The Forsaken Seal

"Who the Hell Are You?"

Layron's breath came in sharp gasps, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what had just happened.

A tree—gone in an instant.

Flames that didn't move like normal fire.

And the old man standing before him, completely unfazed.

This wasn't just strength.

This wasn't just skill.

This was something beyond human.

Layron swallowed hard, his throat dry. His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

His voice was unsteady.

"Who the hell are you?"

Gramps simply chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess you finally understand."

Layron took a small step backward. His body screamed at him to run. Not out of fear, but because his instincts told him—he wasn't ready to face whatever this was.

Gramps took a slow step forward.

Then—blink.

Layron's vision blurred for a fraction of a second.

And when he refocused—

Gramps was gone.

Layron's heart slammed against his ribs.

No sound. No movement.

Just—vanished.

Then—

A hand gently patted the back of his head. Another gripped his shoulder.

Layron's body tensed.

Gramps was behind him.

The old man's voice was quieter now, softer.

"Relax, kid. You're alright."

Layron froze. He hadn't even felt the movement.

It was as if Gramps had teleported.

His heart pounded, but strangely—he felt calm.

The warmth of Gramps' hand on his head and shoulder grounded him, keeping him from spiraling into confusion.

Layron let out a slow, shaky breath.

Then, he made a decision.

He didn't push for more answers.

For the first time, he realized there was a reason Gramps had hidden this from him.

And for the first time—he was ready to learn.

Layron locked in.

He looked up, his expression firm.

"...Train me."

Gramps smirked.

---

The First Test

Gramps pushed Layron aside.

Layron barely caught himself, stumbling before regaining his balance. His confusion deepened—until something was thrown at him.

A wooden sword.

Layron caught it, his grip tightening around the handle. It felt… strange. Not foreign, but not natural either.

Gramps crossed his arms. "Come at me with everything you've got."

Layron hesitated for a second, then scoffed. "You serious?"

Gramps simply tilted his head.

"I heard you fought someone. I heard you won." His gaze sharpened.

"That means you are able to hold on."

Layron's fingers twitched at the words.

"I can see it in your eyes—the instincts. But something is stopping you."

Layron clenched his jaw. Something was stopping him?

No—Gramps knew.

He knew about Zorthaal. But acted like he didn't know who he is.

Layron tightened his grip on the sword.

He had so many questions. He wanted to demand answers.

But instead—he rushed forward.

---

A Fight He Couldn't Win

Layron swung the sword.

Fast. Determined.

Gramps didn't move.

Layron's swing missed.

Not just missed—it was as if Gramps wasn't even there.

Layron narrowed his eyes, gripping the sword tighter. He swung again—faster.

Nothing.

Again. Nothing.

Again. Not even close.

The worst part?

Gramps wasn't even dodging.

He was just… standing there.

Layron's attacks were sharp, powerful—but the air itself didn't even touch Gramps.

It was like his very presence rejected Layron's movements.

Layron's frustration boiled.

He swung harder. Still nothing.

Minutes passed.

His arms burned.

His legs ached.

Sweat dripped from his chin. His breathing became ragged. His vision blurred.

And finally—he collapsed.

---

The Truth About His Strength

Layron lay on his back, gasping for breath.

Gramps crouched beside him, arms resting on his knees.

"You know what happened back then?" he asked casually.

Layron barely had the strength to answer. "...What?"

Gramps exhaled, shaking his head. "That time when Victor tried to hit you. Do you understand it now?"

Layron furrowed his brow, trying to piece together what he meant.

"You think you dodged because you were fast? Because of instinct?"

Layron remained silent.

Gramps leaned in slightly.

"No one can hurt you… as long as he's inside of you."

Layron's heart stopped.

His breath hitched.

"...What?"

Gramps exhaled. "That's the best advantage you have. And the reason you can learn faster than anyone else."

Layron froze.

He didn't fully understand.

But his instincts did.

Gramps' voice lowered.

"The thing inside you is feared by many."

"But only you… can handle him."

Layron's hand instinctively clutched his chest.

His breathing was uneven.

His pulse was erratic.

For the first time, he felt it.

Something stirring inside of him.

Something watching.

And deep down—he knew Gramps was right.

---

The Promise

Gramps suddenly stood up.

Layron, still gasping for breath, barely looked up as the old man stared down at him.

"Layron."

His voice was different.

There was weight in it.

Layron's fingers curled into the dirt beneath him. "Yeah?"

Gramps' face was unreadable.

"I need you to promise me something."

Layron frowned.

"...Promise?"

His breath slowed. Something about the way Gramps said it felt… off.

There was something behind those words—something heavy.

For the first time, Gramps looked troubled.

Layron sat up slowly. "What is it?"

Gramps didn't answer right away.

Instead, he looked at the sky for a long moment before turning back to him.

Layron's pulse quickened.

"Promise what?"

For some reason—he felt like something had just been set in motion.

Something he couldn't stop.

Something he wasn't ready for.

---