son of the black bulls Captain

The sunlight filtering through the tall, arched windows of the Golden Dawn headquarters was soft, painting golden stripes across the mahogany desk where Asta sat. At twelve years old, Asta was a small, delicate figure, his silky black hair reaching mid-back and shimmering like raven feathers. Today, it was gathered into an intricate, loose braid that draped over his shoulder, the work of William’s steady hands earlier that morning.

Asta’s tongue poked out slightly from the corner of his mouth as he focused on the stack of reports in front of him. While most children his age were playing or dreaming of the Magic Knights entrance exam, Asta was busy cross-referencing budget allocations for the Clover Kingdom’s northern outposts.

"You’re frowning again, little star," a gentle voice murmured.

Asta looked up, his bright gray-green eyes widening as a soft blush dusted his cheeks. William Vangeance stood in the doorway, his face clear and unblemished. The jagged, cursed scar that had once defined his features was gone, replaced by smooth skin—a miracle wrought by Asta’s shadow healing months prior.

"Papa," Asta chirped, his voice quiet but warm. "I’m just making sure the numbers match. Uncle Marx says accuracy is the most important part of bureaucracy."

William walked over, placing a hand on Asta’s head. The boy leaned into the touch instinctively, a silent testament to the years it had taken to bridge the gap of his trauma. "Marx is a taskmaster. You shouldn't work so hard on a Saturday."

"I like helping," Asta insisted, reaching out to grab the hem of William’s cape, tugging him closer. "It makes me feel useful. Besides, if I finish these, Dad said we could go to the Black Bulls' hideout for dinner."

William smiled, though a shadow of protective worry flickered in his eyes. He knew how much Asta craved being near them. The boy was like a moon orbiting his suns; if he drifted too far, he felt lost. "Yami is already there, likely complaining about his digestion. But before we go, we have a visitor."

Asta stiffened, his hand tightening on William’s cape. "A visitor?"

"Don't worry," William reassured him, kneeling so they were eye-level. "It’s just your Aunt Mereoleona. She said you missed your combat training yesterday because of your lessons with Uncle Julius."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the door didn't just open; it exploded inward.

"Where is my favorite cub?" Mereoleona Vermillion roared, her presence filling the room like a wildfire.

Asta’s initial flinch vanished the moment he saw her. He scrambled out of his chair and ran toward her, his long hair flying behind him. Mereoleona caught him mid-air, hoisting him up with one arm. She smelled of ozone and woodsmoke, a scent that had become synonymous with safety for Asta.

"Auntie!" Asta laughed, burying his face in her shoulder.

"You’re getting heavier," she grunted, though her expression was uncharacteristically fond. She set him down and ruffled his hair, deliberately messing up the braid William had spent twenty minutes perfecting. "But you’re still too thin. Have you been eating? Or has William been feeding you nothing but tea and etiquette?"

"I ate a whole bowl of stew today," Asta said proudly, though he still felt the phantom pangs of the hunger he’d endured in Hage—the four years of starvation that had stunted his growth.

"Good. Because we’re going to the training grounds. I want to see those shadow chains," Mereoleona commanded.

---

The training grounds were private, shielded by powerful wards. Asta stood in the center of the ring, his breathing rhythmic. He closed his eyes, reaching into the well of power that had awakened a year ago. It wasn't like the mana others possessed; it was darker, heavier, yet oddly comforting.

"Begin!" Mereoleona shouted.

Asta’s shadow stretched unnaturally across the grass. Suddenly, three jet-black chains erupted from the ground, lashing out toward the target dummies with terrifying speed. As they moved, Asta reached into the air, and a black katana—the physical manifestation of his Anti-Magic—materialized in his hand.

He moved with a grace that was almost feminine, his long hair whipping around him like a silken veil. He didn't use brute force; he used momentum. He sliced through a magical construct Mereoleona threw at him, the Anti-Magic edge dissolving the spell on contact. Then, in a blur of motion, he stepped into a pool of darkness at his feet and vanished, reappearing instantly behind the next target.

"Better," Mereoleona called out, her eyes gleaming. "But you’re hesitating on the transition. The shadows are part of you, Asta. Don't treat them like a tool. Treat them like your own limbs."

Asta panted, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness—a lingering effect of his stamina being drained by the Anti-Magic. He stumbled, the shadow chains retreating back into his feet.

In an instant, a large, calloused hand caught him by the back of his shirt.

"Easy there, kid. You're pushing it," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled.

Asta didn't even have to look. He leaned back against the sturdy chest of Yami Sukehiro. "Dad."

Yami exhaled a cloud of smoke from his purple cigar, looking down at his son with a mix of pride and irritation. "I told you to take it easy. Your mana—or whatever that weird shadow junk is—needs time to settle."

"I wanted to show Auntie I’ve been practicing," Asta whispered, his face flushing.

Yami sighed, picking Asta up and tucking him under his arm like a sack of flour. "Yeah, yeah. You’re a prodigy. Now shut up and let’s go. I’m hungry, and Vangeance is waiting by the carriage."

"Put me down, Dad! I can walk!" Asta protested, though his hands immediately found purchase on Yami’s tactical vest, clinging tight.

"Nope. You're small. It's easier this way," Yami grunted, nodding to Mereoleona. "Thanks for the workout, Sis. Try not to burn the building down on your way out."

"Watch your tone, Yami," she smirked. "Or I'll take the boy for a week and see if he comes back with more muscle than attitude."

Asta felt a pang of warmth. These people—the strongest mages in the kingdom—were his. They were the ones who had pulled him from the edge of that cliff in Hage when he was eight years old, broken and ready to give up on a world that had never loved him back.

---

The evening at the Black Bulls' hideout was loud, as it always was. Asta sat on the sofa, sandwiched between Yami and William. He was currently occupied with a plate of food that Charmy had piled high, though his attention was mostly on the paperwork Julius had sent over via a very stressed-looking Marx.

"Uncle Marx, look," Asta said, pointing to a line in a trade agreement. "The tax percentage for the diamond border is calculated incorrectly. It’s off by three percent."

Marx, who was hovering nearby, adjusted his glasses and leaned over. "Is it? Let me see... Good heavens, you’re right. Asta, you’re a lifesaver. If that had gone to the King like that, he would have had my head."

"He wouldn't," Asta giggled, his eyes sparkling. "Uncle Julius would just distract him with a new magic item."

"True," Marx sighed, patting Asta’s shoulder. "But thank you, truly."

As the night wore on, the rowdy atmosphere of the Black Bulls began to mellow. Asta’s head started to droop. The exhaustion of the day—the training, the paperwork, and the constant mental effort of keeping his past at bay—was catching up to him.

He felt a large hand gently stroke his hair. Yami had put down his drink and was looking at him with a rare, soft expression.

"Bedtime, kid," Yami said quietly.

Asta shook his head weakly, his eyes half-closed. "Don't want to go to sleep yet."

"Nightmares?" William asked, his voice a soothing balm. He moved a stray lock of hair from Asta’s face.

Asta didn't answer, but the way his fingers curled into the fabric of William’s trousers was answer enough. The trauma of his third year—the year he didn't like to think about, the year that had almost broken him completely—still lived in the dark corners of his mind.

"You're sleeping with us tonight," Yami decided, standing up and scooping Asta into his arms. This time, he held him properly, cradling him against his chest.

Asta didn't argue. He tucked his face into the crook of Yami’s neck, breathing in the scent of tobacco and leather. "Promise?"

"Promise," William whispered, walking beside them.

They made their way to the private quarters Yami kept at the hideout. It was a large, comfortable room, far removed from the cold, damp floor of the Hage church orphanage. As Yami laid him down on the massive bed, Asta felt the familiar surge of panic that came with the darkness.

Don't leave. Don't let them find me.

"I’m right here, Asta," William said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Asta’s hand. "And your dad is just on the other side. Nothing can reach you here."

Asta reached out his other hand, and Yami took it, his massive palm engulfing Asta’s small fingers. "I’ll kill anything that tries, kid. You know that."

Asta nodded, his breathing finally leveling out. "Papa?"

"Yes, little star?"

"Can you... can you do my hair tomorrow? Before we go to the capital?"

William smiled, leaning down to kiss Asta’s forehead. "Of course. I’ll do the ribbons you like. The ones that match your eyes."

"And no letting Dad touch the brush," Asta added, a tiny, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "Last time he tried, he got the brush stuck and had to use his katana to cut it out."

Yami barked a laugh, settling into the pillows. "Hey, I was trying to be helpful. How was I supposed to know your hair was made of spider silk? It’s a hazard."

Asta giggled, the sound light and airy. In the safety of their presence, the shadows didn't feel like monsters anymore. They felt like a blanket, woven by his own power to keep the world away.

As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was of the man who had found him on that cliff four years ago. Yami Sukehiro hadn't just saved his life; he had given him a reason to have one. And William Vangeance had given him the grace to live it.

He was Asta. He was the son of a Captain and a Legend. He was the nephew of the Wizard King and the ward of the Uncrowned Undefeated Lioness.

He was loved. And for the first time in his life, that was enough to keep the demons at bay.