Chapter 4. The Sleeping Soul

Mireya stood frozen, caught between the terrifying man Rayden had become and the ghost of the boy she once knew. She didn't know whether to trust him or fear him.

"Mireya," Rayden said, his voice softer now, yet carrying an undeniable urgency. It was a gentleness that stood in stark, chilling contrast to the brutality he had just displayed. "Take me to Raelyn."

Still trembling from the violent aftermath, the image of Lazren and his men broken and bleeding seared into her mind, Mireya could only manage a stiff nod. The fear that had gripped her moments ago was now mingling with a profound sense of pity. The man before her was not the Rayden she remembered. The warm, cheerful boy she used to tease was gone, replaced by a cold vessel of controlled rage.

But the desperate, pleading look in his eyes when he spoke Raelyn’s name—that was the last remnant of the soul she once recognized.

"She's at my apartment. Let's go," Mireya replied, her voice shaking slightly as she fought to compose herself. She knew, somehow, that he would not harm her.

Together, they left the Duskar house, leaving the wreckage behind them. The shattered door was left agape, an open invitation for anyone brave enough to witness the consequences of provoking Rayden Duskar.

The drive to her apartment was suffocating. The silence inside the car was heavier and more oppressive than any scream.

Rayden sat motionless in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The glittering lights of Malora City, once familiar, now felt alien. His mind was a tempest, replaying the tragedy of ten years ago like a broken film. His father, fallen. His mother's final smile. His last command to Raelyn.

‘Run, Lyn! Run and don't look back!’

He had thought himself a hero then, sacrificing himself to save his sister. What a fool he had been. His sacrifice had only paved the way for a suffering far worse than death for his twin. The calm mask he had meticulously built for a decade to contain his grief and rage was now cracking all over.

"Mireya," he said suddenly, his flat tone shattering the silence. "Why were you engaged to a man from that family?"

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I was forced into it, Ray. You know my father worked for them, and he fell into debt. Then… Lazren took an interest in me. He said he would forgive my family's debt if I agreed to marry him."

The atmosphere in the car grew heavier still. Rayden didn't respond immediately. He just stared straight ahead, but Mireya could feel a drastic shift in his aura. The fleeting warmth he’d shown when he’d mentioned Raelyn vanished without a trace, replaced by a cold so profound it felt like it could freeze bone.

He turned his head, and for the first time since they had entered the car, Rayden looked fully at her. His gaze was so sharp, so intense, that Mireya felt her own defenses crumble.

"I will ensure you do not marry him," he stated. His voice was flat, but beneath it lay a terrifying promise.

Mireya flinched, seeing a dangerous glint in his eyes. "But, Ray… they're—"

"How many times must I tell you," he cut her off, his tone dismissive, "that they are not a problem for me?"

Mireya fell silent, staring ahead and giving a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. A part of her was horrified, but another, deeper part felt a flicker of hope ignite.

Soon, the car slowed and pulled up to a modest apartment building. Rayden’s gaze swept over it.

"Your family moved here?" he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice. He remembered the Arsena family home, a simple house with a large, beautiful garden and a plantation near the hills—the one with the pavilion he had sent Raelyn running toward.

Mireya shook her head. "No. My parents are still at the old house. This place… this is my hideout, for when Lazren and his people bother me. It's also where I care for Raelyn."

The answer sparked more questions in Rayden's mind about Lazren's treatment of her, but a more pressing need overshadowed them. He had to see his sister. He had to know she was okay. She was all the family he had left. For ten years, he had lived in a remote village, honing his body and spirit into a weapon, all for the sake of avenging his family.

They stopped on the 10th floor, in front of door number 141.

Mireya paused, turning to him with a look of caution and profound sadness. "Ray," she said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. "You need to prepare yourself. Whatever you see in there… control yourself. So much has happened…"

Rayden's heart felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise, but he just nodded. He knew. Ten years was a lifetime.

Mireya gave him one last, deep look, then unlocked the door.

Click.

The door creaked open, revealing a living room bathed in the dim, melancholy light of the city glowing through a large window.

And there, in a wheelchair facing the glass, sat a thin figure with long, dark hair. She stared out at the cityscape, her gaze lost in a world of her own.

Time seemed to stop. Rayden’s breath hitched in his throat.

‘That's… Raelyn?’

Before he could speak, Mireya’s voice came, heavy with sorrow. "That's her. She has to use a wheelchair now, Ray. Her body… it’s not the same. She was hurt. Badly."

Rayden’s heart stopped. His teeth ground together, and in an instant, a murderous aura enveloped him, a silent vow that whoever had done this to his sister would be hunted down and torn apart.

"What happened to her?" he asked, his voice strained as he fought to contain his rage.

"A few days after she came to our house… people from the Bramasta family found her. They tortured her," Mireya explained, her voice trembling as the dark memory resurfaced. "When we tried to help, they tortured us, too."

Rayden’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles cracked. His gaze was a physical weapon.

At the sound of Mireya’s voice, the girl in the wheelchair flinched slightly. After a torturous silence, she slowly turned her head.

Her gaze was utterly vacant. There was no emotion on her face, no spark of recognition. A deep, pale scar cut across her right cheek, a permanent mark of cruelty on her delicate features.

The sight shocked Rayden to his core. Her eyes weren't just empty; they were wrong. Something essential was missing. A terrible suspicion began to form in his mind.

"Mireya… besides the physical torture, did anyone else… touch her?" he asked, his voice low.

Mireya thought for a moment, sifting through the traumatic memories. "Ah… Vania Bramasta, Lazren's older sister, she was there. When she saw Raelyn, Raelyn just… started screaming in agony. But Vania hadn't laid a finger on her. After that… Raelyn became like this." She added, "I heard Vania was powerful, but I don't know how."

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Rayden.

"We took her everywhere," Mireya continued, her voice filled with a decade of frustration and despair. "The best hospitals and specialists in the capital, Selvaria. The most renowned psychiatrists. They did every test in modern medicine. CT scans, MRIs, brainwave scans… the results were always the same: nothing physically wrong. Her spinal cord is intact, her brain functions normally, but she's… like this. They gave her drugs, shock therapy, hypnotherapy… nothing worked. It was as if her soul was no longer there to speak to."

Rayden nodded slowly, his suspicion confirmed.

Vania. She had to be a cultivator, at least a Grandmaster, to attack a soul directly.

He looked at the empty shell of his sister, and the inferno of his rage cooled into a solid core of ice-cold purpose.

That didn't matter. He could easily erase the woman who had done this.