Inheritance and Discipline
Scene 1 — Crow
"We'll have to take a rain check on that drunk kid. I've got company up top, and I'd rather not keep them waiting now that I have my target. Name's Urek, by the way."
I watched him scoop up the little pink monster like he was lifting a sack of grain.
Rak's face twisted with outrage—pink cheeks puffing, eyes wide, mouth already winding up into one of his speeches.
"PUT ME DOWN, TURTLE! I AM NOT—"
Urek didn't even blink.
He tapped his foot like he was bored.
Shinsoo folded.
Space obeyed.
Rak's words got cut in half by reality tearing away under Urek's step. The little monster vanished with him, dragged out of the beast like he'd never existed in the first place.
"I swear this place hides monsters like they're a school of fish," Urek muttered as the air bent around him. "Let's go check on my brat."
And then he was gone.
No shockwave.
No aftermath.
Just absence—clean enough to make the area feel emptier than it had a second ago.
I stared at the empty space for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, committing the name to memory.
Urek.
Good. Another variable.
Then I turned back toward the beast.
The inner corridors weren't stone—only convincing imitations. The walls pulsed faintly, warm with circulating Shinsoo, breathing slowly like the inside of something alive that had learned patience. Every now and then the passage would tighten and relax as if the creature was swallowing air.
The place didn't just trap you.
It processed you.
I didn't navigate by sight.
I closed my eyes.
Baam's presence was easy to find.
Not because it was loud.
Because it didn't belong—like a candle burning at the bottom of an ocean trench. Gentle. Stubborn. Wrong.
I shifted.
Bone folded. Weight vanished. Skin became feather.
A miniature bird—small enough to slip through blind spots the Tower pretended not to have.
The sensation never stopped being strange. A smaller body meant the world got bigger. The air tasted different. Shinsoo currents became visible through instinct alone, like I could feel the Tower's breathing with my feathers.
Then I flew.
Even without urgency, it didn't take half an hour.
I found them by sound first—soft voices trying not to shake, the scrape of shoes on damp stone, someone coughing like they were trying to cough quietly.
They were still there.
Still clustered around Baam like he might break if handled too roughly. A handful of Regulars hovered uselessly, hands trembling, eyes darting between the shadows and the body on the ground.
Baam lay with his back half-raised, someone holding his shoulders like he'd shatter if they let go. His face was pale under the blood. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused—like his mind had retreated somewhere safer.
The girl Baam had saved lay wrapped in a coat nearby.
Breathing.
Alive.
That mattered.
Not because she was special.
Because she was proof.
Proof that Baam's instincts hadn't completely turned into suicide yet.
I dropped from the air and landed directly on Baam's head.
A soft tap.
His hair felt like warm grass under my feet.
No one reacted at first.
Then—
"What the hell is this bird?"
I ignored the voice and sent a controlled pulse of Shinsoo through Baam's skull.
Not healing.
Not comfort.
A jumpstart.
His eyes snapped open like he was still mid-battle. Shinsoo flared violently—raw and frightened—as his body tried to rise on instinct alone.
His hand shot out, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
His shoulders tensed like he expected teeth.
So I focused power into my claws and forced him back down.
"Enough," I muttered.
A second pulse, tighter.
A calm pressed into his nerves like a hand holding his chest down.
His body obeyed.
The room finally remembered I existed.
Attention tore away from the girl and locked onto me all at once—like prey realizing the predator hadn't left.
I unfolded.
Feathers became skin. Light weight became pressure. My boots hit the floor with finality.
Their fear sharpened.
Good.
Fear makes people honest.
The loudmouth moved first.
He stepped forward with too much bravado, weapon half-drawn, chin lifted like he was about to declare something heroic.
I grabbed him by the waistband and lifted him until his feet kicked air.
Held him eye-level.
"Another weakling," I said flatly. "I walk away for a couple months and you're already letting herbivores crowd you again?"
"Prince!" someone shouted.
Weapons came up. Fists followed.
A few shifted their feet into stances they didn't fully understand.
Good.
At least they still had instincts.
Prince snarled and thrashed in my grip, face red with anger and humiliation.
"Who the hell is this?! Put me down, you—!"
"Everyone calm down!" Baam said quickly, forcing his voice steady. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, then held his hands up instinctively. "Crow—what are you doing here?"
He tried to stand.
His legs betrayed him.
His body swayed like a tower built on sand.
I didn't move to catch him.
He caught himself anyway, biting down on the tremble.
"Taking my own test," I replied. "Why are you getting into fights with monsters?"
Baam hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"He had the flower I needed to pass. Karaka sent a reminder—that they can find everyone. I can't accept a loss."
Empty threats.
At this floor, they could maybe remove one or two unconnected Regulars—quiet ones, isolated ones, kids without a name worth remembering.
Khun or Rak?
Not without burning real assets.
If they sent Rankers down here, I'd smell it first.
And if they sent one of the real dogs, I'd find them before Baam ever did.
I flicked two fingers and knocked the top of Baam's head.
A clean, disrespectful bonk.
"You dumbass," I said loudly. "I already told you—they can't do much until at least the seventieth floor. Panicking and dragging your team into death over threats from people who aren't even tied to the Ten Families or FUG is pathetic."
Prince cursed at me.
I raised him higher.
"Even these people are barely worth consideration," I continued, eyes sweeping the cave. "But if Hwa Ryun hasn't led you to a road that ends with their bodies, then they have some use."
Their faces tightened at the mention of her name.
Fear has layers.
Some things scare you because they can kill you.
Other things scare you because they control the road.
I bent and scooped up the sleeping girl with my free arm.
She was light.
Too light.
Prince struggled harder, fury spiking.
Annoyed, I threaded Shinsoo through his nerves and overloaded his system.
A clean stun.
His body went slack like a puppet with cut strings.
Now I held two children.
The adults bristled.
Weapons rose again.
Someone took a step.
"Don't even try it," I said calmly. "Baam doesn't have the authority to stop this. Least of all you."
No one moved.
"This girl would be dead if Baam wasn't the one fighting," I continued. "So the moment you chose to follow him into this mess, you forfeited your vote. Your right to lead. Your right to complain."
My eyes slid to Anak.
She stood stiff, jaw tight, eyes sharp—trying to look like she wasn't shaken.
"Even you," I added. "Child of the King. You've got enough problems without pretending you're above this."
Anak's fingers curled, nails digging into her palm.
She didn't speak.
She didn't have to.
The hate in her stare was clean.
I turned.
I didn't give Baam comfort.
Catching him at his lowest was the best lesson I could give him.
Because if he kept building himself out of softness, the Tower would snap him in half.
Taking his team—even if they were weak—was better than letting them die or letting adults drag children into wars they had no business fighting.
Behind me, the argument exploded.
"BAAM, SAY SOMETHING!"
"You can't just take them!"
"He's crazy—!"
I didn't answer.
I kept walking.
Slowly.
Even at a walking pace, I compressed distance with Shinsoo, turning corridors into breaths.
The beast's passages twisted and narrowed, trying to confuse me.
It didn't matter.
I had an exit in my head.
I had a direction.
I had a rule:
If you can't protect them, you don't own them.
When I finally exited the beast, cold air hit my face like punishment.
Dozens of Rankers lay dead outside.
Broken bodies. Shattered weapons. Scorched Shinsoo still clinging to the ground like burnt cloth.
No sign of Urek.
That told me enough.
"I see you left the flower alone," a voice said beside me. "How was your meeting with Urek?"
Selena stood there like she'd always been there—staff in hand, eyes calm, unmoved by corpses or the children in my arms.
"How long have you been watching?" I asked.
She smiled, small.
"As long as needed."
"I wanted to study the flower," I said. "Growth through hostile gestation. Interesting. Not useful."
"The Tower wanted the meeting," she replied.
"I know," I said. "The Night reignites its purpose. The error disrupts it."
I glanced back toward the beast.
"The Shinsoo inside was too pure," I added. "Someone scrubbed it. Cleaned it. Like they didn't want residue."
Selena tapped her staff.
A bridge of rainbow light unfolded in front of us, spanning empty air like a path painted over a void.
"Then let's move," she said.
Scene 2 — Baam
"Who was that… Viole?"
Wangnan's dagger was half-raised.
His knuckles were white.
His smile—the one he always used to pretend he wasn't afraid—was gone.
I reached out and touched his wrist.
"Lower it."
He hesitated.
Then obeyed, swallowing hard like lowering the dagger was admitting something he didn't want to admit.
"That was V," I said quietly. "Crow. A forbidden slayer."
The title hit the air like a bad smell.
Teddy's shoulders tightened.
Yeon's expression flickered—something between interest and dread.
Akraptor exhaled sharply, eyes half-lidded like he was counting the cost.
"The kids could be used against us," he said.
My hand clenched.
I hadn't thought about it.
Not like that.
I'd just been… grateful they were alive.
Grateful Prince was still breathing.
Grateful Miseng wasn't crying.
Grateful the girl was alive.
Akraptor's words cut through all of it.
Used.
Leverage.
Bait.
"Crow isn't a saint," I said, forcing my voice steady. "But when he gives his word—what he calls a pirate's word—he won't break it. Promises are iron to him. Break one, and you forfeit your neck."
Most of them visibly relaxed.
Like rules made monsters easier to live with.
Wangnan didn't.
He stared at the exit like he wanted to chase Crow, like anger was the only thing keeping him upright.
Akraptor shook his head at me—warning me not to push it—and pulled me aside. Yeon and Teddy followed quietly, stepping away from the others so our voices wouldn't become another spark.
As we stepped out of the cave, Miseng offered Wangnan a small, uncertain smile.
He didn't return it.
Akraptor turned to Yeon.
"Why are you still following us, fire girl?" he asked. "This might be your last chance before your family calls you a traitor."
Yeon smiled faintly, tired.
"I don't stand with FUG," she said. "But if it's Viole… I don't mind."
She met my eyes.
"If you can put in a word with your teacher, I might actually be useful. I've been hostile, but he never answered in kind. It would be childish to keep pretending I don't see what he sees."
Her gaze flicked back toward Wangnan.
"We won't survive another meeting like that."
Something cracked inside me.
Not fear.
Not anger.
A realization.
The road Hwa Ryun spoke of began to form—whether I wanted it or not.
Like the Tower was moving pieces around my feet, reshaping my choices into a narrow corridor.
Crow had seen enough.
And Yeon was right.
I hated that both could be true.
Scene 3 — The Bridge
The bridge Selena created didn't feel like Shinsoo.
It felt like permission.
It shimmered with rainbow light, stretching over a void like someone had painted a path where paths weren't supposed to exist. Each step hummed faintly under my boots as if the Tower was counting.
Selena walked ahead of me.
The children floated beside her, sealed in calm Shinsoo bubbles—Prince unconscious but breathing, the girl asleep and steady.
Her control was surgical.
Not gentle.
Controlled.
Then the air tightened.
Not pressure.
Presence.
My steps stopped without me choosing to stop.
Selena stopped too.
My teacher stood on the bridge.
Ha Jinsung.
He looked at Selena first—polite enough to be dangerous.
"Madam Caretaker," he said. "I see you've been looking after my noisy brat."
Selena smiled like a blade.
"If he causes you trouble," she replied, "break his legs."
Jinsung's eyes slid to me.
Anger sat behind them like a closed door.
"Why did you take Baam's team?" he asked.
I opened my mouth.
"I don't care," he continued before I could answer. "Give them here. I'm not letting you turn malleable children into weapons."
His hand extended.
Not a request.
A claim.
I forced a smirk onto my face anyway.
"They were going to die," I said. "Baam's too soft."
Jinsung didn't blink.
"I brought you into this world," he said quietly. "I can take you out."
The words landed like a sentence.
Silence stretched.
Selena spoke.
"Disciplinary rights are recognized," she said calmly. "Interference is not. Keep it to your own."
I glanced at her.
For a moment, it almost felt like a shield.
Then I remembered shields only mattered when the other person cared about hitting you cleanly.
I smirked wider.
"I swear the old people here are worse than—"
Pain exploded.
A fist buried itself in my gut.
No wind-up.
No warning.
Just impact.
My feet left the bridge.
I flew across rainbow light and skidded to a stop, gasping, vision sparking at the edges.
The void below looked hungry.
I swallowed bile and forced myself upright on one knee.
Selena hadn't moved.
Hadn't raised her staff.
Hadn't "enforced" anything.
Because this wasn't interference.
It was discipline.
Jinsung's voice came calm, like he'd just corrected my posture.
"She said your own," he said. "Do you claim another master, brat?"
My throat tightened.
That was the real question.
Not about the kids.
Not about Baam.
About ownership.
About chains.
About what names I carried when I wasn't wearing a smile.
I swallowed whatever answer wanted to rise.
Then nodded once—slow.
Not agreement.
Compliance.
I looked to Selena.
She smiled, almost pleased.
And I nodded again.
Selena drifted the bubbles forward.
Jinsung took them like they belonged in his hand.
Then he vanished like mist.
Not with Shinsoo folding like Urek.
Just… gone.
Only the bridge remained.
And Selena—standing there grinning at me like she'd just watched a play and enjoyed the humiliation.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and forced a grin back.
Because now I understood something clean and ugly:
The Tower didn't care who was right.
It cared who could be controlled.
And right now?
I'd just been reminded I wasn't free.