Chapter 18: Chapter 16. Not Meant For Orphans

The silence in the room was razor-thin.

Charles stood, both swords bared—one to Sky, one to Taigami. Celia sat stunned on the floor, surrounded by spilled herbs and shattered jars. The tension thickened like fog, every breath shallow, every heartbeat loud.

Then—

THUMP.

The sound of a staff striking the wooden floor cut through it all like thunder.

Arthur Leonheart stood in the doorway, still as a mountain breeze, his eyes unreadable and ancient. His voice rolled like the low rumble before a storm:

“Charles… Is this how you welcome guests into my home?”

Charles, teeth clenched, sheathed both blades in one smooth motion, stepping back.

Celia, cheeks flushed, began gathering the fallen vials with shaking hands. “Let me just pick this up,” she said softly, as if the tension hadn’t just cracked like lightning in the air. Her voice was casual, but her eyes were still wide behind her glasses.

Taigami turned to look at her. His gaze was heavy with guilt, locked on the girl he had shoved into a heap of medicine and glass. She didn’t meet his eyes—just smiled tightly and kept picking up the mess.

She and Charles exited shortly after, the door creaking gently behind them.

Only the sound of Arthur’s walking stick tapping softly against the wooden floor remained.

“Come,” Arthur said simply.

Neither Sky nor Taigami spoke.

They followed him.

The corridors of the Neo Genesis Guild were quiet at this hour, lit only by long shafts of morning light streaming through colored glass windows. Intricate carvings of past warriors and ancient beasts lined the stone walls, etched in low relief. Faint energy glowed behind some of the older murals—wards, perhaps, or silent sentinels watching all who passed.

The air smelled of incense, steel oil, and something faintly floral. The old wooden beams above creaked in rhythm with Arthur’s pace. His walking stick struck the stone floor every few steps with deliberate calm.

Sky walked behind him, gaze half-lifted, shoulders still bandaged. Taigami walked with his head down, arms crossed tightly, his whole body steeped in a silent fog of shame and sadness.

None of them spoke—until Sky did.

“Please master…Did you find our friend Ivan?” Sky’s voice was low, nearly swallowed by the stone hallway.

Arthur didn’t stop walking.

“No,” he said. “He fell too far, too fast. The river beneath those cliffs flows into a deep gorge. Too deep to reach. His body was lost to the currents.”

Sky’s expression didn’t change, but his lips pressed into a tight, trembling line.

Taigami’s fists clenched.

Arthur, however, continued walking with an ease that didn’t match the weight of what he’d just said.

Then, as if changing topics completely, he asked cheerfully, “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

Sky blinked, as though the question had been spoken in a different language.

Arthur went on, musing aloud to himself, “Always wanted to try some wild lightning boar stew. Or maybe snow-antelope smoked over emberroot. A bit of exotic meat soup, something warm and complicated—you know, the kind of dish that takes two days to make but disappears in five minutes.”

He chuckled, as if he’d just told them a fond family joke.

Sky gave him a sideways stare, thoroughly disoriented.

Taigami suddenly halted. His breath hitched, and with a surge of bottled pain he slammed his palm into the wall beside him.

“Damn it!” he barked.

Arthur stopped mid-step.

For a second, all was still—just the echo of the strike reverberating down the corridor.

Then, very slowly, Arthur turned his head to look at Taigami. His voice was not gentle, nor harsh—but precise. Razor-sharp beneath the calm.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

Arthur turned his head slightly, gaze heavy beneath the hooded arch of his brow.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

Taigami froze, breath still ragged from his outburst.

The elder man’s voice held no fury—just the weight of age, of authority steeped in decades of hard choices.

“I understand your grief. Your pain. You’ve seen death far too young, carried burdens you didn’t ask for… but that is no excuse to damage the walls of my guild. They have stood longer than most kingdoms. They are not yours to strike.”

Taigami’s throat tightened. His head bowed lower.

“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Arthur gave a single nod and resumed walking, his staff tapping against the stone floor once again.

The boys followed.

“From the little that Taigami here explained… I still can't understand one thing.” Arthur said.

He didn’t stop walking, but he turned his gaze directly toward Taigami.

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“Why would Ulrich Lane—Ulrich of all people—bring a powerless boy to my doorstep? Why send me a child who has no Energy?”

Taigami’s steps slowed. His hands clenched again.

Sky immediately stepped in, his voice steady. “Because something happened,” he said. “Back on the boat. When Taigami swallowed the elixir… something inside him reacted.”

He looked at Arthur with quiet conviction. “There were symbols glowing across his body. Strange ones. Neither Prince nor Ivan had ever seen anything like it.”

Arthur glanced sidelong at Sky. His expression didn’t change—but he paused briefly in his step, as if digesting the words.

“Symbols?” he echoed.

Sky nodded.

Arthur hummed—a soft, thoughtful sound.

“Maybe… my memory is playing tricks on me,” he muttered. “But I don’t know what an Enora Elixir is. Never heard of it. And I don’t remember what it’s supposed to do.”

Sky and Taigami exchanged a glance.

Sky’s brows knit together, a rare look of doubt creasing his usually controlled face. Taigami’s stomach dropped. Even here… even with him… there were no answers.

Arthur suddenly stopped walking.

They were now at the mouth of a circular chamber—open ceiling above, with vines dangling down like ribbons from a broken crown. The morning sun bled through the clouds, casting broken light across the floor.

Arthur turned to face them.

His next words were firm. Final.

“I cannot accept someone without Energy into this guild.”

Taigami’s blood ran cold.

Arthur’s gaze moved between them. “Neo Genesis is not a sanctuary for orphans or victims. It’s a frontline station. A Warden must face monsters from the Breach, assassins from rival clans, and sometimes—yes—even other Wardens. Some more dangerous than the Holy Knights you just faced.”

He paused.

“If you do not have the potential to overcome those trials… keeping you here would not only waste time—it would waste your life.”

Taigami’s limbs locked. His mouth went dry. He stared at the ground, sweating, throat pulsing with fear.

Where will I go…? If they come back—the Holy Knights… who will protect me?

His thoughts spiraled.

Back to Throst? It's already overrun.

Back to the roads? He’d die before sundown.

Alone?

Sky stepped forward.

His voice was quiet. Controlled. But there was a sharp edge buried in it.

“Then I’ll go too.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Sky met his eyes without blinking. “If Taigami goes, then I leave too.”

A stillness followed.

Arthur looked at him—long and unreadable. Then, after a beat… he smiled faintly.

“Well… let it be.”

Sky blinked. “Wait. Really?”

Arthur turned around, resuming his slow walk.

“But before I let either of you walk out that door,” he said over his shoulder, “you’re going to do me a favor.”

He tapped his staff once against the stone.

“I did save you both from being impaled by high-ranking Holy Knights. I think that earns me one small debt.”

“Just one task. Survive it… and I might change my mind.”

Taigami and Sky both froze, staring.

Arthur leaned on his staff, eyes gleaming like embers under gray stormclouds.

“We’ll begin tomorrow.”

The corridor back to their room was quiet, save for the low hum of distant lanterns flickering along the stone walls. Taigami and Sky walked side by side, but neither spoke. The air between them was heavy—not with anger, but reflection. Sky’s face, usually calm and cold, was unreadable. Taigami kept his gaze low, each step echoing with doubt.

Despite Arthur’s words earlier, neither boy felt resentment.

Only weight.

That was when they saw her again.

Celia Leonheart, walking down the hall with a small bundle of folded linens in her arms, paused mid-step as she caught sight of them. Her glasses reflected the warm lantern light, but her eyes softened with recognition.

Taigami stopped. He swallowed hard and took a slow step forward.

“Celia,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head. “Yes?”

“I… I want to apologize. For earlier. For pushing you. It wasn’t right.”

She blinked, surprised by his sudden seriousness. Then her expression melted into something kind. “You don’t need to apologize,” she said gently. “I didn’t take it personally. I know what you’re going through, Taigami. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

“Well…” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “If you say so.”

Celia smiled softly. “And if you ever want to talk, or need someone to listen… I’m here, alright?”

Something shifted in Taigami’s chest. A quiet warmth bloomed there—not enough to erase the ache, but enough to ease it. Even the cold grip of hopelessness loosened, just a little.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

But then the warmth faded as another thought returned.

“But…” he said, looking down again, voice heavy. “We might not get another chance to talk. Grandpa Arthur said he doesn’t want to keep someone without energy in his guild. Unless we survive one of his tasks…”

Celia's eyes widened in surprise. “Wait—really?”

Sky nodded. “That’s what he said.”

Celia looked between them, frowning slightly. “I’ve lived in this guild my whole life. I’ve never heard of a ‘task’ for membership. That’s… not normal.” Her voice drifted into thought. “Still… I’ll ask around. Check the archives if I must. I’ll find out what I can by dawn.”

Taigami stared at her, eyes wide.

Then, suddenly—he fell to his knees.

His hands reached out, gently clasping hers.

“Thank you,” he said, voice breaking. “Thank you so much. From the bottom of my heart.”

Celia’s cheeks flushed crimson, flustered by the unexpected gesture. “H-Hey! Get up—please. It’s fine, really!” she said, trying to lift him. “It’s okay, Taigami. I promise.”

They eventually parted ways.

Later that night, back in their room, the boys lay quietly on their beds. The ceiling above them was dappled with flickering candlelight.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Then—Taigami broke the silence.

“You know,” he said softly, “I was born on that little hill near Throst City. Grew up there my whole life. But I never really asked you… Sky, what about you? What’s your story? You met Prince in Throst… but before that?”

Sky was silent for a moment. Then, his voice came quietly.

“I don’t remember much,” he admitted. “Everything before Prince is blurry. Faces. Names. It’s like my past was… erased.”

He turned his head toward the ceiling.

“But Prince… he found me. I couldn’t even talk to strangers. I didn’t know how to live in the streets. He taught me everything. How to control my energy. How to survive in Throst. He gave me… family.”

Taigami listened in silence.

Then he turned back to the ceiling, blinking slowly.

Prince…

Where are you now?

Why didn’t you tell us who you really were?

Were you… protecting us?

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Meanwhile...

In what remained of Throst City, the smoldering ruins hissed quietly beneath the stars. Broken streets. Scorched rooftops. Burned-out homes and fallen towers whispered of recent devastation.

Several boats, their sails bearing the sigils of the Warden Corps, were docked along the crumbling riverbanks. From one vessel, a group of Wardens stepped onto the blackened soil, surveying the wreckage with grim expressions.

One Warden, a silver-haired veteran, knelt beside a crater—where once a monstrous Breach creature had fallen.

“Ulrich Lane…” he muttered, his hand brushing the singed ground. “He doesn’t go in for subtlety, does he? That monster was a Level 6.”

Another Warden joined him. “And he soloed it.”

Farther away, another squad scanned the site of the old hill village—the place where Taigami’s home once stood.

One Warden, holding a scanning orb, froze. His eyes widened.

“Wait… guys. The detector just lit up.”

He turned slowly, dread spreading across his face.

“It’s picking up…” he gulped.

“…Demoni Particles.”

The others froze.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

“You’re joking…” one Warden whispered, voice trembling. “That’s not possible. Demoni Particles haven’t been recorded in decades.”

Another took a step back, face pale. “If that’s true… we need to send a signal. Now. The Council must be informed immediately—”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

A voice rang out.

Low.

Cold.

Echoing across the ruins like a blade scraping against the bones of the dead.

“Surely not.”

The Wardens spun around, weapons half-raised.

From the edge of the ruined plaza, a figure emerged.

He was tall. His face was obscured beneath a half-mask of dark metal, and his eyes—those dreadful, glowing eyes—burned with a crimson light that didn’t belong in this world.

“You should’ve taken a day off,” the voice said softly.

“Should’ve gone home to your wives. To your sons. But no…”

He stepped forward.

“…Now I’m obligated to erase you.”

His presence warped the air, like the city itself recoiling.

“This place will serve as your grave.”

The Wardens drew their weapons—blades, spears, staves—and took formation.

But their hands trembled.

Their legs faltered.

Because they could feel it.

This wasn’t a Breach.

It was something worse.

Much worse.