The Curse Heir

sin. My arm still bled, sticky and warm beneath torn cloth. And yet... my mind wasn't in the forest. It was with my father. Flashback I was ten years old, standing on the

ight, catching on the edges of their masks. These weren't ordinary raiders. They moved with precision, trained and silent, like wolves closing in on prey. I staggered back, my hand clutching the mark on my palm. The sigil pulsed faintly, as if aware of the danger, as if eager. The voice inside stirred again. "Yes. Let me out. Let me devour them." "No," I hissed under my breath, shaking my head. I couldn't lose myself. Not again. Flashback The image of my father appeared again different this time. I was older, I was fourteen, standing in the barn while he sharpened his machete. "You've grown stronger," he said without looking up. I grinned, flexing my arm. "I can beat anyone my age now." He paused, then turned to me, his eyes sharp. "Strength isn't measured by how many you can beat, Tokyo. It's measured by how much you can endure without breaking." I laughed. "Sounds boring." His hand gripped my shoulder, firm enough to make me wince. "One day, you'll understand." Present I understood now. Enduring wasn't about pain. It was about control. About not letting the fire consume you. But the circle of assassins tightened, and control was slipping away. The leader stepped forward. He was taller than the others, his mask etched with crimson markings that glowed faintly in the dark. His voice was calm but merciless. "Bind him. The clan wants him alive." Two assassins lunged. My body moved before I could think. I swung the rifle, smashing the butt into one man's jaw. He crumpled, teeth shattering. The second came at me with twin blades,fast, fluid. But I wasn't the same as before. The sigil flared, shadows spilling from my palm. My reflexes sharpened, my vision clear as glass. The blades seemed to move in slow motion, their arcs predictable. I ducked, drove my fist into hi