Divided Paths

Several days passed quietly after the school incident.

Now, Ronan and Draven had begun their training in weapons — preparing for the day they would apply to the Hunter's Association when they turned thirteen.

Each had been assigned a special instructor.

Draven's came from the Hunter's Association in England — a renowned warrior.

Ronan's was a calm swordsman, Hiroshi Hayate, sent personally from Japan by one of the king's close allies.

At the Palace Training Grounds

Ronan wiped the sweat from his forehead, stepping back after an exhausting drill.

His movements were still rough, but Hiroshi showed no anger.

Instead, the master only nodded patiently.

Hiroshi:

"You are improving. Slowly, but improving."

They sat by the fountain nearby, catching their breath.

The cool breeze brushed past them, carrying the scent of flowers from the palace gardens.

Hiroshi:

"Tell me, Ronan... Do you know what burdens you?"

Ronan hesitated, before nodding.

Ronan:

"The people... The whispers... They think I'm cursed."

Hiroshi gazed at him with steady eyes.

Hiroshi:

"Let their fears fuel you. Let their hatred sharpen your sword, not shatter it."

"You must be like the river — steady, carving your way through stone."

Ronan clenched his fists.

Ronan:

"Master... do you know anything about... demon powers?"

A shadow flickered across Hiroshi's face, but he did not turn away.

Hiroshi:

"I have seen much. Long ago, during the Great War, demons spread chaos across nations. Cities turned to ashes. Families torn apart."

"Those who bore a demon within them were followed by tragedy. Misfortune. Betrayal."

"Many believe their lives are doomed from the moment of possession."

Ronan bowed his head low.

Ronan:

"I know about the war. Father taught us... and the palace books tell the stories too."

Hiroshi smiled slightly.

Hiroshi:

"Good. Knowledge is your first weapon."

"Remember, Ronan: Fate is not set in stone. It flows like water, and you have the power to change its course."

A long silence hung between them — a comforting, healing silence.

After a while, Hiroshi stood and walked toward the weapons rack.

Hiroshi (over his shoulder):

"Tell me, Ronan... What type of weapon calls to you?"

Ronan's face lit up slightly for the first time in a long while.

Ronan:

"I love dual swords! My favorite hero from a show I watch uses two swords. And the comic books too... the coolest warriors always fight with dual blades."

Hiroshi chuckled, a rare, soft sound.

Hiroshi:

"Dual swords require balance, agility, precision... A good choice for someone like you."

He picked up a simple wooden sword, then put it back.

Hiroshi:

"Next lesson, I will bring you a pair of wooden dual swords to begin training properly."

"It is easier to learn when the heart loves the weapon in your hands. But remember — you must also respect other weapons in time."

Ronan nodded eagerly, a small ember of excitement flickering in his heart.

Meanwhile, In the Royal Barracks

Draven finished sparring with brutal efficiency, knocking his training partner to the ground.

His instructor, a grizzled man in his fifties named Sir Cedric Hale, clapped his hands.

Cedric:

"Excellent form, lad. Your instincts are sharp. Deadly."

Draven wiped his blade clean and sheathed it, walking over.

Draven:

"Master Cedric, can I ask you something?"

Cedric (grinning):

"Of course, boy. Speak your mind."

Draven hesitated, then asked:

Draven:

"Do you think Ronan... my brother... could ever become stronger than me?"

Cedric laughed heartily.

Cedric:

"Stronger than you? Hah! Highly unlikely."

"You, Draven Ashford, are a gift from the gods. By the time you complete your training, you might just be the strongest hunter the world has ever seen."

"No demon child could ever match your strength."

Draven smirked proudly, his chest swelling a little.

Cedric (serious now):

"But tell me, boy — what do you think about your brother?"

Draven shrugged.

Draven:

"I don't think much of him."

"He's a demon. He shouldn't even be alive. That's what mother always tells me."

"She says demons bring destruction... sorrow... and disgrace to the Ashford bloodline."

Cedric chuckled darkly.

Cedric:

"Well, listen to your mother. Demons are poison. And if he ever becomes a threat..."

He tapped his sword meaningfully.

"You know what to do."

Draven nodded silently, his eyes cold.

Two brothers.

Two paths.

One was filled with hope, fighting against the shadows within.

The other — proud, righteous, and already turning his gaze downward at his own blood.

And so, the seeds of fate continued to grow.

[The Next Day - Palace Training Grounds]

The sun blazed high above as Ronan stood on the dusty training square, dual wooden swords gripped tightly in his hands.

Across from him, Master Hiroshi watched carefully, nodding approvingly as Ronan flowed through the basic forms they had just begun practicing.

Hiroshi:

"Good. Stay light on your feet. Flow like the river, strike like lightning."

Ronan's body moved quickly, swinging and stepping, the twin blades slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

He could feel it — the connection, the freedom dual swords gave him.

In that moment, a familiar, sneering voice broke through his concentration.

Draven (mocking):

"So... you're using dual swords now? Hah! That's stupid."

Ronan paused mid-swing, his jaw tightening.

He chose to say nothing and continued training, ignoring him.

Draven, walking out from his own training session, narrowed his eyes.

Draven (louder):

"Do you really think you can beat me with those sticks, demon boy?"

Still, Ronan did not answer. He focused on his breathing, on his forms.

The sight of Ronan ignoring him made Draven's blood boil.

He stormed toward the sparring square, voice dripping with mockery.

Draven:

"Don't ignore me, brother. I thought demons loved attention!"

Ronan turned slowly, meeting his twin's smirking face with a cold, steady gaze.

The tension drew the attention of both instructors, who walked over briskly.

Cedric (grinning):

"Well, well. Looks like the demon boy thinks he can take on my prized student."

Hiroshi (calm):

"Demon Boy? Don't call him that. Every boy deserves a chance to prove his spirit."

Cedric laughed.

Cedric:

"There's no proving needed. Draven is the chosen one. The strongest of them all. There's no possible way this demon-tainted runt could beat him."

Ronan clenched his fists around his swords, feeling the anger swell — but also something deeper. A cold, dangerous pulse in his chest.

Draven (taunting):

"Come on, demon boy. Show me what you've got. Let's see if the monster inside you can fight."

Without waiting, Draven raised his training sword and charged.

The fight exploded.

Ronan parried the first strike with a swift clang, spinning low and forcing Draven to step back.

The two clashed again and again — wooden swords colliding with violent speed.

Draven struck hard, confident, but Ronan moved quicker — sharper.

Blow after blow, Ronan pushed him back.

Each strike from Ronan carried more force, more precision.

The dust beneath Draven's feet kicked up as he struggled to hold his ground.

The two masters watched, stunned.

Even Cedric's confident grin started to falter.

Cedric (muttering):

"Impossible..."

Ronan's anger fueled his strength, each swing growing more brutal, more dangerous.

He pinned Draven against the edge of the training square, wooden blades crossing at Draven's neck.

For a split second — He could see it.

Victory. Dominance.

But then —

The pulse inside him flared again.

That cold, monstrous whisper in his blood.

The demon inside... Awakening.

His hands trembled. His breathing turned shallow.

If he struck now, he wouldn't just defeat Draven —

He would hurt him. Maybe even kill him.

The vision flashed:

The "Demon Boy" assaults the "God's Chosen."

The kingdom would never forgive him.

Ronan's heart screamed in panic.

He staggered — slowed down — dropped his guard on purpose.

Draven, sensing the opening, roared and tackled Ronan to the ground.

Dust exploded into the air.

The spar was over.

Draven stood over him, panting, victorious.

Cheers erupted from some of the nearby soldiers watching.

Cedric grinned wide again, clapping proudly.

Cedric:

"Well done, boy! I knew you'd beat the monster."

Draven, smug and cruel, leaned down toward Ronan's ear.

Draven (whispering):

"Stay down, demon. This world will never belong to you."

Later, as Draven and Cedric walked away from the sparring grounds

Cedric's proud laughter echoed through the corridors. But deep inside, a small part of Cedric's mind whispered a troubling thought:

"He let you win..."

"Why? What was he holding back?"

For a moment, Cedric's face darkened.

Then he shook the thought away and smiled again.

"It doesn't matter. My boy won. That's all they'll remember."

That Evening — Palace Dining Hall

The royal family sat around the grand oak table, candles flickering, platters of steaming food laid before them.

Draven spoke loudly, practically shouting over the clatter of silverware.

Draven (boasting):

"You should've seen it, Mother. I crushed him today. Ronan barely lasted! The demon blood couldn't even save him!"

Their mother, Queen Evelynn, smiled proudly.

Queen Evelynn:

"Of course you did, my darling. You are destined for greatness. Unlike... others."

Her eyes slid to Ronan, who sat silently, his plate untouched.

Her smile twisted into something sharp and cold.

Queen Evelynn (hissing under her breath):

"I still wonder why that thing shares our table."

Ronan lowered his gaze, shame and rage burning in his chest.

He tightened his fists beneath the table.

The room grew heavier with each passing second.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Ronan shoved back his chair and stood.

King Alistair (stern):

"Where do you think you're going, boy? Sit down and finish your meal."

Ronan (gritting his teeth):

"I'm not hungry anymore."

Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the hall.

Silence fell over the table, save for Draven's smug chuckle.

Later — Ronan's Room

The moonlight poured through the tall windows as Ronan sat on the edge of his bed, his swords resting against the wall.

He stared at his trembling hands, replaying the fight over and over in his mind.

The power he felt...

The rage...

The terrifying closeness of losing control.

Ronan (whispering to himself):

"I could've hurt him..."

"I almost became the monster they believe I am."

He gripped his chest tightly.

Ronan (thinking):

"What if next time... I can't stop myself?"

The fear chilled him more than any cold night ever could.

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the world pressing on his young shoulders.

And as the stars moved slowly above the palace,

Ronan vowed quietly:

"I must get stronger."

"Stronger than my blood. Stronger than my anger. Stronger than... him."

[Later That Night — Palace Courtyard]

The moon hung like a silver eye above the kingdom, casting pale light across the empty palace grounds.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Silent. Cold.

Ronan sat alone by the edge of the courtyard fountain, a thin mist rising from the water, swirling around his boots.

He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't even think straight.

The fight...

The dinner...

His mother's disgusted gaze burned deeper than any blade.

He gripped the small stone bench he was sitting on, his knuckles whitening.

"I'm not a monster..." he whispered into the darkness.

"I'm not..."

A soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence.

Ronan tensed — ready for another scolding — but when he turned, it was Master Hiroshi.

The old swordsman approached calmly, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his sharp eyes gleaming kindly under the moonlight.

Hiroshi (softly):

"Mind if I join you?"

Ronan said nothing.

He just nodded slightly, moving over.

Master Hiroshi sat beside him, silent for a moment. Only the sound of the fountain filled the space between them.

Then finally, Hiroshi spoke.

Hiroshi:

"You fought well today."

Ronan laughed bitterly under his breath.

Ronan:

"Doesn't feel like it. I lost."

Hiroshi (smiling faintly):

"Victory isn't always the measure of strength. Sometimes... restraint is."

Ronan looked at him sharply.

Hiroshi simply stared at the moon, his voice calm.

Hiroshi:

"I saw it. I saw the moment you could have ended it. The moment you pulled back. That takes more strength than you realize."

Ronan swallowed hard.

No one else noticed. No one else cared.

But Hiroshi did.

Ronan (quietly):

"It scared me."

"The anger. The power. If I didn't stop... I don't know what I would've done."

Hiroshi turned his eyes to Ronan now, serious.

Hiroshi:

"That's why we train. Not just to fight the enemy outside... but the one inside."

The words hit Ronan deeper than he expected.

The old master patted him gently on the shoulder.

Hiroshi:

"Tomorrow... we begin properly. Real training. You will learn control, discipline... and true strength."

He stood up, stretching.

Hiroshi (grinning slightly):

"And bring your dual swords. If you are to tame the fire inside, it's only fair you wield the weapons you love most."

For the first time that day, Ronan smiled faintly.

Ronan:

"Thank you, Master."

Hiroshi:

"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow, you'll curse my name by the first hour."

He laughed gently and turned away, disappearing back into the palace shadows.

Ronan remained seated, feeling a small spark inside his chest.

Not rage.

Not fear.

Something else.

Hope.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and let the moonlight bathe him.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new.

The beginning of his real journey.