PROLOGUE 3 - KAI DEVERAUX: THE HOPE

"You know, it's pretty damn rare to have a graduation ceremony in January."

"Yep. But hey, once in a blue moon, it happens." Ai replied, downing another glass of sake without flinching.

I let a half-smile creep onto my face. "You were never really a beer girl."

"Beer's for cool girls."

"…And you're not?"

"Oh, cut the rizz. That shit's not gonna work on me."

"It used to," I said, lighting a cigarette and exhaling a slow cloud of smoke. "You used to blush like hell when I pulled some lame line."

"Used to—past tense. That shit's long gone."

Yeah.

I missed my shot.

"So, what's next for you?"

"Thinking about Europe."

"Traveling?"

"Searching."

"For?"

She smirked. "Ha. A lady's gotta have her secrets." She got to her feet and stretched. "C'mon, it's almost dawn. Let's wake those fuckers up."

TWO WEEKS LATER

Ai and Jun's graduation ceremony—and the booze-fueled chaos that followed—was finally over. And whether I liked it or not, it was time to face the inevitable.

My family.

Tsk.

"Hating it already?" Taka's voice came from behind as he offered me a cigarette.

"Got mine." I muttered.

"That Djarum Black? I always wondered why the hell you never got tired of those."

"It's got some historical bullshit behind it."

"Ah."

Silence.

"Well, you ready?" Taka finally broke it. "Your Father left, I shit you not, a thousand goddamn messages on my fucking line."

"You're exaggerating."

"You're exhausting."

"Fine. We'll go tomorrow."

"Nope. You'll go tomorrow. I've got an early call at court 'till late night."

"But I need you for emotional suppo—"

"Deveraux Tower. Eight o'clock after dinner. If you miss it, your old man's gonna torch my office with that damn Sabertooth of his. And if that happens, it's a full-blown clan war. So do not get clever and ghost your family meeting."

…Damn it.

DEVERAUX TOWER, TOKYO CBD

The elevator chimed with a sterile ding, its doors gliding open to reveal the topmost floor of Deveraux Tower. The city sprawled in neon below—Tokyo glittering like a circuit board, pulsing with life and indifference. But up here, it was dead silent. Cold. Surgical.

Kai stepped out, his boots absorbing the sound on the obsidian floors. The Deveraux emblem gleamed from the marble wall ahead.

He inhaled deeply, already regretting the flight from New York. Already regretting coming back.

The hallway was lined with glass—floor to ceiling. Every step brought his reflection back to him: older, taller, harder than the boy who had once trained as a successor in this tower. The boy who left it all behind.

He pushed open the massive double doors of the conference room without knocking.

Roth Deveraux was already there, seated at the head of the long steel-and-ebony table. The light overhead cast his face in sharp relief—every angle of his jaw, every line etched into his forehead by years of war, deals, and power.

Same cold blue eyes.

Same perfect blond hair, slicked back as if time hadn't dared touch him.

And there, just beneath the rolled sleeve of his tailored shirt, curled the black ink of the Sabertooth—Roth Deveraux's birthmark of leadership, inked directly into flesh. A symbol of dominance. Of ruthlessness. Of rule by blood.

"You're late." Roth said without looking up.

"No one told me I was on a leash again." Kai replied coldly, shrugging off his coat. "You don't get to bark orders at me after all these years."

"You left. At sixteen. Without a word."

"After she died." Kai snapped, voice sharper now. "After Mother died and no one gave a damn except me."

Roth's eyes rose slowly. There was no anger in them—just the flat, unreadable steel of a man who'd buried sentiment with his second wife.

"You ran away." Roth said. "And now you're back. Whether you like it or not, the clan needs you."

"No." Kai stepped forward, jaw tight. "You need a puppet. You're losing ground and now you're calling back your stray son like he's a fucking lost dog."

"You are blood." Roth thundered, rising to his feet. The room seemed to vibrate with the force of his voice. "You carry the Deveraux name. Whether you despise it or not, you are the next heir."

Kai's fists clenched at his sides. His heart pounded. He wanted to scream. To punch a hole through the glass wall. Anything to drown out the surge of rage and grief.

"I didn't survive New York just to be dragged back into your game of crowns," he said bitterly.

Then the door opened.

And time stopped.

A pair of black stilettos stepped into the room, crisp against the floor. The woman who followed was a blade in human form—her tailored suit hugged her like armor, the Deveraux blond hair twisted into a severe knot at her nape. Her eyes were the same glacial blue as Roth's—but colder. Sharper. Weaponized.

Her gait was deliberate. Powerful. The slit in her skirt revealed a quick flash of pale thigh—and the inked silhouette of a Revolver, coiled in black on her skin. A Deveraux mark, yes—but one for the enforcers. The executioners.

Luna Deveraux.

His sister.

The last time Kai had seen her was through the rearview mirror of the car that took him to the academy—her silhouette backlit by the attic window, unmoving as he left her behind.

Now, nearly a decade later, she stood before him like a ghost given flesh.

"Onee-sama…" he whispered, the air gone from his lungs. For a second, all the weight of years cracked his composure. She's real. She's here. She survived Roth.

Luna walked past him, brushing his shoulder without a glance, and took the seat beside Roth—the rightful place of the Deveraux heir. Her revolver tattoo gleamed under the light, a brutal contrast to her flawless poise.

Kai stared at her, haunted. Guilt. Mixed feelings.

Roth cleared his throat, retaking his seat.

"You've met again. My children. Good. Now choose, Kai. Return to the clan, or walk away and become nothing. Again."

Kai stood motionless. Everything in him burned with conflict. Rage. Regret. Memories. Blood.

Luna leaned back, watching him like he was a failed experiment.

And for the first time in a decade… the prodigal son had to decide if he'd reclaim the Deveraux name… or burn with it.

**

Fuck this.

My fists were clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms, a sharp sting grounding me in the moment. Roth's voice echoed in my head like a loaded gun: Return to the clan, or walk away and become nothing…?

I looked at him. At my sister.

My father, who buried his love six feet under with his second wife and expected me to carry the tombstone on my back. My sister who stood silent behind glass as I left, and now sat at the right hand of the devil.

"You know what?" I said, my voice low, bitter. "The hell with it."

Roth's eyebrow twitched. My sister didn't flinch.

I turned and walked.

Every step toward the exit echoed like a fuck-you in the hollow chamber of that room. I could feel their gazes burning through my back, but I didn't give them the satisfaction of looking back.

"You'll regret this." Roth said behind me, calm and certain, like prophecy.

I stopped at the door.

"No." I said. "I regret ever coming back."

And I meant it.

The automatic doors hissed open, and the cold night air from the corridor hit me like freedom. Or maybe outcast. Couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The elevator ride down felt endless.

Years I spent trying to escape this name. Minutes in that room reminded me why.

I lit a cigarette as soon as I hit the street. Tokyo buzzed around me, loud and alive, like the universe was reminding me I didn't need a clan to breathe.

Let Roth find someone else to be his perfect little legacy. Let my eldest sister keep the tower.

I didn't want the throne.

I wanted to burn the whole goddamn thing down.

And maybe, just maybe, I will.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER – YOKOHAMA

Graves are quiet liars.

They hold too many answers, and none of them ever speak.

I stood before hers—Ale Deveraux, the only person who had ever looked at me like I was more than a bloodline. January winds curled through the cemetery, whispering her name in the trees. The tombstone was simple. She'd hated opulence.

My fingers grazed the etching of her name as I knelt. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "It took me this long to come back."

And maybe I wouldn't have, if I hadn't needed to feel her again. Needed something pure after the rot of Deveraux Tower.

Yokohama hadn't changed much. The cherry trees outside the estate had withered and may bloom again by spring, but the house still stood—aged, quiet, proud. My footsteps echoed in the halls that once rang with laughter and the scent of lavender tea. Every corner whispered memories: my mother reading beside the fire, humming an old French lullaby. Every Sunday. Just the two of us. Her warmth still lived here.

I don't know what pulled me toward the cellar. Maybe instinct. Or grief.

The hidden latch was still there, under the loose tatami mat near the west wing. My fingers brushed dust and time away until the seal revealed itself: the Deveraux blood crest, glowing faintly beneath my touch.

The door opened with a groan that sounded like a ghost sighing.

It was still there—the underground passage. A winding tunnel that stretched toward the shadowed base of Mount Uzumaki, a trail my mother had once sworn to seal forever.

But it was open.

And I wasn't alone.

I felt it—not Spectres. Not the usual darkness. Something… fragile. Human. Barely there.

I turned.

There, barely lit by the faint glow of the Jutsu seal, stood a child.

Five, maybe six.

Black tangled hair fell over her shoulders like ink. Skin pale as ash. Red eyes—vivid, unnatural, glowing like embers behind bruises. Her dress was torn. Her limbs were thin. She looked like a ghost carved out of tragedy.

But she was alive.

And she was looking right at me.

I froze. "Hey," I said softly, trying not to startle her. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't answer.

She stared.

I knelt, lowering my voice further. "Are you lost? What's your name?"

Still silence.

Then, suddenly, she turned and ran—barefoot and quick into the shadows of the tunnel. I didn't chase her.

Couldn't.

Because something in her eyes… felt too familiar.

I called Taka that night. Told him everything. The location. Her features. The impossibility of her being there. The blood seal.

"This estate is locked," I told him. "Only someone with Deveraux blood can enter."

"Got it," he said. "Give me a month."

ONE MONTH LATER – TOKYO, TAKA'S OFFICE

Taka didn't speak when I entered. He just handed me the file.

He always had a flair for the dramatic, but this time… he looked pale.

I opened the folder. Read the report.

Stopped breathing.

"There's no record of her in the Deveraux line," Taka said carefully. "No adoption. No mention. No registered offspring. But… this is what I found."

He slid another paper toward me.

A medical note. Obscure. From a hidden clinic. No name, just initials. Date: a week before my mother died.

Healthy Pregnancy confirmed. 38 weeks along.

My throat went dry. The paper shook in my hands.

"She was pregnant…" I whispered.

"Yeah," Taka said. "And no baby was ever reported. No miscarriage. No funeral."

I stared at the page, bile rising in my chest.

That girl.

Red eyes. Pale skin. In a sealed estate only our blood could enter.

My sister.

Lost. Forgotten. Hidden underground like a ghost.

Alive.

**

The house was empty.

Too quiet. Too clean.

The mattress in the west wing was still unrolled, as if someone had been sleeping there. But there were no toys, no clothes. No sign of the little girl with red eyes.

Not a single goddamn trace.

She was gone.

I tore through the rooms, through dust and memory, yelling her name even though I didn't know it. I checked the tunnel again. Nothing. Only cold, echoing silence.

Something in me snapped.

SAPPORO – DEVERAUX MAIN ESTATE

Never thought that I'd be back here.

But here I am again.

I stormed through the front gates of the main compound like a goddamn hurricane.

Guards tried to stop me. My Serpentii roared to life on instinct—dark scales coiling like smoke around my limbs, teeth bared, glowing violet veins cracking the marble as I passed. My Knight's Blade cut through resistance like wind through leaves.

"Young Master Kai, this is a private—"

"Try me." I snarled, dragging open the grand conference doors.

There he was.

Roth Deveraux.

My father.

Standing tall in his immaculate black suit, blond hair slicked back, Sabertooth tattoo curling like a viper down his wrist. The clan elders flanked him like statues of war.

They all froze as I entered.

"You fucking knew," I said, my voice calm, razor-sharp. "She was there. In Mother's estate. A little girl with red eyes. You knew… AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?"

A pause.

Then, Roth laughed. Laughed.

"Ah," he said, eyes glittering. "The forgotten thing. So she survived after all."

I charged forward, only for his aura to flare—Sabertooth power slamming against mine, red and white cracking against the obsidian serpent that coiled around my chest.

"You think you've come for justice?" He sneered. "That child was a mistake. A disgrace. Born without a drop of our honor. No ink. No bloodline traits. Not even blue eyes."

"She's my sister."

"She's a curse. Born under a crimson meteor—something so rare, it appears once every thousand years. A sky screaming red over our land. It was an omen. And it killed your Mother."

The silence after that was absolute.

I stopped breathing.

"What did you say?"

"She didn't die of illness, boy," he hissed, stepping forward. "She died screaming. That girl bled her dry from the inside. I should've ended her myself. But Luna… interfered. Claimed her. Hid her."

I saw red.

Not metaphorical red—literal, spectral rage that wrapped around my limbs and surged out of my throat. My serpent howled, fangs glowing.

"You almost killed her."

He shrugged. "She wasn't Deveraux. She was nothing."

I roared.

Steel met steel.

I lunged. Roth's Sabertooth flared—his claws striking, my blade countering, sparks flying. He was strong. A monster. But I'd spent years surviving monsters much worse.

The house crumbling. The conference table exploded. Elders ducked for cover. Magic cracked marble. My serpent hissed and wrapped around his legs, yanking him mid-air as I slammed my blade into his shoulder.

He roared back, clawing at my ribs. Blood sprayed. I didn't care.

We clashed again… sword to fang, power to power. We were shadows and lightning in motion, bleeding, panting, choking on fury.

Then the clan moved.

Twenty of them surged at once.

I didn't hold back.

I unleashed the full wrath of Serpentii. Tendrils of violet energy tore through the air, slicing through their Jutsu. My Knight's Blade danced like a phantom across the chamber, felling warriors like wheat. I fought until blood coated the walls. Until they screamed my name in terror.

Until Roth was crawling.

Then I left.

LUNA'S PRIVATE ESTATE – NIGHTFALL

The gates blasted open under my boot.

My ribs ached. Blood seeped from my shoulder. My knuckles were raw, my blade scorched. But I didn't stop.

I stormed through the courtyard, eyes burning.

Because if she was alive, if my eldest sister hid her…

She better tell me everything.

**

They came for me like shadows.

Dozens of them—my sister's elite, her private guard—cloaked in obsidian, body ink blazing across their flesh like tattoos carved from fire. Their Jutsu lit up the night sky, streaks of silver, blue, red—controlled chaos.

But I didn't stop.

Serpentii answered my rage. My blade sliced through barriers, flesh, air. Their attacks sang through the air, but my serpent hissed in time with my heartbeat, coiling like armor around my frame.

They fought like hell.

But I was hell.

The ground scorched. The east wing of the estate collapsed in flames as one of my sister's lieutenants exploded under my blade. Marble split, trees fell, the air turned thick with ash and smoke and blood.

And still, I pushed forward.

Until there was no one left standing but me.

Bruised. Burned. Breathing hard—but not broken.

And then, I saw it.

A small shed at the far end of the estate, half-buried behind a crumbling sakura grove. The scent of blood hit me first—copper, thick and wet.

I ran.

The door creaked open under my hand. My vision blurred.

There she was.

Curled in the corner like a forgotten doll. Barely five. Her black hair a tangled mess, her skin deathly pale—red eyes staring up at me, unblinking.

Bruised. Fresh cuts. Broken.

But she didn't cry.

Not a single goddamn tear.

My throat locked. My heart thrashed against my ribs, violent, furious. Rage didn't even begin to describe what I felt… it was grief sharpened into a fucking weapon.

Then…

"Do not touch her."

The voice sliced through the air like broken glass.

Cold. Familiar. Unmistakable.

Onee-sama.

She stood just beyond the ruin's edge, lit by the wavering red of firelight. Her silhouette was a phantom—golden hair in a frayed braid, inked thigh glowing through the slit of her dress like a curse made flesh. The ink of The Revolver shimmered like something alive.

But it was her eyes that made me freeze. That brutal shade of Deveraux blue—only now, fractured, ringed with fury and something far worse…

Madness.

"You're too late." She hissed, voice trembling and sharp. "She's ours now. Not yours."

I rose slowly, planting myself between her and the girl, my hands slick with blood. "What the fuck is this, Onee-sama?"

She smiled. A cruel, shaking thing.

"You want the truth?" She stalked closer, each step like a heartbeat of doom. "You want to talk about what you have… left behind?"

Silence wrapped around us. Heavy. Vicious.

"Let's talk about the twins." Her voice cracked, then turned jagged. "My sisters. Yours. Do you even remember their names?"

My lips parted.

Nothing came out.

"No. You fucking don't." Her voice dropped, soft now. Murderous. "Because you never gave a fuck."

"Onee-sama, that's not tru—"

"Father made me kill them!" My sister's next breath came ragged, and when she screamed, it was the sound of a soul ripping apart.

Everything in me stopped.

"They were only six years old. SIX. We played for one hour with you..." her voice shattered, "and that was our punishment. One hour. Father dearest said we 'tainted' you, and I…" her hands trembled, "I had to kill them. With this fucking curse in our bloodline! With my own fucking Revolver!"

Tears scorched down her face like acid.

"They fainted, Kai. Father threw them off to the wall... and my ink still lit up, and I still fucking pulled the trigger... but you, all you knew was that I shot them as punishments and died of some made up illness."

A pause.

A long one.

"A special child with a special Body Ink. Bullshit. All you were was a spoil brat! You went to the academy, got your successor training, got your fucking degree as a hero, left to New York after Ale had died… and you KNEW NOTHING. NOTHING."

My vision blurred.

"I killed them, Kai. I held them while they bled. And you? You were safe. As you always were… while I scraped through hell. Trying to breathe under the same sky with our beloved Father. But I stayed. I survived."

"You think I wanted that to happen?" I growled. "You think I didn't want to protect all of you? I tried to talk to yo—"

"THEN WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? NOTHING. YOU KNEW NOTHING, YOU'VE DONE NOTHING!" She shrieked, manic.

Her Revolver surged with inked energy, lines glowing like cracks in a dam about to burst.

"And now you dare feel pain? Guilt? You think that makes you worthy? That makes you my little brother again?" Her voice became unhinged. "No Kai, you don't get to feel. Not after what I've become."

And she fired.

The air screamed.

My sister's Revolver was infamous for its power. It eliminated dozens of Spectres at once. And now she pulled the trigger to eliminate me.

She was serious.

I deserved to die.

But not the little girl who was born innocent.

I have to win this to protect her.

Ink and jutsu collided, the battlefield erupting into a symphony of blood and fury. Her magic tore trees from their roots. My blade met her rounds mid-air, sparks flying with every clash. Serpentii writhed beneath our feet as the world buckled under us.

I held back.

She didn't.

Her rage was endless. Her pain bottomless.

A round shattered my ribs. Another tore through my shoulder. Her scream followed every hit—raw and animal, soaked in the cries of dead girls.

But I was stronger.

Rage made sure of it.

When I finally pinned her, it was over shattered stone. Her Revolver cracked in her fist, ink leaking like blood. My blade pressed to her throat, her skin burning beneath it.

She stared at me, chest heaving, eyes wide and unafraid.

"I loved you. Respected you..." My voice was low. Broken.

Her lips curled. "Useless."

I dropped my sword.

Stepped back.

Because in that moment, with the ghosts of our sisters screaming between us…

She lay crumpled beneath the scorched tree roots, bloodied and breathless, the shattered remains of her Revolver still steaming beside her.

But even broken, my sister laughed.

Low at first. Then louder. Until it cracked her voice in two.

I stood over her, shaking. Trembling.

The girl I'd tried to protect was hiding behind a stone bed, unmoved, eyes wide with horror.

My sister looked at her, then at me, and smiled.

Not kindly.

"She reminds you of them, doesn't she?" She rasped. "Of the twins."

I stiffened.

"That's why you're protecting her now. You think saving one child makes up for the two you left behind." Her eyes locked on mine, glassy with rage and something unhinged. "But you're wrong. She doesn't deserve your salvation."

"What the fuck are you saying?"

She dragged herself upright, blood streaking her chin. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I hurt her."

I flinched.

"A lot."

She grinned.

"I scared her. Starved her. Whispered to her in the dark that no one was coming. That her screams meant nothing. I branded her with fear, Kai. And I did it slowly."

My stomach turned. Her voice was horror.

The little girl behind the bed let out a soft, broken sound. But she didn't cry.

"Onee-sama… WHY?!" I shouted, stepping toward her. "She's a child!"

"Exactly." Her voice shattered. "Exactly, Kai. Just like they were. Just like our sisters. I needed to know, needed, if anyone would come for her. If you would come. Ha! And you did."

She laughed again. A choking, sobbing sound.

"But it wasn't fast enough, was it? You weren't fast enough for them either."

I stared at her, horror dawning in full.

She wasn't just punishing herself.

She was punishing me.

"So you used her," I said slowly, voice burning. "As bait. As a fucking test?!"

"As a mirror." She whispered. "I wanted you to see what I saw, what they felt. I wanted you to hear their screams when all you did was… watching. Watching Father beat me up. Watching Father beat your Mother's up. ALL. BEACAUSE. OF. YOU. You precious little heir…"

Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn't blink. Didn't break eye contact.

"I told myself if you didn't come, I'd kill her. If you did… maybe I'd let her live."

The little girl stared at her blankly.

And my sister looked past me—at her—and her lips trembled.

"She still looked at me like I was her savior." Her voice cracked again. "Even after everything. They did too. Until the end. Until I…" her shoulders curled inward, "…until I pulled the trigger."

I couldn't speak.

The silence between us was not mercy.

It was a grave.

"I am no longer your Onee-sama. She's long gone..." She declared, eyes glowing like dying stars. "I am now every fucking ghost you let rot in the dark."

And then she fell silent.

That was her last words.

I couldn't bring myself to part my lips further.

She's hurting.

I'm hurting.

That was our closure.

After all these years.

**

I turned back to the girl.

Kneeling, I spoke softly. Carefully. Like the whole world was hanging on her answer.

"Hey," I murmured, voice hoarse. "I know you're scared. I know they… she hurt you. But I'm here now. Will you… come with me?"

She stared.

Silent.

She didn't shed tears. Not a single tears. Even with all the fights. Even with all the drama.

She stood still. Unfazed. Red eyes shines like ruby… no, it shines like blood.

Deep. Thick. Terrifying.

Then, slowly, she reached out. Her tiny hand curled around my fingers.

I picked her up, careful not to touch the bruises. She was light. Too light. But she didn't pull away.

She rested her head on my shoulder.

And something hit me.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt warmth, comfort, ease…

For the first time in weeks—maybe years—I felt something that didn't taste like rage.

It was hope.

We walked away from the fire together.

END OF PROLOGUE