I sat beside Apex's dying body like some useless statue carved out of pain and regret.
My hands were still crushed—nerves screaming, fingers bent in shapes hands were never meant to make.
The dirt blurred and unblurred in front of me as Apex coughed, wheezed, muttered nonsense like he was drunk on his own blood.
I couldn't bury him.
Not with these hands.
Not with these bones.
Not with this pain.
So I did the only thing left to do:
I listened.
God help me, I listened.
Apex muttered words like soup boiling over—half-formed, half-sane.
"Trevor… should've gone… home… Zefar… coffin… cabin… won't return… Oma will kill him…"
I frowned. "Okay, slow down. You're speaking in riddles for dying people."
He ignored me. Of course he ignored me. Dying men had a talent for saying everything except what made sense.
"Zefar… dead… you hear me? Dead. Will not return."
I snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, but we left the kingdom of Oma burning to the ground before coming here."
Apex laughed.
Not a healthy laugh.
Not a sane laugh.
A bubbling, wet, 'death-is-my-comedy-show' laugh.
"I wasn't… talking… about the kingdom…"
My heart did an uncomfortable flip.
"Huh?"
He turned his head slowly until his fading eyes locked on mine. And then—he grinned.
A dying man should not grin like that.
"I had to end him, Rose… I couldn't let him near our son…"
I froze.
Son.
Rose.
Son.
Zefar.
My mind cracked open like a dropped egg.
"Son…" I whispered. "Rose… Zefar…"
And then everything inside me sharpened like lightning. I stood—wobbly, dizzy, venom still whispering idiotic courage into my veins—but ready.
Ready to run.
Ready to scream.
Ready to find Zefar and tell him the truth he had been chasing for ten damn years.
But Apex—Apex the dying bastard—lifted a trembling hand.
"Zefar doesn't love you, boy…"
I stopped.
Not because I believed him.
Because I needed him to finish before his lungs gave up.
"He never will… This is your chance… run while you can. Escape his influence… free yourself of his madness… You were his son—but he made you a soldier…"
His smile softened, almost pitying.
"You owe him… nothing but your freedom…"
I blinked at him.
Freedom?
From Zefar?
He clearly didn't know me at all.
There were only two things I feared in life:
Death. And Zefar.
And the funny thing is—Zefar could save me from the first one.
Hunter.
Not a natural-born Slayer.
If I died, only Zefar could pull me back as a Summoned.
I was tied to him.
Bone-deep.
Soul-deep.
Apex kept gasping through his smile.
"I learned a trick in Babel… just like your weapon shoots thunder… I found a way to bury fire."
My eyes widened. "Apex—"
"When… when Zefar steps on it… it will go boom…"
My breath left my body.
So that was it.
The trap.
The coffin.
The bomb meant for Zefar's feet.
I opened my mouth to shout—too late.
BOOM.
The forest shook.
Birds erupted into the sky.
A shockwave punched the air miles away.
A huge dust cloud rose like a dying god exhaling his last breath.
Exactly in the direction Zefar had walked.
My heart stopped.
Restarted.
Fell.
Rose.
Collapsed again.
"Oh no… no, no, no—"
I ran.
I ran like a lunatic with death chewing on both ankles.
Branches whipped my face.
My broken hands burned with every step.
My lungs screamed like they wanted to escape my ribcage.
Behind me, Apex let out a final laugh—weak, delirious, victorious.
And then it faded.
Gone.
I didn't even look back.
Because somewhere ahead, in all that dust and fire—
Zefar might've stepped on his coffin.
And if he was dead?
God help whatever was left in those trees.
I sprinted faster.
Zefar needed to know.
Rose had died giving birth to a son.
Her son.
And that son—the boy Apex called Oma,
was somewhere in this forest.
Even if Zefar survived the explosion, he would be an easy kill for that boy.
What could a ten-year-old do to the King of Slayers?
Nothing on a normal day.
But a True Slayer, no matter the age, could end a seriously injured Zefar. That wouldn't just permanently kill Zefar—it would take all his Summoned to the grave.
I ran like the trees themselves were collapsing behind me.
My fear wasn't for the forest.
It was for my brothers in arms. The Summoned didn't deserve to go like this.
They gave too much, were worth too much and were never valued enough to be forced into eternal slumber.
And the horror that someone else—a True Slayer born in Oma—might finish what no Slayer, no army, no kingdom ever could:
Kill Victor. And as I raced against time, my mind drifted back.
Back to the beginning.
I wasn't born a Slayer. I wasn't a prodigy. My mom was still alive, warm and breathing, when I made my declaration in front of the other kids:
"I want to be a Slayer."
They laughed. Long, cruel laughter.
Then he came. Zefar. Immense. Calm. Terrifying. And he asked one question that would change everything:
"Do you know the cost of such a job?"
I didn't. Not then. But I learned.
Every free moment, every ounce of curiosity, I spent in research. I devoured knowledge about warriors, about the Summoned, about what it meant to bind your soul to someone like Zefar.
And when I discovered the Summoned… joy burned through me like lightning. This was it. This was the path. If I proved my loyalty, my unquestionable devotion, even to the point of giving my life… I would be rewarded with the closest thing to immortality.
I could become like him. An Incarnate. Legendary. Untouchable.
I could escape death.
And I needed that.
Because mom… she died when I was ten. One night she went to sleep and never woke.
I couldn't live like that. I couldn't accept fragile mortality. Lucky for me, my dad had dominion over death. Lucky for me, I had the solution.
I didn't want to be a normal Slayer. I wanted to be the best.
But I sucked at swords. I failed against daggers. Every weapon I tried seemed to mock me. I was about to become the first Slayer without mastery of any weapon.
Then out of nowhere my antisocial sibling named Ruse arrived.
He was a brilliant but difficult genius with no friends. His twin sister Naya, was a healer ahead of her time. She was Babel's first Surgeon.
Through Ruse, I found Sound-Death.
Ruse always called his creations his "brainchildren."
I didn't understand until I held Sound-Death. Not a weapon. Not a tool. My soulmate. My destiny. Made for me.
Other weapons failed me. Sound-Death made me lethal. Long-range kills. Critical hits. Precision unmatched. I rose above every Slayer in skill, in purpose, in devotion.
And Zefar noticed.
He made me his eyes in the sky. His guardian, second to none. My loyalty sealed, my place cemented. I would become a Summoned if I died. Bound to him.
I couldn't believe the timing of this ten-year-old boy. Why did a True Slayer have to be born in Oma.
I could imagine him standing over Zefar's burnt body, ready to end him.
Was I going to let him destroy everything I had worked for.
No!
No way.
I didn't train this long, suffer this much, and risk every part of myself just to let some child undo it all.
Branches tore at my face. Dust burned my throat. My hands bled, but I ran. Faster.
If that kid thought he could take down Zefar and every Summoned tied to him… he had no idea what he was up against.
I wouldn't allow it.
I couldn't allow it.
Not today.
Not ever.