Chapter 5: Thursday’s Silence

Morning arrived without birdsong.The sky was pale, colorless—like it had decided not to participate in what was about to happen.The Thursday unit gathered near the border of Setam territory. No one spoke loudly. No one joked. Faces carried the same expression: acceptance.Samim stood before them.“There are three types of Setam,” she said.Her tone was colder than usual.“Their classification is based on the age they were when the transformation occurred seventy-five years ago.”She continued,“Those who were over twenty-five at the time are the weakest. Their movement is slower. Their power unstable.”A pause.“Those who were between one and sixteen possess moderate strength.”Another pause.“And those who were between sixteen and twenty-five…”Her eyes sharpened.“They are the most dangerous. They have adapted. Learned. Evolved.”A heavy silence followed.“You are entering a region inhabited mostly by older Setam,” Samim finished. “Do not mistake that for safety.”The gates opened.The forest beyond was alive.Green trees swayed gently. A river could be heard flowing somewhere in the distance. Nature here remained untouched—as if the apocalypse had avoided it.The first Setam appeared within minutes.A skeletal figure stepped from behind a tree.Its hollow skull tilted slightly.No emotion.No hesitation.One of the Destroyers lunged forward and shattered its spinal column in a single strike.The bones collapsed instantly.The second came.Then the third.Each fell quickly.Confidence began replacing fear.“They’re weak,” someone muttered.That was when the smell spread.Rot.Not ordinary decay.Something sharper. Metallic. Wrong.Mustak’s eyes shifted.“It’s a signal,” he said quietly.Too late.From between the trees—More Setam emerged.Not three.Not five.Dozens.They did not charge wildly.They advanced steadily.Systematically.The Destroyers formed defensive positions.Blades clashed against bone. Spinal columns snapped. Carriers screamed as they dragged supply bags toward the riverbank.Then—A thin mist spread from one of the Setam.Greenish.Barely visible.One Destroyer inhaled it.He froze mid-strike.His body trembled violently.He collapsed, clawing at his face.“Venom!” someone shouted.His screams tore through the forest.Muscles twisted unnaturally. Blood leaked from his nose. His eyes pleaded for release.Mustak moved instantly.He knelt beside him.The Destroyer’s body would not survive.The venom would not allow it.Without hesitation—Mustak ended his suffering.The forest fell silent for half a second.Then panic erupted.Two Destroyers broke formation.Fear overwhelmed them.They turned their blades on themselves before the venom could claim them.Three deaths within moments.The formation collapsed.More Setam approached, drawn by the scent of broken bone.Mustak stepped forward alone.He exhaled once.The Dragon’s power flared around him.Not explosively.But intensely.His movements became precise.Efficient.Every strike shattered a spinal column perfectly.No wasted motion.No emotion.The carriers fled deeper toward the river.One by one, Setam fell.Until—A smaller figure emerged.A child.A child-sized Setam.Its skeletal frame was thinner.Faster.It moved unpredictably.Mustak lowered his weapons.The others stared at him in shock.He stepped forward barehanded.The child Setam attacked.It struck his shoulder.Bone met skin—And failed to penetrate.Still, the impact forced him back slightly.He allowed it.The creature lunged again.This time he was grazed—just enough for blood to appear.And in that instant—A flash of movement.Something crossed the battlefield faster than sight.The child Setam shattered.Not by Mustak’s hand.Silence returned.The remaining Setam retreated.Or were destroyed.When the dust settled—Only Mustak remained standing.The rest of the Thursday unit lay scattered across the forest floor.Dead.Broken.Or missing.From the tree line, three figures emerged.Human.Calm.Watching.One stepped forward.Tosif.He carried no visible Dragon aura.Yet the air around him distorted faintly.Behind him stood two companions.Mustak’s gaze met Tosif’s.No hostility.No gratitude.Only recognition.Mustak had chosen Thursday for a reason.Tosif approached the fallen bodies quietly.“You survived,” he said.His voice was neither warm nor cold.Simply factual.Mustak swayed slightly.Blood dripped steadily from his arm.At his feet—Something lay several meters away.Tosif’s companion frowned.“His arm…” the man said. “It’s missing.”Mustak spoke calmly.“It’s near the rock behind you.”The two men froze.They raised their weapons instinctively.Tosif lifted a hand.“Lower them.”They obeyed.Tosif’s eyes remained fixed on Mustak.“There are rare individuals,” he said slowly, “who are not bound by ordinary rules.”His presence shifted.Anyone who stepped too close to him felt it—A loss.Sound dulled.Vision blurred.Sensation faded.Six senses silenced.That was Tosif’s natural ability.Even without a Dragon.Yet Mustak stood unaffected.Tosif’s gaze deepened.“You knew I would be here,” he said.“Yes.”“Why?”Mustak’s voice remained steady.“Because you come every Thursday.”A faint breeze moved between them.Tosif operated an orphanage near the border—supporting families of fallen Destroyers.Every Thursday, he personally entered Setam territory.Not as a Destroyer.But as something else.Mustak’s legs finally gave out.He collapsed to one knee.Blood loss catching up.Tosif stepped closer.“Why choose this day?” he asked one final time.Mustak looked up.“For you.”The forest held its breath.And Tosif understood—This boy had not come here merely to fight.He had come to be seen.