The news of Ash's fight spread like wildfire. It wasn't just that he fought a Lorder; that alone would have been enough to turn heads. But the rumors didn't stop there. People spoke of a shadowy beast, a creature unlike any seen before. Some called it a monster, others a demon. But the scientists gave it a name: Umbra Fiend.
Its body was dragged back to the labs, bound in thick iron chains. White-coated scientists circled it with clipboards and scanners, their faces pale and eyes wide with a kind of fearful curiosity.
But beyond the labs, out where life carried on, the story had already taken on a life of its own.
In the Iron Wing Barracks, where the smell of oil and metal clung to the walls, the veterans sat around battered wooden tables, hands wrapped around mugs.
"A kid like that…fighting a Lorder? And this shadow thing?" one of them grunted, setting his mug down with a heavy thud. His hand was calloused, knuckles rough like sandpaper.
Another veteran leaned back, arms crossed. "I saw the body," he said, voice low. "That thing wasn't natural."
A third one, older than the rest, just shook his head. "Kids don't kill things like that. Not alone. I don't care what stories are floating around. It's just not possible."
"But Dev raised his hand, didn't he?" the first one shot back. "Lifted it high and called him the savior of the squad. He wouldn't do that unless he saw it with his own eyes."
The old man snorted. "Or maybe he just wants to give people hope. Nothing more dangerous than hope in the hands of fools."
Further out, where the market stalls were set up with tattered cloths and wooden crates, the whispers turned into wild stories. Hawkers shouted over one another, selling dried meats and rusted weapons. Small groups of teenagers huddled around, eyes bright with excitement.
"I heard he didn't even flinch," one of them said, practically bouncing on his heels. "Just stared it down and swung his sword like it was nothing."
Another kid shook his head. "Nah, you got it wrong. I heard he didn't even use his sword. Just…willed it to die."
The others turned to him, eyes wide. "Willed it?"
"Yeah! My uncle said the thing just dropped. Like its heart stopped or something."
"Your uncle's full of it," another one laughed, shoving him. "Nobody can do that. You've been listening to too many stories."
But the whispers didn't stop. They moved through the alleys, clinging to the air like smoke. Even in the training grounds, where fresh recruits swung their wooden swords and stumbled through formations, the talk of Ash wouldn't fade.
"A kid like that isn't real," one trainee muttered, stretching out his sore arms. "It's just propaganda. They want us to believe in heroes so we stop being afraid."
"Yeah?" another one shot back, slamming his practice sword into the ground. "Then how do you explain the body? They brought it back. It's right there in the labs."
"Could be a setup," he said, shrugging. "They stage things like that all the time. You really think some kid did that?"
The conversation stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of swords clashing and boots scraping against dirt.
One of the scientists, a woman with gray hair tied tightly back, leaned forward, tapping her finger against a grainy photograph of Ash. "The brother of a traitor," she spat, her voice thick with disdain. "And now he's parading around like some hero. What are we supposed to do with that?"
A younger intern, his eyes sharp and calculating, crossed his arms. "Does it matter? He fought off a Lorder and killed…that thing," he said, pointing to the file stamped with Umbra Fiend. "We've been trying to capture one of those for study for years. Now we have a corpse to work with. Shouldn't that count for something?"
The woman snorted, shaking her head. "It's not about what he did. It's about who he is. Blood doesn't lie. His brother nearly brought down half our defenses. And now this one—what? He's a hero? I'm not buying it."
In the bustling city squares of hundreds of planets, Ash's name was everywhere. Maybe because of Dev's involvement it.
"Isn't he just a kid?" a younger woman asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. "I mean, he's got to be what…sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Doesn't matter," the older trader snapped, his eyes narrowing. "That blood's poisoned. Mark my words. First, it's a Lorder. Next, it'll be us. You can't trust someone born from betrayal."
But even with the doubts and whispers of treason, the awe remained. Children ran through the alleys with makeshift swords, yelling Ash's name as they pretended to fight off invisible monsters.
Far from the chaos, Valhalla watched the horizon. Beside him, a messenger stood nervously.
"So," Valhalla said, his voice like gravel sliding over stone. "He has teeth after all." His lips curled into a smile, "Tell me again. Everything."
The messenger stammered, his hands shaking as he repeated the story. How Ash had fought the Lorder. How he killed the Umbra Fiend. How he saved the heroes without hesitation. When he finished, Valhalla chuckled, deep and resonant. "My, my… What a surprise," he mused, his eyes glinting with something wild and sharp. "I expected him to survive. I did not expect him to thrive."
The messenger nodded quickly, practically stumbling over his own feet as he left.
When he was alone again, Valhalla tilted his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the cold air. "Not bad…not bad at all, Ash," he whispered, the words carried off by the wind. "But you still have much to learn."
(Meanwhile)
The rain came down hard, heavy drops smacking against the stone rooftops like the sky itself was angry.
He stood there, balanced on the edge of a towering rooftop. The rainwater slid off his coat, pooling at his feet before slipping off the edge to vanish into the streets below. His blond hair clung to his back and fluttered with each gust of wind.
In his hands, a thin strip of paper. A news clipping, the ink smudged but still readable. Ash's name was there, bold and unmissable. A fight with a Lorder. A battle with something shadowy and monstrous. Heroes saved. Alive against all odds.
Reaper tilted his head slightly, the edges of his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn't joy—no, it was something sharper, something deeper. Amusement, perhaps. Maybe even pride.
He reached up, fingers brushing against the edge of the mask that covered his face. He slid it back on.
The thunder cracked again, louder this time, rumbling through the air like a warning. He didn't wait. He stepped off the edge.
His coat billowed out behind him, the rain streaking past as he fell, the wind whipping against his body. The ground rushed up to meet him, faster and faster, but he didn't flinch. Didn't even raise his hands.
**
For every person that praised Ash, another doubted. For every whisper of hope, there was a shadow of distrust. Because Ash was not just a hero. He was also the brother of a traitor. And in a world built on blood and loyalty, some stains never washed away.