Morrison’s lips twitched — the confident mask he’d worn all evening shattering at the edges.“I… this— this reaction is… unexpected,” he stammered, voice thin, eyes darting to the monitors as if they could save his dignity. No… this can’t be real. I ran the numbers. I reviewed the data. I am the expert here… I cannot be wrong… not in front of them…Chris didn’t even hear him.All his focus was on Ethan.“Please — keep going!” Chris urged, clutching the bed frame, hope and terror tangled in his voice. “Whatever you’re doing — it’s working!”Ethan didn’t respond — his jaw was tight, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.The humming grew louder.The light in the room dimmed further, shadows bending toward Ethan’s hand like iron filings to a magnet.The dark mass writhed violently now, thrashing, desperate.“Come out,” Ethan muttered through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to feed anymore.”The blackness twisted, shuddered — and then—It tore free.A stream of thick, oily mist burst upwar

“Everyone out,” John repeated.Chris blinked. “Father—? But—”John’s voice hardened.“Everyone. Including you, Chris. Leave the room immediately.”The room went still.Chris hesitated — confused — hurt — clearly reluctant to go.“Father… why? Ethan just—”John didn’t look at him. His gaze never left Ethan.“Because,” he said, voice low, unyielding.“I have something to tell Ethan. And it must be said to him alone.”For a moment, Chris stood frozen — torn between obedience and concern — until the guards moved beside him, making it clear the order was not optional. He was forced to leave.He swallowed, shaken.He glanced at Ethan — uncertain — searching his face.Ethan gave a small nod.“It’s all right,” he said calmly.Chris lingered a heartbeat longer… then bowed his head.“Very well.”He turned — guiding the guards and Morrison out.The door closed.Silence fell.Only Ethan and John remained.John exhaled slowly.His expression darkened.And when he finally spoke…His voice carried w

Ethan finally understood.The truth did not descend on him like a single blow — it settled slowly, layer by layer, until the full weight of it pressed against his chest.Everything… the fall of the Storms… the shattered legacy… the scars of his childhood…None of it had been coincidence.None of it had been fate.It had been orchestrated.“It was them,” Ethan murmured, voice low, steady, but trembling beneath the surface. “The evil forces. The demons… and the families who serve them.”John nodded solemnly.“Yes,” he said quietly. “Every tragedy that befell your house… every disaster that seemed random… every disappearance…” His eyes dimmed. “They were all connected.”Ethan drew in a slow breath.A memory flashed through him —Smoke.Screams.His mother’s voice calling his name in the darkness.His fists tightened.“My parents,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Where are they? Do you know?”John’s gaze softened — sorrow, regret, and uncertainty swirling inside it.“…No,” he admitted.

Ethan nodded slowly. “I know. That’s why I won’t fight them as a Knight.” A faint spark of stormlight pulsed beneath his skin. “This strike won’t be righteous,” he continued coldly. “It will be surgical. The Watsons believe themselves untouchable because they operate in shadows — hidden deals, hidden creatures, hidden masters. I’ll expose them… not to the world — not yet — but to their own foundation.”John’s brows tightened in confusion at Ethan’s last words. “Expose them… to their own foundation?” he echoed. “What do you mean?”Ethan’s gaze sharpened.“I won’t charge at the Watsons with swords or declarations,” he said quietly. “That’s what they expect. Demons thrive in chaos — they’re prepared for open confrontation. But what they cannot withstand… is controlled collapse.”John watched him closely.Ethan continued.“I’m going to rebuild what the Storms lost,” he said. “Not just a house… not just a banner… but an organization — one that strikes from the shadows just as they do. B

Ethan walked down the quiet road. The night air was cold, but his mind was steady. He thought about Norwish City… his past… and the long path ahead. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped and took it out. A message. It was from John Hadel. Ethan opened it. A short text. “This is the contact of the acting commander of the Storm Group. You will need him.” Below it was a name and a number. Ethan’s eyes softened. He let out a slow breath. Then he typed back a reply. “Thank you.” He stood still for a moment, looking at the screen. Then he pressed the call button. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then a rough, cautious voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?” Ethan spoke calmly. “My name is Ethan Storm.” There was silence on the line. No sound. Not even breathing. Then the man spoke again, but his voice shook. “…Storm…? Did you say Storm?” “Yes,” Ethan said. “I am the last one.” A sharp gasp came through the phone. “I… I thought the Stor