Useless

Graviel watched from a distance, his silver eyes narrowed as he observed the boy carving through the monsters with ease. A faint smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Impressive," he muttered to himself.

He then turned to the elders. "Use Cryos. Slow the Dreds. If we can't kill them, we'll stop them long enough for him to finish the job."

Lysandre nodded reluctantly, her hands already glowing with frost. "Understood."

The elders joined forces, their combined Qi freezing the air. Ice spread across the street, encasing several Dreds in jagged crystals. Their movements slowed, but the creatures still snarled and threshed against their restraints.

Verion's grip tightened on his sword. His Qi flared brightly around him, roaring like an unrestrained flame. Now's my chance. His feet surged forward, and with a fierce cry, he swung his blade down onto the nearest frozen Dred.

But the strike passed through. Effortlessly. Meaninglessly.

"No!" Verion shouted, his voice breaking as he struck again, his movements more frantic with each swing.

The blade sliced through the air, through the frozen Dred's body—but it was as if nothing was there. His arms burned with effort, but the creature remained untouched, snarling even as it remained encased in frost.

"Why?!" Verion bellowed, his frustration pouring out in a raw, helpless cry. "Why can't I—" His voice cracked, his arms trembling as his blade finally fell to his side.

His breathing came in harsh gasps, and his legs threatened to buckle under the weight of his failure. The glow of his Qi flickered weakly, like a flame struggling against the wind.

I can't even touch it, he thought bitterly. The frozen Dred's form still looked like Rael to him—twisted, grotesque, but unmistakably him. That smug, mocking expression that had haunted Verion for lifetimes stared back at him, feeding his anger, his pain.

Rael. The man who had destroyed everything. The man who had ripped apart his life in his past existence.

Verion's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as the memories surged forward like a tide he couldn't stop.

How am I supposed to let go? How do I forgive someone who took everything from me?

His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, but even the sharp pain couldn't distract him. How can I even think about forgiveness? I can't forget. I won't forget.

And yet… deep inside, Verion felt the truth like a wound reopening. The hatred, the rage—it wasn't just his. It belonged to the Dred now. It fed on his emotions, growing stronger while leaving him powerless.

That's why I can't hurt it, Verion realized with crushing clarity. The Dred wasn't just Rael—it was him. His anger, his bitterness, his unwillingness to let go. It was everything he hated about himself.

He froze, his breath catching as the realization struck. Am I the reason I'm so weak?

Elara stood a few steps away, her hands trembling slightly as she watched Verion. He didn't look at her—he couldn't—but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body shook with frustration.

Her heart clenched painfully. She wanted to run to him, to pull him close like she had when he was a child, to tell him it would be all right. But she didn't move. She didn't speak.

Because she didn't know what to say.

Elara's chest ached as she stared at her son. Rael. That was the name Verion had screamed back in the grand hall. The same name that had filled him with so much hatred and fury.

But who was Rael? And why did Verion seem so haunted by him?

Her gaze drifted to Elion, who stood farther ahead, cutting through the Dreds with calm, precise movements. The glow of his golden eyes and the blood splattered across his face made him look like a figure from a nightmare.

And Elion… my sweet boy.

Elara's fingers twitched, aching to reach out, but her hands stayed by her sides. She felt as though she didn't know her sons anymore. The names they spoke, the memories they seemed to carry—what had they been through? What had they seen?

What have you both become?

Her throat tightened, and tears pricked at her eyes. What kind of mother doesn't know her own children? What kind of mother can't protect them?

A sharp pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She had always believed her role was to keep them safe, to shield them from the harshness of the world. But standing here now, seeing Verion break down and Elion wade through death like it was second nature, she felt useless. Powerless.

I don't know what you've been through, she thought, her gaze flicking between them. And I can't even help you now.

Verion's sharp, bitter laugh pulled her from her thoughts. His head dropped, his sword trembling in his grip. "I'm useless..." he muttered, his voice low and broken.

Elara opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she say? What could she possibly offer that would ease his pain?

So she said nothing.

Instead, she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to hover just above his shoulder. Her fingers trembled before they finally settled, light as a whisper. She squeezed gently, trying to offer comfort in the only way she could.

Verion didn't move. He didn't push her away, but he didn't acknowledge her either.

And as Elara stood there, her youngest son struggling in silence, her oldest wading through a sea of monsters, one thought consumed her.

I'm losing them. Both of them.

As Elion flicked his sword to the side, black blood splattered across the blood-soaked cobblestones. His golden eyes, sharp and predatory, narrowed as he caught movement in the distance.

Amidst the chaos and flames, a small group of children huddled near the crumbled remains of a building. Their wide, terrified eyes darted frantically, their trembling bodies barely concealed by the shadows.

It didn't take much to see what they were—orphans, abandoned by the world long before the Dreds arrived. Their thin, ragged clothes hung loosely on their malnourished frames, and the soot and grime on their faces only made their desperation more evident.

But what caught Elion's attention was the girl standing in front of them.

She couldn't have been older than eight, her petite frame dwarfed by the collapsing ruins around her. Her long, pink hair shone faintly in the flickering firelight, a startling contrast to the dirt and ash streaked across her face.

Her eyes, however, were what truly held him.

They were sharp. Clean. Not a flicker of fear or despair marred their gaze.

Elion blinked, his own golden eyes narrowing further as he focused on her. He reached out subtly with his senses, probing for even the faintest trace of fear or negativity. But there was nothing. No hatred. No despair. No anger.

She's not afraid.

In her small, dirt-streaked hands, she clutched a jagged piece of metal—a broken shard of debris that gleamed dully in the firelight. Despite the makeshift nature of her weapon, she held it with both hands, her posture steady and protective as she stood between the Dreds and the trembling children behind her.

A low growl echoed as one of the Dreds lunged at her, its grotesque claws slashing toward her throat.

She moved.

With a fluidity that seemed impossible for a child her age, she sidestepped the attack, the claws barely grazing the air where she had stood a moment before.

Her movements were precise, calculated—not the panicked flailing of a child but the focused reaction of someone who had learned how to survive.

"You're not touching them," she said sharply, her voice carrying across the chaos. Despite its high pitch, it was firm, steady—almost maternal.

The children behind her whimpered, clinging to one another, but her focus didn't waver. Her sharp pink eyes burned with resolve as she stepped forward, tightening her grip on the shard of metal in her hands.

"You'll have to get through me first," she hissed, her tone fierce. She stood like a mother protecting her cubs, a shield of determination in the face of death.

The Dred snarled and lunged again, its claws outstretched. This time, the girl didn't dodge. She ducked low and twisted, the jagged shard in her hands flashing through the air in a precise arc.

SLASH!

The Dred howled as the makeshift weapon bit deep into its chest. Black blood sprayed into the air, splattering across the ruined cobblestones as the monster staggered backward, its grotesque limbs twitching in pain.

Elion's smirk widened as he watched the scene unfold. "Interesting," he muttered, his voice low.