When Aden awoke, it was night.
He lay on a great bed in a different chamber—dimmer, quieter, but laced with the same lingering tension. A dull ache throbbed through every inch of his body, like he'd been trampled by a god.
Across from him, Rudeus stood beneath a flickering lantern, cleaning his blade with a cloth stained in dried blood. He hadn't spoken a word since Aden opened his eyes.
Minutes passed in silence before Rudeus finally muttered, "You lost yourself in there."
Aden groaned, pushing himself up with effort. "I almost killed it."
"You almost killed yourself." Rudeus tossed the cloth aside and turned. His gaze was hard. "Wrath is power. But it doesn't belong to you. Not yet."
Aden who was until now on crushing pain unsure of what to take of this situation finally snapped.
Aden scowled. "You knew something. From the moment I mentioned my memory loss in grandfather's estate—you knew something."
Rudeus didn't answer.
"You've seen this before, haven't you?" Aden pressed, his voice rising. "You knew my Wrath wasn't normal. You knew the way it moved—the way it was. You're hiding something."
Rudeus looked at him for a long time. Then, finally, he sighed.
"You want the truth?" He walked toward the center of the chamber, boots echoing. "Fine. But don't expect it to make things easier."
Aden nodded. He was ready—he had to be.
Rudeus sat down, legs crossed. "Wrath is a curse, passed through blood. It's not some magic trick or gift from the gods. It's a pact sealed in blood and hellfire."
He stared at Aden. "You asked why no one dares to wage war with the Vasco family? It's not because we're noble. It's because we're monsters."
Aden stayed silent, letting the weight of the words settle.
Rudeus continued, his voice quieter now. "Centuries ago, during the Great Extermination War, the Vasco family led the charge to drive demons back into the Infernal Realm. When the Demon King finally appeared, he made a deal. In exchange for sparing his kin, he offered us a gift. A weapon."
"Wrath?," Aden muttered.
Rudeus nodded. "He gave us Wrath. Not magic. Not fire. But pure, destructive essence. Rage, bottled into a living form. And with it… he gave us something else."
Rudeus leaned forward. "His most trusted and strongest warrior of them all. His general. The butcher of empires. His name was Egmund."
A chill swept through the room.
"That power—Egmund's essence—was sealed into the bloodline. But not everyone receives it. Only those with the strongest thirst for vengeance. The ones who refuse to bow. The ones who'd rather destroy everything than accept defeat."
"His presence serves as a warning to us all, Egmund wasn't give to us out of courtesy for saving his kin, it was to keep us in check" Rudeus spoke out.
Aden's throat felt dry. "And you think… he's in my Wrath?"
"I know he is," Rudeus said grimly. "When you told us about your wrath manifestation, about the pool of blood, the corpses... that wasn't a side effect. That was Egmund claiming his seat."
Aden felt the weight of the chamber press down on him. Like the walls were watching. Judging.
"Has anyone else… ever had this?" he asked.
Rudeus nodded slowly. "Once. Our great-grandfather. my Grandfather. A war god in his prime—but he was never the same after the Wrath Trials. He faced Egmund. Fought him. And barely survived."
"Barely?," Aden echoed.
Rudeus stood. "I don't know if you'll win. I don't even know if it's possible to win. But if you don't try… Egmund will devour you. Piece by piece."
Aden lowered his head, hands trembling.
He had escaped death in Dahaka. Fought tooth and nail to survive. But now, death had simply taken another form—a name, a face, and a voice that sounded just like his own.
He took a shaky breath. "Then I'll fight him."
Rudeus turned to him, eyes burning.
"I'll fight. I'll survive. I don't care if he's a demon king's most strongest soldier I won't let him decide who I am. I'm Aden Vasco. And I'm going to live. No matter what it takes."
For the first time since their meeting, Rudeus smiled—just slightly.
"Good," he said. "Because in two weeks…"
He turned toward the sealed door at the back of the chamber, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly red.
"…you'll be facing him."
If Aden wished to carve a path through fate, he would have to face the storm that slept within his soul—
a flame that devoured, a shadow that remembered.
For to walk the Vasco path was not to carry Wrath…
but to conquer it—
or be consumed by it.