Chapter 237: Shadows of Blood
The forest was quiet, save for the whistle of Kael's blade cutting through the air. Each swing carved invisible arcs into the morning fog, the Magisteel sword gleaming faintly with the mana he channeled into it.
Azhara stood across the clearing, her staff pulsing with violet light as she repeated one of their drills—focusing her magic into a controlled wave that made Kael's knees lock for a heartbeat before she released him. Her control was getting better. Sharper.
"You're holding back," Kael said, planting his blade into the soil.
Her brow furrowed. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. Not unless I let you. Again."
She sighed, rolled her shoulders, and tried again, pushing the weight of her magic toward him. This time, his arm dipped lower, his breath shortened—but he still cut through the invisible chains, sparks of mana scattering as his sword broke her hold.
"Better," Kael grunted. "But you hesitate."
Azhara lowered her staff, her pale eyes narrowing. "Maybe I hesitate because you don't tell me things."
Kael blinked. "What do you mean?"
She took a step closer, her voice soft but sharp. "You're always pushing me. Always demanding more. But you never explain why you're so driven. Where does that fire come from?"
Kael's jaw tightened. He looked away, staring at the sword buried in the dirt. "That doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," she pressed, her tone unusually firm. "I want to know you, Kael. All of you. Even the parts you hide."
The forest air seemed to grow heavier. Kael exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders tensing.
"My father," he muttered at last. "He was a daemon."
Azhara's lips parted slightly, but she stayed silent, waiting.
"Not just any daemon," Kael continued, his voice edged with old scars. "He was cruel. Unforgiving. Always pushing me to the edge—telling me I'd never amount to anything. And when words weren't enough, he used his magic to… remind me."
Azhara's grip on her staff tightened. "He hurt you?"
Kael's eyes darkened, shadows stirring in their depths. "Constantly. His magic twisted my blood, burned through me like fire. It wasn't training—it was torment. Every mistake was punished. Every success dismissed. To him, I was weak. Worthless."
His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. "That's why I fight the way I do. Because I swore I'd never let anyone make me feel that powerless again."
Silence fell. Only the distant call of a crow broke the tension.
Azhara stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Kael… what if it wasn't torment? What if it was preparation?"
His head snapped toward her, his eyes flashing with sudden heat. "Preparation? He broke me down until nothing was left! He wasn't preparing me—he was destroying me."
She didn't flinch under his anger. Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. "And yet here you stand. Stronger than any warrior I've ever known. Smarter. Sharper. Every cruelty he forced on you shaped you into the man leading the Hollow today. Maybe he wasn't trying to prepare you—but he did. And now his cruelty has become your strength."
Kael's breath hitched. He wanted to argue, but the words caught in his throat.
Azhara's voice softened. "You've turned his shadows into something that lights the way for others. That's power, Kael. Not his… yours."
Her pale eyes lingered on him, filled with something unspoken, something that dug under his armor deeper than any blade.
After a long silence, Kael let out a rough laugh—dry and bitter. "If that's true, then I owe him nothing but hatred."
"Or," Azhara countered gently, "you owe him nothing at all. Not hatred. Not gratitude. Nothing. You've risen beyond him."
For the first time, Kael's hard expression cracked. Something softer flickered behind his eyes—pain, relief, uncertainty all at once.
"And if you want my guess," Azhara added, tilting her head, "from what you've told me… your father was no minor daemon. Daemons that cruel, that powerful—they sit high in the hierarchy. I'd wager he was only two ranks below the Daemon Lord himself."
Kael's eyes widened slightly. The thought chilled him, though it explained much. His father's overwhelming aura. His suffocating strength. The way his blood had burned Kael's veins as a child.
"Then it seems," Kael muttered, gripping his sword again, "that his shadow still lingers over me."
Azhara stepped even closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her crimson skin. "Not if you choose to step out of it."
For a long moment, they stood there in the forest, Kael staring down at her, Azhara looking up with steady defiance. The silence between them was heavier than any spell, but it was not suffocating. It was full—charged with something raw and fragile, as though they stood on the edge of a cliff neither dared to leap from.
Then Kael turned, lifting his blade again. His voice was rough but steadier.
"Again," he said. "Show me your strength."
And Azhara, without hesitation, raised her staff and obeyed.