"Clangg*"
The spoon hit the table and bounced, hollow and empty. That was the sound of Omen's life.
He had long lost any trace of himself, ever since his parents were declared legally dead.
A sterile term for military people missing in action, with no bodies or closure.
The white-haired boy sat hunched over the table, his eyes black-rimmed and tired, skin pale enough to seem translucent.
'I can't die.'
'If I die…Stella would have no one left.'
The cereal in his bowl had gone soggy, stale like everything else in this house.
Omen had once been full of energy, he had always wanted to be strong like his parents, but sure, give the boy a broken dantian and crush all his dreams!
The ticking of the wall clock never seemed to stop in the house, almost like a constant reminder that every second that went by only made him weaker and weaker.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The boy chewed slowly, staring at the table like some lost soul.
And every second he survived, he dragged his sister along with him, forced to shoulder not just her own burdens, but his as well.
Her life was a mirror of his: wake him, clean the house, rush to the Hundred Flowers Valley to cultivate, and repeat.
A light shade of morning rays escaped the curtains.
It was 9 in the morning.
The cereal almost dissolved into the milk as he continued staring into oblivion.
Knock knock*
Annoyed, Omen looked towards the door, wondering who'd come to disturb him at such an odd hour.
A man in black stood outside with long, crimson hair that fell down his broad shoulders.
Omen's eyes widened, his robe swaying from the wind outside.
"…Almond?" The 6 foot boy questioned as he looked at the guy in front of him up and down.
"Hi Omen, been a while, huh?" The man said nonchalantly, almost like he didn't notice the negative aura oozing off the boy's body.
Omen knew Almond well, after all they grew up together.
Each member in the higher ranks of the Military was given a shadow guard who not only lived and trained with them, but also took the responsibility of protecting their heirs when they turned of age.
Almond was 21 years old.
He had been there with his family since before the boy even learned to walk.
"Omen," Almond repeated, his relaxed expression turning somber. Flat and serious, just like the military trained them to be.
Omen's throat felt dry and scratchy as he eyed the man with annoyance.
"…Why are you here, Almond? Didn't I forbade you from leaving Stella's side ever since that incident?"
The man looked coldly at Omen, grunting.
"You don't need to worry about her, Omen."
"As long as I live, nothing happens to her."
Omen looked past him for a second, scanning the surroundings before letting the man inside.
"I have something to deliver." The 5 foot eleven inches man said immediately after entering the house, a silhouette of something on his hand appearing from the space ring he always wore.
The wooden box was the most inconspicuous thing Omen expected to see in front of him.
It was covered from all sides with only a symbol carved at the top of the lid.
"M."
The boy stared at it blankly, unable to remember the last time he'd seen his family crest.
His chest felt tight as he whispered.
"From who?"
Almond didn't answer immediately, his expression darkening just by a shade.
"Your parents…" The fair skinned man mumbled lightly.
"…They're dead." Omen said almost instantly, feeling a tinge of pain inside his chest even though it had been years now.
Almond's eyes didn't move.
"No, they were only declared legally dead."
Omen swallowed, not because it was some new information but because he knew that.
"This was left in sealed custody." Almond continued, "your parents had submitted this box to the Cultivators Association years ago when you had just turned 13."
Omen's forehead frowned, "…isn't that exactly the time when I lost my dantian?" He questioned the man in front of him darkly.
"Yes."
Omen felt dizzy.
"Why now?" He asked quietly.
"You turn nineteen soon, Omen." Almond continued.
"I know." The boy's fingers tightened around the box as he continued, questioning hesitantly.
"…do you think there's a chance that they could still be alive?"
Almond looked him dead in the eyes, his expressions betraying the lack of emotion in his voice.
"I was ordered to treat them as dead."
Omen's blood ran cold, he was annoyed. "That's not an answer."
Almond stepped closer, sighing.
"It's the only one I'm allowed to give, Omen. You know that-"
After a moment of silence, Almond added:
"You should open it."
Before Omen could say anything, the man in black's form shimmered. Bright red flames surrounded Almond from all sides, not scorching the floor, neither burning the walls, but twisting the air with heat and color.
Omen blinked, used to the guy in black's antiques as the he twisted upward like smoke and vanished.
A soft echo floated through the empty house, barely more than a whisper:
"Stella's calling, best of luc—"
Omen's eyes flipped over to the wooden box, his hands trembling as he lifted the lid.
Inside was an unassuming and hollow skull. Pale as ash, just like the ones you find in human laboratories, but what made it different was the jagged piece of a crown which was lodged crookedly atop its head, cracked and darkened with age.
Beneath the skull lay a folded piece of paper. Omen picked up the rough and worn out paper, unfolding it as he sat on the sofa behind him. Only a single sentence was written on the small parchment, it's ink black and precise:
"He who feeds shall be fed upon."
***