The village square still smelled of blood. Orc blood.
Two days had passed, yet the memory lingered. The corpse had been dragged out and burned, but the image of Orin—shirtless, bleeding, grinning atop the monster's body—burned hotter in every villager's mind.
"He's our shield," one farmer whispered at the well.
"He's a demon-child," another hissed back.
"The boy's cursed."
"No—he's chosen."
Children swung sticks in mock battle, shouting, "I'm Orin! Fear my beast stance!"
Orin puffed his chest when he overheard, swaggering past Yira. "See, they already admire me."
Yira smacked the back of his head. "They're terrified of you, idiot!"
"Same thing."
She groaned, face red.
At the forest edge, Code led Orin to a clearing. A stream bubbled gently nearby, birds calling from high branches.
"Ki," Code said, planting his staff in the earth. "Life energy. It exists in all living things. Strength is flesh. Aura is will. But ki… ki is balance between the two."
He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. His breath slowed, shoulders lowering. Leaves trembled, then stilled. The stream itself seemed to hush.
"Breathe. Let the world breathe with you."
Orin plopped down opposite him, mimicking poorly. His shoulders hunched, his cheeks puffed, face red like he was trying not to sneeze.
Code cracked one eye open. "…You look like you're dying."
"I'm focusing!" Orin squeaked, holding his breath until his whole body shook. Then—PFFFFT! He toppled backward into the grass, arms and legs spread like a dead frog.
Code rubbed his temples. How am I supposed to teach a beast to meditate?
By noon, Orin had abandoned sitting.
"This is stupid," he growled, sweat dripping. "My body doesn't like being still."
He dropped to the ground, ripping out push-ups. He jumped up, fists smashing into a tree trunk. He bit down on a branch and pulled, growling as veins bulged in his neck.
Code watched, baffled.
The aura came. Not smooth, not calm—but jagged, wild, black haze flickering, blue sparks spitting across his shoulders. For a moment, the energy condensed tighter than before, wrapping his fists in a faint glow.
Code's eyes narrowed. He learns through struggle. Through pain. Through instinct.
That evening, Orin trudged back toward the village, shirt damp with sweat, hair sticking up like wild grass. His chest still glistened with bruises, but his eyes burned bright.
Children followed at a distance, whispering. Old men eyed him with suspicion. Women pulled their children closer.
Orin ignored them, muttering to himself, practicing his breathing as he walked. His fists clenched, aura faint around them.
Then—
CRACK!
The ground beneath his feet splintered. Dust lifted in a ring.
A pulse erupted from his fists, like invisible thunder exploding outward. The air warped, rippling as though the world itself shuddered.
Firewood stacked neatly by a villager's hut—ten full paces away—shook violently, then shattered into flying splinters, bursting apart as though struck by an unseen hammer. Pieces scattered across the dirt, clattering against walls.
The shockwave whipped Orin's hair back, rustled the villagers' clothes, even rattled the shutters of nearby houses. A faint ringing filled their ears.
Silence followed.
Smoke curled faintly from Orin's fists. His aura wavered, wild but undeniably there—black haze swirling, sparks snapping in erratic bursts. His chest rose and fell, sweat dripping, blood still fresh from old wounds.
He stared at his hands, trembling. His lips pulled into a slow, dangerous grin.
"I… did it."
The villagers didn't move. Wide eyes, open mouths, frozen still.
One child broke the silence, cheering: "Orin's magic! He can blow stuff up!"
The adults, however, stepped back as one. Mothers clutched their children tighter, pulling them behind. Old men muttered curses under their breath. Young men gripped their hoes and axes tighter, though none dared step closer.
The cheers of the children clashed with the frightened murmurs of their parents, a raw mix of awe and dread.
Orin just stared at his hands, aura still flickering, then looked up at them all. His grin spread slow and sharp.
The crowd stepped back as one. Mothers clutched children tighter. The children, confused, cried out, "Why are you scared? He's a hero!"
Yira pushed through, placing herself between Orin and the villagers. Her face flushed with anger.
"Enough!" she snapped. "He saved this village. You should be thanking him, not whispering like cowards!"
Her words cut through the air, silencing them for a moment. But the fear lingered in their eyes, heavy and thick, even as some muttered thanks under their breath.
Orin leaned sideways, whispering with a mischievous grin, "See? They already admire me."
Yira's fist smacked the back of his head before anyone else could speak.
Back at the Capillet house, Yira slammed the door shut after Orin swaggered in. Her cheeks burned with anger.
"You're scaring them!" she snapped. "Can't you see the way they look at you?!"
Orin flopped down on the floor, bruised body aching but grin unshaken. "Good. Then they'll never bully you or Mom and Dad again."
Yira's breath caught. Her heart pounded, traitorous warmth rising to her cheeks. She spun away, muttering, "Idiot."
Mira fussed over Orin's wounds, muttering prayers. Hegar only chuckled, shaking his head. "That boy… he'll either save us or burn us all."
Outside, Code stood at the path, arms folded. His eyes fixed on Orin through the window.
He doesn't follow the path of man. He follows the path of a beast. And if that beast learns ki… no one will cage him.