SILENT GAME FOR THE POWER

The morning air at the academy was thick with tension. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, casting long shadows across the stone floors, but no one paid attention to the beauty of the day. Instead, students huddled in tight circles, their voices hushed, their faces pale with disbelief. 

"They're gone. All of them." A boy with tousled hair clutched the sleeve of his friend, his fingers trembling. "I saw the bodies being carried out at dawn. The Red Hawks… the Golden Snakes… just… gone." 

His friend swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the courtyard where the faction leaders now stood. "Who could've done it? Even if they fought each other, wiping out both sides completely? That's… impossible." 

Nearby, a girl with braided hair shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "My cousin was in the Golden Snakes. She never came home last night. Mother's crying herself sick." 

A taller boy leaned in, his jaw tight. "I heard it was the Black Wolves. They've been waiting for a chance to strike, and last night—" 

"No," another cut in sharply. "The Black Wolves wouldn't dare. Not against both factions at once. This was something else." 

The truth? 

No one knew. 

And that was exactly how Nayra wanted it. 

Nayra sat alone at the far end of the classroom, his small legs swinging slightly above the floor. His face was the picture of innocence—round cheeks, wide eyes, the very image of a child too young to understand the horrors whispered around him. 

No one spared him a second glance. 

Why would they? 

He was just a four-year-old. 

But behind those guileless eyes, a mind sharp as a dagger calculated every word, every reaction. 

His gaze drifted to the window, where two figures stood in the courtyard, their postures rigid with barely contained fury. 

Alextro, Head of the Red Hawk Faction, was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders draped in a crimson cloak. His face was a mask of cold control, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the hilt of his sword. 

"You expect me to believe this wasn't your doing?" His voice was low, dangerous. 

Opposite him, Yukita Clausia—leader of the Golden Snakes—stood with effortless grace, her golden robes shimmering in the light. Her lips curled into a mocking smile, but her eyes were like ice. 

"Oh, Alextro. If I had wanted your people dead, I wouldn't have been so sloppy." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with disdain. "No, this reeks of desperation. Or perhaps… stupidity." 

Alextro's jaw clenched. "Your arrogance will be your undoing, Yukita. My Hawks were butchered. Yours as well. Someone is playing us." 

"And yet," she mused, tapping a finger against her chin, "the only one who benefits from chaos is the one who thrives in it." 

A pause. 

Then Alextro's eyes darkened. "The Black Wolves." 

Yukita laughed, a sound like shattering glass. "Oh, my dear fool. If you truly believe that, then you're already lost." 

Nayra watched them, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his wooden slate. 

They suspect each other. Good. 

A flicker of satisfaction curled in his chest. 

Neither of them would ever look in his direction. 

Why would they? 

He was just a child. 

Just a harmless little boy. 

And by the time they realized the truth— 

It would be far, far too late.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the academy courtyard, but neither faction leader paid any mind to the pleasant weather. The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. 

Alextro , the Red Hawk leader, stood like a statue carved from wrath itself. His crimson cloak barely moved in the breeze, as if even the wind dared not disturb him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was deceptively calm—the kind of calm that came before a storm. 

"They're calling it a faction war in the streets." His fingers flexed at his sides. "As if my Hawks would be so sloppy." 

Across from him, Yukita Clausia let out a soft, humorless laugh. The golden embroidery on her robes caught the light as she tilted her head, studying him like a snake deciding whether to strike. 

"Your people died just as easily as mine, Alextro. Doesn't that bother you?" She tapped a single, manicured nail against her arm. "Or are you too proud to admit we've been outmaneuvered?" 

A muscle in Alextro's jaw twitched. "By who? A child?" The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

Yukita's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, don't sound so offended. It's almost cute."

He could see the moment it clicked for them. 

The moment they realized. 

Him. 

A four-year-old boy. The one variable that didn't fit. 

And yet— 

They can't touch me. 

Not yet. 

Not without proof. 

Outside, Yukita exhaled through her nose, her golden eyes flickering toward the academy window. For the briefest second, her gaze locked with Nayra's. 

Cold. Calculating. 

Then she looked away, as if dismissing him entirely. 

"We could kill him now," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "Make it look like an accident." 

Alextro's expression darkened. "And when the elders investigate? When they find no trace of chakra in his body? When they realize a boy with no unlocked gates couldn't possibly have done what we're accusing him of?" His voice dropped to a growl. "We'd look like fools. Or worse—desperate." 

Yukita's lips curled. "Then we don't accuse him at all." 

A beat of silence. 

Alextro's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?" 

Yukita's smile was poison wrapped in silk. "We don't need to prove he did it. We just need to ensure he has nowhere left to run." 

Nayra watched as the two leaders parted ways, their plans already in motion. 

He didn't need to hear the details to know what was coming. 

They would go after his family first. His parents, his home, every thread of stability he had. They would bury them in debt, turn the village against them, strip away every ally until he stood alone. 

And then? 

Then they would come for him. 

Nayra's fingers curled slightly against the desk. 

They think they're the hunters. 

A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Let them try.

The weeks stretched on, each day heavier than the last. 

Alextro sat in his dimly lit study, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the latest report—another missing operative. The parchment crumpled in his grip. 

"This makes twelve," he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion. 

Across from him, Yukita paced like a caged beast, her golden robes swishing with each agitated step. "Twelve trained warriors. Gone. Without a single witness." She stopped abruptly, nails digging into her palms. "Do you understand how impossible that is?" 

Alextro's jaw tightened. "I do. Which means we're not dealing with a child. We're dealing with something else entirely." 

A knock at the door. One of their remaining lieutenants, pale-faced, hesitated before speaking. "Sir… the townspeople. They're—" 

"Spit it out." 

"They're calling us murderers. Saying we slaughtered the Black Wolves to seize power." 

Yukita let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, that's rich. The Wolves were barely a nuisance, and now they're martyrs?"

The rumor spread like poison in the veins of the village. 

At the market, a fishmonger pulled his cart away as Zefora approached. "Sorry, miss. Don't want trouble with your kind." 

Zefora froze. "My… kind?" 

The man wouldn't meet her eyes. "You know. The ones killing folk in the night." 

In the tavern, Liam sat alone, nursing a drink. Two farmers at the next table didn't bother lowering their voices. 

"Heard the Hawks burned down the miller's shed last week. Trying to scare folks into line." 

"Snakes ain't no better. My cousin saw 'em dragging bodies into the woods." 

Liam's grip on his tankard turned white-knuckled. "That's not true," he whispered, but no one listened. 

Yukita stormed into the Golden Snake headquarters to find her second-in-command packing his belongings. 

"Going somewhere?" she asked, voice dangerously soft. 

The man flinched but didn't stop. "My daughter's wedding is next month. I won't have her shunned because of… this." 

"Because of me, you mean." 

He hesitated, then met her gaze. "You used to protect this village. Now people lock their doors when they see our sigil. What happened to us, Yukita?" 

She had no answer. 

Liam found his father in the training yard, hacking at a dummy with brutal, unrefined strikes. 

"Father… the things people are saying—" 

"Ignore them." Alextro didn't pause his assault. "Weak minds believe weak lies." 

"But what if they're not lies?" The words tumbled out before Liam could stop them. "What if we—" 

The dummy's head flew off. Alextro turned, chest heaving. "You question your own blood now?" 

Liam swallowed hard. "I just want to understand." 

For a moment, something fragile flickered in Alextro's eyes. Then it was gone. "There's nothing to understand. This is war. And wars aren't won with truth—they're won with survival."

Zefora cornered Nayra in the academy library, slamming a book shut inches from his fingers. 

"You." Her voice trembled with barely contained fury. "This is your doing." 

Nayra blinked up at her, the picture of childish confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Miss Zefora." 

"Don't play dumb with me! People look at me like I'm some kind of monster now!" 

He tilted his head. "Why would they do that? Unless…" A pause. "Did you do something bad?" 

Zefora recoiled as if struck. For the first time in her life, the elite warrior had no retort. 

Sistie observed from the shadows as Nayra "struggled" with his reading lesson, the very image of a slow learner. 

But she saw the way his eyes flicked to the window every time a faction member passed. The way his "clumsy" spills always ruined important documents. The way misfortune followed anyone who threatened him. 

That night, she confronted him in the moonlit courtyard. 

"I know it's you." 

Nayra didn't bother with the act this time. His smile was a knife in the dark. "Do you?" 

"You're tearing everything apart. Why?" 

"Oh, Sistie." He patted her arm like a child comforting an adult. "They were already tearing themselves apart. I just… helped the pieces fall where they belonged." 

For the first time in her privileged life, Sistie Clausia felt true fear. 

And Nayra? 

He finally felt challenged. 

The marketplace buzzed with its usual noise, but the atmosphere had shifted. Where crimson and gold banners once hung proudly, now only the black wolf sigil remained. A group of children played near the fountain, their game a crude imitation of faction battles. 

"I'll be the Black Wolf!" one boy declared, puffing out his chest. 

"No fair! You always get to be the good guy now!" his friend whined. 

Nearby, a merchant adjusted his new black-and-silver awning with a satisfied nod. "Smart business move," he muttered to his apprentice. "Nobody buys from Hawk or Snake sympathizers anymore." 

In the shadows of an alley, Alextro watched this scene unfold, his once-proud cloak now tattered and stained. A drunkard stumbled past, spitting at his feet. 

"Filthy Hawk," the man slurred before staggering away. 

Yukita emerged from the darkness beside him, her golden robes replaced by plain traveler's garb. "Pathetic, isn't it? Two months ago, these worms wouldn't dare look us in the eye." 

Alextro's hand twitched toward his absent sword. "We still have loyalists. This isn't over." 

Yukita's laugh was bitter. "Loyalists? The ones who haven't fled are probably Black Wolf spies by now." 

Nayra sat cross-legged in his family's modest home, watching as his father practiced forms in the courtyard. The man moved with newfound grace, his strikes carrying weight that would have shattered his bones months ago. 

"Remarkable, isn't it?" His mother beamed from the doorway, flexing her own hardened fingers. "I never imagined we could achieve this level." 

Nayra smiled his perfect child's smile. "You're both so strong now!" 

Inside, his mind calculated. The bone-tempering weed had done its work beautifully. Their bodies were ripe for harvesting—tough enough to withstand the forging process, yet still malleable enough to shape. The Headslayer Cutter would require fresh materials, and soon. 

His father paused to ruffle Nayra's hair. "With this strength, we can finally give you the life you deserve, son." 

Nayra giggled. "I love you, Father."

The academy's training grounds echoed with the sound of wooden swords clashing. Liam fought with reckless abandon, his movements sloppy with rage. After another brutal strike sent his opponent sprawling, Nayra approached with wide, admiring eyes. 

"You're so strong, Liam! Just like your father!" 

Liam scowled, wiping sweat from his brow. "My father doesn't think so." 

Nayra tilted his head. "But... you're his heir, right? Why wouldn't he be proud?" 

"Because I'm not good enough!" Liam's shout drew glances from nearby students. Lowering his voice, he added, "The faction's falling apart, and I can't do anything to stop it." 

Nayra placed a small hand on Liam's arm. "Maybe... maybe if you did something really brave? Like the heroes in stories?" 

Liam's eyes darkened with determination. "Yeah. Maybe I should." 

As Nayra skipped away, he didn't need to look back to know the seed had been planted. 

The slap rang out across the courtyard. 

"I know it's you!" Sistie hissed, her perfectly manicured hand stinging from the blow. "Stop pretending!" 

Nayra's cheek burned red as he crumpled to the ground. On cue, his lower lip trembled, his eyes welling with tears. "I-I don't understand!" he wailed, loud enough to turn heads. 

A crowd formed instantly. 

"Clausia girl attacking a child now?" 

"Just like her sister, that one." 

"Disgusting." 

Sistie's golden eyes darted between the gathering mob and Nayra's tear-streaked face. "You little—" 

"ENOUGH!" A teacher pushed through the crowd. "Miss Clausia, with me. Now." 

As Sistie was dragged away, she locked eyes with Nayra one last time. His tears had stopped. Just for a fleeting second, his lips curled into something that wasn't a child's expression at all. 

Then he was sniffling again, being comforted by concerned classmates. 

"Don't worry, Nayra," a girl whispered, hugging him. "Nobody likes bullies like her." 

Nayra buried his face in her shoulder. 

Exactly, he thought. 

The pieces were moving perfectly.