Bound by the king of destruction

I turned my gaze to Clara, who stood trembling near the hallway. I walked closer, crouching to her level.

"Hey, Clara. Why are you so quiet? You are always so dynamic. Aren't you happy to see me?" I asked, patting her head gently.

Her ears flicked, but she didn't move.

"Wait, why aren't you transforming back? Don't you want a hug from your best buddy?"

Clara isn't just Grandma's spirit. She was my a companion and a partner-in-crime when I still lived here with Grandma. She's a shape-shifter specifically animals.

But now she looked… scared.

"Why are you shaking like that. Did I... perhaps scare you?"

"Va… va…" She stammered, her paw trembling as she pointed toward the roof.

I followed her gaze. "You're scared of Van?"

"Um…" She nodded slowly.

"Don't worry, he's a good guy. You can transform back."

But she didn't believe me.

Grandma chuckled softly, leaning against her hand. "He must be really strong if Clara's this scared. This is the first time I've seen her afraid of another spirit."

I turned to her. "There is a problem, though."

"What is it?"

"Van and I formed a blood pact. But the fact that we can't fully sync… it still bothers him."

She held her chin, as if trying to remember something. "Well, that's not a problem," Grandma said with a knowing smile. "If he can't use your body, just find him a vessel."

I blinked. Grandma never stopped surprising me.

No wonder they call her All-in-One. She carries fragments of forgotten knowledge and still invents new techniques.

I leaned closer. "What kind of vessel?"

"It could be anything," she said. "A weapon, armor, whatever you can channel his essence into."

"I see… so if I find him a weapon, I just need to convince him to merge with it instead of me?"

"Exactly. But no need to bark orders," Grandma said. "You just need to softly convince him."

Knowing Van, he'll definitely agree. My body is already carrying something else as its vessel... a different entity, so I can't sync with both.

—

Outside, the street had gone quiet, a stark contrast to when we'd arrived.

Van sat on the rooftop, one knee drawn close to his chest, an arm draped lazily over it while the other leg folded beneath him. His gaze drifted across the skyline, expression unreadable, as if he was listening to something only he could hear.

From his vantage point, he spotted someone, a figure soaring over rooftops in flowing white robes, heading toward the glowing heart of the city.

He ignored it.

Just as he turned away, his eyes caught two figures locked in combat, clashing violently as they darted across another direction. His expression tightened.

A trap, huh? He thought.

He almost ignored that too—until a third figure appeared. A man dressed entirely in black.

The figure flickered in and out of sight, vanishing and reappearing farther and farther away.

Van grinned. "Now you have my attention," he muttered, and in the next breath, he was gone, dashing after the vanishing figure.

---

Inside the house, I sensed Van's presence drifting farther, but I knew he'd be fine."

Suddenly, a knock echoed at the door. But when Grandma opened it, no one was there—just an envelope lying on the porch.

She handed it to me. "Here. I'm sure this one's for you."

"Okay." I peeled the seal, and the aroma of dinner wafted from the kitchen—savory and sweet.

The letter was from the academy. I had to be there by Thursday. Two days left.

Dinner clattered onto the table.

"So… what's it about?" Grandma asked.

"It's a letter from the academy. I need to be there on Thursday."

---

Somewhere across the city, in the collapsed shell of an abandoned hospital, the air stood still. Shadows clung to broken walls. Ceiling tiles sagged, the cracked floor crawling with jagged lines like spiderwebs. Not a single light flickered. There was no warmth here—only echoes of suffering.

Van stood facing a figure across the ruined courtyard.

The man was shrouded in age and mystery. His attire was black, as if he were heading for a heist. In his hands, he clenched two giant metal rings. Flames licked around their edges, casting claw-like shadows across his scarred face—a long gash running from his nose to his ear.

"Hey, old man. What's the big idea?" Van's voice was steady, but sharp.

The man raised his head slowly. "So… you do know him, don't you?" he muttered to himself. Then louder: "Vanarion."

Van froze. Hardly anyone called him that.

"You may call me Drewman," the man said, his voice rolling like distant thunder. "I am an Exo-hunter."

"So… are you here to capture me?"

"No," Drewman said. "I'm here to talk."

"Talk about what?"

"About your master." The rings spun slightly, flames rippling with each twist. "If your master turned rogue, or became a threat, would you eliminate him?"

Van didn't blink. He didn't even flinch. It was like he'd been waiting for this question, but he didn't answer either.

"Then… What if you became a threat? Would you allow your master to end you?"

Van's voice was quiet, immediate. "Yes."

"Vanarion Goldensky," Drewman said, his eyes narrowing. "That's your true name, isn't it?"

Van's breath caught. Not even his master knew that name.

Drewman's gaze sharpened. "In real life, your master is seven years younger than you. Yet you stand here, trapped in the form of a fourteen-year-old. Tell me… how loyal are you to a child?"

Van's jaw tightened. The old man knew too much. "What are you getting at?"

"You know what he is," Drewman said, his voice dropping. "The one they whisper about. The boy who summoned the Unknown into our world. The reason you don't have a home or family."

The words burned like acid.

"He's the reason you're frozen in time. And now, he wants to use you—to exorcise, to kill."

---

Van's memory drifted.

He's chest clenched. Cold rushed through his veins.

He wasn't in the courtyard anymore. He was back somewhere in a cell.

Dim light filtered through a grated ceiling. His younger sister clung to his arm, trying not to cry. She was so small, barely larger than the tattered blanket they shared.

Then the rumble came.

The ground trembled.

A groan… a screech. The sound of the world tearing apart. Screams echoed through the air—metal crashing, tires screeching.

Then the wall exploded.

A monstrous fist punched through the stone. The sound alone shattered something inside him. He turned just in time to see the collapsing wall crush his sister.

Her tiny fingers slipped from his hand.

His heart stopped.

For a moment, he just stared with eyes.

Then came his scream.

A raw, endless cry that tore at the walls.

He didn't remember how he got out—but he did.

He crawled through rubble, eyes wide with blood and tears.

And then he saw it.

The world was burning.

Creatures roamed everywhere. Towering beasts with bone-like skin and glowing eyes. Some were animal, others human-shaped.

Twisted hounds tore into the bodies of the fallen. Children screamed for their parents—only to be silenced. Some were dragged away. Others devoured.

Van couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Then, from the smoke, came a bus.

Flying. Like a missile.

It smashed into his face with such force it tore his head apart. The bus slammed into the wall behind him, rebounded, and crushed him under its wreckage.

Then all he saw was darkness.

Van snapped out of the memory, his eyes burning with rage.

"Okay, old man, that's enough," he muttered. "You want a fight? I'll give you one."

But just as he dashed forward, Drewman flipped back, vanishing into the air.

"I wasn't here to fight," his voice echoed faintly. "I only came to see if your will would break."