Dread Guard

The man in black's voice cut through the room, smooth yet edged with venom.

"Did you really think we would allow you to leave after what you did?"

He set his glass down with careful precision, the faint clink unnaturally loud in the charged silence.

A signal.

The men in golden armor stepped forward, closing the doors behind them with finality.

Fifteen of them.

Too many for an accident.

Too few for a spectacle.

Elijah's mother's fists clenched at her sides. Her gaze flicked to her father, who still held Elijah and Esther in his arms.

His grandfather's eyes were closed, his face unreadable.

Weak.

Elijah thought it, unimpressed.

Then, his mother stood.

"I, Elena Craven, third child of Thedaius Craven, apply for the Dread Corps."

The words slammed into the room like a hammer, shattering whatever expectations had been set.

Abel's eyes went wide, his body tensing as he shot to his feet.

The man in black's jaw slackened, his carefully maintained mask cracking.

Even his grandmother—who carried herself like a woman immune to surprises—stiffened. The tiniest shift in posture, but it was there.

A crack in her perfect veneer.

Elijah smirked internally. God, he hated that woman.

Still, Dread Corps sounded ominous as hell.

The man in black was the first to recover, his disbelief sharpening into something colder.

"You're a C-ranker," he sneered. "You'll never survive. Think of your children. As soon as you die, they won't be protected."

Then his voice softened, becoming something sickly sweet.

A serpent's whisper.

"If you choose the path of least resistance, Elena… I love you."

Elijah cringed.

It wasn't love. It was lust.

The kind of suffocating, possessive desire he had seen before.

The kind of men he had killed before.

If he weren't trapped in this body, he'd gut the bastard where he stood.

Before anyone else could react, the golden guards stepped forward. One of them saluted crisply.

"The Empire has heard and we salute you, Dread Guard Elena Craven."

His grandmother turned red—redder than a seething wound.

"You're a C-ranker," she spat, voice sharp with fury. "You will die."

Abel ignored her. He strode toward Elena, hands reaching for Elijah and Esther.

His grandmother moved to block him.

Elena didn't hesitate. She turned to the golden guard, her voice like steel wrapped in silk.

"I hereby name Abel Athias as their caregiver."

The golden guard gave a sharp nod, then turned to Angelica Craven. His expression remained neutral, but the weight of authority behind it was absolute.

Her lips thinned.

And then, slowly, she stepped aside.

Thedaius Craven—Elijah's grandfather—still hadn't spoken. He simply handed the twins to Abel, his movements careful, deliberate.

Abel took them without a word, but as he turned, he met Thedaius's gaze. A look passed between them—unspoken fury, unspoken judgment.

Thedaius didn't react.

Not with anger.

Not with sadness.

Nothing.

Elijah exhaled, flexing his soul. The effort drained him instantly.

Then he yawned.

Using his soul was taxing—so, so taxing—but he didn't regret it. His tiny fingers curled into Abel's shirt as he let the fatigue pull him under.

Behind him, the golden guards strode out, their presence lingering like a shadow.

One of them turned back.

"You have two minutes."

Elena remained still.

The man in black's voice followed, no longer composed—seething.

"You're dead," he spat. "A C-ranker like you won't survive a Dread mission. And with a body like yours, you'll be warming a general's bed before you even get the chance to die on the battlefield."

Elena didn't flinch.

She didn't even look at him.

The man in black stomped off, his fury a tangible, living thing.

Her mother approached next, her gaze filled with nothing but pure venom.

She lingered.

And then, without a word, she turned and walked away.

Finally, her father.

He stood before her, looking down with that same exhausted, worn expression.

"I promise," he said quietly, "nothing will happen to your children while I breathe."

And then he was gone.

Elena still couldn't speak.

Not because of their words.

But because of what had just happened.

The restriction was gone.

Her cultivation was restored.

But… the seal remained. She could close it, open it at will.

A perfect illusion. A deception.

No one would realize she had her power back unless she wanted them to.

Elena Craven was, once again, a top-tier cultivator on Earth.

But she didn't trust her father's promise.

Thedaius was a soldier. A man of discipline. He didn't understand schemes, didn't grasp the depth of what had been set in motion.

Adam's enemies were too many.

Their children needed to leave this planet. Hide.

She needed him back.

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

If he ever returned…

She wouldn't be there.

More than likely, they'd find her name carved onto the Monument of Dread—the grave marker of those who fell in service to the Corps.

She wasn't naive enough to think they wouldn't try to get rid of her.

They'd send her on the most dangerous missions.

But if she kept her cultivation hidden…

She could use that.

Blood would be spilled.

Hers.

And her enemies'.

She followed the golden guards out.

They were all high C-rankers. Strong, but hardly elite.

They needed to understand.

Her already blue eyes glowed, brighter, sharper—like frost lit from within.

The air around her chilled.

Frost crawled up the hem of her black dress, delicate and deadly, a creeping promise of what she could unleash.

Her golden hair rippled, but now, it carried an unnatural sheen, a cold tinge to it, as if winter itself had woven through the strands.

Her already pale skin turned icier, her presence radiating a bone-deep chill.

A frozen queen, reborn.

Elena the Frigid Queen had returned.

The golden guards hesitated, shifting uneasily.

How was she using her Void Crystal powers?

Wasn't she sealed?

Elena turned to the captain.

"If anything happens to my children—" She left the sentence unfinished.

The captain stiffened. Swallowed.

"Nothing will happen, Dread Guard."

Elena said nothing.

She let them lead her away.

She knew what needed to be done.

And soon, they would all understand.

Somewhere in the frost, a whisper curled through her mind.

Freeze them all…

A breath against her thoughts. Soft. Subtle. Almost… natural.

She blinked.

And then, she shut it out.