Chapter 53: Replacements and Regrets
Two days had passed since the Shrouded One dragged his wounded body back through the dark corridors of the stronghold. The flames that had devoured Little 5 haunted him, flickering behind his eyes every time he closed them. The silence left in his brother's absence was deafening.
He hadn't told the Master yet. Not out of defiance, but because he didn't know how to face the fury that would follow. Still, something told him the Master already knew. Just like before—when he lost his powers after the first failed mission—the Master had sensed it without needing a word. But this was different. This was death. And even if the Master already suspected, the Shrouded One knew he couldn't delay the truth forever.
By the third morning, the decision was made. He stood before the grand doors to the Master's chamber, bracing himself, then stepped inside.
The Master stood at the far end of the room, his back to the door. His voice sliced through the air like a knife.
"I assume you've come to tell me something I already know."
The Shrouded One bowed his head. "Yes, Master. Little 5… he's dead."
Silence.
The Master turned slowly, his face unreadable. "How?"
"We reached the village square. He challenged the girls… alone," the Shrouded One said, voice heavy. "He was overpowered. I joined the fight when it was nearly too late. He… burned. I couldn't save him."
The Master's expression darkened. "You were meant to complete a task, not return with ashes."
The Shrouded One lowered his gaze. "I tried."
"Trying," the Master snapped, "is for the weak. Results are what matter."
He waved his hand, abruptly dismissing the Shrouded One. "Leave. Now."
The Shrouded One didn't argue. He bowed once more and stepped out. But he didn't go far. Curiosity rooted him in the hallway just out of view. A minute passed before the chamber doors shut behind him, and the Master disappeared into the hidden room beyond — the one only he ever entered.
Inside, the Master approached the tall mirror with practiced steps. The glass shimmered, sensing his presence, until a cold mist began to swirl within. Slowly, a dark figure emerged — featureless but for its burning, hollow eyes.
"You've come," the voice said.
"I've lost one of my sons," the Master replied. "Little 5."
There was no reaction. No empathy.
"And?"
"I sent them to finish the girls. Their powers have returned — stronger than before. Little 5 was destroyed. Little 9 barely survived."
The shadow's tone remained unchanged. "Then you must send another. The task matters more than the tools. If Little 9 cannot succeed, replace him."
The Master's lips twitched with restrained anger. "I will send Little 7 with him. He's capable."
"Then do so," the figure hissed. "Failure again will cost more than lives."
The mirror dulled once more, leaving the Master alone in silence. Only now did he let his expression break. His hand clenched at his side, fury boiling beneath his skin.
So be it, he thought.
He turned back toward the hall.
---
The Shrouded One sat in the room, where Percy tended to his wounds. The usual brightness in Percy's demeanor was gone. No jokes, no humming — just silence. He wrapped the bandages tighter than necessary, and when their eyes met, Percy looked away.
"You heard?" the Shrouded One asked softly.
Percy gave a small nod. "About Little 5. Yeah."
He didn't say more, and that alone said everything.
"Master wants me to go back," the Shrouded One said. "With Little 7 this time."
Percy paused, then resumed his wrapping. "So he's replacing him."
The Shrouded One didn't respond. There was nothing to say.
Percy tied off the final bandage, brushing away stray strands of gauze. "He was annoying," he muttered. "Always loud. Always getting in the way." He gave a dry laugh, barely more than a breath. "Place feels too quiet without him."
The Shrouded One glanced at him, he knew Percy was hurt despite putting on a strong face and acting like everything was okay. Percy was staring at the floor now, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.
"I'm sorry," the Shrouded One said.
Percy shook his head. "Just don't get yourself killed too."
He left the room without another word.
---
In the village, life had begun to mend itself. The battle had shaken everyone, but it had also awakened something fierce — hope. Word had spread that the shrouded one had retreated, wounded and defeated. The girls, Elara and Ariella, had defended the village with strength no one expected.
The square, once a place of dread, now pulsed with quiet reverence. Children no longer whispered in fear, and for the first time in weeks, laughter returned to the air.
"They drove them back," one elder said proudly to another. "Even without the stones."
"Maybe the prophecy favors them after all," another replied.
And still, the girls trained.
Elara's mark glowed with defiant blue, and Ariella's shimmered pure white. They didn't smile at the victory — they knew better than to believe it was over. But they felt something different now. A connection that had deepened through battle, a fire that refused to be snuffed out.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, two new threats prepared to rise again.