Micard Pashayen.
The Sea Ghost born of the horizon.
It was a grand title for a boy who had only just turned thirteen. Yet, no one dared to contest it. The consensus lay in his terrifying abilities and the innate combat instinct he had inherited from his father, Diegon.
Micard’s ability was ‘Colosseum.’
He could designate a specific radius, transmuting the space into a closed arena. Within its boundaries, his speed and physical strength surged by over thirty percent. For any enemy trapped inside, the only conclusion was absolute annihilation. It was a talent perfectly suited for both the defense and offense of the Pashayen Estate.
“Ah, finally home.”
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Yeah.”
Micard narrowed his eyes, savoring the sting of the salt-thick wind blowing in from the distant sea.
Beside him walked Raywood. Micard had arrived with the returning army, while Raywood had slipped in separately after erasing his own tracks, yet they had timed their homecoming to coincide.
“Come to think of it, I heard we have a new youngest sibling. I’m curious.”
“A little sister, right? Congratulations on the family growing. She must be cute.”
Both boys possessed hair the deep, bruising navy of the midnight sea. If one had to distinguish them, Raywood’s shade was darker, as if it were designed to swallow the sunlight, while Micard’s tone was slightly more vibrant. Despite these minor shifts in hue, their silhouettes were identical in the shadows.
Their eyes, however, told a different story.
Raywood’s pupils were as blue as the abyss. At a glance, they seemed gentle, but in truth, the color was chillingly cold. Raywood was, by nature, calculating and rational; the warmth in his gaze was merely a mask.
Micard, who seemed molded from the same raw clay as his father, possessed eyes of burning magenta. Behind his boisterous, simple exterior, a heat like an undersea volcano simmered.
Though they were starkly different, they shared a genuine fraternal bond. They knew they would lead the Pashayen Family together; keeping distance between them served no purpose. Just because their parents’ relationship was fractured, it didn’t mean they were doomed to repeat that pattern.
“Well… it’s good to have a youngest sibling, but I’m more concerned about Elzen. I heard his condition is getting worse.” Micard muttered, his brow furrowed as he stepped into the entrance hall.
“Welcome back, Young Masters.”
The butler, waiting at the threshold, bowed low to the scions of Pashayen. Every servant in the hall followed suit, their spines stiff and heads lowered.
Raywood surveyed the house, unchanged since he had left, and offered a faint, polished smile.
“Micard, your aura.”
“Ah, right.”
At the subtle nudge, Micard pulled back his presence. He hadn’t intended to overwhelm anyone, but having just returned from a battlefield where power was his only currency, he had forgotten to temper his intensity for the sake of the ordinary.
“We’re going to see the Head of House immediately. Return to your duties.”
“Yes, Young Master Raywood.”
Only after the two brothers vanished down the corridor did the aged butler let out a long, shuddering breath. The other servants followed suit, their faces pale.
“Ugh, Young Master Micard… his aura is even more ominous than before, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was suffocating.”
“I got goosebumps.”
“But the scarier one is the eldest Young Master…”
How could an Awakener suppress his aura so completely? It was a feat reserved for veterans. A child’s energy was bound to leak, to fray at the edges, yet Raywood—at only fifteen—concealed his power with the precision of a razor.
“Enough idle talk. Everyone, back to your posts.”
Although cold sweat traced a path down his own spine, the butler did not falter. The next generation had returned to the heart of the estate.
There was much to do.
“But is that rumor true?”