The morning sun spilled through the intricate carvings of the Yogini family mansion, casting its pale gold light across the room where Rynn Yogini stood. His gaze was fixed on his reflection in an antique mirror, the polished gss offering a detailed view of his sheepkin face. Sharp, angur features set him apart, softened by faintly curved contours that betrayed his unique heritage. His jet-bck curls, damp from the morning's shower, framed his face, catching the sunlight in strands that gleamed faintly. His sapphire eyes, deep and piercing, carried a weariness that belied the smirk usually tugging at his lips. Yet now, even that trademark confidence seemed tempered as he traced the faint memory of st night’s wounds with a thoughtful hand.

  His uniform y discarded on the chair behind him, the deep gashes in the fabric a stark reminder of Dante’s bde. He exhaled, fingers brushing his side where crimson had once stained him. It was still surreal—he wasn’t used to bleeding, let alone from another’s hand. The events of the previous night repyed in his mind like a vivid echo, etched into the depths of his memory.

  It wasn’t the Birdkin onsught that pgued his thoughts. Their assault, brutal as it was, had been manageable. No, it was what followed: the arrival of Xyra Drakov. She wasn’t just a ruler; she was a force of nature, a living enigma. Her ptinum hair fell like liquid starlight, cascading over the sharp lines of her battle-forged one-piece suit, and her violet eyes seemed to pierce straight through his defenses. In that moment, his first instinct had been lust—not just for her beauty, but for her power, the sheer authority she commanded with every deliberate motion.

  But beneath that lust y something deeper: awe ced with unease. Xyra wasn’t just powerful; she was otherworldly. Every word, every gnce, carried a weight that lingered long after she was gone. And then there was Dante, her general.

  When Xyra introduced Dante, Rynn had scoffed inwardly. The boy seemed unremarkable—white hair, red eyes, dressed in pin streetwear as though he had stumbled onto the battlefield by accident. But Rynn quickly learned how deceiving appearances could be. Before his very eyes, Dante transformed. His limbs morphed into nightmarish bck bdes, his power surging to levels that rendered the Birdkin attack insignificant.

  The fight was unlike anything Rynn had faced before. Dante moved with terrifying speed and precision, closing the gap between them in a blink. His first strike came from nowhere—his bck-bded arm tore into Rynn’s side, the pain immediate and searing. Rynn staggered, crimson spilling onto his tattered uniform. He wasn’t used to seeing his own blood. The sensation was jarring, pulling him out of his practiced arrogance and into a harsh reality.

  But Dante wasn’t done. He vanished, dissolving into the shadows, his presence a void even Rynn’s scionics couldn’t pierce. He could feel him, but only just. Rynn’s mind, usually an open gateway into the thoughts of others, met only silence when he tried to penetrate Dante’s consciousness.

  Another strike. This time to his leg.

  Roaring in defiance, Rynn shed out, grabbing Dante by the arm with an unrelenting grip. He lifted him and smmed him into the earth with a force that cracked the ground beneath them. Again and again, Rynn’s strength bore down, his frustration fueling every strike. But Dante was relentless. His leg, now another obsidian bde, shed upward, catching Rynn across the chest and sending him sprawling.

  It was then Rynn activated Thunder Body, electricity crackling across his skin, surging outward in violent arcs. Dante convulsed under the onsught, his body smoking as he fell to the ground, momentarily incapacitated. Rynn loomed over him, ready to deliver the final blow—

  And then time rewound.

  The world spun as Dante stood, unscathed, as if the brutal exchange had never occurred. Rynn staggered back, breathless, his heart pounding with the realization that the rules of the game had shifted.

  And at the center of it all stood Xyra Drakov, watching with an air of detached amusement.

  “You have a certain audacity,” she remarked, her tone carrying both admiration and ridicule. “To challenge the rule of one of my worlds.”

  Rynn gritted his teeth, his scionics already fring to counter her next move. But before he could act, she spoke again, her voice cold and final. “Let’s see if you’re worth the trouble.”

  She raised a hand, her violet eyes narrowing. Then, with terrifying speed, she lunged forward, her fist connecting with his chest in a single, devastating blow. The air around them distorted as the force of her punch unched Rynn upward, his body hurtling toward the atmosphere like a cannonball.

  He barely had time to process what was happening as the wind whipped past his face, the earth shrinking below him. Struggling to regain control, Rynn’s mind raced. He wasn’t flying—he was falling with momentum. But then, something clicked. His Scionic Shift, spurred by survival, began adapting, pulling from Xyra’s own telepathic blueprint. He could feel it—the energy, the flow, the mechanics of hovering. He shifted his focus, his body responding as he slowed his ascent, his trajectory leveling out.

  “Interesting,” came Xyra’s voice.

  She was there, floating before him, her figure untouched by the chaos of the atmosphere. With a flick of her wrist, she seized him mid-air with telekinesis, holding him suspended. But Rynn had already adapted. His scionics surged, pushing against her invisible grip, forcing her hold to weaken until he was hovering freely, his body stabilizing through sheer will.

  Xyra cpped, her expression one of measured approval. “Impressive,” she said. “You learn quickly.”

  As they floated above the world, Xyra circled him like a predator sizing up her prey. “My initial intention was termination,” she admitted, her voice calm. “However, I’ve been informed of your… aspirations. Your desire to join the Invader Guild.”

  Her violet eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the air seemed to still. “This presents a dilemma. Do I recruit you, or do I eliminate you?” She sighed dramatically, as though burdened by the decision. “I’ve decided on both.”

  Rynn raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning despite the situation. “Generous.”

  Her expression hardened. “You beastkins are reckless, unfocused. But you… you’re different. You desire power. Control. Perhaps even peace.” She paused, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “I will allow you the chance to prove yourself. Survive my assassins. Thrive within the Invader Guild. Show me that you can lead this petting zoo you call a world.”

  And then she was gone, her form dissolving into the wind like a phantom.

  Now, standing before his mirror, Rynn exhaled deeply, running a hand down his chest where the phantom pain of her punch still lingered. The game had changed. The stakes were higher than ever.

  As he descended the grand staircase, he found Sylvia, Mira, and Battle Maid Aria waiting for him. Their expressions were a mix of concern and curiosity.

  “What happened st night?” Sylvia demanded, her emerald eyes sharp. “We saw the sky light up like it was on fire.”

  Mira’s fox-like ears drooped as she muttered, “Are we okay? Like… are we gonna live?”

  B.M.A. said nothing, her crimson eyes locked onto Rynn, searching for answers he wasn’t ready to give.

  Rynn smirked, brushing past them with his usual swagger. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “Everything’s under control.”

  As they stepped into the morning light, Rynn’s mind churned with thoughts of Xyra Drakov, Dante, and the trials that awaited him. The path ahead was uncert

  ain, but for the first time in a long while, Rynn felt alive.