For a five-year-old boy, the world was a canvas of endless warmth and vibrant colors.
Ritsu ran through the grand, sunlit corridors of their family estate, his small bare feet slapping softly against the polished marble floors.
He possessed a fair, pristine skin tone that caught the warm morning light streaming through the tall stained-glass windows.
His blackish hair, slightly parted to one side in a messy, boyish fashion, bounced with every step he took.
But it was his eyes that drew the most attention—pure, dark-green pools that sparkled with innocent joy.
He was a Gladeon, born into a wealthy, prestigious family within the Underward realm.
Even at his young age, he knew his life was perfect.
He had everything a child could ever ask for.
“You cannot catch me, Ritsu!” a tiny, melodic voice echoed down the hall.
Ahead of him waddled his three-year-old younger sister, Akari.
Despite her small, toddler-sized frame, she was surprisingly quick.
Akari was the exact opposite of Ritsu in appearance.
Where he had black hair and green eyes, she possessed soft, dark greenish hair and pure, dark blackish eyes.
She giggled, her flat, child-like chest heaving as she tried to outrun her older brother.
“I am going to get you!” Ritsu laughed, pushing his little legs to run faster.
Just as his fingertips brushed the fabric of Akari’s small dress, a shadow loomed over them.
A firm, yet gentle hand caught the back of Ritsu’s linen tunic, lifting him slightly off the floor.
“Running in the halls again? Have you both forgotten your manners so quickly?”Ritsu looked up into the stern, beautiful face of his elder sister, Ren.
At forty-five years of age, her Gladeon blood meant she had fully grown into the peak of her adulthood, a state she would maintain for a century or more.
She was a striking woman, her fair skin contrasting beautifully against her long, straight black hair.
Her dark green eyes, identical to Ritsu’s, narrowed in a scolding manner, though the corners of her lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
Her well-proportioned figure, highlighted by her fitted noble dress, gave her an air of authority that neither Ritsu nor Akari dared to challenge.
“Akari started it!” Ritsu protested, dangling helplessly in Ren’s grip.
“Did not!” Akari squeaked, hiding behind Ren’s long skirts and peeking out with her large, dark eyes.
“Enough, both of you,” Ren said, placing Ritsu back onto his feet.
She was bossy, and fiercely protective of her siblings, ensuring they never strayed too close to the estate’s high walls.
“Mother is waiting in the sunroom. You are going to ruin your clothes before Father even returns.” At the mention of their mother, Ritsu’s racing heart calmed.
He quickly grabbed Akari’s small hand, and the two children followed their older sister down the corridor.
They entered the sunroom, a vast chamber filled with lush, exotic plants and bathed in the radiant glow of the morning.
Sitting gracefully on a velvet chaise was Asuka.
At sixty-nine years old, Asuka looked like a maiden in the absolute prime of her youth.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing an ethereal, fairy-like charm.
Her pure dark green eyes were warm and inviting, and her hair—a rare, cascading shade of dark green—fell in soft waves over her shoulders.
She wore a loose, elegant dress that respectfully complemented her full, curved figure.
“My darlings,” Asuka said, her voice as sweet and soft as honey.
She set aside her embroidery and opened her arms.
Ritsu and Akari rushed forward, burying themselves in their mother’s warm embrace.
Ritsu breathed in the scent of crushed lilac and fresh parchment that always lingered on her skin.
She kissed the top of his head, her delicate fingers brushing his messy dark hair.
“Have you been causing trouble for your sister, Ritsu?” Asuka asked gently, looking up at Ren with a knowing smile.
“I was only playing, Mother,” Ritsu mumbled into her dress.
Asuka chuckled, a sound that made the entire room feel warmer.
She was the heart of the family, the soft light that balanced the heavy shadows of their prestigious name.
-Break-
The heavy, brass-bound oak doors of the sunroom swung open.
The playful, warm atmosphere in the room instantly vanished, replaced by a dense, suffocating silence.
Standing in the doorway was Zenjiro.
He was a towering, imposing figure.
Broad-shouldered and possessing a well-toned, muscular build forged through years of unseen battles, he commanded the room without speaking a single word.
His pure, thick blackish hair fell neatly around his sharp, angular face.
But it was his eyes that always made Ritsu swallow hard—pure, dark blackish eyes that seemed to absorb the light around them.
Zenjiro’s expression was, as always, unreadable.
He looked bored, his facial features resting in a tired, fallen state, as though the mundane world offered him no interest.
Yet, beneath that lethargic exterior, Ritsu always sensed a razor-sharp, violently fast mind working behind his father’s dark gaze.
He was a wealthy man, a figure of immense power in the Underward, but to Ritsu, he was simply his mysterious, strict father.
“Welcome home, Husband,” Asuka said softly, gently moving the children aside as she stood to bow her head.
Ren immediately straightened her posture, bowing deeply.
“Father.” “Zenjiro stepped fully into the room, his heavy boots making no sound against the marble.
He offered a slight, acknowledging nod to his wife and eldest daughter, his cold expression softening by a fraction of a millimeter.
He was a strict man, heavily burdened by matters of state, but he had always shown a quiet kindness to his family.
“Asuka,” Zenjiro said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated in Ritsu’s chest.
“Gather the girls. I require Ritsu to accompany me.”
“Are you questioning my judgment, Ren?” Zenjiro’s voice did not raise in volume, but the sudden drop in temperature in the room was palpable.
Ren immediately lowered her gaze, stepping back.
“Forgive me, Father. I would never.”
Asuka walked over to Ritsu, kneeling to eye level.
She gave him a reassuring, warm smile, completely trusting the man she had loved for over a century.
She smoothed out the wrinkles in Ritsu’s linen tunic and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Go with your father, Ritsu,” Asuka whispered sweetly.
“Be brave, and listen closely to what the elders say. You are the son of Zenjiro, after all.” Ritsu puffed out his small chest, filled with pride.
He wanted to make his beautiful mother and his strict father proud.
He nodded eagerly.
“I will be good, Mother!” Zenjiro turned on his heel, his heavy, dark mantle sweeping behind him.
“Come, boy. Do not dawdle.”
Ritsu waved goodbye to Akari and Ren, before hurrying his small legs to keep up with his father’s massive, purposeful strides.
-Break-
They did not walk toward the grand entrance of the estate.
Instead, Zenjiro led his son deeper into the interior of the stronghold, passing through halls that Ritsu was rarely allowed to explore.
The bright, sunlit marble slowly gave way to cold, dark stone.
The air grew damp, carrying the scent of old earth and rusting iron.
They approached a hidden, spiraling staircase that descended deep into the subterranean vaults of the estate.
“Father?” Ritsu asked, his small voice echoing off the curved stone walls.
“Why is the council meeting all the way down here?”
Zenjiro did not look back.
He simply kept descending, his heavy footsteps setting a rhythmic, dread-inducing tempo.
“True matters of state are not discussed in the light of day, Ritsu.” They walked in silence for what felt like hundreds of heartbeats.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became.
A jolt of terror, irrational and sudden, spiked in Ritsu’s small chest.
He reached out and grabbed the edge of his father’s mantle, seeking comfort.
Zenjiro did not pull away, but he did not offer a comforting hand in return, either.
Finally, they reached the bottom of the spiraling stairs.
Before them stood a massive, reinforced iron door.
It was covered in rust and strange, ancient scratches.
There were no guards.
There were no council members.
Zenjiro reached out with one large, muscular hand and pushed the heavy iron door open.
The rusted hinges screamed in the dead silence.
Ritsu peered inside, his dark-green eyes widening.
It was not a grand meeting hall.
It was a cold, windowless dungeon.
The walls were made of damp, black stone.
In the dead center of the room sat a massive, heavy iron interrogation chair.
It was bolted to the floor, outfitted with thick, jagged chains and heavy iron cuffs designed to hold an adult Gladeon.
Surrounding the chair were three long wooden tables.
They were currently covered by heavy, stained canvas sheets, hiding whatever lay beneath them.
The only source of light was a single, flickering torch on the wall, casting long, monstrous shadows across the floor.
“Father…?” Ritsu’s voice trembled.
He let go of Zenjiro’s mantle and took a step backward.
“Where are the council members? I… I want to go back to Mother.” Zenjiro stepped fully into the room and turned around.
His pure black eyes bore into his son, completely devoid of the quiet kindness he usually displayed in the sunroom.
“There is no council, Ritsu,” Zenjiro said, his voice chillingly flat.
Before the five-year-old could process the words, Zenjiro moved with blinding, terrifying speed.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, Zenjiro closed the distance, his large hands clamping down on Ritsu’s small arms.
“No! Father, stop!” Ritsu shrieked, kicking his little legs as Zenjiro effortlessly lifted him into the air.
Zenjiro carried the thrashing child to the center of the room and slammed him down into the cold, heavy iron interrogation chair.
Ritsu began to sob uncontrollably, his racing heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“Father! Please! Did I do something wrong? I am sorry! I am sorry!” Zenjiro ignored the boy’s desperate pleas.
With calculated, mechanical precision, Zenjiro took the heavy iron chains and wrapped them around Ritsu’s small wrists.
The metal was freezing, biting into the boy’s fair skin.
Zenjiro locked the cuffs, securing Ritsu’s arms tightly to the armrests, before moving to bind his small ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Father, please! Why?!” Ritsu screamed, hot tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision.
He pulled frantically against the chains, but the thick iron did not budge a millimeter.
He was entirely helpless, trapped like an animal.
“Mother! Ren! Help me!”
Zenjiro finished locking the final chain.
He stood up to his full, towering height, looking down at his weeping, terrified son.
There was a profound, suffocating silence in the subterranean vault, broken only by the sound of a five-year-old boy hyperventilating in sheer panic.
Zenjiro’s expression remained bored, tired, and entirely devoid of mercy.
Yet, deep within his dark eyes, there was a flash of something else—a heavy, burdensome thought, a sense of absolute finality.
“Why…?” Ritsu begged, his voice cracking, thick with raw emotion and betrayal.
Zenjiro stared at the weeping child for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his deep voice resonated with a grim, unwavering resolve.
“You have to be stronger.”
With those final words, Zenjiro turned his back on his son.
He walked toward the heavy iron door, not looking back as Ritsu screamed his name, begging him not to leave him alone in the terrifying dark.
Zenjiro stepped out of the dungeon, grasped the iron handle, and pulled.
BOOM.
The heavy iron door slammed shut, plunging the subterranean vault into near-total darkness, leaving five-year-old Ritsu completely alone, chained to a chair, surrounded by three covered tables of horrors he could not yet comprehend.
The click of the heavy lock echoing through the stone walls was the last sound of Ritsu’s childhood.