The Cultivator's Revenge

“Seize them! Kill the boy and the girl! Failure is not an option—it will be your heads otherwise!”The command, sharp and brutal, sliced through the midnight silence of Malora City, each word a hammer blow against Rayden’s pounding heart. Dozens of them. A hunting pack demanding his life.“Brother… I… I can’t run anymore….”The voice beside him was a ragged whisper. Raelyn, his twin, was fading. Her face was a pale mask in the moonlight, her steps faltering, her breath coming in painful, shallow gasps.“You have to, Lyn! Keep running or they’ll kill us!” Rayden urged, his own lungs burning as he pulled her along.Rayden Duskar understood nothing. Moments ago, he was at home, sharing a simple dinner with his sister and their parents. Then came a knock at the door. His father had risen to greet what he thought was a guest.Instead—CRACK!The gunshot echoed, a deafening thunderclap in their quiet life. Rayden’s head whipped around just in time to see his father collapse in a spreading p

Lazren’s eyes narrowed, his arrogant gaze raking over Rayden from head to toe. "What did you say?" he sneered.He knew, of course, about the Duskar family massacre. But as far as anyone knew, only the daughter had survived.Then, Lazren’s gaze shifted past Rayden and landed on the figure of Mireya standing just behind him. His expression soured instantly, his brow knitting in displeasure."You," he spat at Mireya, ignoring Rayden completely. "What are you doing here?" Before she could answer, he turned his possessive glare back to Rayden. "And why is my fiancée with you?"At that, Rayden raised a single eyebrow and glanced back at Mireya. "Fiancee?"The tension around Mireya tightened. There was something in Rayden’s calm gaze that felt more intimidating than Lazren's open hostility. "Y-yes, but—""Unfortunately for you," Rayden cut in smoothly, his voice devoid of any deference, "Mireya has been my woman for the last ten years."The declaration hung in the air. Lazren’s eyes bulged.

Rayden took a slow, steadying breath. With what little courage he could gather from the shattered remains of his heart, he walked to Raelyn’s side and gently took her cold hand in his."Lyn," he called again, his voice softer than a whisper, hoping for a miracle. "It's me, Rayden."There was no reaction. No flicker of an eyelash. No return of his grip.A sharp, cold pain lanced through Rayden’s heart, more agonizing than any physical wound he had ever received. He let out another slow breath and tightened his grip, not as a brother, but as a practitioner. He began to feel for the energy pathways in Raelyn’s body. Ever since discovering his own latent abilities, he had suspected Raelyn must also share that bloodline. From where it came, he didn't know—as far as he knew, their parents had been ordinary people.After a few moments, he released her hand, his expression a complex mask of grief and grim confirmation.It was true. He could sense a vast, dormant power within her, but it was i

Rayden stepped out of the car, his leather shoes making almost no sound on the asphalt. He straightened the collar of his tailored suit and adjusted the half-mask covering his face from the bridge of his nose to his chin. A mandatory accessory, the invitation had said, to preserve the ‘anonymity of the guests.’The lights of the Delvanca Auction House gleamed, reflecting off polished marble and glass. The other guests glided past, a river of formal attire and masks of varying shapes and colors, each one a shield for an identity. Rayden slipped seamlessly among them.He presented his VIP pin. A scanner beeped softly. "This way, sir," a uniformed attendant murmured.Behind the mask, his eyes were sharp, analytical. To most, this was a lavish party. But Rayden knew better. Beneath the polished veneer, this was a silent battlefield. He moved toward his assigned seat, marked with his chosen alias. Warm spotlights danced on the high ceilings as soft music drifted from a corner of the room.

Rayden stepped into his subterranean base, and the silence that greeted him felt wrong. It wasn't the silence of peace, but the silence of something lying in wait. The air was thick, still carrying the residual tang of the runes he had just extinguished and the faint, coppery scent of his own blood drying on the stone floor. His instincts, honed to a razor's edge in the Village of Deities, screamed a warning. There was another breath in his sanctuary. Someone was waiting for him."This place hasn't changed much," a familiar, feminine voice broke the stillness. Her tone was light, almost musical, but it held a sharp resonance beneath the surface. "You always did have a taste for hiding in the world's forgotten, lonely corners, didn't you?"He turned toward the source of the voice. There, emerging from the shadows of a dragon-carved wooden throne he’d salvaged from some ruin, was Lyra. The blue light from the wall crystals cast a silver sheen on her hair, while her face remained veiled