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The sky was tinged with a soft orange hue as the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting warm light across the Demon Hunter Training Center. The early morning chill still clung to the air, dew settled on the grass, and faint echoes of footsteps filled the compound as the trainees began another day.
Keith sat on his bed, staring at the wall as sunlight crept across his room. Weeks had passed since he arrived, and the memory of that night still haunted his sleep. He no longer cried, not because the pain had dulled, but because it had become a part of him—a quiet companion he carried everywhere.
His mornings were always the same. He would get dressed in the standard trainee uniform—dark gray trousers, a black long-sleeved tunic, and boots worn from repeated use. After a brief trip to the shared bathroom, he'd head to the cafeteria. The food was simple: porridge, eggs, or bread with fruit, depending on the day. He usually ate in silence, still not used to the noisy banter of the other boys around him.
Some had already begun awakening their powers and had started basic combat lessons. Keith, however, was still in the group that hadn't awakened yet. He wasn't the only one—but each day, it felt like the number of unawakened trainees shrank.
Ethan had become his closest—perhaps only—friend. The cheerful blonde boy made it a point to include Keith in conversation, even when Keith didn't feel like talking. Ethan talked about everything: sword techniques, their instructors, the rumors of demon sightings near the borders, and even how he planned to climb to Rank 3 before he turned fifteen.
"You'll awaken soon, Keith," Ethan would say confidently, almost like it was a fact. "Some people just take longer. Maybe your power's just a big one, y'know? Like, too big to wake up early."
Keith would usually respond with a small nod, managing a weak smile.
Training sessions were split between those who had awakened and those who hadn't. Keith's group focused on physical conditioning, weapon handling, and learning about demons—their traits, weaknesses, and history. The instructors were strict but fair. One of them, a tall, quiet man named Instructor Hadren, had taken a particular interest in Keith. He rarely praised, but when Keith finally managed to land three perfect strikes with a wooden staff, Hadren gave him a single nod that meant more than a hundred words.
"Discipline before power," Hadren often said. "Awakening means nothing without a foundation."
There were also academic lessons—though limited to what a hunter needed: reading, tactical thinking, basic science related to demon anatomy and energy patterns, and some history of the Demon Hunter Association. Keith learned that the association had been around for thousands of years, and the Silver Wolf emblem belonged to one of its oldest elite branches—"Lupus Argentum."
Outside of training, Keith sometimes wandered the grounds. The training center was large, with a field used for combat practice, a small library, and buildings scattered about. There was even a forested section on the edge, cordoned off with warning signs. Trainees were forbidden from entering without supervision, and stories about people sneaking in and never returning made their way through whispered conversations.
The girls' hostel was across the training center from the boys'. Although the two groups trained separately most of the time, there were shared classes, especially in demonology and history. Keith noticed one girl who often sat by herself—raven-haired, calm, with sharp eyes that seemed to always be observing. He didn't know her name yet, but she gave off the same kind of quiet determination he felt inside himself.
One evening, while Ethan practiced with his katana under the fading light, Keith sat on the grass watching. A group of older trainees passed by, laughing loudly. One of them, a cocky seventeen-year-old named Ren, glanced at Keith and scoffed.
"Still unawakened, huh? Better hope the association lets you sweep floors," he sneered.
Ethan stopped mid-swing. "Ignore him," he said, not even sparing Ren a glance. "People like that think awakening early makes them special. But the real strong ones? They don't need to talk big."
Keith said nothing, but a tiny spark lit in his chest. Not anger. Just… something.
That night, Keith lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His body was sore, his eyes heavy, but his mind was awake. He thought about his parents. About the monster. About how weak he had felt, how helpless. That moment—his mother's scream, his father's final words—burned in him like a quiet fire.
"I have to get stronger," he whispered to himself.
Outside, the moon hung silently in the sky. Somewhere beyond the mountains, demons still roamed. And though his power hadn't awakened yet, Keith knew his journey had just begun.
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