The house hadn't changed.
The cracked walls still leaned tiredly under the weight of time. The air still smelled faintly of dust and old smoke. The floors still groaned when stepped on.
And yet, to Ace, it was no longer the same place.
It was no longer a home. It was a coffin.
⸻
At the table that morning, his mother watched him with narrowed eyes. She barely touched her food, her pale fingers drumming against the wood in restless rhythm. His father's gaze was heavier than usual, sharp and measuring, as if he were waiting for Ace to slip, to reveal something.
Every bite Ace forced down tasted like ash.
"They sense it," Orpheus's voice rumbled in the back of his skull, low and certain. "They know you heard them. Or perhaps… they simply feel the change in you."
Ace didn't look up from his plate. "Then I'll give them nothing," he whispered in his mind. "Not fear. Not anger. Nothing."
The dragon's approval was a dark hum.
"Good. They cannot control what they cannot read."
⸻
The blows that day came slower, more deliberate. His father no longer struck blindly in rage — each fist was calculated, each kick measured, as if testing the strength of his son's bones.
Ace clenched his jaw and took them, silent, his eyes fixed on the far wall. He didn't scream. He didn't cry.
And it unsettled them.
His father's sneer wavered when Ace stood back up without trembling. His mother's poisonous whispers faltered when his gaze didn't shift away.
For the first time, Ace saw something in their eyes he had never seen before.
Fear.
⸻
That night, Ace sat cross-legged in the corner of his room, holding the ring in his hand. His body ached, his skin burned with fresh bruises, but his mind was colder than ever.
"Tell me the truth," he whispered. "Why me? Why did they choose me?"
Orpheus's sigh echoed like a gust of ancient wind.
"Because cruelty is a seed, and they watered it well. Because they saw in you not a son, but a vessel. And because shadows always feed on the innocent first."
Ace swallowed hard, staring at the swirling colors within the black ring. "And John?" His voice cracked on the name. "Did they… was that them, too?"
A long silence.
"…Yes."
The word hollowed him out.
His chest burned with rage, grief, and something deeper — something sharper. His parents had stolen John's life. And now they would have stolen his, too.
But they wouldn't. Not anymore.
⸻
The next morning, as he passed the cellar door, he heard them speaking again.
"…the day is near," his mother whispered, her voice trembling with an excitement that made Ace's skin crawl. "The Darkness will have him soon."
"Yes," his father growled. "And when it does, our reward will be greater than we ever dreamed."
Ace didn't stop walking. He didn't flinch. He didn't let them see the way his heart raced in his chest.
But inside, he knew.
Time was running out.
⸻
That night, as he lay in the dark, Orpheus spoke again — not with sharpness this time, but with something heavier, almost reverent.
"You are already gone from this place. All that remains is the act itself. The son must die, so the dragon may rise."
Ace closed his eyes, clutching the ring until it dug into his palm.
He wasn't afraid anymore.
He was ready.