The five-year-old Anira clutched the hem of her mother's skirt, her small fingers curling into the fabric. Her mother was busy talking on the phone, her voice firm and focused. Anira didn't understand the words, not really—only that her mother hadn't looked at her in a while. She waited patiently, eyes wide, hoping the call would end soon so she could have her attention back.
On the other end of the line, a man's voice came through, stern and concerned.
"Are you sure about going there, Isleen? That area… it's cursed. People who enter either vanish or are found as skeletons. You know this."
Isleen, a lead researcher of the Dawnbreak Covenant, stood tall by the window, her gaze fixed far beyond the glass. Her voice was calm, unwavering. "I know."
She was known for her stubbornness—driven, relentless, especially when it came to uncovering truths behind the chaos. The sudden emergence of monsters. The strange awakenings of powers in people who had once lived ordinary lives. Isleen had always chased answers, no matter the cost.
She had spent years searching for the truth behind the disasters plaguing the nation—who caused them, why they began, and what secrets the land still tried to bury.
"If anything happens to me," she continued, her voice softening as she reached down and gently rested a hand on Anira's head, "please take care of my daughter."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then the man spoke again, voice quieter now. "Do you really want the truth behind all this… or are you just trying to find Lewin?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
Isleen's gaze dropped to the floor. Then slowly, she looked at her daughter's face—so small, so trusting.
"…Both," she whispered.
She ended the call.
Then she knelt in front of Anira, cupping her daughter's cheeks with both hands. Her smile was warm, but her eyes shimmered with sadness—a look that children rarely understood, but always remembered.
"My little bean," she said softly. "Mommy has to go to work now. You'll be staying with your auntie for a while, okay? So be good. No causing trouble, understood?"
Anira nodded brightly. "Me will wait. I will wait, Mama."
Isleen's breath hitched. She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace—so tight it was as if she never wanted to let go. She pressed her lips to Anira's head and held them there, breathing her in.
"Mama always loves you, my bean," she whispered, kissing her forehead long and full of love.
And somewhere in her heart, she knew—
This might be goodbye.
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.
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"So… that's what happened?" Rhosyn spoke at last, her voice laced with disappointment as Ezren finished recounting what he had seen in Anira's memories.
"Yes," Ezren confirmed. "That was the last day Anira ever saw her mother. After that… she lived a life of isolation—hated, misunderstood, completely alone."
Rhosyn scoffed softly, shaking her head. "Ugh, Isleen. Why would she do that? She knew her daughter had no one else."
Her frustration grew. "How could she just leave her—leave her all alone in this fucked-up world?"
"Chill," Davor muttered, leaning back in his chair. "We knew Isleen. No matter what we said, she wouldn't have listened. She was always going to follow her own path."
Silence settled over the room, until Garran finally broke it with a question that pulled everyone's attention back.
"What about the creature?" he asked, eyes fixed on Ezren. "When did it latch onto the girl? Or… was she born with it?"
Ezren exhaled, thinking back. "A year after Isleen disappeared, that thing—Bluey—suddenly showed up. But it's still unclear to me if it's some manifestation of her power, something she can't control… or something entirely separate."
Garran leaned back slightly, his expression pensive, the gears in his mind turning as he tried to piece it all together. He nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"We need to check her. We have to call Seren to see if the child has any qi," Garran said."I'll send him a message," Ezren replied.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Davor chimed in, "If Bluey is some kind of power," he added, eyes narrowing as he tried to piece things together, "then does that mean the black mist on the boy—Cael—is the same?"
"What are you trying to say?" Rhosyn shot back, sharp and unimpressed. "That boy is a hundred percent cursed. That's devil's work."
She leaned forward, her tone intense. "Didn't you see him during the duel? That mist wasn't just there—it was trying to control his weapon… maybe even him. We don't know what that thing is."
"Yeah," Ezren added, nodding. "Miss Rhosyn has a point. Bluey feels different. It's like a guardian. The mist from Cael… It's unknown and something we should keep an eye on."
Rhosyn rolled her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. She turned to Garran. "Does Lucen have a report on that child?"
Garran answered calmly, "He doesn't see any danger for now."
Rhosyn scoffed. "Just make sure you're not trying to protect him."
She stood abruptly, walking toward the door. Just before stepping out, she turned to look at Garran one last time.
"We've made mistakes before," she said coldly. "But that boy… he's not your son."
Davor pushed himself up from his seat, voice tense. "Rhosyn."
His jaw clenched. This topic—it shouldn't be opened again.
"What? Am I wrong?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
Davor took a step forward, glaring at her. "Don't forget—it was you. The decision, the plan… the mistake."
Rhosyn scoffed, disbelief written on her face. "Are you blaming me now? You were all there too—part of those same decisions."
"Enough," Garran said quietly, his voice low and strained, hands balled into fists.
"We're not going down that road again," Davor said, voice firm. "We agreed—never speak of what happened. Not in this base. Not in front of the Father."
"Stop!" Garran roared, his composed demeanor breaking at last. The room fell into silence, the weight of old wounds too heavy to carry further. He was tired. Tired of the ghosts, tired of the guilt.
Without another word, Davor walked out. Ezren followed, silent. Then Rhosyn, leaving Garran alone in his office, with only the past to keep him company.
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"Isn't that cheating?" Cael asked, eyes fixed on the ground as he sat on one of the benches near the training field. He was referring to how Darain used his family's relics during the duel.
"Nah uh, I don't cheat," Darain replied. His body remained stiff, the sting of Lucen's whip still coiled loosely around him. Lucen sat silently between them, face blank as always.
"Ugh! Can you take this thing off already? It's been hours—I'm not running away!" Darain complained, clearly annoyed.
Lucen said nothing.
Darain narrowed his eyes. "If my ass gets itchy, you're scratching it for me."
That got a reaction—Lucen finally released him.
"Good!" Darain said, springing to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Lucen asked, finally speaking, his eyes following him.
"I'm stretching," Darain answered as he began twisting his body, joints cracking audibly. Cael and Lucen sat in silence, watching the flamboyant display.
"What's the butterfly thing do?" Cael asked quietly, finally voicing the question that had been lingering in his mind.
"Oh, that?" Darain replied mid-stretch. "It just follows my orders."
"Can it kill?" Cael asked again, glancing at Lucen, who was now idly touching his arnis sticks, as if waiting for something—but said nothing.
Darain grinned. "Well, yeah. If I told it to kill you, it would merge into a single blade and shoot straight through your heart."
He paused, then chuckled. "But I didn't, because, you know… you look weak. Hehe."
Cael didn't react.
"Oh, and this one," Darain said, digging into his pocket and pulling out another relic—a small indigo bee. "This one's poisonous."
Cael watched silently as Darain, known for his arrogance and selfish streak, lit up with genuine excitement, displaying and explaining each relic like a child showing off toys. Despite himself, Cael couldn't help but listen—curious about the strange world Darain so confidently thrived in.
"Ah, so you're like Doraemon," Cael said, making Darain burst out laughing.
"Why didn't the Head confiscate those? You're supposed to have nothing. That thing's basically a cheat code," Cael added, squinting at him.
Darain only pouted and shrugged in mock innocence.
"Oh! I just remembered—I also have this one, wait…" he said, digging into his pocket. But then his expression shifted. His brows furrowed. "Where did it go?"
"What's missing?" Cael asked, curious.
"My… car. It was from my father," Darain muttered, glancing at Cael with a troubled look.
"You have to help me find it."
"W-why me?" Cael asked, startled.
"Because you're the one I dueled with," Darain said.
"…And?" Cael replied, unconvinced.
"Just help me!"
"Maybe you parked it somewhere?" Lucen finally spoke, calmly placing Cael's arnis beside him.
"No, it was a ring," Darain said, making both Lucen and Cael stare at him in confusion.
"Huh? How can you ride a ring?" Cael asked.
"No, no, no. That ring has a lot of things in it. I put some of my family relics inside—it's like a storage ring," Darain explained.
"Ohhh, so it's like a bag," Cael nodded in understanding.
"Yes! That's why you have to help me," Darain insisted, turning to Lucen. "You too, Lucen."
"Sorry. Not my job," Lucen replied with his usual blank expression.
"Just help me!" Darain said, stomping his foot like he was on the verge of throwing a tantrum.
Lucen stood up without a word and began walking away. Cael followed right after him, both of them moving without so much as a glance back.
"Hey! Hey! Don't ignore me! Help me! Come on!" Darain shouted, hurrying after them.
But the two continued walking—silent, unfazed, heading somewhere far away from the dramatic boy behind them. They didn't even look back.
"Unbelievable…" Darain muttered, stopping in his tracks, arms crossed in frustration. "This is betrayal. Mutiny, even!"
Neither of them responded. Not a single look.
Darain huffed, muttering to himself as he reluctantly followed, trailing behind them like a sulking duckling.