The ceremonial grounds of the Breaker Clan weren't built for comfort—they were built for power. Polished stone floors stretched out beneath the open sky, bordered by towering monoliths etched with names of past champions. In the center sat the arena—a battlefield that had seen more blood, sweat, and legacy than most entire wars.
Today, though, it was dressed in formality. A ceremonial ring framed the space. Representatives from clans across the globe filled the high-rise seats surrounding the stage. Some wore suits, others traditional garb, and the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood wore whatever they damn well pleased.
I scanned the crowd from the top steps of the guest viewing deck, hands in my pockets, posture relaxed. But my eyes were working overtime.
The Lotus Vein Collective was here. Shattered Fang Clan. The Glasswind Pact. Even the Umber Shield Union. And sitting beneath a crimson banner with their thorned crest stitched across casual robes and sleeveless hoodies—members of the Smoke Brotherhood, led by Muhammad.
He stood tall near the front, radiating a carefree, beach-bum vibe like he was seconds from offering herbal tea to the entire assembly. Loose, untied sandals. Sleeveless tunic. Beads in his hair. And yet…
I could feel him from here. That pressure underneath the peace. I couldn't help but compare it to my mom. Calm. Casual. Catastrophic.
Two of his Zodiacs flanked him—Taurus and Cancer, based on their placements. Taurus was ridiculously tall and painfully thin, arms crossed over a sleeveless duster that hung almost to his ankles. Cancer, by contrast, was compact—a cheery-looking swordswoman with a bouncing ponytail and a relaxed grin that screamed "I dare you."
And across from them stood the Fortune Keeper—my mom, Zena. Today she wore a sleek black suit, heels tapping softly with every step. Her presence needed no announcement. Eyes moved when she did.
At her side, the leader of the Breaker Clan, Ronan Break, adjusted the cuffs of his crimson gi. His aura, quiet and monstrous, sat heavy over the arena. Not just a top 7-ranked essence user—the head of the Breakers. Straight posture. Hair graying at the temples. Voice like a war drum wrapped in silk.
The three stood in silence.
And somehow, that was louder than any speech.
Even the air seemed afraid to move.
The other guests noticed. You could tell from the way conversation died row by row. Everyone knew what this moment meant.
Three top-tier powers. All gathered. All watching.
And just like that, Ronan broke the silence.
"Old friend," he said with a nod to Muhammad.
Muhammad smiled, eyes half-lidded. "Still breathing, I see."
Zena gave a soft chuckle. "For now."
The tension didn't break—it just… settled. Like it agreed to wait.
Then Ronan stepped forward, hands behind his back.
"Welcome," he said, voice carrying across the grounds without aid. "To the first day of our succession ceremony. I am Ronan Break, clan leader of the Breaker Clan. I thank all present clans and organizations for honoring us with your presence."
A pause.
"Today, we pay respect. To you, our allies. To the world, for its trials. And to the past."
He turned toward a pillar near the edge of the platform.
"Twenty-five years ago, during the last succession, our seventh elder fell in battle. We honor their name with a moment of silence."
Heads bowed. I followed suit.
After the silence passed, Ronan continued.
"Tomorrow, we will formally recognize our successor—and hold the first wave of inter-clan sparring. Any allied clans, including our supporters from the reformed Floren line and others, are welcome to test their might."
I glanced toward Zach, standing in his Breaker robes. He didn't look back, but there was a subtle nod.
He was ready.
Our team sat together—Team One. Clad in black, formal, quiet.
The clans were watching.
And the future?
It was already being shaped.