Chapter 574: Crumbling Family
Magnus sat at the head of the inner hall with his hands folded loosely atop the armrest of his chair as the last of the briefings wrapped up. The crystalline dome above filtered the light into cool, orderly beams that slid across marble and steel alike, reflecting New Dawn’s obsession with control, clarity, and hierarchy.
At his gesture, the hall cleared.
Two figures stepped forward and came to a precise halt several meters before him. These were the pair of S-tier awakened combatants that New Dawn had imported from poor countries, from Colombia and Nigeria, respectively.
Mariana Reyes stood with her chin high, shoulders squared, posture flawless without being stiff. The calm she carried before her awakening had long since been tempered into something sharper. Pride lived in her stance now, unapologetic. She had earned her place here, and she knew it. The braid down her back was immaculate, her armor marked by careful maintenance rather than hard wear. She hadn’t needed to be dragged through hell to prove herself. She had conquered it efficiently.
Chinedu Obasuyi stood beside her, half a step back by instinct rather than rank. His posture was disciplined, his expression composed, the faintest edge of satisfaction tucked behind his eyes. He carried himself like a professional who understood both the value of his opportunity and the cost of squandering it. Prideful, yes, but it was pride that was earned.
Magnus regarded them both for a long moment.
“Begin,” he ordered.
Mariana spoke first. “Our strategy is holding, Guildmaster. We’re maintaining a narrow lead over the other teams, exactly as instructed.”
Chinedu nodded once. “We’ve adjusted pacing across rotations to ensure consistency. No burnout, no overextension. The others are chasing, but not catching.”
“Good,” Magnus said simply. “Anything problematic?”
“No, Sir,” Mariana replied without hesitation. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
Magnus inclined his head. “Then keep it that way.”
A pause followed.
“And now,” he continued, gaze sharpening just slightly, “tell me what your thoughts are about this brat called Kaiden Grey.”
Chinedu hesitated, just for a breath. Then he spoke carefully. “Sir… may I ask why you’re interested in that weirdo? He’s a flashy celebrity, not a fighter worth mentioning.”
“I concur, Sir,” Mariana added. “I believe him to be a man way above his head. He should stay behind the camera and conduct his silly little nonsense there instead of entering the battlefield, because his skills are not good enough to back up the confidence with which he carries himself.”
For the briefest instant, something cold passed behind Magnus’s eyes. They were calling his son a weirdo, after all. But that flame died as soon as it materialized, for Magnus had to agree. His forehead began throbbing with veins of fury when he remembered how his firstborn son tossed the Ashborn name into the mud when he signed up for a porno shoot as if it was nothing.
“All powers are interested in that boy,” Magnus replied to Chinedu’s question after a moment. His voice was even, controlled. “His abilities are eccentric. Poorly categorized. Difficult to model.” He leaned back a fraction. “Anything that resists understanding becomes a curiosity worth observing. That is why I asked for your opinion.”
Understanding dawned on both youths at once.
“I see,” Mariana nodded. “That makes sense.”
“We haven’t encountered him in the field, Sir,” Chinedu added. “From what I can tell, he’s been operating below our engagement tier. Likely farming lower-level zones.”
Mariana tilted her head slightly. “Should we seek him out while we’re deployed, sir? Gauge him directly?”
Magnus did not answer immediately.
Silence stretched.
Then he shook his head once.
“No. If he’s still hunting monsters beneath your notice, then he isn’t worth your time. Focus on your mission.”
Both rookies straightened.
“Understood,” Chinedu said.
“Yes, Sir,” Mariana echoed.
They bowed in unison, crisp and precise, then turned and departed the hall without another word.
Magnus watched them go.
The light from the dome shifted as clouds passed overhead, briefly dimming the chamber.
He did not look pleased.
When the hall finally emptied and the doors sealed themselves shut, the silence pressed in around Magnus like a held breath. No advisors. No reports. No polished rookies standing at attention. Just him, the throne-like chair, and the hum of New Dawn’s inner mechanisms working tirelessly beneath the marble floor.
He leaned back slowly with his fingers loosening from their practiced fold.
After a moment, Magnus reached into his coat and drew out his communication artifact. The rune-lit surface bloomed to life in his palm, projecting a clean, hierarchical list of names. Guildmasters, commanders, financiers, political liaisons. People who mattered. People who answered when he called.
His thumb paused.
Vespera Ashborn.
The artifact helpfully displayed the last recorded interaction beneath her name.
Four years ago.
Back before Kaiden had left for university. Back before everything had fractured irreversibly. Vespera was never a loving wife to him, not at all, but after that happened, the canyon-sized distance between them grew to the endless void that separated two universes.
Magnus’s jaw tightened.
This woman was not his wife but the co-leader of New Dawn. When communication was required, she routed it through the staff. When she needed to issue joint decisions, her name appeared beside his on official decrees, sterile and impersonal. And on the rare occasions he tried to call her directly?
She never answered.
His fingers curled around the artifact until the runes flickered.
With a sharp motion, Magnus dismissed the interface and produced a second item from within his coat: a thin image plate. Vespera stared back at him from another time – composed, elegant, eyes sharp with intelligence and judgment. The woman who had once stood at his side as a trusted ally.
His eyes narrowed.
“Damned icy bitch,” he muttered, voice low and venomous. “Ungrateful, after all I did for you.”
His grip tightened, and the plate creaked.
“How dare you fault me for our failure of a son getting depressed?” he continued, the words spilling out now, controlled fury giving way to something rawer. “As if it were my doing. As if his weakness wasn’t his own inadequacy.”
The image bent slightly under the pressure.
“And our daughter,” Magnus snarled, veins standing out along his temple. “How dare you lay that at my feet, too?! Missing her brother, what reason is there to fall apart?! Depression this, depression that…”
He laughed sharply. The sound was empty.
“Depression!” he spat, as if the word itself offended him. “A convenient lie of the masses. An excuse invented to dress up a lack of dreams to chase and a lack of will to work for anything. Depression doesn’t exist. Just like the notion of boundless love between a man and woman.” His grip tightened further. “They are all just dreams humans cling to so they don’t have to face the harshness of reality.”
His voice rose, echoing against the vast hall.
“We are Ashborn! We do not cope. We overcome. Everything. That was our creed.” His eyes burned as he stared at her frozen likeness. “You would’ve agreed with me once. You did agree with me. You despised weakness as much as I did.”
The plate creaked again.
“So what changed? Now, suddenly we ‘failed to understand our children’s needs’?” He shook his head, incredulous. “What nonsense is that? Make some sense, woman.”
With a final surge of strength, he crushed the image completely.