign of weakness was unthinkable, and Gauthier bore that burden with unwavering determination, even at the cost of his own emotions.

As Ajal continued on his journey, he couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that lingered in his heart, a silent tribute to the sacrifices made by his brother for the sake of their family. He couldn't help but remember that Gauthier was among the contenders for the title of the strongest of the next generation, alongside Kwame Asante the second son of the Asante family as they both stood as the top contenders.

As Ajal approached the Morning Star Dimextian Academy, he couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and grandeur. The academy, sprawling across the territory, stood as a testament to the combined efforts of the government and the ten great families. Yet, unlike the other territories managed by these families, Morning Star remained neutral—a sanctuary away from their influence, or so it seemed to the outside world.

However, Ajal knew better. Behind the façade of neutrality, the academy served a more sinister purpose. It was not merely an educational institution but rather a carefully curated breeding ground for talented Dimextians. Here, they were groomed and honed to perfection, their skills honed for one purpose: to be recruited by the government and the families to bolster their power and influence.

The students who walked its halls were not just scholars but pawns in a game of power and ambition, their destinies shaped by the machinations of those who sought to control them. Despite its outward appearance of impartiality, Morning Star was nothing more than a tool—a means to an end in the relentless pursuit of dominance.

As Ajal approached, he could feel the weight of their stares, a mixture of envy, hate, and jealousy. Their gazes seemed to part like waves before a ship, a silent acknowledgment of the aura he exuded.

What drew even more attention was his mask, concealing his face from prying eyes. Whispers followed in his wake, speculating about his origins and the reasons behind his masked visage. Some spoke of adoption, while others whispered about illegitimacy, but Ajal paid them no heed, his focus unwavering.

As he moved through the throngs of people, a voice cut through the noise.

"Well, if it isn't Ajal Dragovich," came the boisterous voice of Regan Carras, the first son of Adraen Carras and Patriarch of the Carras family—one of the ten great families. Despite his muscular build and intimidating presence, Regan had a carefree nature that belied his status.

Ajal turned to face him, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as Regan placed a familiar hand on his neck. "It's been a while, buddy," Regan exclaimed with a grin, oblivious to Ajal's discomfort.

"Yeah, it's been a while," Ajal replied tersely, his tone betraying his annoyance. "I don't like being touched."

Regan chuckled, offering a half-hearted apology as he removed his hand. "Sorry, buddy," he said, his laughter echoing in the air. "Shall we head to the main hall together for the opening ceremony?"

Ajal sighed inwardly, knowing that he couldn't avoid Regan's company. "Sure," he replied with a resigned nod, falling into step beside him.

As they made their way towards the main hall, the whispers among the students grew louder. "Isn't that Regan Carras?" they murmured to each other in hushed tones. "And who's that with him? Is that Ajal Dragovich?"

The realization spread like wildfire, drawing curious glances from all around. Despite their contrasting backgrounds, the sight of Ajal and Regan together was enough to cause a stir among the students—a testament to the complex web of alliances and rivalries that defined life at Morning Star Dimextian Academy.

As Ajal and Regan sat behind in the auditorium, the attention of the thousands of students was fixated on them. Ajal's mask drew curiosity, while Regan's imposing build commanded respect. Amidst the growing noise, a sudden silence descended as a disheveled man in a white shirt, with tired eyes and unkempt hair, lazily made his way onto the stage. He seemed reluctant, as if forced into the spotlight.

The students continued to chatter, paying little heed to the man on stage. Frustrated, he muttered to himself about their ignorance of the world's workings. With a wave of his hand, he released a surge of Dimexion energy, filling the room with an oppressive pressure. Students gasped for air, some even passing out, unable to withstand the overwhelming force.

Among the few unaffected were Ajal, Regan, and a handful of others—children from the other great families and a select few exceptional students. The man, revealed as Hendell Raborn, the vice principal of the academy, observed them with interest. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he muttered to himself, 'Seems like we might have some troublemakers on our hands'.

As Hendell Raborn, the vice principal of MorningStar, took the stage once again, his presence commanded attention despite his disheveled appearance. With a weary gaze and a voice heavy with authority, he addressed the gathered students.

"Welcome, all of you, to MorningStar," he began, "His words sliced through the murmurs and chatter with precision, like a surgeon's scalpel. "You stand here, eager to pursue greater power, to carve your names into the annals of history. But let me remind you: you are nothing special."

A hush fell over the auditorium as Hendell's words hung in the air, each syllable laden with weight. "Your lives," he continued, "are as fleeting as flies in the wind. You seek to venture into the unknown, to face creatures that emerge from the very cracks of our world. But heed my warning: I have seen many talents die, their potential snuffed out like candles in the dark."

His voice took on a somber tone, filled with the weight of experience. "Talent is useless," he declared, each word ringing with finality. "Only the strong survive in this unforgiving world. Power is not given; it is taken. And it is only through strength and determination that you will carve out your place in this world."

With a final glance at the assembled students, Hendell concluded his speech. "That is all I have to say," he stated simply, his words echoing in the silence that followed. And with that, he left the stage, leaving behind a stunned audience grappling with the gravity of his words.

Exiting the stage, Hendell left the stunned students in his wake. Regan leaned towards Ajal, remarking on Hendell's strength and position as one of the few remaining strong Dimexians from the previous generation, likely in the Transcendent stage of the Astral Attainment Rank.

Ajal remained silent, his attention drawn to a dark-skinned male with a formidable physique and faded hair, adorned with a lined tattoo on his neck. Unfazed by the display of power, Yaw Asante stood at the edge of the auditorium, his gaze fixed on Ajal with a hint of bloodlust. As the fourth son of the Asante Family—the only family that could rival the Dragovich family, albeit not on par with them—Yaw's presence underscored the deep-seated rivalry between the two families.

Regan, following Ajal's gaze, observed Yaw with a mixture of surprise and disdain. 'To think this battle-crazed bastard was here,' Regan muttered under his breath. Yaw had garnered a reputation for his violent tendencies and obsession with fighting, qualities that placed him in a precarious position in the succession war within the Asante family. 

He seems pissed at you for a reason," Regan remarked to Ajal as they rose from their seats. Ignoring Regan's words, Ajal stood up, his gaze still fixed on Yaw. As Hendell exited the auditorium, Ajal made his way out, with Regan following closely behind, leaving behind the lingering atmosphere of tension and uncertainty as they headed for their first class of the day.