CHAPTER FIFTY THREE: DEATH SCYTHE

The scent of herbs and dried blood clung to the air in Helen's office, mingling with the faint traces of ink and parchment. My body ached, but I ignored it. Pain was nothing new. I stood near the door, arms crossed, saying nothing. I had nothing to say.

Nicole did most of the talking. "The mission was a success. The beast is dead." Her voice was steady, but I could hear the exhaustion behind it.

Ken leaned against the wall beside me, his posture casual, but his sharp gaze never missed a thing. "And the Hunters were involved," he added. "One of their operatives showed up after the fight. Someone I recognized—Eve. Second in command of one of their headquarters."

Helen sat behind her desk, fingers tapping against the wood, eyes sharp as ever. When Ken mentioned Eve's name, something flickered in her expression. "Eve?" she repeated, like the name alone carried weight.

Nicole nodded. "She wasn't there to fight. Just watched. And she was interested in Liam."

At that, Helen's gaze snapped to me. I didn't react. Let her stare. Let her wait for words that wouldn't come.

She exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath, "That bastard…"

Ken raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Helen's hands clenched into fists. "Steve. He's always a step ahead." There was venom in her tone, a rare crack in her usual calm. "No matter what we do, it feels like he already knows."

I could feel the tension in the room shift. Nicole clenched her fists. "Then we need to change that."

Helen met her gaze, eyes burning with determination. "Agreed."

I tuned them out. My mind was elsewhere—on the sigil still burned into my skin, the weight of Helen's choices pressing against my thoughts like an unwanted hand on my shoulder.

She turned her attention back to me. I could feel her watching, waiting. I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response.

Helen finally sighed. "Rest. You've earned it. But this isn't over."

No, it wasn't.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and walked out, letting the door shut behind me.

Helen could play her games. Steve could plot from the shadows. I didn't care.

When the time came, I'd make them both pay.

Four Days Later

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. Four days had passed since our mission, but the aftermath still lingered.

Ken had been out for two days straight, only waking up when his body decided it was done punishing him. Nicole? She slept through three days without stirring, her exhaustion so deep that even Helen's best healers had been reluctant to wake her.

Me? I only needed a full day. That was all it took for my strength to return, for the pain to fade into something manageable. The rest of the time, I spent either in the training hall, keeping my body sharp, or roaming the academy, lost in thought.

Now, I found myself on the rooftop, watching the horizon. The air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of students training below. My mind wasn't on them. It was on what came next.

Nicole approached me, her footsteps light against the rooftop tiles. I didn't turn to acknowledge her—I didn't need to. I could already sense the playful energy she carried, the kind that usually meant she was about to engage in idle chatter.

"You've been brooding up here for a while," she said, settling beside me. "Must be nice, staring dramatically into the distance like some tragic hero."

I didn't respond. My eyes stayed locked on the horizon, watching the sun dip lower.

Nicole let out a soft huff but didn't leave. Instead, she pulled her knees to her chest and sat there, quiet for once.

Occasionally, I caught her stealing glances at me from the corner of my eye. Each time she did, her cheeks would flush just slightly before she quickly looked away.

I said nothing. And she stayed anyway.

The wind was cool against my skin, carrying the distant sounds of the academy below. I remained still, my arms resting over my knees, my thoughts tangled in the weight of everything that had happened.

Nicole fidgeted beside me, tapping her fingers against her knee. I could feel her hesitation, the way she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to start.

After a moment, she exhaled. "You could at least pretend to acknowledge me, you know."

I remained silent.

She groaned. "You're impossible."

Still, she didn't leave.

I could sense her gaze lingering on me again. This time, she didn't look away as quickly.

"You know…" she started, her voice softer now, "I was really worried about you."

That caught me off guard. I shifted slightly, but I didn't look at her.

"I mean, you barely rested after everything that happened. You took the shortest recovery time out of all of us. Even Ken was out for two whole days, and he's—well, Ken." She let out a small laugh, but there was a nervous edge to it. "You just keep pushing forward like nothing can slow you down."

I finally turned to her, meeting her gaze. Her blush deepened, but she didn't look away this time.

I narrowed my eyes. "You expect me to sit around and do nothing?"

Nicole shook her head. "No. But I expect you to realize you don't have to carry everything alone."

I scoffed, turning back toward the horizon. "That's not how things work."

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But it wouldn't kill you to let someone in."

Silence stretched between us again. Nicole pulled at the hem of her sleeve, glancing at me one last time before speaking.

"You're not as unreadable as you think, you know."

I didn't respond, and after a moment, she let out a quiet sigh and stood up.

"Whatever," she muttered, brushing nonexistent dust off her uniform. "Just don't sit out here all night, brooding like some tragic novel character."

I heard her steps retreat, but just as she reached the door, she hesitated.

"...Glad you're okay," she said, barely above a whisper, before slipping inside.

I stayed where I was, staring into the distance, her words lingering longer than I wanted them to.

I sat there long after Nicole left, the night air cool against my skin. The academy grounds were quiet, save for the occasional distant footsteps of patrolling guards. Her words echoed in my mind.

"You don't have to carry everything alone."

What did she know? No one else bore the weight I did. No one else carried the same scars.

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. I didn't need her concern.

I stood and stretched, rolling my shoulders as I turned back toward the academy. The halls were dimly lit, the faint hum of energy pulsing through the walls a constant reminder of the barriers protecting this place.

As I walked, my thoughts drifted. Four days had passed since our mission. Ken had slept for two straight days, and Nicole was out for three. Meanwhile, I had only needed one full day to recover. But even with that time, my body still held traces of exhaustion, my muscles aching in protest with every step.

I found myself near the training hall, my feet moving on instinct. The door creaked as I stepped inside, the vast space empty and silent.

Good.

I summoned a small shadow in my palm, watching as it flickered weakly before stabilizing. My control was fine. My strength had returned. But there was something else—a restlessness deep inside me.

I clenched my fist, extinguishing the shadow. I needed to be stronger. Faster. Smarter.

"Steve Nazar is always a step ahead."

Helen's words from our debrief replayed in my head, her frustration barely masked. She was right. Every move we made, Steve had already accounted for. And that fact burned.

I tightened my jaw. No more playing catch-up. No more waiting for him to make the next move.

I would find him. And I would end this.

Footsteps echoed behind me. I tensed as I quickly turned.

"Liam."

I recognized the voice as I turned.

Ken stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his usual lazy smirk missing. He looked better—rested—but there was still a hint of weariness in his posture.

"I figured I'd find you here," he said. "Should've known you wouldn't actually take it easy."

I didn't respond, and he sighed, stepping further inside.

"Look, I get it," he continued. "You're pissed. You want payback. But don't burn yourself out before the real fight even starts."

I met his gaze. "I don't need a lecture."

"Good, because I don't feel like giving one." Ken shrugged. "I'm just saying—don't be an idiot."

I scoffed. "That's rich coming from you."

Ken grinned, but there was something behind it—something knowing.

"Just don't forget," he said, walking past me. "You're not the only one with something to prove."

I watched as he left, the door swinging shut behind him. For a while, I just stood there, shadows flickering at my fingertips. Then, without another thought, I began to train.

I moved through the motions, my body a blur in the dim training hall. Shadows flickered around me, shifting with every strike, every dodge, every movement fueled by the restless energy I couldn't shake.

The burn in my muscles was satisfying—proof that I was pushing past my limits. The echo of my steps, the sharp snap of shadows splitting the air, it was all that existed in this moment.

Yet, after a while, an odd sensation prickled at the back of my neck. A presence.

I wasn't alone.

I stopped mid-motion, sweat sliding down my temple as I turned.

Helen stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze locked onto me.

I didn't know how long she had been standing there.

Minutes?

Long enough.

I glared at her, saying nothing.

She met my stare without flinching. Instead of speaking right away, she stepped inside, her heeled boots clicking softly against the floor.

"I know you're angry with me," she finally said, voice measured. "And I don't blame you."

I scoffed, wiping my arm across my forehead before turning away. I wasn't in the mood for whatever speech she had prepared.

"To pacify you," she continued, taking another step forward, "I can make you stronger."

I barked out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Stronger? You?"

Helen's abilities were not meant for combat. She could manipulate space, reinforce barriers, place sigils, and wield powerful defensive shadow—but making someone stronger? That wasn't her skillset.

"You don't believe me," she noted, her tone unreadable.

"Should I?" I shot back.

Helen exhaled, stepping closer until she was right in front of me.

Helen tilted her head, observing me for a moment before saying, "Give me the Death Scythe."

I stopped mid-motion, my grip tightening instinctively. I turned to her, giving her a look that clearly asked if she had lost her mind.

She only smirked. "Relax. I'm not going to hand it over to Steve."

At the mention of his name, my mood soured instantly. My jaw clenched, and I felt the familiar surge of anger coil in my chest.

Helen noticed the shift in my expression and raised an eyebrow. "Too soon?"

I didn't respond. Instead, I narrowed my eyes at her, debating whether or not I should humor whatever she was up to. She was tugging at my curiosity, and she knew it.

"Come on," she pressed. "Just summon it."

With an irritated sigh, I finally relented. Shadows coiled at my feet, twisting and writhing before the scythe emerged from their depths. The weapon settled into my grip, its dark metal gleaming under the dim light.

I handed it to Helen, watching her closely as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft.

The reaction was immediate.

The Death Scythe resonated, a soft hum vibrating through the air like a purring beast pleased to be in familiar hands.

I frowned. "It's never done that with me before."

Helen studied the weapon with a nostalgic smile. "Maybe because Seth used to let me train with it occasionally when he was still alive."

I exhaled sharply, already regretting this conversation. "I really don't want to hear about your romance with Uncle Seth."

Helen chuckled, shaking her head. "Fair enough."

She spun the scythe once, testing its weight before offering me a knowing smile. "Alright. Back to business."

Helen swung the scythe in a smooth arc, its dark blade slicing through the air with a whisper-like hum. She handled it with an ease that shouldn't have been possible.

"You know," she mused, flipping the weapon effortlessly in her grip, "Seth would let me mess around with this thing from time to time, but I could never just lift it like this without it reacting violently or trying to consume me."

I folded my arms, watching her carefully. "What are you getting at?"

She twirled the scythe again, the motion fluid, practiced. "Anyone could use it right now. But back when Seth had it? Not a chance. It would've torn them apart."

Something about the way she said that made my skin prickle.

Helen stopped swinging and met my gaze. "That's because it hasn't recognized you as its owner yet. You and the Death Scythe haven't bonded."

I blinked, then scowled. "Why the fuck would I want to bond with a weapon?"

Helen smirked, tapping the scythe's handle against her palm. "To bring out its true strength, obviously. And more importantly, to avoid a situation where Steve could just walk up and take it from your hand like a toy."

That got my full attention. My grip tightened, my jaw clenching at the thought.

I looked away, staring at the far wall. It took me a second, but under my breath, I muttered, "How can I bond with it?"

Helen tilted her head, cupping a hand behind her ear. "Huh? What was that?"

I shot her a glare, already regretting asking.

She grinned. "I didn't quite hear you. Say it again—but this time, look at me."

I looked at her, embarrassed and irritated, struggling to force the words out. My jaw clenched, and I exhaled sharply through my nose. "You heard me the first time, damn it!"

Helen chuckled, twirling the scythe effortlessly before planting its blade into the floor. "Fine, fine. No need to be so grumpy about it." She stepped closer, one hand resting on her hip. "The Death Scythe isn't just a weapon, Liam. It's a legacy. And right now, it doesn't see you as its rightful owner."

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes. "Then what the hell does it see me as?"

Helen shrugged. "A placeholder. Someone it's willing to follow, but not someone it fully trusts. Not yet." She gestured to the weapon. "Back when Seth had it, no one else could even lift it. Not even Sage Henri. But right now, I'm holding it like it's a regular farming tool."

My scowl deepened as I glanced at the scythe in her hands. It had never felt like it resisted me, but it had never felt... alive either. Just a cold, obedient instrument of destruction. Was that all I was to it? A means to an end?

I inhaled slowly. "And how exactly do I change that?"

Helen handed the scythe back to me, her expression turning serious. "You need to meditate with it. Set it in front of you. Focus on it—nothing else. If you concentrate hard enough, you'll start to feel it." Her eyes flickered with an old memory. "In your subconscious, it'll either talk to you... or fight you. I don't know. I don't remember how Seth put it."

I eyed the scythe warily, its blade gleaming under the dim light. It had never spoken to me before. But if there was even a chance that this would make it truly mine, I had no choice but to try.

I stared at the scythe in my hands, my grip tightening around its handle. Meditate? The idea sounded ridiculous. I wasn't some monk sitting cross-legged in a temple—I was a fighter. A killer.

Helen must've caught the skepticism on my face because she smirked. "Don't overthink it, Liam. It's not about sitting in a trance and humming like a lunatic. It's about syncing with it—understanding it."

I scoffed, rolling my shoulders. "It's a weapon. What's there to understand?"

Helen exhaled, stepping past me. "You'll see soon enough."

I watched as she turned toward the door, then hesitated. Her voice softened just slightly. "Seth never talked much about what happened when he first bonded with the scythe. But after he did… he was never the same."

I frowned. "Never the same how?"

She hesitated. "Stronger. But it changed him in ways he never spoke about."

Her words left a weight in the air, one that settled deep in my chest.

I looked down at the Death Scythe, feeling its cold presence in my hands. It had belonged to Seth. My uncle. My mentor. And now it was mine—at least, in theory.

But if I couldn't claim it fully, what did that make me? A fraud? A weak imitation of the man before me?

I clicked my tongue, shaking the thoughts away. "Fine," I muttered, stepping back toward the center of the room. "I'll do it."

Helen gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Then I'll leave you to it."

With that, she exited, the door clicking shut behind her.

Alone now, I exhaled and slowly set the Death Scythe before me.

The weapon gleamed under the dim light, its dark metal looking more ominous than ever. For the first time since I got it, I looked at it not just as a tool—but as something… more.

I settled into a kneeling position, placing my hands on my thighs.

Closing my eyes, I forced my mind to empty.

At first, there was nothing. Just silence.

Then—

A shift in the air.

A whisper, just at the edge of my thoughts.

And then—

Darkness swallowed me whole.

As I closed my eyes and let the world fade, the air around me thickened, pressing against my skin like an unseen force. The darkness wasn't empty—it was alive. A cold shiver traced my spine as something coiled around me, not with hands, but with a presence—vast, ancient, and watching. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating, like fingers tightening around my throat. Then, from the abyss, a voice slithered through the silence.

"So… you are the one who holds me now?"

The words weren't spoken—they crawled into my mind, twisting like a blade. My eyes snapped open, but the world around me was gone. There was only the void… and something inside it waiting for me.

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