The days in the forest were no longer counted in hours, but measured in scars, calluses, and sweat. What was once a torment for Riku had become his survival routine. Under Ayane’s implacable gaze and Kael’Zhorun’s constant insults, the "street boy" began to vanish, giving way to something far more dangerous.

  Riku’s body changed drastically. Sickly thinness was replaced by dense, functional muscle. His shoulders broadened, and his reflexes became feline. He no longer needed ten seconds to stand up after a fall; now, he would hit the ground and roll back into a guard stance before Ayane could even finish her movement.

  The Stream Test: On the first day, the current knocked him down in minutes. By the tenth day, Riku meditated in a crouch at the center of the waterfall for two hours, his back straight and his breathing so calm that birds returned to perch on nearby branches, ignoring his presence.

  Fury Control: The greatest change, however, was the use of energy. Riku learned to "calibrate" Kael’s power. He no longer exploded in unnecessary rage; he learned to use hatred to his advantage.

  Sharpened Senses: In sparring matches against Ayane, he stopped trying to "beat" her with brute force. He began to read her micro-movements. In one night session, he achieved what seemed impossible: he touched Ayane before she could dodge. The silence that followed was one of pure shock.

  One afternoon, after training, Riku looked at the ring. The connection felt different. It no longer seemed like a parasite, but an extra limb.

  — "You’ve stopped trembling, boy," commented Kael’Zhorun, his voice now laced with a tone of dark pride. — "Your will is beginning to guide my hatred. We are nearing the boiling point. If we continue like this, the Zan Mode won't be an accident... it will be an order."

  Riku merely nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. He stood up with impressive ease, feeling every muscle respond to his command.

  Ayane watched his progress from atop a rock. She saw that the time for "safe" training was coming to an end. Riku was no longer prey.

  — "You are ready for the next step," she said, descending with a light leap.

  Ayane walked toward Riku with a step so light it didn't even snap a dry twig. She stopped before him, and for the first time, there was no combat stance or judgmental gaze. She looked him up and down, noting how his body had transformed: his shoulders were broad, his posture was that of a predator at rest, and his gaze had a clarity that only survival training could provide.

  She reached out and, in a rare gesture of approval, straightened the collar of Riku’s worn shirt.

  — "Look at you," she said, with a corner-smile that carried genuine pride. — "The boy who tripped over his own hatred is gone. You didn't just gain mass, Riku; you gained presence. Now, when you walk, I see a monster."

  She stepped back slightly, crossing her arms and looking toward the horizon for a moment before turning her eyes back to him.

  — "My training for you... is finished. I gave you the foundation, the senses, and the body to endure what comes next. But the Zan Mode? That is something no master can teach. It is born of a moment of absolute necessity, where the bearer’s soul and the demon’s essence fuse into a single purpose."

  She pointed to Riku’s arm, where the mark of the black bone gauntlet used to manifest.

  — "You’ve already begun to break the rules. That gauntlet was the first fragment. You didn't ask Kael for permission to create it; you imposed it. Continue on this path and, when the moment comes, the Zan Mode will awaken as if it were always there, waiting for you."

  — "She’s right, vessel," Kael’Zhorun intervened, his voice now vibrating at a frequency of partnership. — "I no longer feel the urge to devour you every second. Now, I feel the urge to see how far this new strength of yours can take us. You’ve stopped being a battery... and started being an engine."

  Riku looked at his own hands, feeling the power pulsing in a calm, controlled rhythm. He no longer felt rage as a volcano about to erupt, but as a deep, powerful river.

  — "What do we do now?" Riku asked, looking at Ayane. — "If the training is over, we can't stay hidden in this forest forever."

  Ayane looked south, toward the distant lights cutting through the sky. She took from her bag the cloak she had used to cover Riku during cold nights. It was a heavy fabric, a neutral gray color, but with a technological weave that seemed to repel dust.

  — "Use this," she said, handing it to him. — "In District 7, appearance is the first line of defense. Your clothes aren't just old; they scream 'District 9.' There, people don't walk around smelling of burnt oil and smoke; they smell of antiseptic and money. If you walk in like that, biometric sensors will flag you before you even cross the first gate."

  Riku wrapped himself in the cloak; the light, long fabric helped hide his clothes and obscure his face. They traveled a long way to the gates of District 7.

  The gate to District 7 was a wall of polished concrete and steel, guarded by men who didn't look like mere guards, but sentinels for an invisible elite. As Riku and Ayane approached, the sound of sniper rifles being adjusted in the towers echoed through the silent air.

  — "Halt!" ordered the guard officer, a man of impeccable posture and a gray uniform without a single wrinkle. — "This is District 7. Identify yourselves and state the purpose of your visit. We do not accept refugees or laborers without a contract."

  Ayane stopped with a calmness that bordered on arrogance. Riku, by her side, kept the gray cloak tight against his body, feeling the guards' eyes analyze his worn boots with obvious contempt.

  — "We've come for business," Ayane said, her voice sounding clear and firm.

  The guard let out a short laugh, exchanging a mocking glance with his subordinate.

  — "Business? You and this ragamuffin? District 7 is the financial and diplomatic heart. Without high-priority documents, you don't get past the shoulder of the road."

  Without a word, Ayane reached into the small leather pouch on her belt. The guards tensed, hands hovering over holsters, but she withdrew only a small object. It was an aged silver brooch depicting an eagle with open wings capturing a serpent. The symbol of the **Aquilar Talons**, an elite mercenary group whose services cost fortunes and whose members were known for solving problems that entire armies could not.

  The officer turned pale. He stepped forward, adjusting his gloves, and analyzed the brooch with wide eyes. He knew that bearers of that symbol operated above the common law of the districts.

  — "My... my apologies, ma'am," the guard stuttered, making a frantic signal for the gates to be opened manually. — "We were not informed that an Aquila agent would be in transit today."

  He looked at Riku, who remained silent under the cloak.

  — "And the youth?"

  — "He is with me. He is my protégé," Ayane replied curtly, tucking the brooch away. — "And he doesn't like being stared at."

  — "Understood! Welcome to District 7. May your stay be productive."

  The heavy gates of iron and hardwood opened, and what Riku saw on the other side made him stop for an instant. The streets were clean and lined with perfectly pruned oak trees. The cars circulating were classic luxury models, powered by silent engines. People walked without haste, wearing fine-cut suits, silk dresses, and discreet but extremely expensive jewelry. It was a society of "old money," where silence and elegance were the currency.

  The only thing that broke the aesthetic of a common modern city was the Central Tower. In the heart of the district, a monolith of black steel and mirrored glass rose to the heavens, so high that its top disappeared into the clouds. It was the only aggressive technological landmark, emitting an almost imperceptible magnetic pulse that, according to rumors, maintained control over all communications in the region.

  — "It looks like another planet," Riku whispered, adjusting his cloak. — "Nobody here seems to know what it's like to go hungry or run from a patrol."

  — "They know, Riku. But they pay so that others do the dirty work far from their gardens," Ayane replied, walking naturally along the marble pavement. — "But don't be fooled by the beauty. If District 9 is a kennel, District 7 is a viper’s nest. They don't bark; they wait for you to sleep to bite."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Ayane stopped in front of a classic tailor’s window, with a striking sign above reading "Valeriu’s Tailor & Barber." She looked at Riku and then at his clothes, which now seemed even more out of place in that high-class environment.

  — "First step: we need to get you out of that cloak. If we want information without being followed by every private security guard in this block, you need to look like one of them."

  Ayane entered the tailor shop with the natural ease of someone who owned the block. The place was the pinnacle of classic sophistication: walls lined with dark mahogany, Persian rugs that muffled any sound of footsteps, and the unmistakable scent of fresh linen and cedar. The tailor, a man of rigid posture with tortoise-shell glasses hanging from his neck, stopped pinning a hem and looked at the duo with an arched eyebrow, the disdain for Riku and his cloak evident in his pale eyes.

  — "I'm afraid our catalog is not... accessible to passersby," the man said, his voice dripping with condescension.

  Ayane remained unfazed. She stepped forward and placed her hand on the glass counter, but not before ensuring the tailor saw the discreet glint of the Eagle brooch in her possession.

  — "Sir," Ayane began, her voice dropping to a velvety tone, but loaded with an authority that made the man straighten up. — "My young companion here is the heir to a lineage of advisors from District 4. We had a... disagreeable incident with our transport convoy on the highway. Road raiders who do not know their place."

  She leaned in a bit closer, using refined psychological persuasion.

  — "He lost his belongings, but not his dignity. At the moment, he needs something that reflects his true standing. Would you like to be the man who restored the appearance of a future ally of the Aquila, or would you prefer to be remembered as the shopkeeper who closed his doors to a noble in distress?"

  The tailor swallowed hard. The mention of the Aquila and Ayane’s convincing story, combined with Riku’s new posture—who, despite the worn clothes, now kept his spine straight and held an intense gaze forged by training—were enough to break any resistance.

  — "Please, a thousand pardons!" the man exclaimed, instantly shifting to a servile tone. — "I couldn't have imagined such a tragedy. This way, young master. We shall see to it that no one ever suspects your misfortune."

  Riku was led to a circular wooden pedestal surrounded by three-way mirrors. The tailor began bringing pieces of fabric that Riku never imagined existed: heavy silk, cool wool, and Egyptian cotton.

  He was dressed in midnight-blue straight-cut trousers, an impeccable white linen shirt, and a double-breasted vest that highlighted his broader chest and firm posture. Over it all, a long charcoal-colored overcoat, made of a material that seemed to repel water and dirt.

  Ayane made a point of calling the shop's barber from the back. — "His hair," she ordered. — "Cut it. Short on the sides, keeping the natural volume on top, but without that road oil. I want his face to show."

  As the scissors worked, Riku saw the scrawny, frightened boy from District 9 disappear. What emerged in the mirror was a young man with a defined jawline and piercing eyes that seemed to carry ancient secrets. Kael’Zhorun, in his mind, let out a satisfied laugh.

  — Finally, vessel. If we are to walk among vipers, let us wear the finest scales."

  When the barber finished and Riku stood up, Ayane stopped examining the fabrics and looked at him. There was a brief second where she seemed surprised; the contrast between the Riku she rescued and the man standing before her now was abysmal. He now emanated a dangerous elegance.

  — "Done. I thank you for your services; one of my subordinates will stop by later and pay you double as promised."

  The tailor nodded satisfactorily and wished them a good stay.

  They stepped out of the shop into the sunny street of District 7.

  — "Where are we going now?" Riku asked, his voice sounding more confident.

  Ayane looked at the Central Tower, which dominated the urban landscape.

  — "To the Tower. There is a private club in the lower quadrant where tech magnates discuss what cannot be said in official meetings. If there are clues about the other Alphas, the trail starts at the Zenith Club."

  Riku walked beside her, still adjusting to the feel of fine fabric brushing against his skin and the balanced weight of the overcoat. Ayane’s confidence wasn't just that of a warrior; it was that of someone who knew the social codes, the right names, and even the exact tone of voice to silence a man like that tailor.

  — "You move through here like you own the place," Riku commented, keeping his voice low as they passed a group of socialites chatting near a fountain. — "How do you know all this? Where to go, what to say... it feels like you've lived here before."

  Ayane didn't stop walking, but her eyes, always attentive to the surroundings, softened for a brief instant. She adjusted her gloves and looked at the top of the Central Tower, where the sun reflected off the black glass.

  — "This world is smaller than it seems when you have the right key, Riku," she replied, in a tone that brook no argument. — "One way or another, I will tell you everything. But for now, understand that the story behind this brooch is long..." she said in a sad tone.

  She stopped before an immense bronze door that marked the entrance to the lower sector of the Tower, where the Zenith Club operated.

  — "Be patient," she continued, turning her serious gaze back to him. — "Knowing my past now would only give you another burden to carry, and you already have Kael and the Zan Mode to worry about. Just trust my lead. If I tell you where to go, it’s because I’ve walked this path before... and I know where the traps are hidden."

  Riku nodded, though curiosity still burned. He realized that Ayane was not just a combat master, but someone who once belonged—or still belonged—to the circles of power.

  — *"She has secrets that even Morrvhael fears to whisper, boy,"Kael’Zhorun’s voice emerged, cold and intrigued. — *"But she’s right. Focus on the now. I smell other bearers in this building. They aren't Alphas... yet. But they are bloodhounds."

  Ayane placed her hand on the bronze handle and looked at Riku one last time before they entered.

  — "Remember: you are the heir to a fallen lineage. Few words, much mystery. Let me handle the diplomacy."

  Upon entering, the atmosphere changed. The lighting was low, the sound of a grand piano filled the air, and the scent was of expensive cigars and aged wines. Powerful men and women talked in velvet armchairs, discussing the districts as if they were pieces on a board game.

  As soon as they crossed the marble atrium of the Zenith Club, a young man detached himself from a group of socialites and walked toward them. He didn't have the rigid posture of the guards at the entrance; he moved with an almost insulting fluidity, as if the floor beneath his feet were his private property.

  He wore an impeccably cut suit in dark blue that seemed to shimmer under the light of the chandeliers. His face was young but bore an expression of benevolent boredom—the kind of look one gives to an interesting but worthless piece of art.

  — "It’s fascinating how the security of this place has been failing lately," said the young man, his voice coming out smooth, melodious, and perfectly controlled. He stopped exactly two meters away, maintaining a clear comfort zone. — "This is a private sector, intended only for those whose names are written in the foundations of this tower. I’m afraid you've lost your way to the museum, or perhaps the exit."

  Riku felt an immediate shiver. It wasn't fear, but a sudden sensation of heat emanating from the boy before them. Beside him, Ayane didn't flinch an inch.

  — "The path is very well mapped, boy," Ayane replied, keeping her voice at a level of ice that contrasted with the stranger’s warm aura. — "And names on foundations can be erased if the right hands hold the chisel."

  The young man gave a corner-smile, a gesture of pure superiority.

  — "Bold words for someone bringing a... companion who smells of gunpowder and cheap determination. I am Renji Takamura. And in my world, audacity without pedigree is merely bad manners."

  Ayane didn't wait for a second provocation. She reached into her pocket and raised her hand just enough so that the brooch of the eagle capturing the serpent was perfectly visible under the direct light.

  Renji’s smile didn't disappear, but his eyes, previously bored, narrowed slightly. He recognized the symbol. In District 7, where the military industry was the pillar of the economy, the Takamura name was law, but even they knew that Aquila agents were not mere mercenaries—they were ghosts who resolved what money couldn't buy.

  — "Ah... an envoy of the Aquila," Renji said, crossing his arms elegantly. — "That changes the tone of our conversation. I imagine the 'business' that brings a bird of prey to the Takamura nest must be of extreme importance."

  He looked at Riku, analyzing his haircut and the fit of his luxury suit with a clinical eye.

  — "And is this your current project? He has an interesting structure... though he seems a bit... raw under that expensive linen."

  Riku felt Kael’Zhorun stir violently within the ring.

  — Riku... this golden pup... he has something. Something that burns. Do not lose sight of him."

  — "He is what you will never be, Renji," Ayane fired back, her patience giving way to a more aggressive strategy. — "He is the reason I am here. Now, will you let us pass or will you continue trying to measure the value of lives you lack the capacity to understand?"

  Renji let out a short laugh, never raising his voice.

  — "Understand? My dear, I don't understand ants; I simply observe where they step. But out of respect for the brooch you carry, I will allow you to circulate. Just... don't touch anything you can't afford. It would be tragic to see such beautiful clothes stained with ash."

  He made a graceful gesture with his hand, opening the way like a magnanimous host. The heat emanating from that boy was unlike anything Riku had ever felt; it wasn't Kael’Zhorun’s explosive rage, but something constant, like an ember that never goes out.

  — "Ayane, this guy is really suspicious," Riku whispered, barely moving his lips while they pretended to observe an abstract painting on the marble wall.

  — "I know. Renji Takamura isn't just a pampered heir; he’s a predator who never had to hunt because the prey always surrenders," Ayane replied, keeping her posture relaxed. — "Let's use that to our advantage. He thinks you're insignificant. Show him you're invisible."

  They positioned themselves strategically near a balcony adorned with exotic plants, just a few meters from where Renji was now talking to two middle-aged men sporting high-ranking insignia of the Infernal Containment Unit.

  Riku closed his eyes for a second, applying Ayane’s training. He didn't just try to listen; he tried to "feel" the vibrations of the voices in the air, filtering out the sound of the piano and the clinking of crystal glasses.

  — "...tests in the Research Sector are stagnant, Renji," one of the officers was saying, his voice heavy with frustration. — "The artificial Alphas don't have the same stability. They burn up from the inside in less than a week."

  Renji took a sip of an amber liquid from his glass, his smile of superiority never wavering.

  — "That’s because you try to bottle the sun in plastic jars," Renji replied, his melodious voice dripping with disdain. — "The military force doesn't understand that purification requires a bearer who does not fear the fire. You need to stop looking for soldiers and start looking for... chosen ones."The second officer leaned in, lowering his tone. — "And what about the signal we picked up in the forest a few days ago? The frequency of a possible Alpha that the sensors registered?"

  Renji let out a soft laugh, his eyes gleaming. — "... it was raw, chaotic. Like a cornered animal trying to bite its own collar. My father wants Containment to capture it alive, but I personally think trash like that should just be... reduced to ash. It’s more merciful."

  Riku felt Kael’Zhorun’s ring heat up violently. — "He’s talking about us, vessel..." the demon’s voice was a muffled growl. — "He calls us trash while flaunting that little fireplace heat of his. Let me burn his suit... just a little."— "Stay quiet, Kael," Riku thought, feeling a cold sweat. — "He’s dangerous."

  — "The schedule hasn't changed," Renji concluded. — "The 'Grand Event' at the Central Tower will happen in two nights. If the Alpha is in the city, he will come to us like a moth to the light. And I will be there to ensure he shines one last time."Renji swirled the liquid in his glass with an almost hypnotic elegance. The crystal clinked against his gold rings as he looked askance at the officers, whose discomfort was palpable in the presence of the young prodigy.

  — "Speaking of 'cleansing' and 'purification,'" Renji began, his voice dropping to a confidential tone that carried a curiosity as sharp as a razor. — "How is the progress on Project N.N.? My father invested a fortune in those containment chambers. Merging the essence of an Alpha Demon with the volatile mass of several Higher Demons into a single armor structure... it is a bold idea. Or a sublime madness."

  One of the generals wiped sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief, looking around to ensure the piano music still drowned out their conversation.

  — "Doctor Morozumi is a genius, Renji, but he is dealing with forces that defy logic," the officer whispered. — "The fusion of an Alpha and the other essences is complete. The armor’s chassis has been reinforced with graphene and abyssal bone so as not to melt under the pressure. But the neural stress is... unimaginable. Project N.N. is not just a weapon; it is an ecosystem of concentrated hatred."

  Renji gave a frigid smile, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of the Central Tower’s lights through the glass pane.

  — "And our dear Hideo?" Renji asked, the name leaving his mouth with a mixture of respect and sarcastic amusement. — "The vessel for this... monstrosity. Is he satisfied with the results? Or has his mind already begun to fragment under the weight of so many demonic voices?"

  — "Hideo is... resilient," the second soldier replied, his voice trembling slightly. — "He says he has never felt such power. But Morozumi is worried. Hideo has stopped sleeping. He spends hours talking to the armor in the lab. He says that Project N.N. is no longer an experiment... it is his 'Ascension.' He is eager to test its maximum potential on a real target."

  Renji let out a melodious laugh, a note of genuine satisfaction crossing his face.

  — "Excellent. A hungry hero is exactly what District 7 needs to maintain order. If Hideo and his new 'collection' of demons are ready, the event at the Central Tower will be more than a demonstration of strength. It will be a spectacle of extinction."

  Riku felt Kael’Zhorun’s ring pulse with a glacial fury.

  — "Project N.N..."Kael’s voice was a whisper of pure abomination in Riku’s mind. — They are creating a chimera, vessel. An Alpha forced to coexist with superior demons in a single carcass. This is not power... it is a heresy against the nature of demons. Hideo is not a warrior; he is a bomb about to swallow this entire city whole."

  Ayane, who listened to everything with a stone-cold expression, lightly touched Riku’s arm. The touch was a warning: they needed to process that information far from there. If a bearer like Hideo, equipped with Project N.N., were truly unleashed, the danger level had just escalated from a civil war to an urban apocalypse.

  bloopers :