10 years later.
A decade had passed—long enough for wounds to fade, but not long enough for the shadows behind them to disappear.
During those ten years, many things changed.
And many things… did not.
The culprits behind Seth's childhood incident were never found.
And certainly not the truth about Sophie.
To this day, the Ragnar family still believed she had escaped—vanished into some distant land after eing locked up.
The idea that she had died violently within their own home, under their very noses, was a truth buried so deeply that even they had unknowingly stepped around it.
So they moved on.
Or rather, they forced themselves to.
Instead of drowning in unanswered questions, the Ragnars poured their focus into Seth.
They trained him relentlessly—physically, mentally, and strategically.
Running. Weight training. Conditioning.
Combat theory. Reflex sharpening. Tactical discipline.
But there was one thing they did not train:
His talent.
Because it still hadn't appeared.
Despite the near-death experience ten years ago…
Despite seeing the black void…
Despite meeting the Demonic Sin of Gluttony—Beelzebub himself…
Seth never heard the demon's voice again.
Never saw the purple silhouette.
Never felt the presence inside his soul stir or whisper.
A talent that was supposedly tied to one of the Seven Demonic Sins…
And it refused to manifest.
Worse than that—despite the warmth and affection Seth received from Leo, Damian, Walter, and the core Ragnar family…
There were others.
The "special others."
People with influence, with ranks, with their own talents.
People who didn't like Seth.
Who whispered behind the walls.
Who believed he was a burden, a risk, or a ticking disaster waiting to resurface.
Seth felt it every day.
The tension and the judgments.
The subtle pushback from those who didn't think he deserved a place in such a powerful family.
Ten years and the incident was a scar that refused to heal.
Seth's talent remained dormant.
And the Nightshade Goddess cult—the ones behind Sophie's death—had not stopped moving.
Only one thing was certain:
The quiet before the storm was ending.
---
"OI, SETH! You can do better than that!"
Damian's voice cracked across the training grounds like a whip.
Seth forced his legs to keep moving, but his entire body was screaming. Sweat poured down his arms and soaked through his training shirt. Each breath came out in harsh, desperate bursts—
huff… huff… huff…
like a dog struggling in the heat.
This is the 30th lap… and it's only the second set today, Seth groaned internally.
Who wouldn't be tired? I'm basically running a hundred laps in one day…
His lungs burned and his legs felt like they were being hammered with every step. The world tilted slightly each time his foot hit the ground.
Damian obviously didn't care.
"That pace is dropping, Seth!" he yelled again. "If you've got energy to complain in your head, you've got energy to run faster!"
Seth gritted his teeth and pushed harder—even though his body was clearly at its limit.
Ten years had changed him.
He was no longer the fragile, injured boy who had survived an attack he barely remembered. Now he was taller, standing at a lean and athletic build. His once-soft blonde hair had grown a bit longer, falling over his forehead in messy strands. His red eyes—once vibrant and childish—had deepened into a darker, sharper shade.
He wasn't bulky, but his body was clearly trained.
Muscles toned and defined.
A physique shaped by endless drills, early mornings, and Damian's merciless routines.
And yet, even with all that…
Right now?
He looked like he was about to collapse.
Seth staggered through the final stretch of the lap, vision swimming. His legs felt like collapsing pillars, but he somehow forced them forward until he crossed Damian's marker.
THUD!
He dropped to one knee, then fell onto both hands, gasping for breath.
"Haa… haa… haa—!"
He coughed and spat onto the dirt.
"That… was… gruesome," he groaned aloud.
Pfft!!
A snicker cut through the open field.
Then full laughter.
Even from far away, Seth recognized those voices instantly. A chill ran up his spine—not from fear, but irritation.
He slowly turned.
Two silhouettes stood beneath the shade of the training hall's archway, and the moment the light caught their faces, Seth felt his annoyance sharpen.
Arielle and Ari.
Sixteen years old—yet already tall, confident, and sharper-tongued than knives.
Long blonde hair tied in close to being identical cascading waves.
Dark pink eyes that gleamed with superiority.
And, strangely… they resembled Seth a little too much.
Arielle crossed her arms, smirking. "How pathetic."
Ari stepped forward with a mocking tilt of her head.
"That was 'gruesome'? Then what about combat training? You'll probably die halfway through."
She clicked her tongue.
"Why not give up already? Leave. Go somewhere else."
Then the venom dropped.
"You worthless, untalented bastard."
The sky seemed to darken, to dark blue.
Before Seth could even respond—
BOOM!
A wave of pressure exploded outward from Damian.
Titan pressure.
Not ordinary pressure—
The weight of a World-Class Titan.
Ranked 25th in the world.
Even though Damian released only a fraction, it hit the twins like a tidal wave.
Arielle's knees buckled.
Ari's breath hitched as cold sweat ran down her face.
Their mockery evaporated instantly, replaced by raw fear.
Damian's shadow stretched over them, eyes narrowed like a beast staring down prey.
"That," he said in a low, dangerous voice,
"is the last time you speak to Seth like that."
His tone was calm, the kind of calm that promised violence.
Arielle trembled, biting her lip.
Ari's hands shook as she tried to maintain her posture.
But it was pointless.
Under a world-class Titan's pressure, they were nothing but insects.
Damian stepped once—and the ground cracked beneath his foot.
"I may be your father… ," he growled. "But what status do you think you have That's above me, the head to insult my student, and your brother, if you do that again—"
His eyes flashed.
"—you'll train with me. Personally."
Both girls turned pale.
Leo, watching from the side, simply sighed.
"Damian, ease up. You'll traumatize them" he muttered.
Damian scoffed but lowered the pressure.
The girls collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
And Seth, still panting on his knees, slowly lifted his head.
Not weak.
Not broken but just tired—
—and silently grateful that Damian had his back, even though they weren't blood related.