The journey back to Mary Geoise passed in a blur. Zane, quiet yet watchful, guided Ronan's unconscious form through the hallways of his family estate, ensuring no one saw his friend's broken state. When they reached Ronan's room, Zane placed him gently on the bed, lingering for a moment, uncertain if he should stay. With a soft sigh, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Ronan's face, his expression somber. "Rest easy, my friend... I only hope that, in time, this burden fades." and sat down on a chair near his bed waiting for him to awaken.
Hours later; Ronan's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked against the dim light filtering through his room in Mary Geoise. He could feel someone sitting on his side, with a small glance he saw his only true friend in all Mary Geoise was sitting across him while reading a book. Then he turned back and started to stare at the grand chandelier above his bed. The familiar, grandiose decor felt oppressive, every detail a harsh reminder of where he was—and where she was not. He felt a hollow ache, not just in his body but in the very center of his being, an emptiness that seemed to drain him from within.
As he sat up slowly, Zane, noticing his movements, stood up to help him but Ronan stopped him. Flashes of recent memories began to piece together like jagged shards of glass in his mind, cutting through him with each recollection. Lila. Her face came to him, vivid yet distant—a small, bright, innocent figure swallowed by the cruelty of the world. Her smile lingered, ghost-like, in his mind, each image stirring up a whirlpool of guilt and pain. He clenched his jaw, trying to block it out, but her final moments bore down on him, relentless and unyielding.
"I promised her," he murmured to Zane, barely hearing his own voice. I told her she would be safe, that I would protect her. The weight of those words settled heavily upon him, each one a bitter reminder of a promise broken. "I couldn't keep her safe. I... failed."
He sat up slowly, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in shallow, broken breaths. "No… this isn't real… this can't be real." But even as he tried to deny it, the cruel truth settled in. Her absence was a cold, piercing reality.
The silence in his room felt oppressive, like it was swallowing him whole. Zane, not knowing what to do with the feeling of helplessness, sat there staring at his best friend. Meanwhile Ronan's mind played the scene over and over, each time with sharper clarity, each time with more pain. He could see her, standing there, innocent and unaware, caught in the crosshairs of a world she hadn't understood. And him, watching helplessly as life drained from her small, trembling body.
Why couldn't I…why couldn't I save her? The question burned in his mind, a festering wound that refused to heal. He pressed his hands to his temples, desperately trying to push the images away, but they clung to him, suffocating him.
"I promised her," he whispered, his voice barely audible, choked by grief. "I promised to keep her safe, Lila. I swore I'd protect you… And yet…"
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms until they threatened to break the skin. A deep, aching anger began to bubble within him, mingling with the despair that weighed down his heart. It was a fire, wild and consuming, yet powerless to change the past.
"What is the use off all this power? All this bloodline, this influence…hold" His voice cracked, anger and frustration spilling over as he choked on the words. "If I can't save her, then what does any of it matter?"
At that moment Zane's voice came over; Calm down! do you even have any idea what you're talking about, have you forgotten about your resolve you made, all the harsh training you went through to achieve that, you are this close to achieving that; don't forget what you are Ronan. Are you even aware of the consequences if other families learn about it, or worse are you even aware what would happen if your father learned about it.
Hearing Zane; his mind drifted back to the life he had known—a life defined by lineage, by rules, by the chains of a system that valued status over humanity. The ideals drilled into him clashed with the rage and grief that consumed him. The twisted nature of his world was laid bare before him now, sharper than ever, the very structure of Mary Geoise built on the suffering of others.
He clenched his fists, the knuckles white as if somehow he could grasp the memory and hold it still, make sense of it. But it was slipping, breaking apart, scattering into a tormenting blend of guilt and despair.
Ronan muttered; "What good is all of this?" he spoke bitterly, his eyes tracing the cold, impersonal walls of his room. "What is the point of power, of privilege, if it only serves to oppress others?" His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, but he barely felt the pain. The anger simmered, bubbling beneath the surface, but it was empty—a hollow rage directed as much at himself as at the world.
In that moment, Ronan felt a surge of self-loathing. He was a Celestial Dragon, born into a family of power and privilege, given every resource and skill to command others, to stand above them. Yet in the one moment he truly needed strength, the strength to protect what he cared about, it had failed him. What use was all that power, that heritage, if it couldn't save her? His chest tightened, a bitterness rising from deep within him. The very authority he held, the system that protected him, had been the same that took her life.
His head sank into his hands, and his breathing grew heavy, strained, as he confronted the depth of his anguish. This world... it's not meant for people like her. People like her get trampled, used, thrown away... The thought twisted within him, and for the first time, the ideals he had always accepted without question seemed small, brittle, a web of lies that protected only those at the top while crushing everyone else beneath.
He could see her now as she had been that day, laughing brightly as they strolled together, her small hand clutching his without fear, without hesitation. Her trust in him, her complete belief that he could keep her safe, was a memory that turned now like a knife within him. I was her world, he thought, and I let her down. She had believed in him even as the world bore down upon her, and he had stood there, helpless as she was ripped away from him. The image burned into his mind, relentless, refusing to fade, a cruel reminder of a promise he could never fulfill.
Zane broke the silence and spoke; "Ronan!! For god sake put yourself together. Don't lose yourself, she and you both belong from a different world, you can't lose yourself for someone like her. You are far superior then the likes of those people down there"
But Ronan's body trembled as he felt the anger welling up again, raw and unbridled, coursing through his veins like fire. But even the anger felt empty, hollow, as if it too was powerless against the weight of what he felt. For all his power, his lineage, he was nothing more than a pawn in a world that took what it wanted and discarded the rest.
"What am I, then?" he whispered, his voice hollow, brittle, as he stared into the dim light. A Celestial Dragon? A protector? Or just another part of a broken system that destroys what is good and pure? He felt the sharp sting of tears he refused to shed, the heaviness of emotions he had never allowed himself to fully feel until now.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Garling Figarland entered, his presence cold, almost indifferent. He surveyed Ronan with a critical eye, as if assessing a wayward soldier who had strayed from his path, his expression unreadable. Ronan looked up, his eyes hollow, yet simmering with a lingering resentment.
Zane's pov: "Oh Fuck! I know that look, he found out, didn't he. Damn it! But how; I made sure words don't get out. Aagh!! Did that C.P agent tell him; no he won't. Aagh; who am I kidding, this man is the supreme commander of the God Knights itself, it was foolish of me to think I could hide anything from him..sigh!! Well I should probably get out of here; before I get involved too. Good luck my friend, may we meet again… if you are left to see the next sunrise" Zane thought with comical tears. "Uhmm!! Uncle Garling; when did you arrive Marry Geiose, I hope you had a great trip. Anyways I should be going back to my place, it's pretty late …Good Night. " and ran away from the room.
Garling looked at Zane's antics then brought his sight back to Ronan.
Garling's voice broke the silence, cold and unyielding. "I heard about the incident." There was a pause, a slight narrowing of his gaze as he assessed Ronan. "Your lack of control. The outburst." He spoke each word like an accusation, disappointment etched into every syllable. The spectacle you created over the death of a child—a child who, frankly, holds no consequence. It was a display unbecoming of our family."
Ronan's fists clenched tighter as his father continued. "To lose control over something as inconsequential as this—over someone insignificant." His tone was indifferent, dismissing Lila as though she had been nothing more than a momentary distraction. "You allowed your emotions to cloud your judgment. She was beneath you, Ronan. You cannot afford to be so affected by the lives of those who do not matter."
Ronan looked up, feeling the sting of his father's words. "Father," he murmured, barely above a whisper, "she was important to me. Lila was more than just some… outsider."
Garling's expression barely shifted. His eyes narrowed, holding a glacial aloofness that felt as unreachable as the heavens. "Important to you? She was beneath you, Ronan. A momentary attachment, nothing more. People like her," he continued, his voice laced with contempt, "exist to serve and to perish. To be so affected by her loss is nothing but a weakness, a failure to understand your role in this world."
Ronan's heart tightened. The promises he'd made, the memories he held—they all felt sacred. But in his father's eyes, they seemed nothing more than foolish indulgences.
"But why?" Ronan's voice trembled, a spark of defiance flickering within him. "Why can't we care for people like her? She wasn't just a… distraction. She was my friend."
Garling's smile was cold, a hint of arrogance gleaming in his eyes. "Care? For a commoner?" he scoffed, each word sharper than the last. "You speak as if her life had meaning, Ronan. She was inconsequential, a fleeting existence compared to the legacy you are meant to uphold. We do not lower ourselves by entangling our hearts with those beneath us." He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Never forget your origin son. Remember, we are above them."
Ronan swallowed hard, caught between the grief he couldn't shake and his father's cold, absolute conviction. Despite the pain in his heart, he felt something stir within—a rebellion, a resistance to his father's world.
"I just… I wanted to protect her," Ronan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I made a promise, and I… I failed her."
Garling's gaze hardened, though a flicker of something softened in his eyes, if only for a moment. "Promises?" he replied, his tone faintly mocking. "Ronan, there are promises worth keeping, and others that mean nothing. You are my son. You are destined for greatness. Don't let yourself be shackled by the illusions of those who are not worthy of your attention; they can never reach the heights we are born at"
At that moment, Marguerite stepped forward, sensing the tension. Her gaze softened as she looked at Ronan, seeing the sorrow etched deeply into his face. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression kind yet firm. She smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair from Ronan's forehead. "He will learn, Garling. Let him find his own way. He's strong, yes—but he's still a child and our son. But for now, let him be alone.
Garling held her gaze, a shadow of reluctance lingering. For all his arrogance, he was not untouched. He wanted his son to be unbreakable, yet seeing Ronan's grief stirred something deep within him.
"Very well," he conceded, voice softer, though his pride remained unyielding. "Take the time you need, Ronan. But remember—strength is found in knowing our worth." He narrowed his gaze. "Don't waste it on those who were never meant to stand beside us."
With a final, almost reluctant look, Garling turned and left the room, leaving Marguerite with her son. As the door closed, she squeezed Ronan's hand, her warmth a quiet comfort.
"Your father cares in his own way, Ronan," she whispered. "But remember, this is your journey. Decide who you are, and who you wish to become."
As the door clicked shut behind his parents, Ronan sank into the stillness of his room, engulfed by an emptiness that felt heavier than any physical weight. The aftermath of Lila's loss hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding his thoughts and suffocating his spirit. The flickering candle on his desk cast trembling shadows across the walls, each flicker mirroring the turmoil within him.
Ronan had awakened in the aftermath of chaos, brought back to Mary Geoise by his friend Zane after the confrontation with Rob Lucci. His body was bruised and battered, but it was the wounds of his heart that throbbed most painfully. Images of Lila danced hauntingly in his mind, her laughter a ghost that echoed in the hollows of his despair. No matter how hard he tried to banish them, the memories surged forth—her smile, her dreams, the light in her eyes that had dimmed far too soon.
He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, grappling with the haunting realization of his impotence. How could he, a Figarland—a Celestial Dragon, born to one of the most powerful families—have failed to protect her? In a world structured on hierarchies and power, he had stood helpless as an innocent life was extinguished. The irony was not lost on him; the very privilege that defined his existence had become a shackle, binding him to a reality he found increasingly suffocating.
"Why?" he whispered into the stillness, his voice trembling. "Why couldn't I save you?" The words hung in the air, a quiet accusation that pierced through his soul. He had always believed that strength came from his lineage, but now, faced with the stark reality of his failure, he began to question everything he had known.
The night dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. A storm brewed inside him, a tempest of emotions that refused to be tamed. Doubt gnawed at his insides, twisting his thoughts. His father's lessons on superiority, on the nature of the world they inhabited, felt increasingly distant from the man he wanted to become. Ronan turned to the memory of his mother's words from a year ago—an echo that danced through his mind like a flickering flame amidst the darkness.
"Remember, Ronan; there are sacrifices we all must make for the greater good," Marguerite had said, her voice calm yet firm. "True freedom comes not from running away but from shaping the world into a place where you can be both free and responsible. You must be strong enough to stand on your own."
Her voice was a lifeline in his chaotic thoughts, yet it left him more conflicted than ever. Sacrifices? Was this what it meant to belong to his family? To watch the innocent suffer while he clung to his privilege? The burden of his heritage felt heavier than the responsibility of being a Celestial Dragon. It was a weight that threatened to crush him beneath its expectations.
He could almost feel Lila's presence, urging him to remember the dreams they had shared—dreams of a better world, free from the chains of injustice and inequality. "I swore I would protect you," he murmured into the darkness, tears slipping down his cheeks. "How can I face the world now, knowing that I failed?"
Two Days Later
Ronan stood before Lila's grave, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch towards him, as if inviting him to step closer. The flowers placed there were fresh, a vibrant reminder of life that now felt so distant from his own reality. He knelt, fingers brushing over the earth, the coolness grounding him yet amplifying the ache in his chest.
"I'm so sorry, Lila," he choked out, his voice cracking. "You didn't deserve this. You should be here, laughing and dreaming." Each word was a small prayer, an acknowledgment of his sorrow. "I promised you I would keep you safe. I was supposed to be strong enough to face anything for you."
He closed his eyes, drawing in the crisp air tinged with the scent of the blossoms. Memories surged—the way Lila would tilt her head back, laughter spilling from her lips, the lightness she brought into his life. She was the embodiment of hope, a stark contrast to the darkness he felt closing in around him now. "How can I bear this weight? How can I move forward knowing I failed you?"
Time seemed to stand still as he sat there, wrestling with the gravity of his emotions. The sun's warmth faded, leaving a chill in the air that mirrored the coldness settling in his heart. But amidst the despair, a flicker of something stronger ignited within him—a determination to ensure that her death would not be in vain.
"But today I'm not here to ask for forgiveness, neither will I let your death go down in vain," he vowed, clenching his fists. "I'm here to make a last promise to you. An oath to make sure that others do not suffer as you did. I'll bring this accursed system to an end, make a world where people who do not have to suffer under a biased system " The words were a promise, a pledge to himself and to her memory. "I will become strong—not for myself, but for those who cannot protect themselves."
The resolve solidified, morphing into a fierce determination. He envisioned a future where no one would have to face the cruelty of the world alone, where power was not wielded as a weapon but as a shield to protect the vulnerable. "I'll change Mary Geoise from within," he declared softly. "I will make those in power understand that every life has value, no matter their status."
As he stood there, the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of stars twinkling in the twilight. He felt an overwhelming sense of purpose coursing through him. He would not hide behind his lineage or cower under the weight of expectations. Instead, he would forge his own path—a path that would lead him to the strength he needed to become a force for change.
"I swear, Lila," he whispered, the stars bearing witness to his oath. "I will carry your memory with me. I will not falter. I will rise, and I will fight for a world where justice prevails."
With renewed determination, he turned away from the grave, ready to embrace the challenges ahead and the first thing he had to do to achieve this goal was to get stronger, so that he can one day stand beside his father as one of the Division commanders of the God's Knight.
Later in the evening , we could see light from the setting sun seeping through the heavy drapes of Garling Figarland's office, casting elongated shadows that danced across the polished wooden floor. Ronan stood before his father's imposing desk, his heart pounding like a war drum. This was the moment he had been building towards, a pivotal point that would define his path forward. The air was thick with unspoken words and palpable tension, but Ronan stood firm, drawing on the resolve he had forged during the darkest hours of the night.
"Father," he began, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within him. "I know I have much to learn, but I refuse to stay stagnant. I need to become stronger, to truly understand what it means to wield power. I can't afford to falter again."
Garling's piercing gaze studied him, and for a fleeting moment, Ronan felt exposed. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, before his father finally spoke. "You seek strength, then? There was a sharpness to his tone, but behind it lay an undertone of something softer—concern, perhaps, or the faintest hint of pride.
"I… I lost sight of my purpose," Ronan admitted, his voice faltering slightly. "But I understand now. I can't let my emotions dictate my actions. I need to harness my strength and learn how to control it."
Garling leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You showed remarkable potential during that hunt. It was your will and determination that fueled strength that day, and the force that awakened is the proof in itself, yet you must understand—raw strength alone is meaningless. You are a Figarland, born into a legacy that demands discipline and strategy. Your emotions are not a weakness; as a swordsman they are a tool, to be wielded with precision."
Ronan nodded, absorbing his father's words. There was a sense of relief washing over him; perhaps Garling did see the potential within him. But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, doubt began to creep in. Would he ever truly earn his father's respect? Would he ever be more than just the son of a Celestial Dragon, shackled by the expectations of his lineage?
Garling stood and walked to a nearby cabinet, retrieving something wrapped in rich, dark cloth. He returned to his desk and placed it before Ronan, the weight of the moment sinking in. "As a token of your determination and my acknowledgment of your potential, I present you with your very own sword, if you're able to make it submit to yourself, it would become your greatest ally."
With firm hands, Garling unwrapped the cloth to reveal a magnificent black-bladed katana, its sleek form glistening ominously in the soft light. The blade radiated a raw, untamed energy, and he could feel an ancient power resonating with his very soul. "This blade is called Shinryoku Arashi," Garling declared, his voice laced with reverence. "One of the twenty-one supreme blades to ever exist. The Storm of Divine Power."
Ronan's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sword's beauty, the intricate designs etched into the hilt, the way the light danced upon its edge. But beneath its beauty lay an unsettling truth: this sword bore a will of its own, fierce and unyielding, much like a fiery beast.
Garling continued "Its name signifies the storm born from the heaven' wraith and the might of gods themselves," Garling continued, his voice a blend of authority and pride. "Within its sharp edge lies the fury of tempest, wielded not to conquer, but to shatter the order of the heavens and forge a path anew.
While Ronan was going to touch the black, Garling's voice echoed. Heed my warning, Ronan: this blade will not yield easily. It tests the resolve of its wielder, and many have lost their lives in pursuit of its acknowledgment."
As Ronan grasped the hilt of Shinryoku Arashi, a rush of emotions surged through him. The sword felt alive in his hands, pulsating with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat. It was not merely a weapon; it was a symbol of his resolve, a manifestation of his promise to protect those who could not protect themselves. He could almost hear Lila's laughter echoing in his mind, feeling its warmth enveloping him like a protective cocoon. He would carry its spirit with him, ensuring that its memory ignited the fire of justice within him.
"This sword," he thought, "will not just be a means of strength; it will be a beacon of hope. A reminder of the promises I have made to myself and to the world."
But the realization of its true nature sent a shiver down his spine. He would have to prove himself worthy to Shinryoku Arashi, to tame its ferocity and align its will with his own. "I must become strong enough to face the trials it presents," Ronan mused, determination igniting within him. "I will conquer its will or die trying."
With newfound determination surging through him, Ronan looked up at his father, his heart aflame with purpose. "I will not disappoint you, Father. I will forge my own path."
Garling's gaze softened just slightly, a flicker of approval crossing his features. "Then let us begin your training, Ronan. The path ahead will not be easy, but I will guide you as you learn to wield your legacy."
As Ronan gripped the sword tightly, a smile crept onto his face. He had taken his first step toward transformation, ready to embrace the storm within him and the challenges that lay ahead.
____________
End Of The Chapter
Next Chapter:- Mastering The Will Part I