The Breaker Clan compound always felt sharper after training.
The sweat, the cracked stone tiles, the sting of essence still lingering in the air—it all clung to Zach like a second skin. But now, with sparring done and his role in the clan all but solidified, he made his way toward the residential wing. The hallway shifted from rigid efficiency to quiet tradition. No banners. No family crest. The Breaker Clan didn't believe in symbols—only strength.
"Zaaach!"
His little sister's voice cracked through the silence before her small form crashed into his waist like a bolt of energy. He barely moved, steady as ever, but the faintest smirk touched his lips.
"You trying to break your own record again?" he asked, one hand gently mussing her hair.
"You never visit," she pouted. "The kids at school don't even believe I'm related to the Zach. They think I'm making you up!"
Zach raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm just a myth."
She giggled, already launching into some story about how she won her class spar and used one of his moves. He let her talk as they walked.
Then the temperature in the hallway shifted. Barely. Like the air had remembered to hold its breath.
He turned the corner—and there she was.
His mother. Adeya break
An elder of the Breaker Clan. Calm, smiling, arms folded in front of her navy training uniform. No sigil, no armor. Just presence.
Even with her relaxed posture, the pressure that clung to her was suffocating. Level 3. The kind of essence user who didn't have to prove anything anymore. Zach could still feel the weight of her domain even when she wasn't using it—like walking next to a mountain that might choose to fall on you at any moment.
"You're alive," she said, smiling faintly. "Was starting to wonder."
"Still breathing. You trained me too well to fall short."
"Flattery doesn't suit you." She nodded her chin toward the family chamber. "Come on. Tea's hot."
The chamber was modest—just soft mats, floating lanterns, and two mismatched cups. Breaker homes weren't built to impress. They were built to last.
His sister flopped down beside him, already chatting again.
Their mother sat across, her gaze steady. "You know the talk's already begun, right?"
Zach nodded.
"After this morning's sparring, the other elders didn't even argue. They see what I see. What all of them see. You're the future head of this clan."
He didn't respond immediately. His fingers traced the edge of the cup.
"There's no formal succession," she continued. "You know how we work. Strength earns leadership. Legacy means nothing. But there hasn't been a challenge in over a hundred years."
Zach smirked, eyes still lowered. "Then we're due."
A long pause.
Then she leaned back. "Still as petty as ever."
"Better than pretending not to be."
His little sister laughed.
Their mother shook her head and reached for her tea. "It'll happen fast, Zach. The moment you're named, eyes will turn. Inside the clan. Outside. Rival branches. Maybe even… those who believe the old ways should return."
Zach's smirk didn't fade. "Let them."
She watched him for a moment longer—something sharp behind her expression, but still proud.
"You're ready," she said. "But it's okay to enjoy the calm before the next fight."
"I'll enjoy it when it's over," Zach replied, then added with a glance toward his sister, "But this part's not bad either."
She smiled and stood. "Good. Then all that's left is to find you a wife."
Zach groaned. "We're not doing this."
His sister lit up. "Wait, can I pick?!"
"No."
"Yes!"
Their mother laughed, and even Zach couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip out.
In the heart of the Breaker Clan—where strength ruled and legacy meant nothing—Zach sat quietly with the only two people who made this place feel like home.
And even with the pressure building on the horizon, it felt good to breathe.