High above the Darwin Academy grounds, in a quiet office where stone walls dulled even the echoes of the world below, a man knocked once before entering.
Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with documents, maps, and sealed reports. A wide desk dominated the center, its surface meticulously organized. Behind it sat Helion himself, posture straight, hands folded, his gaze sharp despite the stillness of his expression.
"Director Helion," the man said, bowing his head. "I have information regarding the boy who fought Gillan Horus."
Helion did not look up immediately.
"I'm listening," he replied calmly.
The man stepped forward, opening a thin folder.
"He was admitted to the Darwin Academy only two years ago. Since then, his progression has been… unusually rapid."
Helion's fingers tapped once against the desk.
"Continue."
"Last year, he was deployed extensively in the Neraid Sea region. During one operation, he came into contact with the daughter of Lord Neraid. However, there is no evidence of political ties or patronage. No continued communication. No favors exchanged."
"So," Helion said, finally lifting his eyes, "not a pawn."
"No, Director. All indications suggest he comes from a farming family. No recorded lineage. No known affiliations."
A pause.
"And his master?" Helion asked.
The man hesitated.
"…No information. None that we've been able to confirm."
That earned a slight narrowing of Helion's eyes.
"My most recent report places him in the Horus Desert," the man continued. "He has even met Ganon Horus."
The director leaned back in his chair.
"Do not involve Ganon directly," he said. "Not for something this insignificant."
"Yes, Director."
"However," Helion added, voice measured, "you may inform Lord Horus that such a Protector exists. Nothing more."
The man bowed deeply.
"Understood."
As he left the office, Helion's gaze drifted to the far wall, where a carved map of the kingdom spread outward beneath the vaulted stone ceiling.
"A boy with no roots," he murmured, almost to himself.
"…Those are always the ones to watch."
The Horus Desert stretched endlessly beneath Adlet's boots as he made his way back toward Savar.
The land was harsh, but no longer unfamiliar. Dry soil cracked underfoot. Tough shrubs clung stubbornly to life. Isolated trees bent low, sculpted by years of relentless wind.
To most, this would have been a warning. To Adlet, it had become background noise — danger woven into the landscape itself.
He barely registered it.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Again, he tried to coax fire from his red Aura.
Again, nothing happened.
He exhaled through his nose, frustration held firmly in check.
Not yet, he thought.
Savar came into view at last—its sandstone walls rising from the desert like a bastion against chaos.
That was when the shouting reached him.
Adlet turned sharply.
To his right, a group of men were running—four merchants, panic etched into their faces. Behind them, a lone Protector staggered backward, trying desperately to keep three Apexes at bay.
Venomous Hyenas.
Rank 2.
Lean, fast, their bodies low to the ground as they snapped and circled, fangs glistening with toxin. The Protector was already bleeding, his footing unstable.
Adlet didn't hesitate.
Black Aura surged into his legs.
The ground shattered beneath his launch.
He crossed the distance in a heartbeat.
The first hyena barely had time to react before his strike crushed its skull cleanly. The second lunged—Adlet twisted past it, driving a precise blow through its neck. The third turned to flee.
Too slow.
One final strike ended it.
Silence fell.
The Protector stared at the fallen Apexes, chest heaving.
"…Thank you," he managed. "We… we wouldn't have made it."
"Glad I was nearby," Adlet replied simply.
He escorted them the rest of the way to Savar, ensuring no further threats followed.
Only once the city gates closed behind them did he part ways.
The Savar Protector Guild buzzed with activity when Adlet entered.
Caravans. Escorts. Disputes. Reports.
He presented the scorpion pincer without ceremony.
The guild official's eyes widened.
"I'll report your success immediately," he said, unable to hide his admiration.
Adlet nodded and turned toward the Extermination Board.
Before he could reach it, a different voice cut through the hall — calm, firm, and unmistakably authoritative.
"Adlet."
He stopped.
A man stood a few steps away, older than the others. His expression held no awe — only scrutiny.
"I've been informed," the senior official continued, "that you eliminated three Rank 2 Venom Hyenas outside the city walls."
The impressed clerk fell silent at once, stepping back instinctively.
The air shifted.
This was no praise.
Adlet turned back.
"Yes. A Protector and several merchants were in danger."
The man's expression hardened instantly.
"That was not your responsibility."
Adlet blinked.
"…What?"
"You are a Master Protector," the official said sharply. "Your duty is to complete assigned extermination missions. Not to intervene at will."
Adlet felt a cold knot tighten in his chest.
"So I should have let them die?" he asked, incredulous.
"You could have driven the Apexes away," the man replied. "At most."
Adlet clenched his jaw.
"This is your first and last warning," the official continued. "Follow protocol. Or there will be consequences."
Adlet lowered his head slowly.
"…Understood."
But inside, confusion burned.
What kind of rule is that?
He took the first available Rank 4 mission without another word, gathered the information, and left Savar immediately.
The desert welcomed him back without judgment.
And for the next two months…
He didn't stop.
Days blurred into one another beneath the dry winds of the Horus Desert.
Mission after mission. Apex after Apex.
Days passed. Routes shifted. The landscape hardened — and so did he.
There was no time for celebration. No room for comfort.
Only movement. Combat. Survival.
Each battle left a mark — not just on his body, but on his understanding.
His mastery deepened. His decisions grew faster, cleaner, more deliberate. He no longer fought to test himself — he fought with purpose, adapting mid-conflict, reading the land, the creature, the moment.
At some point, the change became undeniable.
Not only in his Aura… but in him.
He had turned sixteen out there, somewhere between two missions, with no one to mark it but the desert — and the quiet realization that he no longer moved like a boy chasing a dream, but like someone already walking its path.
His Aura no longer strained under prolonged combat.
Its flow stabilized. Thickened. Settled.
He had crossed a threshold.
His green Aura evolved with him, yes — but it was only part of the change.
Its reinforcement became constant rather than deliberate, flowing naturally through his muscles. His movements grew fluid, reactive, instinctive. Dodges sharpened until they felt inevitable. Openings revealed themselves before attacks had fully formed.
But his other Auras followed.
His black Aura no longer erupted wastefully — each manifestation was measured, precise, devastating only where needed.
His red Aura hardened, its defensive forms appearing faster, thicker, layered with intent rather than panic.
By the time he realized it himself,
his power had stabilized at a new level.
Lower Rank 4.
Not a leap.
A solid foundation — earned through repetition, discipline, and survival.
And beyond Aura…
His endurance stretched.
His senses sharpened.
His confidence settled — not loud, not reckless, but unshakable.
Adlet stopped thinking like a young Protector chasing progress.
He began moving like someone who belonged here.
The desert noticed.
Apexes avoided certain paths.
Caravans whispered his name without knowing his face.
Guild boards filled with torn notices — missions completed, threats erased.
He became a constant.
Something the Horus Desert itself had to acknowledge.
When he finally returned to Savar once more, Adlet pushed through the guild's main hall, the noise of negotiations and clinking cups washing over him without reaching his focus.
He had what he came for. Another proof. Another completed mission.
He was almost at the door when a voice cut through the room — calm, sharp, and unmistakably meant for him.
"Adlet."
He stopped.
When he turned back, the guild officer was already stepping out from behind the counter. No papers in his hands. No routine expression on his face.
Not anger.
Not approval.
Something… heavier.
The conversations around them continued, but the space between them felt suddenly sealed off from the rest of the hall.
The officer halted a few steps away and studied him in silence — as if confirming something only he could see.
Then he spoke.
"We need to talk. Now."
Adlet didn't answer right away.
What now…?
Another rule. Another line he wasn't supposed to cross.
Or maybe something worse.
He straightened slightly and met the man's gaze.
Whatever it was…
he doubted it would make his path any easier.