Four days had passed since the invasion.

  The sky was a piercing, untroubled blue. In the village clearing, three children were sparring. Takahiro and Yume moved with fervent energy—a sight that would have been normal, if not for the heavy shadow of the previous week.

  Ray watched from a distance. Takahiro parried three rapid strikes from Yume before thrusting his palm forward, stopping a hair's breadth from her face. They broke apart and bowed deeply to one another.

  Usually, those two would spar until they collapsed, but today, Yume stepped out. Kenji took her place. The crimson-haired boy had a new, predatory sparkle in his dusk-orange eyes. He grinned at his brother, and the two charged.

  The discovery made only yesterday was nothing short of a miracle: Kenji had awakened his Hashi.

  The Division Knights had already arrived in force to sweep the island, and Ro had been taken to join the Division Knights. But Ray knew, deep in his gut, that the knights wouldn't find any straggling invaders. Not after what he and Yumiko had witnessed in that ancient throne room.

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  Ray had arrived at the castle to find the hallways transformed into a slaughterhouse. The ancient walls were painted in crimson; bodies were impaled, scorched, and dismantled beyond repair. He and Yumiko had tracked a faint, vanishing trail of Hashi until they reached the massive stone doors.

  They slipped through the gap into a scene that was surreal—majestic, yet utterly horrific.

  Opposite the door stood a great white throne, its top jagged and broken. A black banner hung behind it, emblazoned with a silver moon and a dark bird. Sitting on the throne with casual, terrifying grace was the silver-haired youth. Moonlight spilled through the ceiling, casting a glow around his head that mimicked a crown.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The boy sat with one leg crossed, his chin resting on a closed fist. His violet eyes didn't just look at them; they looked through them with a divine indifference. He possessed a beauty that defied gender—feminine softness paired with a cold, masculine lethality.

  Between the door and the throne lay the "meat." Yellow Maw was no longer a man; he was a pile of sliced flesh and "blood soup." The copper tang of gore hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder. The Cowboy's crushed skull lay nearby, and the butler was a headless ruin.

  Most sickening of all was the burlap sack, overflowing with the severed heads of thirty-five pirate captains—their faces frozen in masks of eternal terror.

  Ray had seen the children huddled to the side and ached to run to them, but his instincts screamed danger. Yumiko's fur stood on end, her body a tight spring of tension. This youth was the source of the carnage, a predator far higher on the food chain than any pirate.

  The silence stretched until the youth spoke, his voice a melodic chime. "Aren't you foxes a long way from home?"

  Ray forced a steady smile. "Our cubs were stolen. What parent wouldn't come to their rescue?"

  The youth didn't argue. He simply closed his eyes, dismissive and bored, as if the legendary Fox and Ray were nothing more than gnats.

  With the help of Yumiko's fox-kin, they had spiritied the children away. Ray had returned a day later, but the great stone doors were sealed shut. The fog had lifted, and even the island's fiercest Beasts now gave the structure a wide berth. The Division Knights had searched every inch, but the Silver King had simply... vanished.

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  Back in the clearing, Ray watched the brothers' progress. Takahiro moved with the fluidity of water, redirecting Kenji's crude, heavy strikes with open palms. Takahiro was barely straining, while Kenji looked like a child flailing against a master.

  Ray frowned. Since Kenji's "miracle" awakening, something felt... off. There was a faint, discordant hum to the boy's Hashi—something Ray couldn't quite name.

  Kenji threw a desperate kick, which Takahiro evaded with a smooth step. Ray sighed and stood up.

  "That's enough," Ray called out. Both boys stopped, heaving for air. Kenji coughed—a dry, rasping sound—as sweat poured down his face.

  "I believe it's time we revisited the basics," Ray said, his eyes lingering on Kenji.

  The memory of the youth on the throne haunted him. Was he still there, waiting in the ancient castle?