CHAPTER 44: CHAPTER 44

The world was white.

Not bright. Not blinding. Just... white.

A boundless, silent void—endless and empty. There were no shadows. No echoes. No up or down. Only a cold, polished floor beneath him.

Ezra lay motionless, silver hair fanned out like scattered moonlight. His breathing was shallow. His body heavy, as if gravity here had its own rules.

Then—

"Wake up."

A voice—thin and mechanical—rippled through the void. It came from nowhere. From everywhere. Ezra’s eyelids twitched.

"Wake up."

It spoke again, sharper this time. Each word dug into his ears like metal hooks.

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up—"

The phrase kept looping, faster, shriller, folding in on itself like a collapsing scream. Ezra’s eyes flew open. He flinched, instinctively raising his hands to his head.

"WAKE UP."

It roared.

The sound split the silence like glass under pressure—so loud, so violent, it felt like the air itself was tearing. Ezra clutched his ears as agony bloomed inside his skull. Blood trickled down his wrists. The pain wasn’t just in his head; it was inside him, burrowing into the marrow.

And then—

"No one can change fate."

That last voice was different.

Not angry. Not loud.

Cold. Certain. Final.

Darkness slammed into him.

—

Ezra shot upright in bed, gasping—drenched in sweat, lungs straining like he’d been drowning.

The room was unfamiliar.

Dim moonlight poured through a narrow hospital window, washing over the sterile white sheets. Machines beeped softly beside him, steady and indifferent. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, sharp and chemical.

Ezra blinked. His heart was hammering. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to catch his breath.

Was that a dream?

No.

No, it felt like something else.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. A plastic cup of water sat on the tray nearby. He grabbed it, hand trembling, and drank.

The water was lukewarm. Tasteless. But it grounded him.

He stared into the cup like it held answers.

It didn’t.

"What the hell was that...?"

The door creaked open.

A young nurse entered—and stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes widened. Her clipboard slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a sharp clack.

"Y-You’re awake?! Already?! I—I need to call the doctor immediately!"

She bolted from the room, footsteps vanishing into the hallway like a retreating heartbeat.

Ezra frowned. His voice was dry as dust.

"’Already’? What does that mean?"

No response.

Just the low hum of machines and the soft ticking of the wall clock above.

Each second louder than the last.

Ezra leaned back against the bedframe, eyes distant.

———————-

Some time passed.

The door opened again—this time more calmly. A middle-aged man in a white coat stepped in, a stethoscope around his neck and a clipboard in hand. His presence was steady, his gaze sharp behind a pair of rectangular glasses.

He approached Ezra’s bed and placed two fingers against his wrist.

"Hmm..." the doctor murmured. "Your pulse is stable. Mana flow’s returning to normal. Impressive recovery speed."

Ezra offered a polite smile.

"Well, thank you, sir. I’ve always been a fast healer."

The doctor gave a short nod, lips tugging upward in mild approval.

"Good. I’ll inform your friends—and your master. He’s been waiting outside for quite some time."

Ezra blinked, then nodded.

Master... That’s right. After the fight with Ryun, he had called him. The memory was hazy, but the urgency in his voice still lingered in his chest.

"You still have a few internal injuries," the doctor continued as he scribbled notes on the chart. "Mana overuse. Not uncommon in high-output clashes like yours. I’ll prescribe something mild. The rest will heal with time—assuming you don’t try getting out of bed and sparring by tomorrow."

Ezra gave a wry smile but said nothing.

The doctor looked him over once more, then stepped back.

"Rest, Ezra."

With that, the doctor and the nurse exited the room, the door closing quietly behind them.

The door had barely closed behind the doctor when it opened again.

This time, the presence that entered was heavier. Calm. Dangerous.

Ren Kurogane stepped into the room, black cloak draped over his shoulders, sword at his side, and eyes sharp as ever.

He didn’t waste time.

"Didn’t think you’d go toe-to-toe with someone two major realms above you... and win," he said, voice low. "Good work. Don’t ever do that again."

Ezra looked up, one brow raised.

"Come on, Master. You know me. If it’s necessary... I’ll do it again."

Ren exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and irritation flickering across his face.

"I should assign a permanent protector to you."

"No need." Ezra waved it off. "That’d be annoying. Just get me a high-grade protection artifact instead."

Ren narrowed his eyes.

"You know how expensive those are?"

Ezra gave a tired grin. "Still cheaper than me dying."

Ren didn’t argue.

"Your sword," he said instead. "It broke."

Ezra’s expression dimmed slightly. "It couldn’t handle the Rank 7 techniques you taught me. Is that really Rank 7?"

"Technically? No." Ren folded his arms. "It wasn’t. I modified an incomplete structure so you could channel it. Rank 8 and Rank 9 don’t need techniques—not in the way lower ranks do. But what I gave you... was enough."

Ezra nodded slowly. "Figured."

He let the silence settle for a moment before asking—

"How are the others?"

Ren answered without hesitation.

"Stable. They’re still resting. You can return to the academy tomorrow."

Ezra’s gaze drifted to the moonlight again.

"Can’t. I promised Xavier that I will his Sister."

Ren gave a subtle nod. "Then ask that healer. She’s resting at the district magistrate’s office."

Ezra straightened up. "You protected her?"

"No," Ren said bluntly. "Didn’t need to."

He paused, then added with deliberate weight:

"From what I’ve gathered, that vampire kid—Eitan—and the girl, Elia, are close. Lovers, possibly. They fought Halden, Kairen, and one of Halden’s elites. Got injured. Escaped. They were captured briefly, but when I intervened, Halden’s plan fell apart. He fled. Elia and Eitan reached the magistrate safely."

Ezra’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened slightly around the bedsheet.

"You didn’t expose Eitan?"

Ren shook his head. "No. That’s yours to use. However you want."

Ezra was quiet for a beat.

"Hmm. I don’t have time. If she agrees, fine. If not... we’ll find another way for her to agree."

Ren turned, glancing over his shoulder as if remembering something.

"After the year-end exams," he said, "come with me to the north. We’ll get you a new sword."

Ezra nodded. "Thank you Master."

Then his tone shifted, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Any news from Cassy? I told her to extract Xavier’s sister from the Dark Society."

Ren’s expression darkened just a shade.

"She already started. And finished."

A pause.

"Xavier’s sister is safe."

Ezra exhaled, tension easing—but only for a moment.

"Good. And... yeah, about that—thanks."

Ren gave him a pointed look.

"Next time, don’t assign my subordinates your personal missions without telling me."

Ezra lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I get it."

Then, smirking faintly:

"So... details?"

Ren’s gaze sharpened.

"Did you forget who I am?"

Ezra leaned back against the pillow, lips twitching.

"Okay, old man. I’ll ask Cassy myself."

Ren turned toward the door with a sigh that wasn’t quite annoyed—but not quite amused either.

——————————-

The crystal glass shattered against the marble wall, crimson wine trailing down like blood.

Alaric stood from his throne, eyes blazing with fury.(Author note vampire from Chapter 13)

"How the fuck did Ren Kurogane catch wind of this?!"

His subordinate flinched, head bowed.

"Master... we miscalculated. Ezra Celestian—he’s Kurogane’s disciple."

The room fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" Alaric snarled, pacing restlessly. "Why wasn’t I told this?! That bastard Ren... he’ll ruin everything if we move too soon."

The subordinate stepped forward cautiously.

"I... I may have a potential solution."

Alaric turned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Speak."

"We received a transmission. Someone from the Demon Continent is asking for contact—an exile."

"Exile?" Alaric narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

"He was the strategic leader of the Second Demon Battalion. Dismissed after a failed campaign. He’s offering his service... says he needs only one chance to prove himself. Claims he can cause real damage."

Alaric tilted his head, considering.

Then slowly, he sat back down, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Fine. Bring him in. I’ll listen."

He leaned forward, voice cold again.

"And tell Halden—that fucking idiot—not to engage Ezra Celestrian."

"Yes, master."

"He’s Ren Kurogane’s disciple. We don’t attack him directly. We’ll handle him... carefully."

The subordinate bowed. "As you command, my lord."

He turned and vanished into the shadowed corridor, leaving Alaric alone with the echo of broken glass and bleeding plans.

——————-

Author Note :-

Hey guys, serious question—am I actually writing something you enjoy, or are you just here because you want to escape reality?

Also, random thought—should I start a new novel with a hitman MC? Cold, calculated, zero romance, probably hates people (relatable, right?).

Was lying in bed, thinking about life and murder plots. Figured I’d ask.