Time moved on, and with it, the world changed.

  Seven years had passed since the night Kevlar vanished — a name long erased from the halls of the Callus mansion, as if he had never existed. In his place, glory and ambition took root once more. The Callus name soared again under the banner of their remaining son.

  The city of Callum buzzed with life that morning. Flags bearing the Callus sigil fluttered proudly along the main avenues. Hunters, nobles, merchants, and commoners alike crowded the streets, their voices rising in anticipation for the grand ceremony that would crown the next generation’s symbol of strength — Lucien Callus, heir to the Callus family.

  Among the crowd, a figure draped in a black cloak moved silently, each step measured, unhurried. The sunlight caught on the faint silver edge of his boots, but his face remained hidden beneath the hood’s shadow. His presence went unnoticed by most, yet those who did glance his way felt a strange pull — an unsettling stillness amidst the excitement.

  From where he stood, the Coliseum of Dawn towered in the distance — a monumental arena where generations of hunters had proved their worth. Its massive gates shimmered under enchantment, its banners dancing in the breeze like waves of flame.

  The cloaked man paused briefly, gazing at it. Beneath the hood, his lips curved faintly — neither in a smile nor a frown — before he continued walking toward it.

  As he passed through the bustling streets, a sudden gentle fragrance brushed past him.

  He turned his head slightly.

  A young woman walked in the opposite direction, flanked by two armored guards. Her hair was silver-white, flowing like moonlight down her back, and her eyes — sharp yet serene — gleamed with wisdom beyond her years. She moved with grace, her presence alone enough to part the crowd unconsciously.

  For a brief instant, her steps slowed.

  She felt it — an aura unlike any she’d encountered. Familiar, yet foreign. Dangerous, yet calm.

  Her guard noticed her hesitation. “My lady, is something wrong?”

  The girl didn’t answer immediately. She stared ahead toward the black cloak figure now blending back into the flow of people.

  “…Nothing,” she finally said, voice barely audible. “Just thought something… caught my attention.”

  Her guards exchanged puzzled looks — for their lady had never been one to show interest in strangers, let alone stop for one.

  Meanwhile, the cloaked man, sensing her gaze, continued without a glance back. His thoughts murmured quietly,

  How did she sense me? …I’ll need to keep an eye on her.

  Inside the Coliseum of Dawn, cheers thundered like rolling storms. Thousands filled the seats, waving banners, chanting Lucien’s name. The Callus crest glowed above the main podium, where Sarville Callus stood tall — the battle-scarred head hunter, now the ceremony’s overseer. Behind him, seated with pride and poise, were Elric Callus and Armia Callus, parents of the soon-to-be graduate.

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  The great gates opened, and Lucien Callus stepped into the light.

  Clad in light gold armor trimmed with crimson and brown, his sword resting at his side, he exuded confidence — a perfect image of Callus nobility and power. The crowd erupted in awe, chanting his name. “Lucien! Lucien! The pride of Callus!”

  Sarville raised a hand, his deep voice commanding silence.

  “Citizens of Callum! Today, we gather to witness the rise of our next generation’s beacon — the heir of Callus! May this day mark his first step into legend!”

  The crowd cheered once more, the energy nearly shaking the arena.

  Then the host, a lively man named Veritas, stepped forward. “People of Callum! Welcome to the Graduation Ceremony of the Callus Family! Today, we are honored by the presence of some of the greatest hunter families in all the realm!”

  He gestured toward the rows of special seats — where powerful figures watched with calm, measured eyes.

  “From the North! Guardians of the Snow Wind Mountain, defenders of the frozen borders — The Nordic Hunters!”

  The crowd erupted again.

  “From the East! Swift as shadows, blades unseen until it’s too late — The Hitoshirezu Hunters!”

  “From the West! The tireless defenders against the shadow realm, the ones who have slain more vampires than any other — The Covenus Hunters!”

  The names roared across the arena, each carrying legacy and pride.

  Then, Veritas raised his hand dramatically. “And now, for the main event! The final trial of Lucien Callus — to prove his strength, his will, and his right to lead!”

  Across the field, the opposite gate rumbled open. From its depths, a pale figure was dragged forward — shackled, runes flickering faintly around its limbs. The air grew cold. The crowd fell to a tense hush.

  Its skin was ash-white, eyes blood-red. Its movements were restrained yet feral, and when it lifted its head, a low growl escaped its throat — filled with hunger and rage.

  Elric leaned toward Sarville, voice low. “Will this creature be enough to test him?”

  Sarville replied calmly, “My lord, this is not an ordinary Starved One. It is a Mix — born between a Starved and a Royal.”

  Elric’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean such a union is possible? How disgraceful of the Royals.”

  Sarville continued, “We captured this one years ago during an expedition westward — with aid from the Covenus. It was aware, capable of speech, yet still susceptible to sealing magic. Its mana has been bound, and its hunger will push it into frenzy. A perfect opponent to measure young master Lucien’s composure.”

  Elric smirked faintly. “Then let this test be worthy of the Callus name.”

  The chains snapped.

  The Mix lunged forward, faster than the eye could follow. Lucien’s eyes sharpened — calm, focused. He sidestepped, blade gleaming as it sliced through the air, leaving a golden streak. The vampire twisted midair, narrowly avoiding a lethal cut, landing with a feral snarl.

  Lucien exhaled, smiling faintly. So, not a mindless beast after all… good.

  The clash continued — metal against claw, light against darkness. Each strike sparked with intensity as Lucien demonstrated every ounce of skill Sarville had drilled into him through years of relentless training.

  Among the roaring crowd, the silver-haired lady sat in the private gallery, her gaze sharp and silent. Across from her, on the opposite side of the arena, the black-cloaked figure watched — still, patient.

  Their eyes met.

  A single moment, yet timeless — a silent acknowledgment of fate.

  Neither spoke, but deep within, both knew:

  This day was no ordinary day.

  This was the day destiny began to stir once again.