The midday sun bathed the school playground in soft golden light.
Children laughed and ran across the field, their voices blending into a lively hum. Some chased each other, others played games, while a few sat in groups sharing jokes.
But one boy sat alone.
Ronan Ashford.
He sat quietly at the edge of the playground, cross-legged on the grass, a worn notebook resting on his knees. His pencil moved slowly, carefully — like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.
On the page, he sketched a warrior.
A boy holding two swords.
Strong. Free. Fearless.
The exact opposite of how he felt.
From a distance, two boys watched him. They had seen him before — always alone, always distant. They had heard the whispers too.
"The cursed one…"
"Stay away from him…"
But they didn't feel fear.
Just curiosity.
And maybe… understanding.
They walked up to him.
"Hey," the taller one said.
Ronan looked up, slightly startled.
"Mind if we sit?" the other asked.
Ronan hesitated… then nodded.
They sat beside him like it was nothing.
"I'm Elias."
"And I'm Lucan."
Ronan blinked.
"I'm… Ronan."
Lucan leaned closer, peeking at the notebook.
"What are you drawing?"
Ronan shifted slightly. "Myself… I guess. Fighting with two swords."
Elias lit up. "That's actually cool."
"You wanna be a Hunter?" Lucan asked.
Ronan gave a small nod.
Elias grinned. "You will be."
For a moment, Ronan just stared at them.
Then quietly—
"Don't you hate me?"
They both frowned.
"Why would we?" Lucan asked.
"Everyone else does."
Elias shrugged. "We don't."
"You seem… normal," Lucan added.
That word hit him harder than anything.
Normal.
For the first time in a long time…
Ronan smiled.
The Bond
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into a year.
Ronan wasn't alone anymore.
They ate together, laughed together, walked home together.
Sometimes they were mocked — called weird, called outcasts.
But it didn't matter.
Not anymore.
Because he had them.
The Day Everything Broke
One afternoon, after school, they joined a group of boys playing football.
Ronan hesitated at first.
But something felt different.
"Join us," one of the boys said.
No fear. No judgment.
Just… acceptance.
They played.
And Ronan was incredible.
Fast. Sharp. Controlled.
They won 5–3.
For the first time…
Ronan felt like he belonged.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky orange—
He asked quietly,
"Have you guys heard about the demon attacks lately?"
One boy laughed. "That's just stories."
Ronan's expression darkened slightly.
"I've seen things…"
Before anyone could respond—
The sky cracked.
A dark, swirling portal tore open above the field.
Silence.
Then—
Chaos.
Creatures poured out. Twisted. Inhuman.
Red eyes. Black flesh.
Screams erupted.
"RUN!"
But it was too late.
One of them struck Ronan.
Hard.
His body flew, crashing into a wall.
Everything blurred.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Could only watch.
Lucan ran toward him—
A blade pierced through his chest.
Elias tried to fight—
He was torn apart.
The others…
Didn't stand a chance.
The laughter from minutes ago…
Gone.
Replaced by silence.
And blood.
The Awakening
Ronan lay there.
Helpless.
Broken.
Tears streamed down his face.
Then—
Something moved.
Behind him.
Shadows.
Two figures emerged.
Dark. Formless. Alive.
They moved faster than thought.
Within seconds—
Every demon was gone.
Reduced to dust.
Silence returned.
The shadows faded back into him.
His wounds healed.
But something inside him didn't.
Aftermath
Hunters arrived minutes later.
They saw the bodies.
The destruction.
And one thing that didn't make sense—
Ronan.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Alone.
The Palace
He woke in his room.
His father sat beside him.
"Ronan… how do you feel?"
No response.
Just emptiness.
Then—
A voice from the door.
"Maybe he killed them."
Draven.
Cold. Unbothered.
King Alistair stood instantly.
"That's enough."
Draven scoffed and left.
Silence returned.
His father's voice softened.
"You're safe. That's all that matters."
But Ronan didn't feel safe.
Not from the world.
Not from himself.
The Weight of Suspicion
Later, in the war chamber—
Hunters spoke in careful tones.
"Ten children dead."
"One survivor."
"The prince."
Queen Evelynn's voice cut through—
"And not a single injury."
The implication was clear.
King Alistair's voice hardened.
"We will not accuse him without truth."
But doubt had already begun to spread.
That Night
The palace was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ronan sat on his bed, shaking.
He couldn't escape it.
The screams.
The blood.
Their faces.
"I couldn't save them…"
His voice broke.
His hands trembled.
"They died because of me…"
His breathing became unstable.
Tears wouldn't stop.
And then—
A whisper in his mind.
"Misfortune follows those like you…"
He clutched his head.
"No… no…"
His body curled in on itself.
And finally—
He screamed.
A broken, shattered sound that echoed through the night.
Then—
Darkness.