Shifting Perspectives

Seraphine's eyes fluttered open. As her gaze roamed the scenery, a lavish bedroom came into view—golden chandeliers, rich velvet curtains, and a massive pink and black bed she had just risen from. Sunlight poured through the wide window, revealing the sprawling gardens beyond.

Rubbing her forehead, she mumbled, "Ugh... did I fall asleep outside again last night?"

Seraphine pushed back a lock of her pink hair, streaked with strands of white, and blinked her burgundy-brown eyes against the bright light.

A knock sounded, and a voice followed immediately after.

"Good morning, Miss Seraphine," said Charles Heithsworth, the family butler, stepping lightly into the room.

He was a tall man with a lean build, dressed impeccably in a crisp black and white suit. A neat mustache sat above his lip, and his straight black hair was combed back meticulously. His sharp black eyes observed her with professional calm.

She spun around and cut him off mid-formality. "Was it you? Why did you bring me back to my room? I wanted to fall asleep under the stars!"

"It was by your father's orders," Charles replied, bowing slightly. "You know how important your health is. This family can't afford for you to fall ill."

Seraphine let out a heavy sigh and turned toward the window. "Whatever. I'm leaving," she declared.

"I'm afraid you have too many activities planned for today," Charles said, his tone calm but firm.

"You'll have to catch me first!" she called over her shoulder with a mischievous grin, already halfway through climbing out the window.

Before she could leap from the fourth floor, she found herself encased in a shimmering bubble, floating safely in midair.

"Dammit, I'm never quick enough!" Seraphine growled, pounding her fists against the translucent surface.

"Miss Seraphine," Charles called out, adjusting his white gloves, "as you know, my bubbles are quite durable."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, still struggling. "One day, I'll burst it."

Seven Hours Later

Today had been more demanding than ever, Seraphine thought with a weary sigh.

First, she'd been buried in endless lessons—history of the kingdom, rules and laws, trade routes, and pointless facts like current alliances. After that came etiquette class, which had been pure torture. She had to wear a stifling dress, learn dances, practice polite conversation, and fake her way through a full formal meal. Then, she endured speech practice, delivering mock addresses to the butler acting as her "public."

Most days, it was always like this. She wasn't allowed to leave the mansion grounds, and the only people she ever really saw were the maids, workers, and charles. The outside world felt like a distant dream.

But the one bright spot of the day—combat training.

The butler always said that a future ruler needed to be just as strong as they were intelligent. Finally, she had been allowed to remove the bracelet on her ankle that suppressed her Ember.

Charles stood ready across from her on the training grounds. "Are you ready, Miss Seraphine?"

Without answering, she hurled a raging fire-kick straight at him. "What does it look like?" she shouted.

He was prepared, instantly capturing the blazing strike inside a bubble. The flames raged against its walls, and Charles raised an eyebrow as cracks began to appear under the heat.

"I see you're fired up, Miss Seraphine," he said with a slight chuckle.

Seraphine smirked. Without hesitation, she lunged forward.

Later That Night — Seraphine's Room

That was great, she thought, collapsing onto her bed. The butler was as strong as ever. Even after all that, I still couldn't land a hit.

She let out a long, satisfied sigh and turned to gaze out the window. The stars glittered in the dark sky.

"This is what I want," she whispered. "To meet strong people... to fight. It's fun."

A small, determined smile tugged at her lips as she imagined what kind of people—and challenges—the world beyond her family's estate might hold.

-

The classroom buzzed as the teacher closed his book and glanced over the students.

"That's it for today. Make sure you study on your own!"

As the room emptied, a group of kids gathered around one boy — a boy with messy black hair that hung just over his eyebrows, light blue eyes sharp beneath it. His athletic frame and slight height over the others made him stand out even more.

"Itsuki, you wanna hit up the park today?" one of them asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Itsuki shook his head. "Nah, I can't. I've got training. Maybe another day."

"Alright, we'll catch you later," the kid said, forcing a smile. As he turned away, he thought to himself, Dang it, when Itsuki's with us, we run the park... not just 'cause he's strong. There's more to it.

Itsuki walked through the hallways, watching the other students shy away from him.

All these kids... they stay away because of my family's rank within The Mandate, he thought. At least there's a few I can call friends.

Stepping into the cold, vast halls of The Mandate facility, his eyes lit up. Standing near the entrance was a broad-shouldered man with short yellow hair and a trimmed mustache-goatee — the only person who could make Itsuki truly smile.

"Uncle Myron! What are you doing here?" Itsuki called out.

Myron chuckled, ruffling his nephew's hair with a heavy hand. "Had some business to take care of. You here for training?"

"Yeah," Itsuki replied.

"I thought so," Myron said, flashing a knowing grin. "But from what I hear, all training's been halted. Some mission popped up — they needed all available bodies. You up for a little spar instead?"

A rare grin crossed Itsuki's face. "Yeah. But I'm not going easy on you."

Inside the training room, the faint metallic scent of the arena filled the air.

"Let's see how much you've improved since last time," Myron said, bracing himself.

"You asked for it," Itsuki replied, drawing his blade and charging forward.

Myron weaved through the strikes with surprising ease. "Not bad," he said, dodging. "Your quickness has picked up... and your swordplay got more finesse too."

Itsuki smirked, feeling the upper hand. He pressed harder, unleashing a flurry of attacks, each sharper and more controlled than the last. Finally, he lunged for a finishing blow — a thrust aimed straight for Myron's chest.

With almost casual ease, Myron blocked it using just his pointer finger.

"You've got power," he said. "But power alone won't always get you through. Focus on precision. Aim for weak points with that speed of yours."

Itsuki's grin widened slightly.

In a flash, he pushed a surge of Ember from his blade into the point of contact — Myron's finger.

Myron's finger instantly dropped, and Itsuki's blade continued its course toward him. At the last second, Myron dropped low, balancing on his toes to dodge the strike completely.

"Wow," Myron said, genuinely impressed. "When did you learn to transfer your Ember into other things?"

Itsuki chuckled. "Just a little trick I've been working on."

"You definitely caught me off guard," Myron said. "You're definitely his son... Now go get yourself cleaned up."

As Itsuki walked out of the training room, he spotted a few familiar faces sprinting through the lobby. They skidded to a stop, breathless.

"Itsuki! It's Jiah!" one of them gasped. "The other school kids... they took her hostage. They said they won't let her go unless—"

"Okay?" Itsuki cut him off, his voice flat. "And?"

The kid shifted uncomfortably. "They said they won't release her unless you show up."

"If you were stronger, you wouldn't need my help," Itsuki said coldly. "I didn't cause this mess. Why should I get involved?"

The kid opened his mouth to argue, but a voice interrupted.

"Itsuki," Myron called out. "You should go."

"But—"

"They're your friends, right?"

Itsuki hesitated. "Yeah... I think," he muttered, looking away.

Myron offered a small smile.

"I know you haven't had much experience with friendship... but when someone's in trouble, you help them. That's what it means to have someone's back," he said.

He patted Itsuki lightly on the shoulder.

"And if they're real friends... they'll have yours in return."

Itsuki sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll help," he said, his tone still laced with reluctance.

The park smelled of fresh-cut grass and dust as the sun dipped lower.

"Where is she?" Itsuki asked, scanning the empty grounds.

"Right here," a voice sneered behind him.

Before he could react, a wooden bat smashed into his back, knocking him hard to the ground.

Laughter erupted all around as kids stepped out from the bushes — some he recognized from school, faces twisted in mockery.

Jiah was among them, holding her sides as she laughed. "I can't believe this idiot actually fell for it!"

Itsuki picked himself up slowly, glaring at her. "You were lying."

The kid who had hit him stepped closer, spinning the bat lazily. "I didn't lie. The school kids did need you here... it was just my job to bring you. Oh, about Jiah? Yeah, that's my faul—"

Before he could finish, Itsuki struck. A clean punch cracked across the kid's jaw, sending him skidding across the ground, knocked out cold.

Itsuki stood tall, brushing dust off his uniform. "What do you want?"

Out from the crowd stepped a tall boy with messy, fluffy green hair and sharp light-yellow eyes — Kuro, the leader of the rival school.

"You're a nuisance," Kuro said with a cold tone. "We'll let you walk... if you promise never to come back. As for your 'friends' —" he smirked, "— we made a deal with them. Help lure you out, and they'd get to rule this park with us."

Itsuki's expression darkened.

"So we were never friends," he said quietly. "You didn't have my back."

Jiah shrugged, arms crossed. "Yeah, no. I'd rather stay away from someone like you. Knowing your bloodline... the death and destruction tied to it? No thanks."

Laughter echoed again, sharp and cruel.

Kuro stepped closer, voice low. "You're the son of a War God. Some people will use that. Others will fear you. But me? Us? We'll never respect someone who didn't have to fight for their power or position. You're nothing but the shadow of your father's legacy."

The words cut deep — deeper than Itsuki wanted to admit.

For a brief moment, the laughter around him blurred into a dull roar. His fists tightened at his sides. He could feel the ember within him pulse, angry and alive.

Shadow of his legacy...

It wasn't the first time he'd heard it — but somehow, coming from Kuro, from these so-called "friends," it stung differently.

Itsuki lifted his head slowly, a malicious smile creeping onto his face.

"I've heard all that before," he said, his voice cold and dangerous. "And you're right."

His light blue eyes gleamed under the setting sun.

"I never really believed in 'friends.'"

He stepped forward, the ground beneath him seeming to tremble slightly with his presence.

"But if you want..." he said darkly, "...I can prove that I'm better than you."

-

A young boy crouched low in the bushes, his body as still as the surrounding wilderness. His sharp, hawk-like gaze was fixed on his prey: a jagged rabbit, unaware of the predator nearby. With the silence of a shadow, the boy sprang forward, his body a blur of motion. His first strike missed, the rabbit darting away with swift agility. But the boy wasn't deterred. He bounded after it, hopping from tree trunk to tree trunk, never breaking his pursuit.

At the last moment, just as the rabbit made a desperate leap, the boy's fingers grazed its fur before it broke free, escaping into the underbrush.

He let out a frustrated grunt, and with a sigh, fell back onto his bottom in disappointment.

Suddenly, the bushes rustled, snapping the boy's attention back to the surroundings. Instantly, his body tensed in preparation for an attack.

"Woah, woah, kid," a voice called out. "I'm not going to attack you." The man who stepped into view had long, flowing blue hair and dark, almost black eyes.

The boy's gaze lingered for a moment longer, as if sizing the man up, then he turned away, sitting back down with a deflated sigh.

"You're impressive," the man continued. "Most adventurers can't even come close to catching a jagged rabbit. Who taught you how to hunt?"

The boy waved his hand, signaling for the man to follow.

The man blinked, watching the boy's movements carefully. "Does this kid even speak? And why does he move like that... like he was raised by animals?"

"Hey kid," the man called, "What's your name?"

The boy looked over his shoulder. "Ronan."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, so he can speak..."

"My name's Raiden," the man added with a slight grin. "Kinda similar, huh?"

Ronan didn't respond. He simply turned and kept walking, unfazed.

Raiden's lips curled into a thin, irritated line. "Did he just ignore me?"

They trekked through the dense forest, moving deeper into the wild until they came to a cave. Raiden's curiosity piqued as they approached. "Interesting... what's inside?"

Ronan waved his hand again, urging Raiden to follow.

Inside, the atmosphere was cool and dim. Ronan moved with a quiet confidence, picking up a rock and a stick near the entrance. He extended his nails, which seemed unnaturally sharp, and began scraping them against the rock. Sparks flew, catching on the stick, and within moments, the boy had started a fire.

Raiden watched, his thoughts quiet for a moment. "He's a lot smarter than he lets on..."

They moved deeper into the cave. As they passed by walls covered in intricate drawings, Raiden's eyes caught several depictions of strange, ancient creatures, people, and symbols written in a cryptic language he couldn't understand.

Ronan stopped in front of one particular drawing, his finger pointing to the detail.

Raiden studied the art carefully. "Mhmm, this looks like it's a depiction of hunting... but the pictures alone wouldn't be enough to learn from. Can you read this?" He looked down at Ronan.

Ronan nodded.

Raiden took a step back, noticing something more striking. A drawing showed a man with chaotic, purple hair, streaked with yellow strands. His hands were raised above his head, eyes fixed upward as though reaching for something just out of his grasp.

Raiden's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ahh, I see what's going on here," he murmured. "You're a true..." He paused, his mind searching for the name. "One of those psycho genius clans... what were they called? Hmm..." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

Ronan answered, his voice quiet but steady. "The Akihara Clan."

Raiden's eyes widened, realization dawning. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "The Akihara Clan... one of the top five most dangerous clans in modern history. The Five Clans of Ruin."

Ronan didn't respond, his expression unreadable, but his posture seemed to settle into something more assured.

Without warning, Raiden flicked his wrist. A needle shot out, striking Ronan in the neck with precision. The boy's eyes widened in shock as his legs gave way beneath him, collapsing onto the ground. 

As his vision blurred and consciousness slipped from his grasp, Ronan fought to stay awake. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, but the darkness crept in, pulling him under. Through the haze, he saw Raiden's face, his expression unreadable.

Raiden's lips moved, but the words were too faint to hear. All Ronan could make out was a low, almost amused tone as his world went black.