Igron's whisper cut like a blade.
"He's lying, Kairo."
The courtyard rang with the man's voice, comforting the children who had collapsed during drills. He spoke of protection, of safety, of the Black Eye shielding the world. But Igron's hand gripped Kairo's wrist, dragging him deeper into the shadows of the training hall.
"The Black Eye wasn't sent to protect us." His voice was tight, urgent. "It was born in blood."
Kairo's crimson gaze flickered, unblinking.
"When Hell rose against the demons, their mana tore the sky apart. That scar became the Black Eye. It poisons the world even now." Igron gestured toward the children lying pale and gasping, their bodies rebelling against unseen weight. "Every time they reach for their magic, the sickness answers first."
Kairo said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.
Igron leaned closer, his voice now a rasp, almost accusing.
"And don't forget—" his gaze locked with Kairo's, burning with something like hatred, something like grief—
"—it was your fight that caused this."
For the first time, silence pressed heavy on Kairo's chest. His jaw tightened, his crimson eyes lowering slightly. The laughter of the other children rang cruel in his ears, a sound belonging to a world he had already broken.
Igron straightened, bitterness in his voice. "Remember that, next time you look at them. The Black Eye isn't just a scar on the sky. It's a scar you left behind."
Kairo's fingers curled into fists at his side, but he said nothing. Only the faintest flicker in his gaze betrayed him, as if some unspoken weight had settled deeper onto his shoulders.