Chapter 7: 07: Flashback
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The mory did not arrive gently.
It hit Sekht like a sudden shove from behind, dragging him out of the torchlit ruin and throwing him into a different light, a different air, a different version of himself.
Whoosh!
The sll of blood vanished.
The crackle of torches faded.
The cold stone under his boots beca polished floor beneath bare feet.
And the world brightened.
Slik.
The city was called Slik, and even in mory it felt loud.
Slik was the biggest city in the Lower Domain of Null, the beating heart of trade in the power domains. It was not beautiful in the soft way upper world cities pretended to be. It was beautiful like a blade was beautiful. Like a predator’s teeth were beautiful.
A city built on deals.
A city built on blood.
A city built on the fact that everyone wanted sothing and soone was always willing to sell it for the right price.
Tall black towers rose into a sky that never looked fully natural. Streets wound between markets and fortified mansions. Chaos lamps hung from chains, glowing faint green and purple, lighting alleys where monsters bargained with humans and humans bargained with monsters as if it was normal.
And in the center of it all, behind walls carved with protective runes and iron gates thick enough to stop a charging beast, sat a rchant house that everyone in Slik recognized.
Because its owner always delivered.
Sekht stood inside that house.
He was fifteen.
Younger, thinner, faster to smile, faster to argue, and still carrying the fragile confidence of a boy who had not yet learned how hard Null could bite.
His hair was black and neat, combed back with a little stubbornness. His eyes were sharp already, but at fifteen they still carried curiosity rather than exhaustion. He wore clean training clothes, dark and fitted, and his boots were new, not full of holes and tragedy like the ones he wore now.
His father stood across from him.
A human.
Not tall, not muscular, not flashy, not the kind that won respect by crushing soone’s skull in public.
He won respect by surviving.
He was a reputable rchant in Slik, which ant he had learned the most important skill in Null.
He could smile while holding a knife.
His father’s face was calm, lined with quiet patience. His hands were clean. His sleeves were expensive. His eyes were steady the way a man’s eyes beca after making a thousand deals with people who wanted to eat him.
On a table between them sat a box.
It was not the red lacquered box Benimaru had held.
This box was black wood reinforced with tal corners, engraved with protective symbols that shimred faintly when the light hit them.
Sekht’s father placed both hands on it and opened it slowly.
Click!
The lid lifted.
Inside were four rings.
At first glance, they looked normal.
Plain tal bands. No gems. No obvious chaos energy swirling around them. No dramatic glow. Nothing that scread dangerous artifacts.
They looked like the kind of rings a bored noble might wear to pretend he was important.
Sekht leaned forward slightly, squinting.
"That is it," he asked, unimpressed. "Four rings."
His father did not smile.
His father rarely wasted smiles.
"Yes," he said. "Four rings."
Sekht’s eyebrows lifted. "Are they expensive?"
"They are priceless," his father replied, voice flat.
Sekht blinked.
That got his attention.
His father reached in and lifted one ring between two fingers. The ring looked simple, but the mont his father touched it, Sekht felt sothing. A faint pressure in the air, like the room, had gained invisible weight.
Sekht’s posture straightened without him realizing.
His father held the ring out.
"You will wear them," his father said.
Sekht frowned. "All of them."
"Yes."
"For what."
His father placed the ring down again and lifted the second. Then the third. Then the fourth. One by one, he held them up like a teacher showing tools to a student who had not earned them yet.
"You will wear them for five years," his father said. "During your training."
Sekht’s throat tightened slightly.
"Five years," he repeated.
His father nodded once.
"You are going to purgatory," his father continued. "You will survive there. You will train there. You will not return until you are twenty."
The words landed heavy.
Sekht had known this was coming. In Slik, boys grew up hearing stories of purgatory. Of monsters. Of dark gods. Of places where even the air tried to kill you. His father had always spoken of it like a necessary poison.
But hearing it stated so plainly still made Sekht’s stomach twist.
"Why the rings," Sekht demanded, because fear always made him talk faster.
His father’s gaze remained steady.
"They are a weight tool," he said.
Sekht blinked.
"A weight tool," he repeated. "Like training weights."
His father’s expression did not change, but his voice sharpened just a little.
"Not like training weights," he said. "It is worse."
Sekht opened his mouth to protest, but his father continued before he could.
"The rings will beco heavier with ti," his father said. "The more your body adapts, the more they increase."
Sekht stared at the rings again.
They still looked normal.
They looked harmless.
Which in Null usually ant they were either the most dangerous thing in the room or the most expensive.
"You will get comfortable," his father said. "Then they will make it difficult again. You will get stronger. Then they will punish you with more weight."
Sekht’s eyes widened.
"That is not training," he said. "That is cruelty."
His father finally allowed a small, tired exhale that was almost a laugh but not quite.
"Training in Null is cruel," he said. "You survive it, or you beco soone’s entertainnt."
Sekht’s jaw tightened.
Around them, the rchant house moved like a living machine. Servants walked quietly through the halls. Guards stood in corners with polite eyes that missed nothing. The air slled of incense and expensive oils, the sll of wealth and safety.
But Sekht knew safety was temporary in Null.
Then the door to the room opened softly.
A line of young female servants stepped in, carrying trays, fresh water, fruit, and folded cloth. They were all young, all dressed neatly, and all far too excited to be in the sa room as Sekht.
They tried to hide it.
They failed.
One of them glanced at Sekht, then quickly looked away, cheeks coloring. Another stared a mont too long. A third whispered sothing to the fourth, and they both giggled behind a hand as if Sekht’s re existence was a joke they loved.
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