Silence did not return to the gym immediately.

  It crept back in pieces—between shallow breaths, between the scrape of someone shifting a knee, between the faint drip of water still leaking from a cracked bottle on the floor.

  The damage from earlier remained. Hairline fractures webbed across the mats. A bench lay overturned. The buffet table leaned at a crooked angle, half its contents spilled like offerings that had been rejected.

  No one rushed to fix anything.

  Rina stepped forward.

  Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced them to move.

  Then she bowed.

  Deep. Too deep. Her forehead nearly brushed the mat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, voice loud in the quiet, breaking before she could stop it. “This is my fault. All of it. I should have known better. I should have stopped them.”

  Her hands trembled where they pressed against her thighs.

  Behind her, Astra hesitated—then followed, bowing with measured precision. Not as an officer. Not as an SSS-rank.

  As a human acknowledging danger.

  Bromm bowed next. His jaw was tight, teeth clenched, but he said nothing. Eris mirrored him silently, eyes never leaving Azhareth.

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  Azhareth didn’t turn around.

  He reached down, picked up an unbroken bottle from the floor, and twisted the cap off with a soft click.

  “It’s your first time,” he said, as if discussing poor footwork. “Not everyone knows they need to offer something.”

  The words didn’t absolve them.

  But they didn’t condemn them either.

  Rina swallowed and straightened slowly.

  “Then…” Her voice wavered. She steadied it. “Then what do you want as an offering?”

  Azhareth glanced back, eyes unreadable.

  “An offering isn’t a demand,” he said. “Offer what you think is suitable for your request.”

  That was all.

  No guidance. No reassurance.

  Then he turned away.

  “Now,” he continued, already walking back toward the center of the mat, “let’s start with the training.”

  Relief and dread tangled in Rina’s chest. She nodded quickly, gripping that single permission like a lifeline.

  But the moment didn’t last.

  Footsteps sounded behind them.

  Measured. Polite.

  Aldrean stepped forward, both hands occupied. He carried a heavy iron pot, setting it down with care beside Azhareth. One by one, he placed wrapped bundles and vials beside it, arranging them neatly.

  Too neatly.

  Rina froze.

  Her eyes locked onto the ingredients.

  Her breath left her in a thin, strangled sound.

  “No…” she whispered.

  Kira sucked in a sharp breath beside her. “Oh no. No, no, no— I said we shouldn’t mess with this guy.”

  Merrin’s hands clenched. Dael stared, confused, then slowly horrified as recognition dawned.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Azhareth didn’t move.

  Then he laughed.

  It cut through the room like broken glass.

  Not warm. Not amused.

  He kicked the pot.

  Metal rang sharply as it skidded across the floor, vials shattering, ingredients scattering in useless arcs.

  “Man…” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Ithil was right.”

  He laughed again, harsher this time.

  “You people never stop asking, huh.”

  Rina spun on Aldrean.

  “Why did you do this?” she demanded, voice shaking with fury. “I never asked for this!”

  Aldrean dropped to one knee instantly.

  “Miss Rina,” he said, bowing his head, “I couldn’t stand seeing you in pain.”

  His voice did not waver.

  “So we prepared proper materials for the Teacher.”

  Rina’s fists clenched.

  “That wasn’t your decision,” she snapped. “You had no right—”

  She stopped.

  Because something had shifted.

  Azhareth hadn’t moved—but his presence had changed.

  His hair began to pale, color draining until it turned stark white. The whites of his eyes darkened, stained red like old blood beneath glass.

  Kira stepped back instinctively.

  “…Rina,” she whispered. “That’s not him.”

  The man—whatever he was now—walked toward Aldrean with casual interest.

  “So,” he said lightly, tilting his head, “you’d do anything for her?”

  Aldrean swallowed hard.

  “Anything for Everhart.”

  The man smiled.

  Not cruelly.

  Almost fondly.

  “Good.”

  Rina took a step forward. “Aldrean—”

  Steel flashed.

  The blade sank into Aldrean’s chest.

  “Aldrean—NO!”

  The scream tore out of her before she could stop it. She lurched forward—then froze, terror locking her in place.

  The man’s hand followed the knife.

  He pulled something free.

  Aldrean did not fall.

  His body seized violently. Bones cracked and reshaped. His spine arched unnaturally as muscle tightened, skin smoothing, age peeling away like a discarded layer.

  Kira covered her mouth.

  Merrin staggered back. “What—what is he doing—”

  Aldrean gasped.

  His eyes snapped open—sharper, brighter.

  Too alive.

  A single drop of blood slid across the floor.

  Aldrean’s gaze flicked to it.

  Hunger flashed across his face.

  Then he turned away sharply, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground.

  Rina’s knees buckled. Astra caught her arm before she fell.

  Rina stared, shaking.

  “…May I know your name, sir?” she asked softly.

  The man looked at her.

  Smirked.

  “Little girl,” he said, brushing pale hair back, “you’re too smart for your own good.”

  Something poured out of him.

  Not pain.

  Fear.

  The room collapsed inward.

  Bromm hit his knees with a grunt. “Not again—”

  But this time there was no agony.

  Just terror.

  Kira curled in on herself, whispering frantically, “I told you, I told you, we should’ve left—”

  Merrin’s breath came in ragged gasps. Eris pressed one hand to the floor, eyes wide but calculating even through the dread.

  Rina forced her head up, tears streaking her face.

  “Are you also…” she whispered, “…a Demon Lord?”

  The man stopped.

  Turned.

  His eyes sharpened into something lethal.

  He strode toward her, hand glowing crimson.

  Rina couldn’t move.

  “Stop.”

  The word cracked through the fear like a whip.

  Everything vanished.

  Azhareth staggered, clutching his head.

  “Argh… man,” he muttered. “This is starting to get annoying.”

  The terror evaporated, leaving behind shaking bodies and shallow breaths.

  He looked at Rina.

  “I think you should solo train today.”

  He pressed a notebook into her hands.

  It was heavier than it should have been—not in weight, but in meaning.

  Fletcher’s notes.

  Days of guidance. Discipline. Structure.

  Rina’s fingers tightened around it.

  “Take it,” Azhareth said. “Train. I won’t stay and watch.”

  He turned away, rubbing his temples.

  “This body’s starting to attract the wrong kind of attention…”

  Then, flatly:

  “Aldrean. Bring the feast to my house.”

  A pause.

  “And start the car.”

  Rina stood alone on the mat.

  Her butler was no longer human.

  Her teacher was fractured.

  And for the first time, she understood—

  Power wasn’t something you asked for.

  It was something that noticed you.