A Lesson in Blood

Kaelion did not forget.

Lior's words.

The pain in his ribs.

The way the others watched him—waiting to see if he would break.

He did not forget.

And he did not forgive.

But revenge would have to wait.

Right now, he needed to survive.

The streets were shifting.

Kaelion had spent months blending in—learning when to speak and when to be silent, who to avoid and who to obey.

But things had changed.

He wasn't invisible anymore.

The moment Lior had attacked him, people started noticing him.

Some whispered.

Some laughed.

Some watched with curiosity.

And Ronan?

Ronan noticed, too.

Which meant Kaelion had a problem.

A week after Lior's attack, Kaelion was forced into the main hall of Ronan's hideout.

The gang leader sat on his usual throne—a broken chair draped in stolen silks.

His men lounged around him, drinking and laughing, but the moment Kaelion stepped inside, the room fell silent.

Ronan smiled.

"So," he drawled. "The little prince has a spine after all."

Kaelion said nothing.

Ronan leaned forward. "I've been hearing things. You're getting ideas, aren't you?"

Kaelion kept his face blank.

Ronan chuckled. "Relax, boy. I don't mind rats learning tricks. In fact, I like it when my people are useful."

Kaelion felt the trap before it even closed.

"You want to survive here?" Ronan said, resting his chin on his fist. "Then prove you belong."

The men around the hall grinned.

Kaelion's stomach twisted.

He knew what was coming.

"Bring him in," Ronan said lazily.

The doors creaked open.

Two men dragged a boy inside.

A newcomer. Younger than Kaelion. Terrified.

Kaelion's hands clenched.

"Kill him," Ronan said.

Silence.

Kaelion stared at Ronan.

"You want me to kill him?" he said slowly.

Ronan smirked. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

The boy trembled on the floor, struggling against the men holding him.

He couldn't have been older than seven.

Ronan tossed a dagger at Kaelion's feet.

"You want to live, don't you?" he said. "Then kill him. Prove you're not weak."

Kaelion did not move.

He knew this was a test.

If he refused? He'd be next.

If he obeyed? He'd become just like them.

He glanced at the boy.

Wide, terrified eyes.

I was just like him once.

Kaelion took a slow breath.

Then he picked up the dagger.

The crowd leaned in.

Ronan's smirk widened.

And Kaelion—

Kaelion turned and threw the dagger.

Straight at Lior.

The moment Kaelion lunged at Lior, chaos erupted.

Lior, caught off guard, stumbled back. The knife Kaelion had thrown grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of red. Gasps filled the underground hall, and for a second, the gathered criminals didn't know whether to laugh or react.

Then—Lior roared in fury.

"You little rat!" he spat, drawing his own blade.

Kaelion barely had time to react before Lior charged.

The world slowed. Every instinct Kaelion had learned in the streets screamed at him to move. He twisted his body at the last second, dodging Lior's first wild swing. The blade sliced the air where his throat had been.

Ronan's men cheered and jeered, eager to see how this fight would play out.

"Kill him, Lior!"

"Make him bleed!"

But Kaelion wasn't about to die here. Not like this.

His breathing was steady, his golden eyes locked onto Lior. The man was strong but reckless, driven by anger. Kaelion could use that.

Lior lunged again, aiming to stab. Kaelion didn't dodge.

Instead—he stepped forward.

A calculated risk.

Lior's blade tore into Kaelion's shoulder, sending a searing pain through his body. But Kaelion gritted his teeth and didn't stop. Before Lior could pull the blade out, Kaelion grabbed his wrist with both hands and twisted.

A sickening crack.

Lior screamed as his wrist snapped. The knife fell from his grip. Kaelion kicked it away and drove his elbow into Lior's face, sending him crashing to the ground.

Silence.

The men watching froze—staring in shock.

Kaelion stood tall, blood dripping from his wound, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His golden eyes burned with something new—a fire that refused to die.

Ronan chuckled, slow and deep. Amused.

"This little bastard," he muttered, shaking his head. Then his laughter exploded. "Hah! The rat bites back, does he?"

The tension shattered. The criminals erupted into laughter and cheers.

Kaelion's body swayed slightly, his wound burning, but he refused to fall.

Ronan stepped forward, looking down at Lior, who groaned in pain on the ground. "Pathetic," he sneered. "Getting beaten by a half-dead brat."

Lior tried to speak, but Ronan only stomped on his broken wrist, making him howl in agony.

Then, Ronan turned to Kaelion. His grin widened.

"You're more fun than I thought, kid." He gestured to one of his men. "Patch him up. He'll be useful."

Kaelion didn't react. He had won, but he knew this was only the beginning.

As hands roughly grabbed him and dragged him away for treatment, he knew one thing for certain—

If he wanted to survive, he had to become stronger.

And he would. No matter what's.