Shadow Slave : Shadow Clan

Jet sat perfectly still in the interview room, her back straight but shoulders tight, like a blade pulled too thin. The spirit-light above flickered faintly, casting restless shadows on the stone walls. She didn't flinch—but her fingers curled slightly into the seams of her uniform pants, trembling just enough to betray her.

Julius studied her in silence for a moment longer. She was trying not to shake. Not to blink. Not to breathe too loud.

Trying not to be seen.

"What's your Aspect Rank?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost fatherly.

Jet's eyes flicked up to meet his. Raven-black, wide, guarded.

"…Supreme," she said after a pause. Her voice was flat, but her throat bobbed hard as she swallowed. She didn't believe it meant anything. Not really. Supreme? What was the use of being powerful if you were still nothing?

Julius blinked. He hadn't expected that.

"And your Dormant Ability?"

Jet lowered her gaze again. Her voice dropped. "It lets me… absorb the essence of the enemies I kill."

A pause. Then she repeated it, quieter. "Absorb them."

"…You mean strength? Memory?"

She gave a tiny nod. "Both. Sometimes their instincts. Their fear. Their screams. I don't choose. I just… take."

The silence that followed stretched thin between them.

Julius stood, slowly walking to the side of the room so he wasn't looming over her. He could see the way she kept stealing glances toward the door. Like a caged animal who didn't know if she was being fed or condemned.

"And where are you from?" he asked softly.

"Outskirts," she answered. "Sector 9."

Her words fell like stones.

"No records. No family. No handlers," she added, her voice starting to shake. "I entered the Nightmare alone. No one expected me to come back. No one told me what I'd face. I just… woke up. There."

And there it was.

Fear.

Not the trembling kind. The buried kind. The kind that grows roots inside your soul because the world never taught you how to feel safe.

Julius's voice dropped to a gentle hush.

"So you're alone."

Jet said nothing.

She clenched her jaw. Just once.

He didn't press.

Instead, he walked back to his desk, picked up her file, then shut it with a soft snap. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was kind.

"You have two choices," Julius began, walking around the desk and sitting across from her—calm, slow, careful. "You can stay here. In this academy. You'll be ranked, measured, tested against children raised in glass towers. You'll be treated like a curiosity. Or a threat."

Jet looked away.

"…Or?"

"Or you come with me."

Her head jerked slightly toward him.

"I know someone," Julius continued, his voice warmer now, but still steady. "Someone powerful. Someone kind. She lost someone too, once. She'll know what to do with you. She won't treat you like a problem."

Jet blinked rapidly, lashes damp.

"You're not… asking my flaw?" she asked quietly, hesitant.

Julius shook his head. "No."

She frowned, confused. "But… why? Don't you need to know?"

"A flaw is the most dangerous thing someone can know about you. It's the deepest wound. You only share it with people you trust. And I haven't earned that."

Jet opened her mouth. Then shut it again.

Her fists were trembling now.

"Why… why are you being nice to me?" she finally whispered, the words ragged. "I'm no one. I'm broken. I'm… I'm not even supposed to be alive. I don't even know why I'm here. I wasn't supposed to survive."

Her voice cracked.

"I wasn't supposed to survive…"

Julius leaned forward slightly. Not too close. Just enough that she could hear the ache in his words.

"Do you know how many people from the outskirts survive their first Nightmare?" he asked.

She looked at him, her lip trembling, silent.

He held up two fingers.

Then slowly, deliberately, lowered both.

"Zero," he said softly. "Until now."

Jet's eyes widened. Her mouth parted like she was about to speak—but nothing came.

"You survived," Julius said. "Alone. No gear. No support. No training. You fought your way out of hell. You came back changed, yes. But you came back."

He stared at her, seeing someone else behind her face—someone long gone. Someone whose ghost still haunted his dreams.

"You remind me of someone I failed," he added gently. "And I won't fail again."

The room was still.

Jet stared at him, her eyes glassy now, but no tears fell. She'd spent too many years learning how not to cry. Crying made people hit harder. Ignore faster. Leave sooner.

"…So," Julius said softly, "will you come?"

She looked down at her hands. Pale. Thin. Scarred across the knuckles.

She had no home.

No name that mattered.

No one who had ever looked at her like this before.

She looked back up—at this quiet, steady man who had offered her something she'd never been given.

A choice.

And for the first time in her life…

Jet nodded.

"…Yes," she whispered.

Julius smiled faintly. It didn't quite reach his eyes. But it was real.

"Then let's go."

He stood, straightened his coat, and walked toward the door. He didn't glance back this time.

"You're not alone anymore, Jet."

Jet slowly stood too. Her legs shook slightly, but she steadied them.

And then she followed him into the light.

——-

The house stood quiet, the warmth of morning now giving way to the cool hush of afternoon.

Olivia stepped inside and shut the front door behind her. She didn't head for the kitchen or her office. Instead, she walked to the far end of the hallway and placed her hand against a smooth wall of polished black stone. It rippled under her touch, sensing her presence, and slid open with a soft whisper—revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled downward.

The basement was dim, the walls layered with old training scrolls, weapon racks, and markings from thousands of battles fought in silence. In the center stood a combat dummy made of reinforced steel, scarred and battered from years of punishment.

She walked to it without hesitation, tying her hair back into a tight braid as she entered her battle stance.

With a whisper, her body began to change.

Her right arm unraveled—flesh unspooling into long, silken threads of shadowy string. From her waist, dozens of daggers floated out, suspended by the same threadlike control, glinting in the low light.

And then she moved.

In a blur of speed and grace, Olivia lashed forward—daggers slicing the air in perfect arcs. The strings twitched, snapped, coiled—her whole body stretching and contracting like a weapon forged of will and rhythm. She spun, ducked, struck. A storm of blades danced around her in flowing patterns, never losing momentum.

It wasn't just a battle art.

It was a dance born from pain.

Two hours passed before the chime of the front bell broke her trance.

Sweat glistened on her brow, her breathing steady but deep. She reformed her arm and walked upstairs, wiping her hands on a towel as she reached the door.

She opened it—and paused.

Standing on the doorstep was Julius, with a girl at his side.

The girl was older than she expected—eighteen, maybe nineteen. Her uniform was creased, too large in some places and too tight in others. Her black hair was cut short, jaw-length, and her posture was rigid as though held together by pure tension. Her eyes… they were wary. Not like someone who had been trained. Like someone who had survived.

Olivia raised an eyebrow in quiet curiosity.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Olivia," Julius greeted with a respectful nod. "I brought someone I think you should meet. She's strong, but… she needs more than training."

He glanced toward the girl. "Jet, this is Olivia. She'll be your new teacher. Don't worry about formality. You can even call her Scarecrow if you like."

Jet blinked, confused.

Julius winked. "Trust me, it'll grow on you." Then turned to Olivia. "I'll go pick up Rain and Sunny."

And with that, he was gone.

The silence left behind was almost uncomfortable.

Olivia studied the girl again—her frame stiff, like she didn't know whether to stand at attention or run.

"So," Olivia said softly, folding her arms. "You must be Jet."

Jet nodded once. "Yes."

Before the girl could retreat inward, Olivia took a quiet step forward and gently reached out, resting her hand on Jet's shoulder.

Her voice was low. Steady.

"You don't have to worry. You're safe here."

Jet froze.

Then, without warning—her composure cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks in quiet streaks. No sound. Just breaking.

She collapsed forward against Olivia's shoulder.

Olivia held her without a word, her arms wrapping around the girl's trembling frame. She didn't flinch. She only closed her eyes and tightened the embrace.

"You're safe," she repeated. "You're not alone anymore."

As Jet clung to her, her gaze fell upon the brooch pinned on Olivia's chest.

The silver serpent badge.

Jet's breath hitched.

"You… you're the snake people," she whispered. "You were the ones who sent food to the outskirts. Helped us when no one else did."

Olivia smiled quietly. "Yes. That was me."

Jet pulled back slightly, stunned.

"…Why?"

"Because," Olivia said, brushing the girl's damp cheek with her thumb, "I'm from the outskirts too. I rose from zero, just like you."

Jet's eyes widened. She didn't know what to say.

So Olivia led her gently toward the kitchen.

"Come. You haven't eaten, have you?"

Jet didn't answer, but her silence was enough.

Olivia set a plate of food in front of her. A simple lunch—rice, grilled meat, and warm soup. Nothing fancy. But to Jet, it may as well have been a royal banquet.

She ate in silence—desperate, hurried, ungraceful.

Olivia said nothing, simply watching with a soft smile. The kind that didn't judge. The kind Jet had never seen before.

After the last bite, Jet wiped her mouth, blinking at her empty plate like it might disappear.

"Would you like to take a shower?" Olivia asked gently.

Jet nodded.

Olivia led her to the washroom. As Jet stepped into the stall, Olivia turned away—but lifted her hand slightly. Fine threads flickered into view, nearly invisible.

She used them to measure Jet's size silently and swiftly—without making her feel small.

By the time Jet stepped out of the shower, steam curling behind her, Olivia handed her a fresh outfit—a blue shirt and white jeans, perfectly sized. Jet dressed and came downstairs, her damp hair combed flat against her skull.

She looked… almost like a normal girl.

Almost.

When she sat on the couch, Olivia quietly poured two cups of tea and joined her.

Jet was the first to speak. "When do we train?"

Olivia raised an eyebrow, amused. "I thought you might want a day to rest."

"No," Jet said firmly. "I want to get strong."

Something fierce burned in her voice.

Not ambition. Not pride.

Survival.

Olivia saw it. And nodded.

Without another word, she took Jet downstairs—to the dojo. The air still carried the hum of her earlier session.

Weapons lined the walls—blades, polearms, chakrams, and more.

Jet walked slowly along the racks… then stopped.

Her hand settled on the curved haft of a scythe.

Olivia smiled. "A scythe, hmm? Good reach. Fluid movement. Suits you."

Jet didn't smile back. But she gripped it firmly.

They trained for nearly an hour.

Jet picked up Olivia's basic scythe form faster than expected—her movements sharp, efficient, ruthless.

When they paused to breathe, Olivia finally asked, "What's your Aspect?"

Jet looked down at the floor.

"My Dormant Ability…" she began. "It lets me absorb the essence of those I kill."

Olivia blinked, nodding slowly. "Useful. Dangerous."

Jet hesitated, then added, almost in a whisper, "But my flaw… I'm dead."

Olivia's breath caught.

"I died in the Nightmare. But as long as I keep killing—keep absorbing—I can remain here. If I stop… if there's nothing left to absorb… I'll vanish. For real."

The scythe slipped from Olivia's hand.

Her expression changed.

She stepped forward, arms trembling slightly. And before she even thought about it, she hugged Jet again.

Fiercely.

"I understand," she whispered. "I really do."

Jet stood frozen. She hadn't expected this. Had never received it.

"If you ever feel like you're losing control," Olivia said softly, "if you need something to kill… tell me. I'll bring you a weakened Awakened creature. Anything. Just… don't suffer alone."

Jet's eyes widened.

Tears welled again—but this time, she didn't hide them.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her body sagged against Olivia, her eyes closing. She hadn't even realized how tired she was.

In seconds… she was asleep.

Olivia gently lifted her—carrying the sleeping girl up the stairs and into the guest room, where the sheets smelled of lavender and the window opened to sunlight.

She laid her down, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

And sat beside her for a long while.

Watching.

Remembering.

Knowing that once upon a time… she had needed someone just like this.

———

The golden afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the mansion, casting warm, honeyed light over the polished floors. The halls were quiet—too quiet for a home that held two children.

That changed the moment the front door swung open.

"I'm home!" Rain called out, her small backpack bouncing on her shoulders as she skipped through the foyer.

Sunny followed more calmly, slipping off his shoes with practiced ease. "Mom?" he called.

"In the living room," Olivia's voice rang out gently.

The two siblings entered—and paused.

Sitting quietly on the edge of the couch was a girl neither of them had seen before.

She was older—around eighteen—with short, damp black hair that curled softly at the ends. She wore a fresh blue shirt and white jeans that clung just slightly loose on her slim frame. Her posture was stiff, but not out of pride—more like someone unsure of their place in a warm room. Someone who was used to cold.

Her eyes—sharp and black as onyx—met theirs with quiet tension. She didn't smile.

Rain tilted her head. "Who's that?"

Sunny's gaze narrowed subtly. He stepped a little ahead of Rain instinctively, protective.

Olivia stood from her chair and walked to them, placing a hand on both their shoulders.

"This," she said gently, "is Jet."

"She looks cool," Rain blurted without hesitation, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. She smiled up at the older girl. "Hi!"

Jet looked startled. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

"She's going to be living with us," Olivia continued. "She'll be training here, and staying here. She'll be your big sister from now on."

Sunny's brows lifted.

Rain gasped. "Wait, for real!? I have a big sister now!?"

She immediately launched herself at Jet, wrapping her arms around her waist with childlike affection.

Jet flinched—but didn't pull away.

She looked down at Rain, baffled… then slowly raised a hand and rested it on the girl's back.

It was the gentlest touch she'd ever given anyone.

Sunny stepped forward slowly. "So… you're staying here?"

Olivia nodded. "Yes. I've decided to adopt her."

Sunny looked from his mother to Jet, then back. His eyes, dark and unreadable, softened just slightly.

"…Welcome," he said. Not smiling, but his voice was warm. "I'm Sunny. That little chaos gremlin is Rain."

"I'm not a gremlin!" Rain protested with a giggle, still hugging Jet tightly.

Jet stared at them both.

Her throat tightened. Words caught behind it.

"I… I don't know how to be a sister," she whispered.

"You don't have to know right away," Olivia said gently, walking behind her and placing a hand on her back. "You just have to be here. Be yourself. That's enough."

Jet's chest ached.

Being here… was enough?

She blinked hard. A tear slipped out before she could stop it.

Sunny noticed, but said nothing. Instead, he reached into his pocket and offered her a handkerchief.

Jet took it wordlessly.

Rain beamed. "You're part of the family now! Which means you get to help me sneak cookies at night and stop Sunny from being all serious and broody!"

"I'm not broody," Sunny muttered under his breath.

"Yes, you are," Olivia and Rain said at the same time.

Jet let out a tiny, breathless laugh. The first real one.

And just like that… something in her heart shifted.

She wasn't alone anymore.

——-

Jet stood silently at the edge of the dojo, her bare feet pressed against the cold floor, arms folded tightly around herself.

The basement training hall—wide, circular, and lit by warm lanterns—was unlike anything she had ever seen in the outskirts. Smooth black walls curved like obsidian shields, reflecting glints of light from flickering runes etched high into the ceiling. Swords and weapons hung along one wall in carefully labeled racks, but the center… the center belonged to the two figures dancing across the mat like shadows.

Sunny and Olivia.

Jet had followed the sound of clashing metal and soft breathless movement from upstairs, drawn down the spiraling stairwell by instinct—by something she couldn't name.

Now, she watched.

Sunny was a blur of black, his long midnight hair tied back, his odachi—a long, curved blade nearly his own height—slicing through the air with razor precision. His stance was poised, feet flowing like water, each swing backed by power that felt far too refined for someone his age.

Olivia matched him, step for step, her daggers glinting silver as her arms twisted unnaturally, threads of thin string stretching her reach like a spider with elegant lethality. Her transcendent art gave her limbs fluidity and range beyond normal combat. She moved with impossible grace, never stopping, never yielding.

And Sunny didn't falter.

He flowed around her, clashing, ducking, striking. His breathing remained steady. His eyes never left hers.

Jet's heart thudded quietly.

She had seen death.

She had been death.

But this… this was something else.

He wasn't just skilled—he was different. His presence stirred the air, not like a child in training, but like a storm preparing to rise. His flaw was unknown, his aspect unrevealed… but she could feel it.

There was something terrible in him.

Something divine.

And yet… something kind.

He moved like someone trying not to fall into darkness.

Her breath caught as he slipped past Olivia's guard for a heartbeat, pressing the edge of his training blade against her throat. Olivia smiled faintly and tapped his arm.

"Well done."

Sunny stepped back and bowed respectfully, sweat trailing down his temple.

"You're improving faster than expected," Olivia said as she stepped away, her arms uncoiling from dagger-length threads of string before returning to their normal form.

Jet blinked.

She hadn't even realized her fists had clenched.

Later that evening, the scent of roasted vegetables, warm bread, and herbs filled the dining hall.

Jet sat stiffly at the table, fork awkward in her hand as Rain chattered excitedly about school, her voice bubbling over itself. Sunny sat opposite her, hair now tied loosely, half-dry from his post-training shower, calmly chewing while occasionally offering quiet nods to Rain's endless stream of thoughts.

"…And then I told Miss Mira that her dog probably just needed a nap, not a vet, because I once saw a squirrel pretend to be dead too!" Rain declared proudly.

Jet blinked. "A… squirrel?"

"She means a possum," Sunny murmured dryly.

"Same thing!" Rain beamed.

Olivia laughed from the end of the table as she poured everyone tea. "Let her have her squirrel logic."

Jet lowered her fork, smiling faintly as she watched the scene unfold. It felt so normal. There were no screams. No nightmares. No one pulling a weapon at the sound of footsteps.

Just food.

Laughter.

Family.

"You're quiet, Jet," Olivia said gently. "You don't have to be, you know."

Jet looked down, then up again. "I… don't really know what to say."

"You'll get used to it," Sunny offered without looking at her. "It takes time."

Rain reached across the table, passing her the bread. "You want more? You eat like Sunny when he was sick once. Like a crow nibbling a stone."

Jet stifled a laugh and took the bread. "Thanks."

Sunny grunted. "She's not wrong."

They all laughed.

And Jet felt something warm begin to settle in her chest.

Night came softly to the house.

Rain was curled in her bed upstairs, her stormcloud hair spread over her pillow, blanket tucked up to her chin. Olivia sat beside her, humming gently under her breath.

Jet stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, unsure if she was intruding.

Sunny sat by the window, back against the wall, his head tilted up to the stars.

The tune was old—very old. Faint, fragile… yet full of strength.

"Hush now, little one,

Sleep where stars have sung,

Let shadows hold no fear tonight,

For light will always come."

Jet's throat tightened. The melody stirred something ancient in her bones—something buried. Her eyelids grew heavy.

Rain's breathing slowed, her hand wrapped loosely around her mother's fingers.

Sunny began humming the tune under his breath, deep and soft.

Jet, almost without realizing it, joined in too—off-key and quiet, but trying.

Olivia looked up, surprised.

Her eyes softened.

As the last note hung in the air, Rain slept soundly. Sunny slumped back, resting his head against the wall.

Jet sat down on the floor, back against the frame… and for the first time in years, she didn't resist the pull of sleep.

Olivia stood up, brushing Rain's hair once more, then looked at the two others curled in corners of the room—two shadows that had been through far too much.

She whispered softly, just to herself.

"…Still works."

And turned off the light.