Roxer figured that out around age nine.
That was the first time he stood in the main hall and realized the towering ceilings, the cold marble floors, the portraits of Hammerian men mid-conquest weren't decoration.
They were instructions.
Every room in the estate told you exactly what kind of man you were expected to become the moment you stepped inside it.
He dropped his bag near the entrance.
The butler caught it before it hit the floor. No words. Just another silent correction in a house built on discipline.
His father directed samurai soldiers where to hang up pictures of himself, visible through the open doorway. Pyraz the Elder looked up from a book as Roxer passed.
The two men regarded each other for a moment.
The way people do when they've long since run out of new things to say.
"How are things at Dragon Hive."
Not a question. His father never asked questions.
It was an inventory check.
Roxer shrugged.
That was enough.
His father nodded once, satisfied, and went back to reading.
Conversation over.
Roxer kept walking.
His room was the largest in the east wing.
Three thousand square feet of dark wood, iron fixtures, and expensive silence. The kind of room that declared powerful man lives here long before the man living there had decided if he even wanted it.
The weight rack stood along the far wall.
Fifty-kilogram plates arranged in perfect descending order.
Of course they were.
The staff kept everything immaculate.
You could disappear for six months and come back to find your room untouched, preserved like a museum display.
As if the house had been holding its breath.
As if your absence hadn't mattered at all.
He changed and started lifting.
Iron was the only honest thing in the estate.
It weighed what it weighed.
It didn't care who your father was.
The bar went up.
The bar came down.
Same indifference every time.
By the fifteenth rep his mind had already wandered.
It always wandered to the same place.
She'd been standing in the east corridor at the college.
Morning light caught her red hair, like something still burning.
She wasn't doing anything special.
Just leaning against the wall reading, one leg bent behind her.
Completely unaware that twenty feet away Roxer Pyraz had forgotten how to move.
He had spoken to her exactly once.
Formal introduction. Honor student program.
She'd looked at him with those orange eyes the way you look at something you've already categorized and decided isn't important.
Polite smile.
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Polite response.
Done.
That had been the entirety of it.
Within a week she was laughing with the Afro kid.
Roxer racked the bar harder than he meant to.
CLANG.
Roxer had never made her laugh once.
He sat up and dragged a hand down his face.
He had carried three honor students across the Iron Wall on his shoulders.
He had ranked first in combat power two years straight.
He had killed a over 2 thousand parasites.
Strongest student on the island.
By every measurable standard.
She didn't even recognize.
Roxer clenched his fist.
"I'm sexy as fuck. Most girls would lose their minds over me... and all she does is keep playing in my face like she doesn't belong to me."
His jaw tightened.
"Scytherians belong to us."
He sat there for a moment, breathing slowly through his nose.
"No... it goes deeper than that."
His eyes hardened.
"Even on the surface world, back in the ancient days when people fought over skin color... Plum's complexion meant she would've been reserved for someone like me."
He paused, frustration rising in his chest.
"And now we're in the sky and I'm losing to a damn nigg—"
He stopped.
The word died in his throat.
Roxer exhaled slowly, forcing the anger back down. "No, I wont resort to name calling, I'll kill him with the Hammer. In just a few days this island will be ruled by the Hammerians.
The training grounds were lit by torches when he reached them.
Which meant he'd been lying awake longer than he thought.
The sky above the estate was that deep pre-dawn blue, the color the world turns just before morning commits to existing.
"Again."
Roxer heard Jeriko before he saw him.
Small hammers struck packed earth.
A dozen boys in formation all looked identical because they were all Pyraz children.
Maybe more.
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen years old.
Hammerian training uniforms.
Iron wristbands.
Each boy held a hammer sized for his age.
Real weight.
Jeriko didn't believe in toys.
"You're men," Jeriko said.
His voice carried easily across the field.
"You're conquerors. You are strength. Say it."
The boys answered in unison.
"We are men. We're conquerors. We are strength."
"Hammerians are superior to all."
Jeriko walked slowly down the line.
"Hammerians don't cry. Hammerians destroy. Continue your training until every one of you can summon a hammer large enough to crush your enemy. Not his arm. Not his foot."
He stopped.
"Your enemy."
The boys nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"I can't hear weakness."
"YES SIR."
The hammers struck harder.
Some of the boys were struggling.
One kid grimaced from the impact.
Nobody stopped.
Nobody grimaced twice.
Roxer watched from the edge of the torchlight.
He remembered being that age.
Remembered how hard it was to make Abi form correctly.
Nobody told you it was hard.
Because admitting something was hard meant it was acceptable to struggle.
And Hammerians didn't accept struggle.
They expected victory.
Jeriko noticed him.
He watched the boys one last moment.
Then walked toward Roxer.
"You know," Roxer said casually, watching the formation, "I really wish I could've gotten training like this."
Jeriko stopped beside him.
Broader shoulders.
Same heavy Jeriko build.
"Oh come on," Jeriko said. "You got the best training on Tandreth."
"More like Dad abandoned me there."
It came out flat.
Not dramatic.
Just factual.
Jeriko was quiet for a moment.
"Don't be a sore loser," he said. "That island sharpened you into a man."
Roxer exhaled.
"Yeah."
They watched the boys train.
"Seems cruel to me," Roxer said.
"It always seems cruel," Jeriko replied, "before it makes you."
They stood there in silence.
Then Jeriko turned toward the lawn.
Roxer followed.
Because that's how it always worked.
Jeriko ahead.
Roxer half a step behind.
"So," Jeriko said after a while. "Any information on the Sister Trinity."
"Xiu's easy but Amazons are more of a Herculean thing, Einstera is also an easy catch," Roxer said.
He paused.
"We may have to use force."
Jeriko nodded "Pressure is what we excel in my dear brother."
Simple logistical update.
Then he studied Roxer's face.
"Something bothers you."
Roxer looked at the grass.
"Yeah."
He hesitated.
"I can't get Plum to like me."
The words felt stupid leaving his mouth.
"She likes some Afro guy instead."
Silence.
The torches crackled.
Then Jeriko said calmly,
"Don't trouble yourself. Stick with the plan."
He glanced toward the Iron Wall.
"When the time comes, you'll go beyond the wall."
"The Scytherian will be yours."
Something in Roxer's chest loosened.
It wasn't a solution.
But hearing someone say you will have it the way Jeriko said tactical orders...
It helped.
"What about her father?" Roxer asked.
"Metal?"
"Yeah."
Roxer frowned.
"He's... creepy."
"Never mind Metal. If he refuses to cooperate..."
Jeriko's expression didn't change. "...father will make sure the girl becomes yours, one way or another."
Roxer "Thanks, bro."
The words came out smaller than Roxer expected.
He blinked.
Too fast.
Too late.
"Gross," Jeriko said immediately.
"Please don't do that."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You were about to."
"I wasn't."
Jeriko looked away.
Conversation over.
That was mercy in the Jeriko estate.
Pretending certain things never happened.
Roxer looked back at the training field.
The boys were still hammering.
Still chanting.
We are men.
We're conquerors.
We are strength.
He wondered if any of them would think about a girl with white hair and orange eyes in twelve years.
He wondered if their training would stop it.
He doubted it.
Some things no withering island could beat out of you.