PAH!
The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room like a whip.
"Don’t call mother, you filthy brat!" she hissed, her eyes brimming with venomous disdain. "Who’s your mother?"
Daniel was struck with such force that one of his teeth flew out, a grim testant to the sheer brutality behind the blow.
Shock flooded him—not just from the searing pain, but from the sheer disbelief of what had just happened.
He turned slowly, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend.
He looked at the young woman.
Her face—once warm and gentle—was now contorted into sothing monstrous and malicious.
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Her attitude had shifted faster than the flip of a page.
"Father—" he murmured, still clinging to hope.
PO!
The next mont, Daniel’s small body was sent flying by a savage kick from the adopted father’s right leg.
He crashed to the floor, coughing blood.
His stomach—where the blow had landed—throbbed and twisted in unbearable pain.
"Don’t ever call that," the young man said coldly.
Daniel’s mind reeled.
Was this a nightmare?
No.
This... was reality.
"What happened?" Daniel asked weakly, eyes searching his so-called father and mother, desperate for understanding.
Even the young girl stared back at him with disgust.
"Shut up, you trash!" the woman spat, delivering another vicious slap.
This ti, she didn’t hold back.
Daniel’s body crumpled as unconsciousness consud him.
"Guards!" the man roared.
A second later, armored figures stord in.
"Greetings, Master," they said in unison.
"Throw this trash into the prison," he ordered coldly. "Don’t give him any Body. He must vomit back everything we’ve given him."
Without a word, the guards obeyed.
They seized Daniel’s unconscious form and began dragging him away.
"Hmph! Such filth," the young woman sneered, her lips curling in disgust. "I can’t believe I once called that thing my son. Just thinking of it makes want to vomit."
"Sorry, my daughter," she said gently, pulling the young girl into an embrace. "For making you live with such trash."
The girl said nothing.
But the coldness in her eyes said it all—loathing, pure and bitter.
"Mommy will try to link you up with Caleb," the woman added softly.
"Really?" the girl’s eyes lit up like twin stars. Her cheeks flushed with excitent.
"Yes, your mommy promises."
"Thank you, Mum!" she squealed, kissing her mother’s cheek.
The father smiled at the scene.
He was content.
As for what they’d done just monts ago...
It didn’t matter.
To them, it was rely the disposal of garbage.
Daniel remained unconscious for more than five hours.
But the family didn’t care.
They gave a clear order to the guards: wake him up by any ans necessary.
The guards used fire infused with Originat to jolt him back into the world of the living.
Agonizing flas licked at his skin, wrenching out a scream that tore from his throat—raw, broken, and filled with agony.
It was hell. Pure, searing hell.
Daniel wanted to die.
To escape this nightmare.
To surrender to the darkness.
But the guards wouldn’t let him.
One instruction was absolute:
This child must not die.
The torture dragged on for hours, and finally, it stopped.
Daniel didn’t know how, but despite the unbearable tornt, his body refused to let go.
He lay sprawled on the prison floor.
Paralyzed.
Shaking.
Breathing raggedly.
His body wouldn’t move, yet his mind burned.
He replayed the monts—what went wrong?
And then it struck him.
They had treated him with kindness because they believed he held a Draconic bloodline—even a fraction of it.
To possess such a legacy was to be destined for power. Revered. Feared. Untouchable.
But now, it had been revealed.
His talent... was worthless.
His blood... common.
No dragon. No power.
No worth.
And so, they discarded him.
The masks they once wore—compassion, love, warmth—had been shredded.
Their true faces now stood bare.
Daniel clenched his teeth.
He carved the mory into his soul.
His golden eyes, once innocent, now glowed with burning hatred—flickering with the fla of revenge.
He swore it.
One day...
They would pay.
\\\
GRUUUUUUUU!
The grating sound of a stomach groaning in hunger echoed through the cold prison chamber.
A black-haired young boy sat hunched over, clutching his stomach, which cried out in agony.
It was torture on its own.
His golden eyes, once radiant like the sun, had dulled—fading into a shadow of their forr brilliance.
But behind those dimd eyes lurked sothing darker.
Hatred. A deep, venomous pool of it.
This young boy—only four years old—carried within him a seething ocean of rage.
CLICK! CLICK!
Footsteps rang out sharply, snapping him from his thoughts.
Daniel looked up, heart pounding, dreading what—or who—was coming.
He thought it was the guards again, returning to continue the tornt.
It had been two days since his world was torn apart.
Since they had last co.
Since the last round of pain.
Strangely, after that vicious torture, no one had co. No food. No voices. Nothing.
Only silence... and his own starving body.
To survive, Daniel had forced himself to sleep as much as possible—trying to forget the gnawing emptiness within.
But now... footsteps.
They were getting closer.
Closer.
Until—
"Trash, how are you doing?"
The voice struck him like a whip.
Familiar. Mocking.
He looked up and saw her.
The young woman.
The one who had once smiled at him with feigned warmth.
Now she stood above him, gazing down with that sa condescending smirk.
When Daniel t her eyes, his own burned—not with fear, but with hatred.
The young woman chuckled.
They weren’t afraid of Daniel revenge.
He was talentless now.
Harmless.
Powerless.
"Why are you hating ?" she asked, voice dripping with arrogant amusent. "We were the ones who saved you from the tiger. If not for us, you’d be dead. You should be grateful that we didn’t kill you ourselves."
She laughed as if her words were a gift.
But Daniel’s lips curled with silent loathing.
He wanted to puke.
He wanted to scream.
His entire being seethed with hatred.
The young woman noticed his reaction. Her smile faltered. Anger rose in her eyes.
How dare he look at her like that?
"Guards!" she barked.
Monts later, heavy steps returned. The door opened, and without delay, she demanded:
"Bring a whip."
CRACK!
CRACK!
Daniel’s small fra jerked with each lash.
Wounds blossod across his back like blooming roses of blood.
But he didn’t scream.
He didn’t beg.
He bit down, eyes glowing faintly once again—like embers refusing to die out.
Because he was waiting.
Waiting for that mont.
The mont his cheat would awaken.
Because only in tis like this—tis of despair, of pain, of broken flesh and spirit—did it respond.
And when it did...
everything would change.
A/N: Let’s not forget the events currently unfolding—
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