The Forsaken Seal

Layron practically kicked open the door to his home, chest puffed out, eyes gleaming with pride. The setting sun painted the walls with gold, but it was the sense of triumph swelling inside him that made the world feel so much brighter.

"I did it!" he declared to no one in particular.

Gramps sat at the table, arms crossed, a steaming cup of tea resting untouched before him. His brow arched slightly at the sight of Layron returning far earlier than expected.

"Well," Gramps grunted, "you're alive."

Layron grinned wider. "Not just alive. That bear ran away from me! I scared it off—just like you said I could, if I used Foresight Break."

Gramps' fingers tightened around the cup, but his expression didn't shift. Outwardly, he gave a small nod. "Good."

But inside, the unease took root.

Layron was proud, cocky even. That wasn't wrong by itself — but it was too soon. Too smooth. Gramps had expected Layron to crawl home after sunset, bruised, scratched, exhausted from the sheer terror of being hunted. But here he stood, shoulders straight, voice confident.

It didn't sit right.

"Get some rest," Gramps muttered, standing up from the table. "Tomorrow we'll see if that confidence holds."

Layron nodded, too wrapped up in his own pride to notice how stiffly Gramps turned away. Anya's playful complaints about him skipping the academy barely reached his ears.

But Gramps' mind was already elsewhere.

---

That night, the house creaked softly as the wind shifted outside. Anya snored gently in the next room, Layron sprawled across his bed, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

Gramps sat near the door, watching.

The moonlight filtered through the window, casting soft shadows.

Silently, Gramps rose to his feet, leaving the house without a sound.

The path through the woods was familiar — too familiar. Every knot in the trees, every twist of the roots, Gramps had walked this way countless times before. It was where he trained. Where he hid. Where he buried secrets.

But tonight, the forest felt wrong.

Too still.

Even the insects held their breath.

When he stepped into the clearing where Layron's trial had taken place, the first thing he noticed was the air — heavy, charged with some lingering energy that hadn't fully dispersed. It wasn't natural. It wasn't human.

It was old.

Gramps knelt, pressing a hand to the earth, feeling for any trace of the fight. There were Layron's footprints, frantic at first, then steady near the center. The bear's tracks showed the approach — the charge — then the sudden, unnatural retreat.

Too sudden.

Gramps' jaw tightened. His suspicions solidified into certainty. That wasn't Layron's power.

It was something else.

It was him.

The bear's distant growl caught Gramps' ear, and he followed the sound deeper into the woods. Nestled beneath a slanted tree, the beast crouched low, head twitching side to side, teeth gnashing together in frustration and fear. Its powerful paws raked the dirt, tail flicking in agitation.

Gramps approached slowly, hands raised in calm, murmuring softly as he drew closer.

"It's alright, friend," he whispered, voice softer than any Layron had ever heard from him. "It's gone now."

The bear's furious growls softened slightly, though its body still trembled with residual terror. Gramps knelt beside the beast, one weathered hand pressing gently against its forehead.

The bear's breath hitched — but the contact calmed it.

"Let me see," Gramps whispered.

His fingertips glowed faintly as he activated the Soulprint Echo - Mind Transfer, a rare technique even among the Protectors — one that let him pull fragmented memories directly from the beast's mind. It was never perfectly clear, not like watching a human's memory — animals saw the world differently, through scent, pressure, instinct more than sight.

But it was enough.

The images flooded into Gramps' mind — flashes of movement, the smell of human sweat, the weight of fear filling the air.

Layron, trembling, arms raised — but behind him, the shadow twisted.

The bear's sight flickered, its view distorted, but even through the blur, Gramps could see the aura.

Dark, swirling, something unnatural, something that didn't belong to this world. It towered behind Layron, formless, but with hints — fragments of shape.

Clawed fingers.

A crown of jagged horns.

Eyes — like stars dying in the void.

Even through the distortion of the bear's senses, the pressure was undeniable. Pure, absolute dominance. A predator not just in strength, but in presence, as though the forest itself bowed beneath its weight.

Gramps' heart skipped a beat.

He stepped back from the bear, breath coming faster than before. His old hands shook, just slightly. Even after all these years, even after all the wars and battles — Zorthaal's aura still pushed him back.

"Damn you," Gramps whispered under his breath.

The bear whined softly, finally curling back down to rest.

"Thank you," Gramps murmured, brushing a hand over the bear's head once more before turning back toward the village.

---

He returned home before dawn, moving through the house like a ghost. Layron slept soundly, none the wiser. Anya's quiet breathing filled the silence.

Gramps stood beside Layron's bed, looking down at his sleeping grandson — the boy who had no idea what was truly inside him.

"I'm sorry," Gramps whispered, voice trembling just slightly. "I'm so, so sorry."

His knees hit the floor beside the bed, his old hands clasped together, head bowed.

"To your father, to your mother. I know I failed you once — but I swear on my life, I won't fail him."

His fingers clenched so tight they ached.

"Even if it kills me... I'll protect him."

---

The next morning, Layron felt lighter than ever. Confidence still radiated off him, and for the first time in years, he wasn't afraid of training. Gramps stood in the yard, arms crossed, waiting for him.

"Let's see what that Foresight Break can really do," Gramps said, tossing a small wooden blade into Layron's hands.

Without warning, the air whistled as Gramps launched a series of wooden darts at Layron — fast, direct, unforgiving.

Layron's smile didn't fade.

His hand moved before his mind even caught up, body twisting, steps flowing perfectly between strikes. Every projectile missed by inches — not from luck, but from Layron predicting every angle a split second before they landed.

Gramps' heart sank. Layron's progress wasn't just natural talent.

It was unnatural acceleration.

"That's too easy," Layron said, twirling the blade. "Can we move on to the next part? I want to learn how to do that fire punch you showed me."

Gramps forced a smile, the weight on his chest getting heavier.

"Alright," he said softly. "There's something you need to learn before that."

But in the pit of his stomach, Gramps knew the truth.

The training wasn't preparing Layron.

It was preparing Gramps for the day -

He might have to fight him.

---