Deep within a secluded cave carved into the side of a jagged, forgotten mountain, a somber group stood in silence. The flickering glow of enchanted torches illuminated their solemn faces, casting long shadows along the damp stone walls. The atmosphere was heavy—thick with grief, tension, and something far more insidious: the scent of betrayal.

This was the group from the Second Summoning—once celebrated as chosen heroes of the Light Empire, but now remembered only in hushed whispers and bitter tones. They had turned their backs on their homeland three decades ago, siding instead with Tenebria during the Great War. History had not been kind to them; their names had been struck from monuments, their deeds twisted into tales of treachery.

At the head of the group stood Aaron, a man still in the bloom of youth yet bearing the eyes of someone who had seen far too much. His dark cloak rustled faintly as he stepped forward, gaze fixed on the scorched and broken figure that lay on a stone slab before them. His companions flanked him, each silent, each radiating a mixture of sorrow and fury.

The body they had recovered was once Logan—a classmate, a comrade, a brother-in-arms. But what lay before them now was barely human. His flesh had been charred nearly beyond recognition, his limbs twisted and blackened, his torso bearing the unmistakable signs of prolonged torture. The air reeked of burnt flesh and blood-soaked stone.

Even the hardened members of the Second Summoning struggled to keep their composure.

Aaron’s gaze turned dark. “Where did you find him?”

Thomas, a tall man with sharp eyes and a voice that cut like frost, responded without hesitation. “Near the ruins of our old hideout. Hidden beneath debris. I think it was deliberate. Whoever did this wanted us to find him.” He paused. “We spotted movement there—observers, perhaps. Spies. I’m certain they’re the murderers.”

Lilia took a step forward. Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “We should’ve stayed behind… We underestimated them.”

Someone behind her scoffed, disbelief lacing their voice. “Wasn’t it just two girls? Heroes, sure, but they haven’t even undergone a second awakening yet. How the hell did Logan lose to them?”

Aaron’s gaze darkened as he raised his hand to quiet the group. “There was a third,” he said quietly, but his tone carried undeniable authority. “A man. Young, quiet. Barely left an impression on me. I assumed he wasn’t a threat.” His expression turned grim. “I was wrong. I’m certain he’s the one who killed Logan. That kind of cruelty… it wasn’t random. He’s dangerous.”

Thomas frowned. “Could it be Ethan? Or one of his old crew?”

Ethan. The name alone brought a subtle change to the air. Thirty years ago, he had led their class into battle against the Demon King. A true Hero—courageous, noble, and merciful. His legend endured even after all this time.

But Aaron shook his head. “No. Ethan would never do this. Not to one of his own. Even after all these years, he wouldn’t stoop to this level. None of them would.”

He looked back at Logan’s body, sorrow briefly flickering in his eyes. “This was torture. Deliberate. Systematic. This wasn’t war—it was a message.”

A heavy silence settled over the cave.

Aaron exhaled slowly, then turned toward Lilia. “Whoever that boy is… he’s not working alone. He was accompanied by two girls—Heroes of Amun Ra.” His voice grew colder. “I want answers. We’re finally nearing the moment we’ve waited for all these years. We cannot afford any surprises.”

Lilia gave a sharp nod. “I’ll look into it.”

And with that, her form dissolved into mist—vanishing into the night.

As the echo of Lilia’s departure faded into the quiet hum of the cavern, Aaron turned toward Thomas, his expression sharpening beneath the dim torchlight.

“Is Benjamin ready?” he asked calmly, his voice low, almost casual—but there was a calculated edge beneath the question.

Thomas, ever the skeptic, shrugged with visible disapproval. “I suppose he is,” he replied, crossing his arms. “But I still don’t get why you’re keeping that slippery bastard alive. He’s a snake, Aaron. The kind who’d gladly crawl back to Ethan—or anyone else for that matter—just to save his own miserable skin.”

Aaron chuckled softly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet, that ’snake’ did exactly what we asked him to do. He delivered the Princess of Tenebria right into our hands.”

Thomas snorted. “Delivered her, yes—but not out of loyalty. He had his own scheme in mind. He thought he could play all sides, but he was too damn weak to pull it off. Ran off with his tail between his legs the moment Ethan’s group got close and he had been hunted by that Hero of Tenebria. And now? He comes slinking back to us, begging to be useful again.” His lip curled in disdain. “He’s nothing more than a disloyal mutt.”

“But now,” Aaron said with an amused smile, “he’s our mutt. And right now, that makes him very useful.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Useful how?”

Aaron’s smirk widened. “Our dear gladiator will soon have his moment. A very important role to play, in fact. One that might turn the tide in our favor before anyone realizes it.”

Thomas arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You really believe he’ll win the tournament?”

Aaron’s tone turned confident—almost arrogantly so. “In his current state? I don’t just believe it. I know it. No gladiator in Rome will be able to stand against him—not while that… delightful corruption courses through his veins. He’s stronger now than he’s ever been.”

Thomas remained unmoved. “And what about those coming from beyond Rome? You know these tournaments draw in fighters from every corner of the continent. Some of them won’t be easy to deal with.”

Aaron waved a hand dismissively. “You worry too much. I have contingencies in place should anything stray from the plan. There’s always a path forward, Thomas. Always.”

Thomas gave a skeptical grunt, but said no more. The two stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft drip of water echoing from somewhere deeper within the cave.

Then, with quiet hesitation, Thomas asked the question that had clearly been weighing on his mind:

“Do you think Ethan will come?”

The air grew colder.

Aaron’s smile faded, replaced by a steely expression. His eyes, once playful, now burned with icy resolve.

“When the time is right,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth, “he’ll come. He won’t be able to help himself. Ethan and his band of delusional fools will rush in like righteous heroes, thinking they can ’save the day.’”

A pause.

“And when they do…” Aaron’s gaze darkened. “We’ll be ready.”

At Aaron’s solemn words, the others gave quiet nods—silent affirmations of the resolve that had bound them together since the beginning. Without a word more, they dispersed, each vanishing into the shadows of the cave, returning to the work that had consumed their every waking hour.

This was what they had all longed for—not salvation, not redemption, but power. Power vast enough to rise above even the celestial beings who had cursed them to this fate. Power that would allow them to defy the so-called almighty gods. And, most of all, power that could finally tear open the veil between worlds and send them back to Earth… to the lives, the families, the futures that had been stolen from them.

Now alone, Aaron stood still at the heart of the cavern, its cold stone walls wrapped in a hush broken only by the faint hiss of wax and flame. The flickering candlelight danced across his sharp features, throwing shadows that made his expression seem more hollow, more consumed. His eyes, dark with purpose, stared into the wavering light as if searching for something beyond it.

Returning to Earth was not the end goal. No—it was only the beginning.

Because once he stepped foot back onto that soil, there was something—or rather, someone—he needed to deal with. The one who had orchestrated all of this. The one who had betrayed him. The one who had cast him and his class into this cruel, foreign world and turned his back without guilt or hesitation.

Matthew Parker.

His younger brother.

The memory struck Aaron like a blade, old and rusted but still sharp. His jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, “How dare he…”

Though the years in this world had blurred and twisted, that moment remained branded into his soul—clear, vivid, unforgiving. That day, he had seen Matthew’s face, calm and composed, as he altered the spell of the goddess Khione. A spell meant for salvation, twisted into a tool of betrayal. He had watched as the magic surged, dragging him and his classmates into this godforsaken realm, never to return.

And what of Matthew? The so-called prodigy… the one chosen by fate, the one who inherited the power of the Guardian of the World?

Aaron scoffed silently, his gaze darkening into ice.

That role was meant for him.

It should have been his burden, his destiny, his power. Not Matthew’s. Never Matthew’s.

While he was left to rot, to claw his way through blood and agony in a land ruled by monsters and gods, Matthew had lived on in peace. On Earth. Untouched. Smiling. Thriving. Even building a family.

A family.

The thought made Aaron’s hands curl into fists.

As if he could allow that.

That was why he had made the pact—with Iblis, the Prince of Lies, the Flame of the Abyss. That was why he had embraced darkness, why he had allowed it to consume him.

That was why he had killed Matthew’s wife.

But… it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

One act of vengeance couldn’t satisfy the hunger that had been festering inside him all these years. He needed more. He needed to see it—the look of utter despair in Matthew’s eyes. He wanted his brother to understand what it felt like to have everything stolen away. To be left broken and hollow. To realize he had created his own monster.

Aaron’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile—twisted, cruel, resolute.

“Soon, Matthew,” he whispered, voice low and cold like the wind that slithered through the cave walls. “We will see each other again.”

And when that day came, only one of them would walk away.