The first thing Ajal saw as he woke up was a vast, open sky dotted with drifting clouds. For a groggy moment, he lay there, squinting at the light, wondering why his back ached and why the roof tiles under him felt so rough.
Wait… roof tiles?
He sat up slowly, his head spinning. He was on top of the house, lying across the uneven shingles. Bits and pieces of the previous night flashed through his mind—glowing symbols, blinding light, a voice that was already slipping from memory. He reached up to touch his neck, feeling something soft and dark wrapped around it… a scarf, one that almost seemed alive. His Gift.
At the far end of the roof, a figure sat cross-legged, gazing out at the horizon with a calm, casual air. The man’s crimson hair caught the morning light, its spiked ends giving him a slightly wild look. His eyes were a piercing gold, sharp and watchful, set above a confident grin.
“Ah, you’re up!” The man turned to Ajal with a grin. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. You were out for a couple hours. Long enough for everyone down there to panic a bit.”
“Kaito…?” Ajal blinked, still groggy. “What… what happened?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Kaito replied, his voice smooth and cheerful. “Ancient rituals, a bit of lightning, and bam—you’re now the proud inheritor of Death’s power. Congratulations.”
Ajal rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it all. But before he could ask another question, he heard voices from below.
“Ajal!” It was his mother, sounding both relieved and worried. He crawled to the edge and looked down to see his family standing in the yard, shielding their eyes against the morning sun as they squinted up at him.
“Come on down!” his mother called, a note of urgency in her voice.
Kaito chuckled, hopping to his feet. “Looks like your fan club’s here.” He offered a hand to Ajal. “Shall we?”
With a sigh, Ajal took Kaito’s hand, and the two of them climbed down carefully to meet the family. The moment Ajal’s feet touched the ground, his mother pulled him into a tight hug.
“Oh, thank goodness. Are you alright?” she murmured, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked him over, her gaze lingering on the strange scarf draped around his neck.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Ajal said, giving her a small smile. “Just… a little overwhelmed.”
His mother nodded, her brow creasing with concern. “Ajal, if this is all true… if you’re really an Inheritor…” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “What do you want to do? This is your life, and I won’t force you to go if it’s not what you want.”
Before Ajal could respond, Kaito cleared his throat, stepping forward with a calm but serious look. “With all due respect, ma’am, he doesn’t really have a choice. The power he’s inherited isn’t something he can just ignore. Without training, he’d be a danger to himself and to everyone around him.”
Katria bristled, shooting Kaito a glare. “And you think just dragging him off is the solution? Who says he even wants to go with you?”
Ajal raised a hand, cutting off any further argument. “It’s okay, Kat.” He turned to his mother, his voice steady. “It’s what I want to do. I… I’ve felt lost for a long time. Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for. Besides,” he added with a small grin, “if I get to be some kind of Reaper, that’s kind of cool, right?”
Theo, who had been listening quietly, let out a low chuckle. “So that’s what you meant with all that reaper talk, huh?” His tone was light, but his gaze held a glimmer of pride.
Ajal’s mother studied his face for a long moment before she let out a soft sigh, her expression a mixture of pride and sadness. “If this is really what you want, then… I’ll support you, Ajal. Just promise you’ll be careful.”
Ajal swallowed, feeling the weight of her support and worry. “I will, Mom. I promise.”
His father, Eren, stepped forward, clapping a reassuring hand on Ajal’s shoulder. “It’s a big world out there, son. I have no doubt you’ll make us proud. Just remember where you came from.”
Ajal managed a shaky smile, feeling the full weight of the moment settle over him. “I’ll remember. And I’ll come back to visit whenever I can.”
Katria, meanwhile, stood apart from the rest, her arms crossed tightly. She was glaring at the ground, her face tense with barely contained frustration. Finally, she looked up, her voice thick with emotion. “So that’s it? You’re just… leaving? And you’re fine with it? Going off to ‘build character’ or whatever?”
Ajal felt a pang of guilt. “Kat… you know I’ve always wanted something more. Maybe… maybe this is the chance I need to figure out who I’m supposed to be.” He offered her a small, teasing smile. “And yeah, think of all the character I’ll come back with.”
Katria let out a choked laugh, punching him lightly in the chest. “You idiot.” Her voice wavered, and she pulled him into a fierce hug. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, alright? And don’t forget about us.”
Ajal hugged her back, his chest tightening. “I won’t. I promise.”
They pulled apart, and Kaito clapped Ajal on the shoulder. “Alright, kid. Time to go. We’ve got seven months to get you ready for the Arkphis entrance exam, and we’re burning daylight.”
Ajal took a deep breath, giving each member of his family a final look, committing their faces to memory. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, his voice filled with determination.
With a final wave, Ajal turned and followed Kaito down the path, leaving his family behind as they watched him go, their expressions a mix of pride, worry, and hope.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The silence between Ajal and Kaito stretched as they walked, broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the dirt path. For a while, the scenery around them remained familiar—rolling fields and the occasional stretch of open countryside. Ajal’s mind drifted back to the village, to the looks on his family’s faces as he’d said goodbye. It felt surreal, like he was in a dream he hadn’t quite woken up from.
Eventually, Kaito spoke up, his tone casual. “Enjoying the stroll?”
Ajal shrugged. “It’s nice. Peaceful, I guess.” He gave a small, uncertain smile. “Are we… going far?”
“Far enough,” Kaito replied, his grin hinting at some private joke.
They walked in silence again, and Ajal lost track of time, his thoughts turning inward. He was so absorbed in the weight of everything—his Gift, his family, the strange future awaiting him—that he didn’t notice the world changing around them.
It was only when he looked up that he realized the trees were no longer the familiar ones he’d grown up around. The bark of each tree was a ghostly gray, like ash, and the leaves above them were a vibrant, unnatural shade of blue, shimmering faintly even in the daylight. The air felt heavier here, thick with a scent he couldn’t quite place—earthy and metallic, like damp stone mixed with something ancient.
“What… where are we?” Ajal asked, his voice hushed as he took in the strange forest.
“Good question,” Kaito replied with a smirk, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I like to think of it as… somewhere else.”
Ajal frowned, glancing around at the plants that sprouted along the forest floor. They were unlike anything he’d seen before: strange, twisting vines with dark green thorns that glistened in the light, and clusters of flowers that pulsed gently, their petals a rich indigo edged with faint, glowing patterns. He noticed an animal skitter past—a small creature with fur the color of smoke and eyes that glowed a soft green, its body moving in quick, unnatural jerks before it vanished into the underbrush.
“This place doesn’t look real,” Ajal murmured, half to himself.
Kaito laughed, hands tucked into his pockets as he walked. “You’re right about that. It’s not like the places you’re used to. Think of it as… a shortcut. Or a detour.” He glanced over at Ajal, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just don’t wander off the path.”
They continued walking, the strange trees rising higher and higher around them, their branches stretching across the path like thin, skeletal fingers. The forest seemed to close in, the trees so dense that only patches of sky peeked through the canopy. Ajal couldn’t shake the feeling that the place was watching him, every shadowed corner and rustling leaf holding secrets he wasn’t meant to understand.
Finally, they emerged into a clearing. Ajal’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.
In the center of the clearing, a dark cave entrance gaped like an open mouth, its shadow stretching across the ground. The air here felt colder, carrying a strange, almost electric charge. But it was the clearing itself that held Ajal’s attention. Around them, arranged in a near-perfect circle, stood twelve massive spikes, each one towering far above his head and curving slightly inward, as if reaching down toward the cave entrance.
The spikes were smooth and pale, a bone-white color that contrasted sharply with the dark earth. They rose from the ground in pairs, evenly spaced, creating an odd symmetry that made Ajal’s skin prickle. He couldn’t explain it, but something about them felt… alive. Not in the way trees were alive, rooted and steady. These spikes felt old and still, yet somehow full of purpose, as if they were waiting for something.
“What… are these?” Ajal asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kaito didn’t answer right away. He walked up to one of the towering spikes, laying a hand on it with a look of almost reverence. “Just call them markers,” he said softly. “Boundaries. They tell you where one thing ends and another begins.”
Ajal swallowed, his gaze following the line of each spike as it curved up and inward. They felt like guardians, or maybe sentries—silent watchers standing guard over the cave and the strange forest surrounding it.
Kaito gestured toward the cave entrance. “This is where we’ll set up for a while. Welcome to your new home, kid. Cozy, right?”
Ajal looked from Kaito to the yawning darkness of the cave, unease twisting in his stomach. “Home, huh?” he muttered, his tone skeptical.
Kaito clapped him on the back, his grin returning. “What, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark now?”
Ajal forced a laugh, trying to shake off the creeping sense of dread. “Afraid? No. Just… curious.” He glanced around the clearing, his gaze lingering on the massive, curved spikes. “There’s something… strange about this place.”
Kaito’s smile took on a slightly serious edge. “You’re not wrong. Places like this have their own… rules. You’ll get used to it.” He turned toward the cave, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and purpose. “Alright, kid. Let’s get you settled in. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Ajal took a deep breath, glancing one last time at the pale spikes encircling them. Then, with a sense of reluctant acceptance, Ajal stepped into the cave, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
The walls glistened with clusters of crystals that gave off a faint, ghostly glow, illuminating the cavern in shades of blue and white. The air was cool and smelled faintly of earth and something metallic, like old stone.
The cave was larger than he’d expected, stretching back into shadows that seemed to swallow the edges of the room. In the middle of the open space, a small, makeshift camp had been set up. A low campfire smoldered in a ring of stones, casting a warm, flickering light over a few scattered belongings.
There was an old beanbag chair positioned in front of a chunky, outdated TV, which sat on a rickety crate like it was some kind of throne. Beside it, a bookshelf crammed with worn, dusty books leaned against the cave wall. Ajal could make out titles in several different languages, some of which looked like they’d been written by hand. There was a small bed with a rough blanket thrown over it, and a sleeping bag rolled up nearby, as if this strange little camp had been shared by more than one person.
Kaito strolled over to the TV, muttering to himself as he fiddled with the buttons on the front. He gave it a smack on the side, then pressed a few more buttons, but the screen remained stubbornly blank.
“Come on, work, you piece of junk…” Kaito grumbled, giving it one last smack before sighing in defeat. “Guess it’s out of commission again. Ophelia fixed it last time, but she’s… not here at the moment.”
Ajal raised an eyebrow. “Ophelia? Another one of your students?”
Kaito glanced at him, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah. She’s… well, she’s got her own thing going on right now. You’ll meet her eventually.” He tilted his head, his expression faintly amused. “She’s way better with tech than I am. Me, I can barely get this relic to turn on half the time.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Ajal said, watching Kaito as he shook his head at the unresponsive TV.
Kaito shrugged, unbothered by the failure, and moved over to the campfire. “Anyway, kid, make yourself at home. This is where we’ll be for a while.”
Ajal took a closer look around, trying to wrap his head around the strange setup. It was part bachelor pad, part survivalist camp, and part… something else. The glowing crystals embedded in the walls gave the place an otherworldly feel, and he couldn’t shake the sense that the cave itself was somehow alive, watching them.
He settled himself on the beanbag chair, sinking into its lumpy depths with a sigh. He’d been running on adrenaline all day, and now that he was finally able to sit, he felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at him.
Kaito clapped him on the shoulder, his voice light. “Alright, kid, get some rest. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. Training starts at sunrise.”
Ajal gave him a tired thumbs-up, his eyelids already drooping. “Sure thing… I’ll be up bright and early… maybe.”
Kaito laughed and tossed a blanket at him. “No ‘maybe’ about it. Good night.”
With that, Kaito retreated to the other side of the cave, leaving Ajal alone by the soft glow of the crystals. As he lay back, pulling the blanket over himself, he let his mind wander, taking in the surreal surroundings.
But just as he was drifting off, a soft whisper brushed against his mind, snapping him awake.
“Hello, Ajal…”
He froze, feeling a strange sensation along the back of his neck. Slowly, he looked down at his scarf—the Gift he’d inherited, the dark fabric wrapped around his shoulders. And there, near the end of the scarf, a single eye had opened, staring straight at him. It was dark and ancient, filled with a depth that seemed to stretch beyond time itself.
“Um…” Ajal whispered, more out of instinct than anything else. “Hi?”
The eye blinked once, its gaze calm and heavy, as if it had all the time in the world to observe him. “I am pleased to finally meet the one who has inherited my power.”
Ajal stared at the eye, trying to process the fact that his scarf was talking to him. “So… you’re Death, huh? I gotta say, I was expecting more… I don’t know. Hooded cloak? Skeletal fingers?”
Death’s eye narrowed slightly, as if amused. “The trappings of mortal fear. I have no need for them.”
“Right, right,” Ajal said, nodding sagely. “You’re too sophisticated for all that Hollowyn stuff. Got it.”
There was a faint pause, as if Death was reassessing his new Inheritor. “You have an unusual… approach to things,” Death observed, his voice as calm as ever.
Ajal shrugged and leaned back against the beanbag. “I try to go with the flow things. Besides, it’s not every day you get to talk to the literal God of Death. Might as well make the most of it.”
The eye blinked again, slowly, as if considering him. “Many who wield my power feel… burdened. They shy away from the responsibility. But you are unafraid to speak with me.”
“Burdened, huh?” Ajal raised an eyebrow. “Well, I haven’t exactly figured out what this whole ‘Reaper’ thing means yet, so maybe it hasn’t hit me. Or maybe I’m just too tired to freak out.” He stifled a yawn, then grinned at the eye. “So, what’s the deal? You’re here to give me a pep talk or a speech or something?”
Death’s voice took on a faintly amused tone, though it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just Ajal’s imagination. “No. I am here merely to greet you. To see what kind of soul has inherited my Gift.”
“Well, here I am,” Ajal said, spreading his arms wide in a mock-heroic pose. “Not much to look at, but I’ve got a good sense of humor. Or so I’m told.”
“Indeed,” Death replied, and Ajal could almost swear he heard a faint chuckle.
Ajal leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. “So, what happens now? Do I get some kind of death powers, or are you just here to haunt me?”
Death’s eye regarded him steadily, the calm gaze unflinching. “In time, you will understand the power you now carry. But for now… rest. You will need strength for what lies ahead.”
Ajal sighed, letting himself sink back into the beanbag. “Great, another cryptic message. Just what I needed.”
“You’ll come to appreciate it,” Death said, his tone faintly amused. “Inheritors rarely understand the path they walk… until they have no choice but to walk it.”
Ajal rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, profound wisdom and all that. I get it.” He let out a yawn, feeling sleep pulling at him once more. “Well, nice meeting you, Death. Don’t be a stranger.”
The eye blinked one last time, then slowly closed, vanishing into the folds of the scarf as if it had never been there.
Ajal lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the cave, his mind swirling with the strange encounter. Eventually, though, the day’s exhaustion won out, and he let his eyes close, drifting off to sleep with a faint smile on his face.
The next morning, Ajal barely had time to stretch before Kaito dragged him to the center of the cave and set up a small sparring area. The makeshift camp was still dimly lit by the glow of the crystals, casting long shadows across the rocky floor. Kaito stood opposite Ajal, hands resting casually in his pockets as he grinned.
“Alright, kid,” Kaito said, rolling his shoulders like he was getting ready for a casual stroll rather than a fight. “Let’s see what you’ve got. No weapons, no powers—just you and your fists.”
Ajal nodded, feeling the early-morning adrenaline start to kick in. He took a stance, raising his fists the way he’d seen fighters do in books and movies. He took a deep breath and moved forward, throwing a quick punch toward Kaito’s face.
Kaito didn’t even move his feet. With the slightest tilt of his head, he dodged the punch, his grin widening.
“Not bad, not bad,” Kaito said. “Good reflexes, but you’re telegraphing your moves.” He flicked Ajal’s hand aside with barely any effort, leaving Ajal momentarily off-balance. “Don’t just attack mindlessly. Think about your next move—what am I going to do, and how will you respond?”
Ajal clenched his teeth, regaining his balance and stepping back. “Got it,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He moved in again, this time throwing a combination of punches aimed at Kaito’s chest and midsection.
But each time he struck, Kaito’s movements were effortless. A small shift of his shoulders here, a quick sidestep there—no matter what Ajal did, he couldn’t even graze him. It was as if Kaito could see every move coming before Ajal even made it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Your reflexes are insane,” Kaito commented, weaving around another punch. “But you’re not using them right. You’re moving on instinct alone, which is good for dodging, but it won’t help you if you can’t think at the same time.” He dodged another punch and tapped Ajal lightly on the shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps. “Try to balance it—trust your instincts, but keep your mind sharp. Watch me. What do you think I’m going to do next?”
Ajal took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down. He observed Kaito’s posture, noting how he was still relaxed, hands in his pockets, no tension in his shoulders. There was no indication that he was about to attack—yet that somehow made Ajal feel even more on edge.
He feinted to the left, then darted right, aiming a quick jab toward Kaito’s side. For a split second, he thought he might actually land a hit.
Then Kaito’s hand shot out, faster than Ajal could react, and flicked him on the forehead. The impact was deceptively gentle, but it felt like a mini-explosion against his skull. The force sent him stumbling backward, and he lost his footing, crashing into the cave wall.
“Focus, kid,” Kaito said, chuckling as Ajal picked himself up, rubbing his forehead. “You’ve got speed and reflexes. You just need to think a few steps ahead. Picture the whole fight, not just the next punch.”
Ajal shook off the sting and nodded, a determined look settling on his face. He took another deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kaito, trying to anticipate his next move. This time, he waited, letting Kaito’s posture guide him.
He moved in again, darting from one side to the other, keeping his movements unpredictable. Finally, he managed to land a hit—just a light tap on Kaito’s shoulder, barely enough to shift him, but it was something.
Kaito raised an eyebrow, his smile approving. “There we go. Baby steps. You’re still way too easy to read, but it’s a start.” He patted Ajal on the shoulder, looking genuinely pleased. “Alright, that’s enough for now. Go cool off and take a break.”
Ajal let out a relieved sigh, feeling the adrenaline start to fade. His arms were sore, and his forehead still stung from the flick, but he felt a small surge of pride. Even if it was only one tap, he’d actually managed to touch Kaito.
Kaito walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a thin, worn book with a dark cover. He tossed it to Ajal, who caught it clumsily. The title, embossed in faded gold letters, read: The Nine-Step System: A Warrior’s Path.
“Take a look at that while you rest,” Kaito said, settling himself by the campfire. “The Nine-Step System is one of the core power systems in this world. It’s… well, let’s just say it’s a framework for pushing your body to its limits. You can think of each ‘Step’ as a different technique for enhancing yourself. There are offensive steps, defensive steps, and support steps. You’ll be able to learn three of them without risking any damage to yourself. After that…” He trailed off, giving Ajal a meaningful look. “Well, you don’t want to push it.”
Ajal nodded, intrigued. He flipped through the pages, scanning descriptions of the various steps. Each one was accompanied by diagrams and short explanations, outlining how each technique could amplify a specific physical trait. One in particular caught his eye—a strength-based step called Rye, which claimed to increase raw power.
He looked up at Kaito, who was packing up a few things into a small satchel. “So… could I try this Rye step? The strength one?”
Kaito shrugged, glancing toward the cave entrance. “Sure, go ahead. Just don’t expect to master it right away. I’m going to step out for a bit—got some business to take care of. Keep reading, and don’t hurt yourself.”
“Right,” Ajal muttered, turning his attention back to the book as Kaito disappeared into the shadows outside the cave.
He took a deep breath, setting the book on the ground as he tried to focus on the instructions for the Rye step. It described a specific breathing technique and a certain way of tensing his muscles to trigger the power. Ajal followed the steps as best as he could, inhaling deeply and trying to visualize the energy gathering within him.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, forcing himself to concentrate harder, clenching his fists and imagining his body surging with strength. But all he got was a mild head rush and a sore wrist from clenching too hard.
“Great,” he muttered to himself, sitting back against the beanbag in frustration. “So much for hidden strength.”
As he closed his eyes to rest for a moment, he felt a familiar prickling sensation along the back of his neck. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his scarf—and sure enough, the eye had opened again, staring up at him with a faintly amused gleam.
“Struggling, are we?” Death’s voice was calm, laced with a touch of humor. Only Ajal could hear it, the words echoing directly in his mind.
Ajal sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, turns out learning superhuman strength is a bit harder than I thought. Who knew?”
Death’s eye blinked slowly, as if savoring the moment. “The Nine-Step System is not something one masters in an afternoon. It requires patience, focus, and… a certain degree of humility.”
“Humility, huh?” Ajal smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I’m not sure if that’s in my skillset.”
Death’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Clearly. But I suppose that arrogance may serve you well… eventually.”
Ajal raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that your way of saying I’m destined for greatness?”
“Hardly.” Death’s tone was dry. “I am merely… entertained by your approach. Most Inheritors who inherit my power are weighed down by the burden of it. You, however, seem to face it with an unusual… resilience.”
“Or maybe I’m just too stubborn to feel burdened,” Ajal shot back, grinning. “But hey, if I’m entertaining you, I must be doing something right.”
Death’s eye seemed to shine a little brighter, the dark iris swirling faintly. “Indeed, Ajal. You are… an interesting one.”
Before Ajal could respond, the eye blinked once more and vanished, the scarf returning to its ordinary appearance. He sat back, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Interesting, huh?” he murmured to himself, feeling a strange surge of confidence. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
With renewed determination, he opened the book again, his gaze focused on the page describing the Nine-Step System. He wasn’t about to let one failed attempt hold him back—not when he had a whole world of power waiting to be unlocked.
Hours passed, and Ajal was still no closer to mastering the Rye step. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the cave, clutching the book in frustration, feeling his muscles sore from repeated attempts to summon the strength boost described on the faded pages.
He had tried everything—controlled breathing, visualization, even muttering a few choice insults under his breath. But no matter how hard he concentrated, nothing clicked. It was as if there was a barrier between him and the power he was trying to reach, a wall he couldn’t break through no matter how hard he pushed.
Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he closed the book and stretched, feeling his joints pop in protest. “This is pointless,” he muttered, standing up and glancing toward the mouth of the cave. “Maybe I just need some air…”
Leaving the book behind, he made his way outside, stepping into the strange forest he and Kaito had passed through earlier. The gray trees and shimmering blue leaves were just as surreal as before, casting a ghostly glow under the dappled sunlight. He walked aimlessly, letting the cool forest air clear his mind.
After a few minutes, he stumbled upon a small clearing where a pond lay nestled between the trees. The water was so still that it looked like glass, perfectly reflecting the sky and the surrounding forest as if it were a flawless mirror. Ajal knelt by the edge, staring into the water. For a moment, he could almost forget the strange powers and the weight of being an Inheritor. Here, everything felt… peaceful.
As he gazed into the pond, he noticed a familiar shimmer on the edge of his vision. He looked down at his scarf and saw that the eye had opened again, staring up at him with that same calm, ancient gaze.
“Can’t leave me alone for five minutes, huh?” Ajal joked, his voice soft so as not to disturb the tranquility around him.
Death’s eye blinked, its reflection mirrored perfectly in the pond. “Perhaps I am simply curious. Few mortals have… your temperament.”
Ajal snorted, leaning back on his hands. “Temperament, huh? I’m guessing you mean I’m the only one who’s not terrified of you.”
“Something like that,” Death replied, his tone as unreadable as ever.
For a moment, Ajal was silent, watching the strange reflection of himself and Death in the water. Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, “Why me? Why did you choose me to be an Inheritor? And… why do Inheritors exist at all?”
Death’s gaze didn’t waver, but Ajal sensed a weight behind the single eye’s silence. Finally, Death spoke, his voice low and measured. “It is too early for you to understand the full answer, Ajal. But I will tell you this: I did not choose you by will alone. It was… a feeling. A gut instinct, you might say.”
Ajal raised an eyebrow, not sure if he found that comforting or unsettling. “So you picked me because I gave you a good vibe? That’s… reassuring.”
Death let out a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Perhaps. Or perhaps there is more to you than even you realize. Time will tell.”
Ajal let that sink in, his mind turning over Death’s words. “So… I’m not the only one, right? There are other Inheritors out there?”
“Yes,” Death replied. “In total, there are six of you. Six mortals chosen by gods to inherit our power. Each of you carries a part of something larger than yourself.”
Ajal stared into the pond, trying to imagine who these other Inheritors might be—what kind of people would be entrusted with divine Gifts. “Six of us, huh? Guess I have some competition.”
Death’s eye gleamed with faint amusement. “You may find that your fates are more intertwined than you realize. But that is for the future. For now…” His voice suddenly sharpened, a note of urgency slipping into his tone. “Ajal, get up. Start running. Now.”
Ajal blinked, his brows knitting in confusion. “What? Why?”
But before he could get an answer, a chilling howl cut through the air, followed by the rustling of leaves and the unmistakable sound of something moving through the underbrush—fast. A group of figures broke through the trees, low to the ground and moving with an unnatural speed that sent a spike of adrenaline through Ajal’s veins.
They were monkeys, or at least something close to it. Their fur was a sickly, unnatural white, and their eyes glowed a menacing red. Sharp fangs jutted from their mouths, and their elongated limbs ended in claws that tore through the earth as they moved. They had the twisted, monstrous look of Salarkistas—the demon-forged beasts he’d heard about in village stories. And they were heading straight for him.
“Run, Ajal!” Death’s voice rang in his head, urgent and unyielding.
Ajal didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted, sprinting through the forest as the Salarkistas gave chase, their shrieks echoing through the trees. He could hear them closing in, their clawed feet scraping against the forest floor, their breath hot on his heels.
But they were fast. Faster than any animal he’d seen, moving with an inhuman ferocity that made his heart pound. He pushed himself harder, darting through the trees and leaping over roots, but he could feel them gaining ground with every step.
“Ajal,” Death’s voice cut through his panic, calm but commanding. “Take the scarf off.”
“What? Why?” Ajal yelled, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see one of the creatures lunge at him, claws bared.
“Just do it!” Death ordered, his voice sharp.
Ajal didn’t have time to argue. As the Salarkistas closed in, he reached up and yanked the scarf from his neck, pulling it away just as the first creature pounced on him, knocking him to the ground.
But instead of hitting dirt, Ajal felt a surge of energy rip through him. White flames erupted around his body, forcing the Salarkistas back as they screeched in pain. When he looked down, the scarf was gone—and in his hands, he held a scythe, long and gleaming, with three closed eyes engraved along the curve of the blade.
Instinct took over.
Ajal rose to his feet, the scythe feeling both familiar and alien in his grip. He swung it in a wide arc as the Salarkistas charged again, the blade slicing through the air with a soft hum. The first creature leapt at him, but the scythe met it midair, cleaving through flesh and bone as easily as cutting through water. The creature fell to the ground in two clean halves, its body disintegrating into white flames before it could even hit the ground.
The others hesitated, their red eyes widening with a flicker of fear. But their hesitation was brief. Another lunged at him from the left, jaws open wide, saliva dripping from its fangs. Ajal sidestepped, pivoting smoothly as he brought the scythe down in a graceful, deadly arc. The blade sliced through the creature’s neck, separating its head from its body in one fluid motion. More white flames consumed the remains, leaving nothing but ash.
A third Salarkista came at him, its claws reaching for his face. Without thinking, Ajal spun the scythe around and drove the blade upward, catching the creature under its chin. The force of the blow sent it flying back, impaled on the scythe, before it too dissolved into flames.
A fourth one shrieked and tried to retreat, but Ajal was faster. He lunged forward, swinging the scythe in a brutal, horizontal slash that cut through the creature’s torso, white flames licking up from the wound as its body crumbled to ash.
He stood there, breath heaving, the scythe still glowing faintly in his hands. Around him, the forest was silent, save for the crackling of fading embers where the Salarkistas had fallen.
Ajal looked down at the scythe, at the three engraved eyes along the blade. He was holding it like he’d been wielding it his whole life, his fingers wrapped around the handle as if it were an extension of his own body.
“Well done,” Death’s voice echoed in his mind, faintly approving.
Ajal stood there, breath heaving, the scythe still glowing faintly in his hands. Around him, the forest was silent, save for the faint crackling of embers where the Salarkistas had fallen, their bodies reduced to nothing but ash.
He blinked, his vision blurring. His hands felt heavy, almost numb, and he glanced down at the scythe, realizing for the first time that he was holding it—like it was an extension of his own body.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the scythe dissolved, morphing back into the dark scarf that wrapped itself around his neck. A strange sense of exhaustion washed over him, like he’d been drained from the inside out.
Ajal took a step forward, and his knees buckled. He barely caught himself, feeling dizzy, his head pounding with a dull ache. He looked down at his clothes, only now noticing the tattered fabric, torn in multiple places with faint red scratches underneath where the Salarkistas’ claws had raked against him.
“What… happened?” he murmured, reaching up to touch his head, where a faint, buzzing fog clouded his memory.
He remembered running, the Salarkistas closing in, Death’s voice telling him to take the scarf off… but everything after that was a blank. The last clear image in his mind was the moment he’d pulled the scarf from his neck. After that… just flashes. Blinding white flames. The feeling of something heavy in his hands. A primal rage, fierce and fleeting.
He looked around the clearing, seeing the faint remnants of ash where the creatures had fallen, and a cold chill ran down his spine.
“Did… did I do this?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
But the eye on his scarf remained closed, offering no answers.
Ajal took a shaky breath, his heart still racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. His clothes were torn, his body covered in scratches, but he felt no real pain—only a lingering sense of awe and confusion.
Unsure of what else to do, he turned and made his way back through the forest, his mind reeling with unanswered questions. For now, he would have to accept that whatever power he’d unleashed… it was something he couldn’t fully control. Not yet.
As he walked back to the cave, a faint, unsettling thought crept into his mind: just how much of himself had he lost in those flames?
As Ajal approached the cave entrance, he saw Kaito leaning casually against one of the tall stones, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.
“Well, look who’s back from the wild,” Kaito said, giving Ajal an exaggerated once-over. “Rough night? Or did you decide to wrestle some Salarkistas on your way out for fun?”
Ajal rolled his eyes, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. “Something like that,” he muttered. “Ran into some weird, demon-monkey things. Nearly ripped me apart.”
Kaito let out a low whistle. “White fur, red eyes, crazy sharp teeth?”
“Yeah, those would be the ones,” Ajal replied, wincing as he touched one of the scratches on his arm. “I… don’t remember much, though. Just flames, and then… nothing. Next thing I know, they’re gone, and I’m standing in a pile of ash.”
Kaito’s smirk turned into an approving grin. “Not bad, kid. Seems like you’re getting the hang of things, even if you don’t know it yet.” He clapped Ajal on the back as they headed back into the cave. “Alright, since you got roughed up, let’s get you into something new. And I’ve got just the thing.”
Inside, Kaito went over to a neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed and held them up proudly, like he was revealing a prize.
Ajal’s eyes narrowed as he took in the outfit. The cloak was long and tattered at the edges, a deep black with slight hints of purple along the folds, almost like shadows clinging to the fabric. It had a large hood and draped over the shoulders in a way that gave it a slightly ominous look, like something straight out of an old reaper legend. Beneath it was a simple, dark long-sleeved shirt with a slightly frayed neckline, a pair of fitted black pants that were practical but slim, and sturdy, ankle-high boots with a slight sheen to them, each adorned with a faint silver clasp. The entire look was sleek, dark, and distinctly… dramatic.
Ajal raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “You want me to wear that? It’s a little… I don’t know, tacky. Trying too hard, don’t you think?”
Kaito’s grin fell, and he looked at Ajal with comically exaggerated disappointment. “What? Tacky? Come on, I picked it out just for you! It’s got that whole death vibe going on. All the best Inheritors look the part, y’know?” He slumped dramatically, holding a hand to his heart. “I can’t believe my impeccable taste is wasted on you.”
Ajal smirked, crossing his arms. “Sorry, man. Just calling it like I see it.”
Kaito sighed, shaking his head in mock sadness. “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll just have to deal with your lack of appreciation for fashion.” But his grin returned as he tossed the clothes to Ajal. “Go on, try it out. I promise you’ll look like a bona fide reaper.”
Ajal changed into the outfit, adjusting the cloak as it draped over his shoulders. It felt surprisingly comfortable, the fabric lighter than he expected and moving easily with him. Despite his earlier complaints, he had to admit it did give him a certain look… almost like he belonged to something bigger, something mysterious.
Kaito gave him a thumbs-up. “See? Now you look the part! Even if you don’t appreciate my genius.”
Ajal rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “So… why are you even helping me with all this, anyway? The Inheritors, the training… you just like playing dress-up with random kids?”
Kaito chuckled, leaning back against the cave wall. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of that,” he said with a grin. “But no, kid, it’s because this is fun. Teaching you, watching you figure all this out, seeing how much chaos we can stir up—it’s a blast.”
Ajal let out a laugh, not entirely surprised. “Of course. Why’d I even ask?”
Kaito’s grin widened. “Hey, at least I’m honest. And besides, you’ve got a spark. Something about you makes this whole thing even more interesting.” He paused, crossing his arms. “And I think you’ll need every bit of help you can get where you’re headed.”
Ajal raised an eyebrow. “And where’s that?”
Kaito straightened up, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Arkphis Institute. You’ve got eight months to train, because come December 31st, you’ll be taking the entrance exam.”
Ajal tilted his head, confused. “Arkphis Institute? Sounds like some fancy school.”
“Oh, it’s more than that,” Kaito said, his tone turning serious but with a glint of enthusiasm. “Arkphis is the academy for Gift users in this country. They train you in combat and survival, and yeah, they teach normal subjects too, but the main goal? To make you ready for what’s out there. Salarkistas, demons, threats you haven’t even dreamed of yet.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “They’re shaping warriors, Ajal. They’re training humanity to fight back.”
Ajal’s eyes widened, his interest piqued despite himself. “And… they want me to go there?”
Kaito shrugged. “Want? Maybe. But that’s not the real catch.” He held up a finger. “The entrance exam is tough. They only accept twelve students a year. That’s twelve out of hundreds who try. And every single one of them is willing to push themselves to the limit to get in.”
Ajal whistled, his earlier skepticism fading. “Sounds intense.”
“Oh, it is,” Kaito replied, his grin returning. “But you’ve got eight months with me, which means you’re already ahead of the game. Once you master the basics, like hand-to-hand, we’ll start training with that scythe of yours. There’s a lot of power in that weapon, but it’ll take practice. You’ll need to understand it—really understand it—before you’re ready to wield it in battle.”
Ajal nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “So… eight months, huh?”
Kaito clapped him on the back. “Yup. Eight months to turn you into a fighter who’s Arkphis material.” He tilted his head, studying Ajal with a hint of amusement. “Think you’re up for it?”
Ajal took a deep breath, glancing down at his new clothes, feeling the weight of the scarf around his neck, and remembering the strange power he’d felt back at the pond. “Yeah,” he said, a determined smile spreading across his face. “I think I am.”
“Good,” Kaito said with a grin. “Let’s get started.”
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Two and a half months later, Ajal was beginning to understand why Kaito had warned him about the training. Every day was a new lesson, a new bruise, and another round of grueling drills. But despite the sore muscles and exhaustion, he found himself laughing more often, swapping sarcastic banter with Kaito in between rounds. They’d developed an easy camaraderie, a bond forged through shared effort and Kaito’s relentless, almost gleeful push to make Ajal improve.
“Alright, kid,” Kaito called one morning as they stepped into the clearing. “Time to step it up. You’ve gotten good with your fists, but it’s time to bring out the big guns.” He crossed his arms, giving Ajal an expectant look. “Summon the scythe.”
Ajal took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he reached for the sensation he’d felt during the fight with the Salarkistas. He pictured the weight of the scythe, the cold, metallic feel of it in his hands, and the faint hum of power that had come with it. Slowly, he felt the scarf around his neck shift, twisting and solidifying, until he opened his eyes to see the dark, gleaming blade resting in his grip.
This time, though, there were no flames, no aura crackling around it. It was just the scythe, solid and real, but quiet.
Kaito raised an eyebrow, nodding in approval. “Not bad. Don’t worry about the fancy effects—you won’t need them. For now, we’re focusing on the basics.” He gestured to the scythe. “Let’s talk advantages and weaknesses.”
Ajal listened as Kaito paced around him, gesturing as he spoke. “The scythe has reach, so you can strike from a distance. You’re in control of the space between you and your opponent, which is a huge advantage. But it’s also awkward to use at close range, and it’s easy to get off-balance if you overcommit to a swing. Think of it like dancing—controlled, fluid movements, and always keeping your balance.”
Ajal nodded, trying to absorb the advice. He took a cautious swing, but the scythe’s length caught him off-guard, and he stumbled a little, feeling the blade pull him forward. Kaito chuckled, stepping back as he watched.
“Like I said—balance. Feel the weight, don’t fight it. Move with it.” He demonstrated with his own imaginary scythe, his movements graceful and precise. “Keep your center, and let the blade’s weight carry the momentum.”
Ajal adjusted his grip and tried again, focusing on each swing, each turn, each step. At first, he felt awkward, clumsy, the scythe’s length an unwieldy burden rather than a weapon. But as he practiced, his muscles began to find a rhythm, moving in tune with the scythe’s natural arc. It was like learning a new language—slow, unfamiliar, but becoming clearer with each repetition.
He swung again, this time with a bit more confidence, and then again, feeling the blade slice through the air with a satisfying whoosh. Kaito watched, nodding approvingly as Ajal found his rhythm, his movements beginning to flow together.
As he practiced, Ajal’s mind drifted, his thoughts moving in sync with the scythe’s rhythm. He thought of his family, the village he’d left behind. He thought of his mother’s quiet acceptance, his father’s encouragement, Theo’s smirk, and Katria’s fierce hug. He’d always been the one who made jokes, who kept things light. The one who never took anything too seriously.
But here, with the scythe in his hands, he felt something new—a sense of purpose. Of responsibility. He thought of Kaito, who had become both teacher and friend, pushing him every day to become stronger, sharper. He even thought of Death, who had appeared to him a few times throughout these months, watching silently, a presence that seemed both distant and strangely familiar.
Ajal paused, taking a steadying breath as he looked down at the scythe in his hands. The gleaming blade caught the light, and for a moment, he saw his own reflection in it—focused, determined, a glimmer of something fierce in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before.
Maybe he was changing. No—he was changing. This training, this Gift, this new path… it was all forcing him to grow into something he hadn’t expected. He could feel it, like an ember in his chest that had sparked to life, a slow, burning determination that pushed him forward.
He gripped the scythe, setting his stance with newfound resolve, his gaze steady. This time, he swung the blade with purpose, feeling his movements align with the weight of the weapon, each motion deliberate and controlled.
Kaito watched him with a small, proud smile. “I appreciate fast learners. Makes my job easier. You ready for the real stuff, kid?”
Ajal gave him a small nod, his lips curving into a faint smile. He didn’t need to say anything. The determination in his stance, in his eyes, said it all. He’d made up his mind—not just about this moment, but about the months ahead. Whatever challenges lay in store, he would face them head-on. The next eight months would be his. He’d use every second to sharpen himself, to learn, to grow stronger, until there wasn’t a single doubt about who he was.