Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cold.

It pressed against my skin before I even opened my eyes quietly, patient, and endless. When I finally stirred, the world around me glittered in pale light, filtered through layers of ice that curved like glass around my body. The air felt thick, heavy with stillness. I could hear nothing but the faint rhythm of my own breathing, small halos of fog forming and fading in front of my lips.

I lay there, cocooned in crystal. Frost clung to my eyelashes; my hands were numb but somehow alive, trembling as if remembering how to move. When I shifted, cracks spidered through the shell that held me, each one releasing a soft chime that vanished before it could echo.

Silence followed. Silence so deep it swallowed every thought I tried to form.

Voices.

Faint, distant, curling around the edges of my mind like smoke. I couldn’t tell if they were inside or outside of me. Whispers overlapping one another... gentle, pleading, yet joyful. Prayers. Laughter. The hum of lullabies I almost knew.

I tried to hold onto them, to pull them closer, but they slipped away as quickly as they came. Each attempt to remember sent a sharp pain through my skull, fragments of something vast and bright shattering into nothing.

The light above flickered. My chest ached as though something long asleep had stirred again. I didn’t know where I was-or who I was. Only that I had been asleep for a very, very long time.

And that the world beyond this frost was waiting for me.

I don’t remember how long it’s been since I broke free.

Days? Centuries? The cold never changes, and the sky never moves. It’s always the same shade of white-blue, heavy with light that never fades and never warms.

I walk because it feels like I should. Because something inside me says that if I stop, the world will stop with me. My footprints vanish almost as soon as I make them, swallowed by snow that falls without sound.

The first shapes I found were human.

They stood frozen mid-motion, hands reaching for one another, faces caught in surprise or terror. Every detail preserved in ice so clear I could see the fear still in their eyes. Some kneeled as if in prayer. Others clutched their children close. Entire streets lined with them, like a city turned to glass.

And above them, towers of frost stretching into a sky painted with pale auroras. Their colors ripple endlessly, silent waves across a still horizon.

I wander through what must have once been their home. Crumbling buildings, frozen gardens, temples buried in frost. Inside one, I find walls painted with a figure cloaked in blue light, her hair white as snow, her hands raised toward a silver moon. Offerings rest at her feet, flowers that never wilt, bowls of fruit encased in ice.

When I look closer, I see her face. My face.

Something twists inside me. My fingers graze the mural’s surface; it’s so cold it burns. But beneath that frost, I swear I feel warmth. As though life still beats faintly within it, waiting to be remembered.

Was this my doing?

The thought lingers like frostbite. Did I bring this silence, this stillness? I can’t recall a reason, only the echo of a feeling akin to sorrow so vast it swallowed everything.

The quiet presses against me, thick and unrelenting. Even the wind refuses to speak. I try to say something, anything, just to break the weight of it.

“Hello?”

The word drifts through the ruins and returns hollow, smaller than when it left my lips.

I keep walking. I don’t know if I’m searching for someone or running from the truth that maybe no one is left.

And yet, deep beneath the snow, I can almost hear it; a heartbeat. Not mine, not human, but the pulse of a world that refuses to die.

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. Time doesn’t move here, it drifts. The world feels caught between one breath and the next, like everything is waiting for someone to wake it.

Then, through the haze of snow, I see it.

A light.

Faint at first, like the blink of an eye. It flickers once, then again, steadying into a pulse that beats against the horizon. My heart answers before my mind does, an instinct older than memory whispering, go.

I follow. The air thickens the closer I come, the cold sharpening until it bites through even me. The ground shifts beneath my steps, shards of crystal and the remnants of machines jut from the ice, their metal skeletons gleaming dully under the aurora.

The light grows stronger until I find its source: a broken device, half-buried in frost. It hums softly, as if struggling to breathe, its glow fading with each pulse.

I kneel before it. The markings along its frame are unfamiliar, yet they stir something in me, a memory that flinches when I reach for it. My fingertips hover, trembling, before they finally touch the metal.

The world ignites.

The machine flares to life, light spilling out in blinding waves. A low, rhythmic sound ripples through the air; a heartbeat, not mine, not alive. For an instant, it feels as if the planet itself remembers how to move.

Then... voices.

One name whispered through the roar, soft and far away.
Aldra

My breath catches. The light burns brighter, and within it, I hear another voice. Distant, melodic, and sorrowful.
“… the cycle begins again.”

The ground trembles beneath me. A beam of light shoots upward, cutting through the clouds, into the stars. Then, silence.

The device goes dark, its glow fading to nothing.

I sit there in the snow, the afterimage burned into my eyes, my pulse still echoing the machine’s final rhythm. I don’t know what I’ve done, or what answered that call, but somewhere far beyond this frozen sky, something is coming.

At first, I think it’s the light again, another flicker in the storm, another illusion meant to haunt me.

But then the ground shudders.

The snow ripples outward in waves as a low hum fills the air, resonating deep enough to shake the frost from the ruins. I lift my head and see it—a streak of radiance tearing across the sky, brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. The clouds part in its wake, scattering starlight over a world that hasn’t seen motion in eons.

The light grows, solidifies, and lands.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known, sleek metal gleaming against the snow, windows glowing warm from within. I don’t have words for it. It’s alive and not alive all at once, like a fragment of a star given form.

Then, movement.

Figures step out into the cold, four of them. They move with purpose, their voices sharp against the silence. I freeze, watching from behind a drift of ice. The sound of their laughter cuts through the air, so casual, so warm, it hurts to hear.

The first two are young, bright-eyed and pointing toward the horizon, their breath rising in small clouds. The girl’s hair catches the faint light of the aurora; her tone is curious, unafraid. The boy beside her carries himself like someone used to danger, though there’s kindness in his eyes when he speaks.

Behind them come two others. One, a man with eyes that carry entire lifetimes of knowledge; the other, a woman with a calm strength that reminds me of the sky before a storm. They survey the landscape as if searching for something or someone.

I don’t know why, but instinct screams at me to hide. I back away, my heart pounding for the first time in memory. The air grows colder around me, frost curling from my fingertips before I realize what I’m doing.

They see me.

The girl gasps, pointing. The boy steps forward cautiously, but I panic.

“Stay back,” I whisper, though the words barely carry. My fear answers for me and an involuntary surge of power erupts, and a wall of ice bursts from the ground between us. The sound is sharp, violent, echoing across the dead world.

For a moment, no one moves.

Then the older man with the steady eyes' steps closer. His voice cuts through the cold, calm but firm.
“We mean no harm,” he says, his breath visible in the frozen air. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word feels foreign on my tongue.

The energy drains from me as quickly as it came. The frost begins to melt around my hands, water tracing lines down my arms like tears. The world tilts, the sky spinning above me. I try to speak, to ask what they are, what I am, but my body refuses to move.

Strong arms catch me before I fall. I think it’s the boy, his voice distant and worried. The girl’s words follow, muffled by the ringing in my ears.

And then I hear it again, that same voice from before, the one from my dreams.

“Rest, child.”

Darkness folds over me like snow.

When I wake again, the world moves.

The low hum beneath me is steady, alive. It vibrates through the floor and up my spine, like a heartbeat that belongs to something vast. I open my eyes to warm light instead of the endless blue. The air here smells faintly of metal and spice.

I’m lying on a bed that's soft, and unfamiliar. Blankets gathered at my chest. Around me, the walls curve in polished bronze and gold, etched with patterns that ripple faintly as the machine breathes. Through the window beside me, stars drift past like falling snow.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

My planet lies behind us now, small and glimmering, a sphere of glass adrift in starlight. Even from this distance, I can see the frost still clinging to it, preserving every city, every soul. Beautiful. Terrible. My doing or my curse... I can’t tell which.

Voices carry softly through the open doorway.

“There were no other life signs,” a woman murmurs. I know her voice, it’s the calm one, the red-haired one who looked at me not with fear but with quiet understanding. “Just her. Let’s give her time before we start asking questions.”

A younger voice protests, light and curious. “But, Himeko, she’s sooo pretty! And that hair-how is it that white naturally? Do you think she’s made of ice or-”

“March,” Himeko says gently, amusement threading her tone, “let her rest.”

Footsteps retreat. The room grows quiet again except for one lingering presence.

I sense eyes on me before I see him. Standing just beyond the doorway, half in shadow, is the man who had spoken to me before the darkness took me. His gaze is steady, unreadable, yet there’s something behind it, like a flicker of recognition that neither of us can explain.

For a moment, we simply look at one another. The hum of the train fades; the stars outside seem to still.

I should feel uneasy, but I don’t. It feels… familiar. As if I’ve met him somewhere before, in another life, another world swallowed by snow.

He nods once, a quiet acknowledgment, and turns away to follow the others.

I turn back to the window. My hand rises, almost on its own, until my fingertips touch the glass. It’s cool, but not cold. For the first time, I feel something like warmth, faint, fragile, real.

A word slips from my lips before I can stop it.
Not a name. Not a prayer.
Something older.

It leaves my mouth like a sigh, a remnant of a language I can no longer remember. The sound hangs in the air for a heartbeat, then vanishes into the hum of the train.

I stare at my reflection in the window taking in the pale glow of my eyes, the quiet lines of a face that feels both mine and not mine. Half divine, half human. Half memory, half ghost.

And for the first time since I awoke, I wonder if I’ve truly left that world behind… or if a part of it still sleeps inside me, waiting to thaw.

Chapter Text

The Astral Express hums like a living thing. I press my palm against the window and feel the vibration through the glass. The stars beyond are sharper here, clearer than they ever were from the frozen horizon of my world. Maybe because they’re moving again. Maybe because I am.

“First mission nerves?”

I turn to find Himeko standing beside me, arms crossed and smiling in that calm, steady way she always does.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, though it comes out softer than I intended.

“Nerves mean you care,” she says gently. “That means you belong here.”

Before I can answer, March 7th bursts in with her camera, eyes bright. “First mission memory!” The flash blinds me for a second, and I wince, laughing weakly. “See? You already look less nervous,” she says proudly.

“Do not distract her,” Dan Heng says from the doorway. He stands perfectly still, his spear across his back, gaze cool and sharp.

“I’m motivating her,” March mutters.

Welt Yang joins them, his steps calm, every movement deliberate. His presence fills the space quietly. “Stay close,” he says, adjusting his glasses.

I nod before I can think.

The doors open, and a wave of sterile air greets us. Herta Space Station glimmers ahead, glass and steel suspended in the void. Inside, our footsteps echo too loudly in the still corridors. Himeko checks in with Asta through the comms. March hums to herself while scanning the walls, and Dan Heng surveys everything with practiced focus. Welt walks beside me, steady and silent.

The lights flicker. A tremor shivers through the floor. Then alarms erupt, flooding the corridor with crimson.

Asta’s voice bursts over the intercom. “Antimatter Legion detected in the sector. All personnel evacuate immediately.”

The name means nothing to me. The shapes mean everything. Shadows twist out of the red haze with too many limbs, glowing eyes, claws scraping steel.

March fumbles for her bow. “Oh great… another walk in the park” she says, her voice shaking.

Dan Heng steps forward, spear raised. Welt’s hand lifts, his barrier blooming in a shimmer of force. “Form up,” he commands. “Protect each other.”

I move with them, the cold biting at my palms, forming blades of ice that hum in the air. Welt’s voice reaches me again, low and calm. “Stay with us.”

I nod, grounding myself in the sound.

We push forward through corridors of panic. Scientists and technicians run in every direction. Himeko takes the lead, scanning a nearby terminal. “Left junction,” she says, her tone measured even through the chaos. “Minor power outages near Control, nothing dangerous yet.”

“Yet,” March mutters, already drawing her bow. “Minor outages always grow up to be major ones.”

“Eyes forward,” Dan Heng replies, already ahead.

Welt walks beside me. Not too close, not far either. The quiet between us feels safe, like the kind of silence that steadies instead of isolates.

The station turns again, and a new corridor opens ahead. Glass ceilings reveal a scatter of stars pressed close against the dark. March whispers a soft “wow,” and I almost echo her, but stop myself. The stars have never comforted me. They remind me of what doesn’t move anymore.

Asta’s voice crackles through the comm again, distorted. “Reading interference… power rerouting… keep moving… we’ll meet you—” The line cuts out in a burst of static.

“Lovely,” March says flatly.

“Proceed,” Dan Heng says. “Caution.”

We passed a maintenance alcove. Tools lie scattered: a wrench, a coil of cable, a mug with a faint lipstick print on its rim. Someone left in a hurry. The small details root me in the moment, keeping me from slipping too far into memory.

Then the tremor comes again, stronger. The corridor shakes. Lights dim, then flare blood-red. Sirens wail overhead, deafening.

Himeko’s head snaps up. Welt raises his hand instinctively, his barrier flickering into being. Dan Heng draws his spear. March steadies her aim, though her breath shakes.

Asta’s voice cuts in again, sharpened with urgency. “All personnel evacuate immediately! Antimatter Legion in Sector—” The message fractures into static.

The monsters arrive with the noise, crawling and gliding while their bodies bending in ways that should not exist. 

“Positions,” Dan Heng calls.

Himeko moves forward, sword blazing. March fires a volley of energy arrows. Welt’s barrier hardens, shimmering like glass. I let the ice answer, sweeping across the floor toward the advancing creatures. The first one freezes mid-lunge, its body locking in place. March’s arrow pierces the crack in its shell, and it shatters.

March whooped, some wild little spark of triumph flashing across her face. “Did you see that? That was—”

“Focus,” Welt said, not unkind.

Welt glances at me but says nothing. He turns, catching another attack with a wave of force.

The comm spat static and then tried again: “—Aux evac corridors— Security lock— All nonessential personnel—”

“Welt,” Himeko said, breath measured, blade wet with a light that didn’t stain. “Split right with Dan Heng. March with me.”

Welt’s glance flicked to me. “With me,” he added, and wrapped calm around the words until they sat properly in my ribs.

“Roger— I mean, yes— uh, sir— I mean, not sir—” March bubbled, backing with Himeko, then shot me a look past her shoulder that said everything she would say later when we weren’t being murdered: That was awesome, are you okay, what was that, you saved my life, also are you okay, are you okay.

Dan Heng had already moved. Welt stepped when he did, and my body discovered it could go where safety had gone. Our trio cut right and the corridor narrowed, then widened too suddenly, as if the architect had remembered a different job midway through this one. A row of windows to space made my stomach lift. My reflection looked like a girl who hadn’t slept for years.

Dan Heng turned a hinge with opinions. “Three,” he said, which meant: three we can see. His spear traced a small circle in the air and completed it on the throat of the first creature to test our willingness to bleed for this place

With a tap of his cane, Welt’s barrier expanded until it met with things that disagreed with the concepts of boundaries. The remaining two monsters slowed upon impact and we pressed on.

In a side passage, we spot a group of technicians huddled behind a security door, eyes wide with panic. Welt steps forward, calm but firm. “Follow corridor five to the evac zone,” he orders. “Do not stop until you reach the main junction.”

They stare for a moment, then obey. As they run, one of the creatures drops from the ceiling, targeting them. Dan Heng is too far. Welt’s barrier is still recovering. I move without thinking, thrusting my palms toward the floor. Ice shoots out in a clean line, locking the creature’s legs in place. It struggles and snarls, trapped.

“Go,” I shout to the technicians. They sprint away. Welt raises his hand, compressing the air around the monster until it crumples with a crack of energy.

He looks at me, eyes steady. “Well done.”

We keep moving. Welt’s barrier reshapes ahead of us, slowing the next wave. Dan Heng cuts through with practiced precision, and I follow their rhythm, striking where the ice can help. A controlled freeze here, a sharpened blade there. No overreach. No loss of control.

The station coughed up new alarms like a failing organ. The comm skittered with Asta’s voice, then someone else’s, then a rolling baritone that did not belong to anyone I knew. “—breach in the archive— containment— all hands—”

Himeko’s voice came through our line, crisp but warm enough to thaw the edge of panic. “Status?”

“Advancing,” Welt said. “Civilians were routed to evac. Hostiles thinned.”

“Good. Rendezvous at Control, if Control is still the word for it. We’ll meet you as soon as our dance partners get tired of losing.”

“Understood.”

The red light paints everything in motion. The station feels alive and dying all at once. My breath fogs as I push the cold back under my skin.

“Stay close to me,” Welt said. 

I nod.

“Control,” he says. “Now.”

Dan Heng finally looked over, with the shortest acknowledgment that I was not a liability he’d have to tie to a chair. “Keep to Welt’s left,” he said. “If they cluster, slow them. Not the floor.”

He had noticed. Of course he had. He’d noticed that I kept choosing the floor, the walls, the harmless parts of the world to punish. Not people. Not anymore.

“Understood,” I said.

We run. The corridor shakes again. The Legion returns in fragments and smoke, but we cut through them cleanly this time.

The Control room door looms ahead. Welt lifts his hand to override it. The panel flickers and gives way. The sound inside changes, shouting, the hum of weapons, the electric smell of ozone and fear. A pressure presses behind my eyes, like a storm thinking of its name.

March’s laughter echoed down the connected corridor an instant later, like a bell answer. Himeko’s voice chased it: “Two more, then we breathe.”

“Together,” Welt says.

“Always,” I answer before I can stop myself. His expression flickered, almost a softness.

We crossed the threshold and stepped through

The room noticed us. Every head not attached to a monster pivoted our way. Asta is at the far console, frantically issuing orders. Himeko and March shortly followed behind, holding a fraying line at the far console. Dan Heng slid into the gap that looked like it had been waiting for him, spear first.

Welt moves forward, and the room steadies around him.

I lift my chin, staring at the woman ahead. 

“So that’s Asta…” I whisper to myself.

Her hair flamed like a sunrise, her white coat trailing, her posture a mix of exhaustion and defiance. She was young, younger than I expected, and yet the room bent around her as though she had always been its center. Her voice carried like command, but her eyes burned with the sleepless shine of someone who had chosen responsibility over comfort too many times.

She turned as we entered, her relief visible but brief. “You made it.”

Himeko inclined her head, composed as always. “We came as soon as we received your signal.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Asta said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “The Legion breached faster than we calculated. I’ve rerouted nonessential power, but containment is failing in multiple sectors.”

March winced. “Translation: big trouble, right?”

Asta’s smile was weary. “Correct.”

Her gaze flicked across each of us, cataloguing, measuring. When her eyes found me, she paused not suspiciously, but curious, as though I were a variable she hadn’t accounted for. “I wasn’t told there was a new member aboard the Express.”

Heat flushed my face. “I… joined recently.”

“She’s with us,” Himeko said simply, warmth threading her words like silk.

Asta nodded, accepting without argument. That small mercy made my chest loosen by a thread.

Asta gathered her tablet from the console, flipping through lines of data that jittered and reset as though the station itself was trying to sabotage her. “I’ve sealed most auxiliary corridors, but their numbers keep growing. We need to clear the Archives before the Legion breaches any further.”

Her tone was clipped and efficient but her hands trembled when she set the tablet down. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for me to see.

I knew that kind of trembling. The kind that came not from weakness but from carrying too much, too long.

“I’ll direct personnel to fallback routes,” Himeko said, brushing the red strands of her hair behind one ear. “You focus on the Legion.”

“Easier said than done,” Asta muttered. She rubbed at her temple, then looked at us again, and her smile was almost apologetic. “But I’m glad you’re here. Without the Express…” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t have to.

March bounded forward with renewed energy, spinning her bow like a baton. “Don’t worry! With us around, you’ll be fine. We’ll smash those creepy crawlies before they get another inch.”

The cheer in her voice clashed with the red-lit room, but somehow it worked. Asta laughed softly not long, but enough to soften the tightness in her shoulders.

Dan Heng only adjusted his grip on his spear. His silence filled in the gaps where March’s words fell short.

Welt spoke last, his voice steady and deliberate. “Point us where we’re needed most. We’ll handle the rest.”

Asta’s eyes softened. For the first time since we’d entered, she looked less like a commander standing on the brink and more like a person holding onto hope.

We moved again, following Asta’s lead through a network of corridors and lifts that hummed like a nervous system stretched too thin. She spoke in clipped bursts about breaches, containment, and research protocols, her tablet glowing in her hands.

March stuck close to her, peppering her with questions about telescopes, satellites, and whether Asta ever had time for fun. Asta’s answers were short but kind, each one peeling away a little of the exhaustion from her voice.

Himeko walked ahead, every stride balanced, the weight of command fitting her like a well-worn coat.

Dan Heng flanked, silent, eyes sharp.

And Welt… stayed by me.

He didn’t speak, not even to reassure me. But his presence was deliberate, as if he’d chosen this place beside me not by accident, not because there was nowhere else to stand, but because he thought I might need it.

I tried not to let the thought warm me too much.

By the time we reached the Archives, the station felt like it was holding its breath. The doors loomed tall and cold, the seal glowing faintly with warnings. Asta keyed in a command, her fingers flying too fast for my eyes to follow.

“They’re inside,” she said grimly. “If they reach the core, we lose more than data. The station’s entire system depends on this sector.”

Himeko raised her weapon, her stance graceful, ready. “Then we won’t let them.”

March bounced on her heels, drawing her bow. “Time to shine.”

Dan Heng twirled his spear once, settling into silence again.

My hands trembled in my pockets. The frost itched against my palms. The red light bled into my vision.

Welt’s voice came low beside me. Only for me. “Remember what I told you. You’re here. Not there.”

I swallowed, forcing air into my lungs. “I’ll try.”

His gaze lingered just long enough to feel like a promise. “That’s enough.”

The doors began to slide open. The sound of claws on steel poured out, a chorus I had hoped never to hear again.

And we stepped into the storm.

A thousand claws on steel, screeching in rhythm, echoing through the cavernous heart of the Archives. The air stank of ozone and burning circuits. Sparks rained down from broken consoles, the glow strobing across the glass walls that spiraled high into the dark like a cathedral for knowledge.

Only now, it was no cathedral. It was a battlefield.

The Antimatter Legion swarmed across the tiers of the chamber, their grotesque forms spilling over stairways and crawling along walls that should have been untouchable. Between their ranks, research drones sputtered and fell, their lights flickering out like fireflies under storm rain.

Asta’s breath hitched beside me. “The core’s ahead… if they breach it, everything we’ve built—”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

“Then we hold them here,” Himeko said. Her voice was steel, calm, unyielding. She raised her weapon, and its glow cut the dark.

Dan Heng stepped forward, spear at the ready, his shadow stretching long under the red emergency lights.

March knocked an arrow, her voice high and fierce. “Let’s do this!”

Welt adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping across the chamber with quiet precision. His eyes flicked to me only once, but the look was deliberate: steady yourself.

The first wave struck.

Dan Heng met it head-on, his spear flashing, clean arcs slicing through carapace and shadow alike. His movements were efficient, honed, a rhythm of thrust and retreat that left no space for hesitation.

March loosened her arrow, the bolt of light streaking past my shoulder. It struck true, detonating in a burst that scattered Legion fragments across the polished floor. “Ha! How do you like that?” she shouted, already drawing another.

Himeko swept her weapon in a wide arc, fire cutting a line through the swarm. Her presence blazed, a pillar of strength that steadied the others even as the Legion screeched louder.

Welt raised his hand, and the air shimmered. The Legion slowed, crushed beneath invisible weight, their movements sluggish, deliberate, as though the station itself had turned against them.

One of the Legion broke past, skittering low, claws scraping as it rushed Asta.

She gasped, stumbling back.

The frost surged out before I could stop it, a vein of ice cracking across the floor. The Legion froze mid-step, trapped in a sudden lattice of rime that glowed faintly in the red light.

Asta’s eyes widened. “You—”

March fired another arrow, shattering the creature before Asta could finish.

She turned to me, her grin too wide, her voice too bright. “You really are amazing! Where were you hiding that?!”

Heat flared in my chest. “I… just got lucky.”

Welt’s voice cut across hers, calm and firm. “March. Focus.”

Her pout was audible, but she obeyed.

His gaze brushed mine, heavy, steady, and for a moment I thought he’d speak. But he didn’t. He only turned back to the fight, raising his hand to bend the Legion’s charge.

Relief and dread tangled in my chest. He had seen. Again. He was choosing silence.

But for how long?

Chapter Text

The Archives were quiet again. Too quiet.

The Legion’s broken shells littered the glass floors like discarded husks. Asta’s people were already moving through, salvaging what they could, repairing consoles, sweeping debris into neat piles. The red lights still pulsed overhead, the sirens still wailed, but softer now tired, as if the station itself had grown weary of screaming.

My arms ached, my hands trembled, but I forced myself to move with the others. Himeko was already at Asta’s side, reviewing readouts from a cracked terminal. Dan Heng stood near the entrance, eyes sharp, spear still in hand. March leaned against a console, flexing her sore arms and groaning theatrically. Welt adjusted his glasses and spoke with Asta in low tones, his voice steady, even now.

It should have been enough to calm me. The Legion was scattered. The Archives were secure. For now.

But the stillness pressed too hard against my skin. My ribs felt tight, my breath shallow. Something thrummed in the air, deeper than the hum of machinery, older than the station itself.

A pulse. Not mine. Not the station’s.

Something else.

I gripped the edge of a cracked console, grounding myself. The frost itched beneath my skin, eager to answer, eager to spread. I clenched my hands into fists, forcing it down.

“You’re pale,” March said suddenly, peering at me with wide eyes. “Like… extra pale. Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth, but the words tangled. “Just… tired.”

She tilted her head, unconvinced, but before she could press, Himeko called her over. March huffed and skipped away, still glancing back at me with suspicion.

I let out a slow breath. My fingers had already left faint frost on the console’s surface.

No one else noticed. Not yet.

Asta’s voice carried over the sirens, clipped but steady. “Containment is deteriorating faster than expected. The Legion is retreating in some sectors, but…” Her tablet flickered with collapsing graphs. “…they’re converging in the hangar. It’s as if they’re gathering for something.”

“Something?” Himeko echoed.

“The Doomsday Beast.”

The name hit the room like a weight. Even the sirens seemed to hush for a moment, their wail dulling against the walls.

March’s eyes went wide. “Doomsday? what kind of name is that?! Who names these things?!”

Dan Heng didn’t look up. “It’s a war construct. Created by the Antimatter Legion. Blessed by Nanook.”

The air left my lungs in a shudder. Nanook. Even the name felt heavy, resonant, sharp. The frost inside me coiled tighter.

Asta tapped her tablet, pulling up half-complete schematics, riddled with errors. “It was designed to end worlds. It hasn’t been seen in years, but if the readings are correct, it’s here.”

“Here?” March squeaked. “As in… here here? On this station?”

“Yes.”

The console under my hand vibrated faintly. 

I staggered back, pressing a hand over my sternum. My breath came sharp, white in the cold air. The others didn’t notice as they were focused on Asta’s readouts, on strategy, on preparing.

But I felt it.

The pulse wasn’t just the Beast. It was deeper, more human, like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. Resonant. Familiar. Wrong.

Someone was here. Someone awake.

And whatever was inside him was calling to what was inside me.

“Dan Heng, you’ll take points,” Himeko was saying. “March, cover the flanks. Welt and I will hold the center. We need to keep them from breaching the station core.”

Her voice was calm, sure. Orders, plans, stability. I should have felt steadied by it. But the resonance drowned everything.

My vision blurred. Frost spiraled across the floor at my boots.

Not now. Please, not now.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the cold back down, forcing myself to breathe.

“Stay with us.”

My eyes snapped open. Welt was watching me. His voice had cut under the others, low and deliberate, meant only for me.

I nodded quickly, too quickly, clutching my hands behind my back so no one would see the cold fading from my fingers.

He didn’t press. He only adjusted his glasses, turning back to Asta. But the weight of his gaze lingered, steady, anchoring.

The ground shuddered as we made our way towards the hangar 

Not like before, not a tremor, not the station’s bones groaning. This was heavier. Intentional.

A console exploded in sparks. The sirens blared back to life at full volume, shrieking warnings in languages I didn’t know.

Asta’s tablet lit up with a red warning that outshone all others. Her face blanched. “It’s here.”

The walls trembled again, dust raining from the seams. A sound like tearing metal echoed through the chamber, distant but growing.

March gasped, spinning toward the corridor. “That’s—”

The floor lurched, nearly throwing us off balance. A shadow passed across the glass ceiling, vast and wrong, blotting out the emergency lights.

The Doomsday Beast.

It wasn’t just a shadow. It was a presence. A weight pressing down on the station, pressing into my bones.

And under it, fainter but certain, I felt the other heartbeat again. The resonance.

Someone else was awake. Someone else who carried the same burden.

My knees buckled as the beast roared.

The ceiling above the station warped with the shadow’s passage, emergency lights bowing in red arcs as if the building itself were praying. Glass vibrated under my palms. The hum in my chest rose, an answering note I hadn’t agreed to sing.

“Positions!” Himeko’s voice cut across the alarms, clean as a blade.

Dan Heng moved first, already reading paths the rest of us couldn’t see. March’s bow snapped into line with muscle memory and stubborn courage. Asta rattled off evacuation routes into the comm, her voice too calm for anyone but a leader who’d chosen calm on purpose.

“Breathe,” Welt said quietly near my shoulder as if he could convince my lungs they hadn’t been bricked over with ice. His presence was the single steady thing in a room that wanted to buckle.

I tried. Air stung in. Air scraped out.

The Beast’s shadow crossed the glass again, slower this time, as if it had found us and meant to savor the discovery. 

And beneath the alarms, the tremors, the station’s protesting bones, there was that other rhythm. A heartbeat that wasn’t mine. Not the Beast’s, either. Something human, frightened, stubborn. Close enough that my frost leaned toward it like a tide.

He’s here, the cold said, in the wordless way cold speaks. He’s awake.

Asta’s terminal went violent with warnings. “Multiple breaches. The Beast is forcing the outer hull. We can’t hold it at this level! fall back to the observation spine!”

“Move,” Himeko commanded, and the order was a bridge we ran across.

We spilled into the corridor like a single body. Doors opened a fraction of a second before Asta’s authorization reached them, lights blooming ahead as if the station wanted us to survive. March ran backward for three steps “We’re not dead yet, keep moving!” then yelped and spun to face forward again when Dan Heng gave her that look.

The floor bucked as something titanic set its weight down on the station. A vending machine toppled and exploded into a storm of packaged snacks. My shoulder clipped the wall; Welt’s hand was there, brief, a promise pressed into skin.

We rounded onto the observation spine, the long glass artery that stitched two halves of the station together. The universe opened on either side, black and star-shot, the station’s ribs curving away like the inside of a sleeping creature.

And the Beast was finally visible.

It gripped the station’s hull, armor welded to muscle, engines beating where organs should be, a head crowned in bladed light. Every motion it made bent the station’s frame a little more. The glass around us sang with the strain.

March swore softly. It sounded like a prayer.

“Target its stabilizers,” Himeko said, voice steady when mine could not be. “We buy ourselves time.”

Dan Heng set his spear for a lunge that looked impossible through glass. Asta gunned power toward the spine’s shield array, coaxing reluctant systems into coherence. Welt lifted his hand and the air condensed, the station’s shiver becoming a push instead of a tremble.

The heartbeat in my chest answered someone else’s. Closer now. Close enough that I could almost put a shape to it: footsteps uncertain, breath ragged with the strangeness of being alive. Something inside him burned ruin-bright, and the cold inside me recoiled and reached for it at once.

You’re not wrong, I told the my. You’re not alone. But not now.

A fracture raced along the glass to our right, a white lightning bolt that froze rather than burned. The Beast anchored one claw, drove the other through a maintenance bracket, and pulled. The observation spine heaved; alarms found new volumes.

“We hold,” Welt said, and the field around us thickened like the world had remembered weight.

“Holding,” Asta hissed, as if it were a personal insult. “But the dampeners are maxed. We need to drive it off now or we’re going to—”

The spine lurched. The next door down blew open in a cough of smoke. Figures in lab coats scrambled through. Three, four, faces ash-streaked and wild-eyed. Himeko waved them past. March grabbed a staggering tech by the elbow and shoved him into motion with unceremonious kindness. Dan Heng’s spear flicked once and set a Legion straggler into permanent reconsideration.

The Beast’s head rotated toward us.

Its eyes weren’t eyes. They were wounds that leaked light.

“Look at me,” Welt said, and the world narrowed to the exact space between us. His gaze held me like a person holds a frightened animal, not with force but with certainty. “You know how to do this without breaking it.”

He didn’t mean the Beast.

I swallowed. Air found the bottom of my lungs. The frost listened, resentful, yet loyal and lay itself thin across the junction plates in the floor, a seam the station could use instead of a shroud it would have to survive. I didn’t freeze the window. I didn’t silence the alarms. I didn’t make the mistake of believing stillness equals safety.

“Now!” Himeko’s call rang clean.

Dan Heng moved with three strikes that looked like one. March’s arrow stitched a line of bright defiance into the Beast’s shoulder assembly. Asta pushed a surge through the spine’s emitters; the glass hummed with a field that bit back. Welt’s barrier bowed, then pressed outward, a refusal made manifest.

The Beast recoiled. Not much. Enough.

The resonance in my chest spiked hot, then cold, then the precise sensation of a door opening. Not in the station. In a person.

Footsteps, fast and unsure, hit the metal walkway behind us. I turned because my body knew him before my eyes did.

A boy stood in the threshold of the blown-out doorway with hair damp, shirt clinging, eyes too clear for someone who had been alive for such a short time. Confusion lived beside a resolve that didn’t belong to him yet. He took in the Beast, the crew, the breaking station, and didn’t flinch. He touched his chest like someone confirming a rumor and winced, as if the rumor had teeth.

Our gazes caught.

The Stellaron in him rang against me like two notes aching toward the same chord. Not harmony. Recognition.

He looked at me like I was the first person who could hear the noise he’d woken into.

“Who—” he began, and the Beast slammed a limb into the spine.

The floor kicked under us. Glass shrieked. The field buckled and then held because Welt told it to. Himeko’s blade flared. Dan Heng planted himself like a promise. March swore a vow only she would ever call a joke.

The boy’s hands curled, as if he expected to find a weapon there and found only the need to act.

I took one step toward him without meaning to, as if the thread between us had tugged. “Stay with us,” I said, and my voice trembled on the us in a way that made my ribs hurt.

He nodded, once, quick. Something like relief flickered through his face as if the world had offered him a hand, and he had decided to take it.

The Beast’s head lowered. The station’s lights guttered. Asta’s screen went blood-red.

“Brace,” Welt said.

We did.

The Doomsday Beast drew breath not air, but of catastrophe, and the observation spine filled with the kind of light that turns endings into facts.

I reached for everything I was not supposed to be. And the chapter broke there, on the cusp of ruin.

“March, shield!” Himeko’s command cracked through the roar.

March snapped up a wall of light, bracing it against the Beast’s first blast. The shield shuddered, spiderwebbing at the impact. “O-okay, that’s not fair!” she squeaked, but her stance held.

“Dan Heng, right flank,” Welt ordered, calm as a stone.

Dan Heng was already there, spear glancing across the Beast’s armor in streaks of silver. Sparks cascaded into the void.

Himeko’s blade blazed in answer, carving a line of fire across its limb. The air scorched and crackled, fire and void arguing over who would own the space between.

And Welt he anchored everything. His hand lifted, and gravity itself remembered its place. The Beast slowed, staggering just long enough for March’s arrow to pierce a seam in its armor.

The glass floor trembled under the counterstrike.

The boy.

He looked at the Beast, at us, at his own shaking hands. His breath came ragged, but he didn’t retreat. His gaze snapped to a broken length of pipe thrown loose from the wall. He grabbed it, swung it with both hands and the impact against the Beast’s claw rang like a bell.

The construct reeled. Not from the metal. From the raw power that poured through him like a vein torn open.

Light bled from the swing, a burst of destructive energy that fractured the armor.

March gawked. “Did he just—hit it with a stick?!”

Welt’s glasses glinted as he narrowed his eyes. “Not a stick. Instinct.”

The boy swung again. And again. Wild. Unrefined. But every strike tore deeper than it should have, as if the universe itself recoiled from his touch.

I moved before I realized it, covering his flank when the Beast’s other claw swung low. My frost surged out, veining across the floor to slow its advance and Its wild strike met my restraint.

The boy blinked at me, startled, then softened. For a heartbeat, the battle blurred away.

His voice was raw. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know why I can do this.” His grip tightened on the pipe, knuckles white. “All I feel is… something inside me that wants to break everything.”

My throat tightened. I almost looked away. But he deserved the truth. “Then we’re the same.”

He froze.

I swallowed hard, breath fogging between us. “There’s something inside me too. But I spend every breath trying not to let it out. You destroy, I hold. Either way… we carry things too big for us.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, his amber eyes wide, wet at the edges. A boy who didn’t ask for this, recognizing another who hadn’t either.

“Then maybe…” His voice cracked. “Maybe we can hold it together. Just for now.”

I nodded, fierce, because anything softer would have broken me. “Just for now.”

The Beast roared, snapping the world back into fire and noise. But when we moved again, it wasn’t alone. His swings matched the pace of my frost, wild and sharp but meeting restraint. His burden sang with mine.

The Beast lunged, its claws tearing through the spine’s shields like paper. The station shuddered, alarms bleeding into a single flat scream.

“Hold formation!” Himeko called, her voice sharp enough to cut through chaos.

March fired again and again, her arrows sparking against the Beast’s joints. Dan Heng was a blur at its flank, every strike precise, clean, measured. Himeko’s blade blazed across its armor, burning fissures into metal that should have been unbreakable.

Welt anchored us all. His hand lifted, and the Beast’s claw slammed down slower than physics allowed, the weight of the universe dragging against its motion. His field shimmered around us, catching falling glass, catching falling courage.

The boy moved with us. His swings were raw, wide, but his power was undeniable. Every strike tore deeper than it should, the metal pipe in his hands cracking like thunder when destruction leapt from his body into the Beast. He looked half-terrified of himself, half-defiant.

The Beast reared back, pulling energy into its crown of blades. Light gathered in its throat, a sphere of annihilation that made the air hum with panic.

Asta’s voice cracked over the comm. “It’s charging! if it releases that inside the station, everything’s gone!”

“Then we stop it here,” Welt said, calm, absolute.

Dan Heng planted himself, spear raised in perfect form. “I’ll open it.”

“March, shield them!” Himeko’s command rang out.

“Got it!” March’s barrier flared, brighter than I’d ever seen, her teeth clenched as she forced it to hold.

Himeko’s blade ignited, fire spiraling up its length. She glanced once at Welt. He nodded, the tiniest motion.

I knew my place. I met the mysterious boy's eyes, watching his grip tightened on the pipe. He nodded too, a silent pact.

Dan Heng struck first, spear plunging into the Beast’s neck seam with a burst of silver light. The creature reeled, its energy sphere flickering.

“Now!” Himeko shouted. Fire roared across her blade as she carved a burning line into the fracture.

I threw my frost across the breach, holding it wide, forcing the armor to split, to stay vulnerable. The cold burned my veins, but I held.

“Together!” Welt’s voice anchored everything.

His field collapsed inward, pressing the Beast’s massive body down, forcing it to accept the blows.

The boy roared, lifting the pipe in both hands. Destruction flared, wild and violent, shattering the air. He swung an arc so raw and brutal it felt like an ending, and the Beast’s core cracked under it.

Light spilled out, sputtering, faltering.

It screamed, the sound rattling the station to its foundations, then tore itself free from the spine, retreating into the void.

The silence that followed was deafening.

For a moment, none of us moved. Just the sound of our breathing, ragged and disbelieving. The station groaned around us, but it was still standing.

March broke the silence first, collapsing to her knees with a dramatic groan. “My arms are so dead. If anyone asks, I carried the whole fight.”

Dan Heng didn’t answer, though the faint twitch of his brow said enough.

Himeko exhaled, lowering her blade. Fire dimmed to embers. She looked at us all and allowed herself a smile. “Good work.”

Asta’s voice came through, choked but steady. “Core integrity… holding. The Beast is gone. The Legion is retreating. You… you did it.”

Her relief was palpable, filling the room like sunlight after storm.

The boy dropped the broken pipe, chest heaving. His hands trembled, and he stared at them as if they were weapons he couldn’t put down. His voice was raw, trembling.

“…Who am I?”

The question silenced even March.

He looked at us, at Himeko, at Welt, and then at me. His eyes were too clear, too desperate. “What… what am I supposed to be?”

My throat ached. I wanted to answer, but the frost inside me locked the words away. If I said them, they’d sound like mine, not his.

Himeko stepped forward instead. Her voice was warm, certain. “Someone at the beginning of a journey. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He blinked, as if trying to believe her.

“You don’t need all the answers now,” she said gently. “But if you want a place to start, come with us. The Astral Express is a home for people like you.”

He stared at her hand when she offered it, the same way he’d looked at the weapon in his grip with uncertainty but needing to hold something. Slowly, carefully, he took it.

The world shifted, just a little.

As the others moved ahead, I lingered. My palm brushed the frost-veined floor, fading now that the Beast was gone. My heart was still hammering, still resonating.

He glanced at me once as Himeko led him forward. His eyes lingered not recognition, not yet, but something close. Something like understanding.

I wasn’t the only one anymore.

Welt’s voice reached me, low, steady, from behind. “Come on.”

I turned. He stood a step back, watching me with that same calm weight, offering no judgment, only presence.

I breathed once, twice, forced the frost quiet, and followed.

The Beast was gone. The station was safe. And for the first time since leaving my frozen world, I wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

The control hub smelled of smoke and ozone. Consoles sparked faintly where the Antimatter Legion had torn through, and researchers stumbled about patching wires and data feeds with shaking hands. The red emergency lights still pulsed overhead, but softer now, like the station itself was tired of screaming.

Asta stood at the center of the chaos, her tablet in one hand, hair escaping its tie, her white coat smudged with soot. She barked orders between shallow breaths, and even exhaustion couldn’t dull the edge in her voice. “Seal the auxiliary conduits! If the hangar vents collapse, we’ll lose another third of the power grid!”

Himeko was already beside her, helping stabilize a flickering console. March darted between teams of scientists, handing out med kits, trying to sound cheerful even as her voice cracked. Dan Heng moved through the wreckage with surgical precision, clearing debris and guiding stragglers toward evacuation lifts. Welt anchored everything, quiet and composed, directing repairs where they mattered most.

I followed his lead, freezing the edges of a ruptured coolant pipe before it could spray. My hands still trembled. The air still reeked of scorched circuitry. The world was moving again, but it hadn’t stopped shaking inside me.

Himeko joined Asta at a console, scanning the data. “Containment’s holding, but the core levels are unstable,” she said evenly. “If you reroute auxiliary power through Deck B, it should hold until the grid’s rebuilt.”

Asta exhaled hard, pressing a hand to her temple. “Do you know what the worst part is?” she muttered, half to herself, half to Himeko. “Herta still hasn’t shown up. Months without contact, and all she sends are her puppets. We’re overrun, rebuilding, and she’s probably observing from some remote lab, taking notes like this is an experiment.”

Himeko’s expression softened. “She trusts you to handle it.”

Asta laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Trust is a convenient word for negligence.” She turned her tablet toward them, graphs dipping red, energy output collapsing. “If this keeps up, she won’t have a station left to ignore.”

Welt stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve done well, Asta. Few could have held the line as you have.”

“Flattery won’t fix my power grid,” she said, but a ghost of gratitude crossed her face.

Then the air changed.

The lights dimmed, the temperature shifted, and something sterile swept through the room like static. March looked up from her work just as a shape drifted through the far airlock. A small figure in a dark dress, eyes sharp and reflective, hands clasped neatly behind its back approaches.

Herta’s puppet.

Conversation died on contact. Even the machines seemed to hush.

“Herta,” Himeko said softly, inclining her head.

The puppet’s lips curved in a mechanical smile. “You sound surprised.”

The gaze it turned on our mysterious hero was cutting, clinical. He stiffened instinctively, the light from the consoles catching in his amber eyes. "Ah,” she murmured. “So, this is the cause of all the excitement.”

The puppet tilted its head with deliberate precision. “A human vessel containing a Stellaron. How curious.”

March’s mouth fell open. “Wait, wait, the what now?”

“The Stellaron,” Herta said. “Kafka left me quite the gift. Though next time, I’d prefer she deliver it in a box.”

The boy’s fists clenched. His face flickered between confusion and dread.

The puppets’ eyes then fell upon me, sharp and electric. My breath caught. Frost ached to pour from my skin, to meet the energy thrumming inside him. I backed against a console, forcing the cold down until my hands shook with effort. Welt’s eyes flicked toward me once, reading more than he said, before turning calmly back to Herta.

“Is he dangerous?” March asked.

Herta smiled wider. “Of course. Stelleron made flesh is always dangerous. Unstable. Unpredictable. Or perhaps… fascinating.” She circled the boy slowly, eyes bright with analysis. “You are a paradox. A human with the power to destroy stars. Tell me, how does it feel to be both alive and impossible?”

He didn’t answer. His shoulders squared in silence.

Dan Heng’s voice was steady. “If he’s that volatile, why leave him free?”

“Because he isn’t mine,” Herta said easily. “He’s yours.” Her gaze slid toward the Express crew, bored and disinterested. “Take him, study him, train him… whatever you like. Or leave him here, and I will.”

The air went still.

“No,” Himeko said. Her tone was soft but unyielding. “We don’t abandon people to be tools.”

“Tools,” Herta repeated. “Interesting word choice, coming from you.”

“Enough,” Welt said, his voice sharp enough to silence even a machine. “He’s a person. Not an experiment.”

The puppet regarded him a moment longer, then gave a faint shrug. “How sentimental.”

The tension hung heavy until the boy spoke, voice raw and low. “If I stay here… you’ll cut me open.”

Herta didn’t deny it.

He swallowed. “Then I’m leaving.”

His eyes lifted, first to Himeko, then Welt, then me. There was trust there, fragile but real. “You said I didn’t have to be alone.”

The words hit like a pulse, echoing between us. My throat tightened. I nodded before my mind caught up. “You don’t.”

The frost stirred beneath my skin, not violently this time; resonant, alive.

Herta watched the exchange with cool amusement. “Touching. Take him then. Perhaps he’ll destroy you. Perhaps he won’t. Either way, I’ll enjoy the data.” Her puppet turned, drifting away toward the corridor. “Send my regards to the Express.”

The door sealed behind her, and the room seemed to breathe again.

Asta sagged against a console, rubbing her temple. “She vanishes for months, then shows up just to hand out cryptic warnings and moral headaches. Typical.”

March blew out a shaky laugh. “She’s kind of terrifying. I’d take another Doomsday Beast over that.”

“She’s brilliant,” Asta corrected, grimacing, “and that’s what makes her worse.”

Welt adjusted his glasses, his gaze lingering on the boy. “We’ll need to debrief. If Kafka was involved, this wasn’t random and perhaps not alone.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking up. “You know her?”

“She’s a Stellaron Hunter,” Himeko said. Her voice held a note of warning. “Agents of Finality who follow chaos like a creed. Why were they with you?”

He hesitated, his voice unsteady. “I don’t know. The Violet haired lady said I’d wake here. That I’d… change everything.” His brow furrowed as fragments of memory surfaced. “She was calm. Smiling. Like she’d already seen it all happen. And the other one with silver hair, she was laughing the whole time.”

“Silver Wolf as well, huh.” Welt calmly states.

He paused, then swallowed hard. “Before they left, she said I’d need a name. Something human. She called me Caelus.”

March blinked. “Kind of a cool name. Creepy delivery, though.”

Himeko’s expression tightened. “Kafka doesn’t do anything without purpose. Giving you a name wasn’t kindness, it was intent.”

Welt’s expression hardened. “Then the Legion’s assault was never the real objective. They needed the distraction.”

Dan Heng nodded once, sharp and sure. “To reach him.”

“To reach her,” Welt countered softly, his eyes sliding briefly toward me.

The air around us felt colder, heavier. The thought was unspoken, but it fit too well to ignore.

Before anyone could respond, footsteps echoed from the corridor. A voice called, hoarse but familiar.

“Is everyone… still alive?”

A young boy stumbled through the doorway, his uniform torn, a streak of ash on his cheek. The relief on Asta’s face was instant. “Arlan!”

He straightened, trying for composure despite the tremor in his hands. “Sorry. The hangar perimeter’s stable now. I—” His eyes landed on Caelus, then on the rest of us. “You’re the ones who helped push the Legion back?”

Himeko nodded. “Astral Express crew. We arrived on Asta’s signal.”

Arlan gave a shaky nod, the tension in his shoulders softening slightly. “I owe you for that. For all of this.” His voice was quiet, but sincere. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did…”

Asta placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling faintly. “You did your part, Arlan. You always do.”

March grinned, waving. “Hey, you’re the brave one who found the newbie, right? Nice job.”

“Found?” Asta echoed.

Arlan nodded. “When the Legion breached the containment levels, I found him. Caelus, was it? collapsed near the research sector. I was pulling him out when the alarms triggered again.” He glanced at Caelus, eyes narrowing. “You don’t remember that, do you?”

Caelus shook his head slowly. “I remember… waking up again after my encounter with Kafka. And a voice telling me to move.”

“That’d be me,” Arlan said with a tired smile. “Glad to see it worked.”

The quiet that followed was softer now. The panic had faded into exhaustion, but it was the kind that came with survival.

Asta’s tablet buzzed with new data, cutting the silence. “The outer decks are stabilizing. I can reestablish power to the hangar within the hour.” Her voice was steady again, professional, but her eyes flicked toward us, full of questions she didn’t ask.

Himeko offered her a small, tired smile. “You’ve done more than enough. The Express will stay to help with recovery before departure.”

Asta nodded, finally allowing herself a breath of relief. “I won’t argue with that. The station owes you all more than I can put into words.”

Himeko offered her a small, tired smile. “We’re just glad we got here in time.”

Dan Heng adjusted his spear, glancing toward the damaged hallways beyond. “I’ll help reinforce the containment locks. There’s still movement on the lower decks.”

March groaned but was already moving after him. “Fine, but if I see another one of those crawling things, I’m charging overtime.”

Asta almost laughed, though her voice still shook. “I think we can arrange hazard pay in the form of gratitude and caffeine.”

“Caffeine works,” March said cheerfully, vanishing into the next corridor.

Welt remained behind, coordinating with a team of engineers who needed help stabilizing damaged gravity panels. Every so often his gaze flicked toward me, not hovering, just making sure I was still breathing.

I joined Caelus near the viewport, where the cracked glass had been sealed with temporary plating. Beyond it, the stars burned steadily again, as if the chaos had never reached them. He stood very still, hands in his pockets, the remnants of battle light still faintly shimmering along his skin.

“You weren’t wrong,” he said quietly. “About not being alone.”

The words made something inside me loosen, fragile and full. I looked at him, at the same weariness I recognized in myself, the same unasked question. “Neither were you.”

He smiled faintly. Small, uncertain, but real. “Guess we both survived our first day.”

“Barely,” I said, my voice lighter than it felt.

From across the room, Asta shouted something about power relays and auxiliary lines. Sparks flared from a console, followed by a loud curse. Himeko was already there, sleeves rolled up, her calm presence turning chaos into order again. Welt and Dan Heng moved with quiet purpose, their efficiency filling the space with a strange sort of peace.

For the first time since the fight, I let myself breathe fully. The frost beneath my skin softened, content for now. Around us, the station hummed, battered and scorched, but alive.

Caelus turned his gaze to the stars again. “What do we do now?”

“We help,” I said simply. “Until it’s time to move on.”

He nodded at that, as if it was the first real answer that made sense.

And when I looked back toward the others, toward the light flickering through the smoke, I realized something quietly, impossibly human… The battle was over, but the aftermath was where people were built.

Chapter Text

The Astral Express waited in a hush that felt like a held breath, its polished frame catching the station’s dim light. Repair crews drifted past for their final checks, palms over seals and energy couplings, while the engine’s faint hum threaded through the floor into my bones. A steady heartbeat. Ready. Alive.

Asta stood near the platform with a clipboard tucked to her side, fatigue softening her smile. “Well,” she said, “I think that’s everything. The station owes you all more than I can say.”

Himeko’s smile answered hers, elegant even through exhaustion. “We were glad to help. You kept the station together long before we arrived.”

Asta snorted. “Not without a few near-miracles. I’ll take the compliment though.”

March leaned on the railing, her camera bumping against her chest. “I got amazing pictures of the cleanup. Once I figure out how to send them without crashing the network, everyone’s going to see how heroic we looked.”

Dan Heng didn’t glance up from his datapad. “Or you could complete the mission reports.”

March gasped. “Dan Heng. You wound me.”

Welt’s quiet laugh warmed the space. “Let her have her moment. She earned it.”

Asta waved the comment away with a grin. “If this is what the Express crew is like all the time, I almost envy you, Himeko.”

“You’d change your mind after the third interstellar coffee emergency,” Himeko teased, then turned to us where we gathered at the ramp. Caelus stood a little apart, shoulders tight, eyes watchful. March’s grin buzzed like electricity. Dan Heng was calm, composed. Welt carried that steady presence that made rooms feel less fragile. I stood between them all, the new rhythm of belonging tapping at my ribs.

“Before you go,” Asta said to Caelus, “thank you. For helping us hold the line.”

He shifted, thumb hooking under his satchel strap. “I… didn’t do much.”

“You did more than you think,” Asta said gently. “Don’t sell yourself short. The universe already tries to do that for us.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that kindness. Himeko stepped forward.

“The Express is ready to depart,” she said. “But before we do, Caelus, I want to ask again. Will you join us?”

He looked up, and the hesitation in his eyes met something like awe. His gaze moved across our faces. March, bright and buoyant. Dan Heng, quiet assurance. Welt, warm gravity. Then me. I tried to offer him what I had been offered: a place to stand.

“I…” His voice sounded like it had not been used for truths in a long time. “I don’t know who I was before this. But if joining means finding out what that means… then yes. I’ll go.”

March clapped. “Officially part of the team. Trailblazer number two.”

“Trailblazer?” Caelus echoed.

“Yeah,” March beamed. “It grows on you.”

“Welcome aboard,” Welt said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Himeko nodded. “Let’s get him settled.”

We climbed the ramp together. The doors closed with a soft certainty and the station’s light folded behind us. The Express greeted us with its familiar hum, like a song you do not realize you know until you find yourself humming along.

Inside, the glow pooled warm along the golden trim. Lamps cast gentle rings of light. I could smell coffee, faint and inviting.

March darted ahead and threw her arms wide. “Ta-da. Welcome to the Astral Express, the most stylish train in the galaxy.”

“Stylish is not an official designation,” Dan Heng said, somehow without looking up.

March sailed on. “And over here is our fearless conductor, Pom-Pom.”

Caelus blinked as Pom-Pom waddled in, bell chiming with each determined step. “Welcome, welcome,” Pom-Pom sang. “Pom-Pom is very happy to have another passenger.”

Caelus froze. “What… is that?”

I tried to hold back a laugh and failed. “I asked the same thing on my first day.”

Pom-Pom gasped. “What does that mean? Pom-Pom is Pom-Pom. The best conductor in all the cosmos.”

March burst into laughter. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

Welt stepped forward, gentle as a hand to a startled animal. “It’s all right, Pom-Pom. New passengers need time to adjust.”

Pom-Pom puffed up anyway and rolled toward the engine, muttering about “cosmic disrespect” and “snack budgets.”

When the laughter eased, Himeko pressed a data key into Caelus’s palm. “Your quarters are at the end of the second car. Temporary until we set a permanent cabin. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be traveling for a few days before our next stop.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’ll show you around,” I added, and his shoulders uncoiled a fraction.

“Good,” Himeko said. “Welt, the jump coordinates?”

“Already aligned,” he replied, adjusting his glasses. “We are clear for departure.”

We moved down the narrow corridor, the train’s rhythm underfoot. The floor’s pulse felt different to me tonight, softer, alive in a way I had not noticed before, as if the Express itself was glad to be moving. In a panel of polished glass, I caught the reflection of Welt’s small, private smile as he passed behind us. It lingered with me longer than a reflection should.

By the time Caelus’s door slid shut, March was already calling down the hall, “Sleep well, newbie. Tomorrow we start your real training.”

He said something about hoping it did not involve being frozen again. March snickered and vanished into her room.

I should have gone to mine, but the lounge windows had their own gravity. I drifted to the observation car and let the stars take up the whole world. They looked like shards of ice scattered across an endless dark. Cold, yes, but no longer lonely.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

I turned. Welt stood near the table with a cup of tea, coat off, hair just a little unruly. The sight of him like that startled me, not because he was unguarded, but because it made him feel so terribly human in a way I was still learning to be.

“I’m still getting used to movement,” I said. “My world didn’t have much of it.”

He followed my gaze to the starfield. “Stillness can be comforting until it isn’t.”

“You speak like someone who has seen more than one world end,” I said before I could stop myself.

He smiled, faint and private. “Perhaps.”

The quiet between us did not ask to be filled. We let it sit, warm as the tea in his hands.

“You’ve adjusted well,” he said eventually. “The crew has taken to you.”

“March is documenting my footsteps,” I said, laughing under my breath. “I think she’s planning a scrapbook.”

“She does that with everyone she likes.”

I tipped my head. “And you? Do you like me yet?”

He did not look surprised. He simply considered me the way he considered every question that mattered. “You remind me of what it means to begin again.”

Something tight in my chest loosened. “That’s kind.”

“It is true.”

I turned back to the window. My reflection hovered there, a faint ghost layered over constellations. “You are different than I expected,” I said. “All of you are.”

“How so?”

“I thought people who travel the stars would be untouchable. Perfect. But you make mistakes. You laugh. You care.” I searched for the right shape. “It is strange. And comforting.”

“That is what makes the journey worth taking,” he said. “Not the destinations. The people on board.”

“Even the ones still figuring out who they are?”

“Especially them.”

Warmth moved through me so quickly I had to look away. I hoped the light was dim enough to hide my blush.

By the third day the Express sounded like itself again. March laughed her way down corridors as she and Caelus argued about coffee. Dan Heng’s dry commentary drifted from the terminal. Himeko’s voice carried from the control room, steady as a keel. Pom-Pom muttered about crumbs and discipline and the tragic state of snack governance. The rhythm of it settled into me until I could not tell if I was learning the train or if it was learning me.

When Himeko called a briefing, we gathered in the main car. The lights dipped. A holo-globe spun into being, a frozen world ringed in cloud and fissured land.

“Jarilo-VI,” Himeko said. “Once prosperous, now locked in perpetual winter after the Stellaron impact. Civilizations buried under ice. The last bastion of life is the city of Belobog.”

“It’s beautiful,” March whispered, then grimaced. “In a please don’t freeze me way.”

Himeko’s mouth curved. “That is one way to put it.” Then her voice went quiet and firm. “The planet has been isolated for years. We have been asked to investigate the Stellaron’s influence and assist if possible. It will be your first assignment as a full team.”

“Our first mission,” Caelus said, almost to himself, as if tasting the words to see if they fit his tongue.

“Correct,” Welt said, stepping to Himeko’s side. “You two will lead field operations. March will support. Dan Heng will handle tactical coordination. Himeko and I will monitor from orbit.”

March pumped a fist. “We are going to crush this.”

My heart stuttered. “What if we do not,” I asked, the fear too honest to swallow. “What if we make things worse?”

Welt turned to me. He did not correct me, did not drown me in strategy. He brought the room back to a human scale. “Aldra.”

I met his eyes.

“Faith is not certainty,” he said. “It is trust in yourself and the people beside you.”

Breath caught in my throat. “You have that much faith in me?”

“I do.”

Words tangled and refused to form. My treacherous heart fluttered instead. March saw it instantly and elbowed my ribs with a grin. “Someone’s blushing.”

I gave her a glare that only encouraged her. Himeko hid a smile behind her hand.

“Settle down, March,” she said mildly. “We will need focus more than teasing where we are going.”

“Yes, ma’am,” March said, snapping a dramatic salute.

Himeko looked at us the way good captains do, seeing not only who we were, but who we might become. “Jarilo-VI will test you, alone and together. I believe you are ready. This is where your journey truly begins.”

That night I stood again at the window, the stars unspooling ahead in silver threads. The cold inside my chest felt quiet, almost content.

Caelus joined me with his arms loosely crossed. “You think we’ll do okay down there?”

“We will figure it out,” I said. “That is what Trailblazers do, right?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so.”

We watched in an easy silence that did not need to prove itself. For the first time since the freeze of my homeworld, I did not feel preserved. I felt alive.

Somewhere behind us Welt’s footsteps moved toward the control room. I turned just enough to catch his brief glance, the knowing curve of his smile, before he disappeared into the train’s softer dark.

I looked back out at the stars and felt my heart find the same steady rhythm as the rails beneath my feet.

Another journey was beginning. And this time, I was already onboard.

Chapter Text

The Astral Express slowed as it neared orbit, the windows flooding with pale light. A vast, frozen world stretched beneath them, glittering like cracked glass under a dying sun. White clouds circled its surface, their edges tinted in faint gold.

Himeko stood at the control deck, my hands steady on the console. “We’re approaching Jarilo-VI. The landing module is ready when you are.”

The quartet stood behind me. Caelus, March, Dan Heng, and Aldra.

“Looks cold,” March said, pressing a hand to the window. “Like… freezing cold. My fingers are freezing just looking at it.”

I said nothing, fixing my eyes on the planet below.

Himeko’s voice broke her trance. “You four will take the first descent. Welt and I will maintain orbit and monitor from here. Remember, the planet has been isolated for years. The people of Belobog might not take kindly to strangers.”

Dan Heng nodded. “We’ll stay alert.”

March clapped her gloved hands together. “Let’s get this over with before I freeze to death.”

Caelus smirked. “You haven’t even set foot down there yet.”

“I’m pre-freezing,” March replied.

The group filed into the landing pod. The doors sealed with a quiet hiss, and the module detached with a low thrum. The stars gave way to white as the pod descended through thin clouds. Frost began to gather along the windows, streaking the glass in delicate lines.

My hand lingered near the frost, tracing the pattern. My reflection looked so distant, almost lost.

The pod shuddered as it touched down. Snow whipped past the window, glimmering under the weak sunlight. The ramp lowered slowly, the wind rushing in with a mournful howl.

March tugged her scarf tighter. “Okay, that’s cold. That’s officially cold.”

Caelus stepped down first, the snow crunching under his boots. “So this is Jarilo-VI…” He looked back, smiling faintly. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

Dan Heng followed with quiet efficiency, scanning the horizon.

But I didn’t move as the fear overcame me. I sat frozen at the edge of the ramp, eyes fixed on the endless white.

It wasn’t just the cold. It was the stillness. The shape of the land. The faint hum in the wind that sounded like whispers long gone.

This wasn’t my world but it looked like it.

Caelus, noticing my hesitation and turned back, brow furrowed. “Hey… are you alright?”

I couldn’t bring myself to answer as flashbacks of the frozen land I once called home flood my memories.

Dan Heng stepped closer, his voice calm and low. “It’s familiar, isn’t it?”

My throat tightened. “It feels like home,” I whispered. “And that terrifies me.”

Dan Heng placed a gloved hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone this time. Remember that.”

The words steadied me. Slowly, I lifted my gaze. March and Caelus waited below, faces softened by concern.

I drew in a deep breath and stepped down. Boots sinking into the snow with a soft crunch. The cold kissed my skin, but it didn’t sting. The frost in the air felt like recognition.

I looked around at the frozen horizon and felt my pulse quiet. “It’s beautiful. “

March exhaled, fogging the air. “Beautiful and deadly. My favorite combination.”

They began their trek through the snow. The cold bit at the others, but I walked unhindered, breath steady, and pace sure.

March eventually noticed. “Hey, how come you’re not freezing? We’re practically popsicles.”

I gave her a small, amused smile. “Maybe the cold and I have an understanding.”

March squinted suspiciously. “What kind of understanding?”

“The quiet kind,” I said simply, and kept walking.

Dan Heng scanned the landscape as they moved, his tone crisp. “Keep your guard up. The air readings are unstable. There’s residual fragmentum energy nearby.”

Caelus nodded. “No corrosion yet, though?”

“Not yet,” Dan Heng replied. “But be ready.”

March twirled her bow. “Whatever’s out there better be ready for us. We’re a four-star team!”

I glanced at her, amused. “Four-star?”

March blinked. “Because we travel the stars! It sounded cooler in my head, okay?”

Before anyone could respond, a low screech echoed across the frozen field. The air crackled, and shards of energy tore open above them. Out of the light came twisted creatures with winged shapes made of fractured ice and burning cores, the color of corrupted flame.

“Fragmentum lifeforms,” Dan Heng said, raising his spear. “Engage.”

March’s voice turned gleeful. “Finally, some action!”

The first creature dove, its wings slicing through the air like broken glass. Caelus moved fast, his weapon flashing, catching the strike mid-swing. March loosened a volley of crystalline arrows, her shots bursting in dazzling trails of light. Dan Heng’s spear carved through the air with precision, every motion deliberate.

Power within me stirred in answer to the chaos. Frost rippled under my boots, stretching outward like a living thing. When one of the creatures lunged toward Caelus, I extended a hand, and the air itself froze solid. The monster crashed mid-flight, shattering into shards.

Caelus glanced back at me, wide-eyed. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Noted,” I said coolly, though my lips curved faintly.

Within minutes, the battlefield fell silent again. The last of the fragmentum beasts crumbled into the snow, leaving the air sharp and still.

March brushed frost from her hair. “Ha! Told you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

A slow, amused clap broke the quiet.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. “Impressive work. You make quite the entrance.”

They turned toward the sound. A man stood several paces away, his grin wide and far too confident for someone appearing from the snow uninvited.

He wore a patchwork coat with blue accents and carried himself like someone who’d talked his way out of every problem life had thrown at him.

“What do we have here?” he said, his eyes sweeping the group before lingering a little too long on me. “A snow maiden among warriors. Now that’s not something you see every day.”

March crossed her arms. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Name’s Sampo Koski,” he said, giving an exaggerated bow. “Merchant, traveler, occasional survivor. And if you value your fingers, you’ll keep them out of my pockets.”

Dan Heng’s tone was flat. “We’re not interested in games. What do you want?”

“Want? Nothing,” Sampo said cheerfully. “But I do think you’ll need me. Getting close to Belobog isn’t easy, not with the Silvermane Guards tightening patrols. Lucky for you, I know a few ways around their gates.”

March narrowed her eyes. “Why would you help us?”

Sampo gave a sheepish grin. “Let’s just say I’ve had a few… disagreements with the law. Nothing serious, of course. Maybe stored a few relics where people couldn’t find them.”

My expression didn’t change. “You’re a thief.”

He raised a finger. “An entrepreneur of flexible ethics. There’s a difference.”

Caelus sighed. “Do we really trust this guy?”

Dan Heng looked unconvinced. “No. But we can use him.”

March shrugged. “Fine. But if he tries anything weird, I'll freeze him myself.”

The group continues their trek across the foreign land as the guest of mischief reminiscences about his past adventures. 

Sampo smirked. “Rule number seven: never leave a footprint.”

“Rule number seven?” March echoed. “What happened to one through six?”

“Trade secrets.”

They continued following him through the snow-covered valley, his voice drifting ahead as he boasted about “stealthy techniques” and “invisibility methods that work nine times out of ten.”

The tenth time came sooner than expected.

A blaring horn echoed through the valley. Snow burst upward in sprays as armored figures emerged from behind the drifts; the Silvermane Guards.

Sampo groaned. “Ah. There’s always that one time.”

“So much for stealth,” Caelus muttered.

The guards raised their weapons. Their leader stepped forward, his armor polished and his expression coldly resolute. “Sampo Koski,” he announced. “You’re under arrest. And as for your accomplices—”

“We’re not his accomplices!” March said quickly.

“—they’ll be taken in as well,” he finished smoothly.

Before the guards could close in, the temperature dropped sharply. Frost bloomed across the ground, rising into a wall of solid ice between the two groups.

The commander halted mid-step, his eyes widening.

I stood before the wall, my hand still raised, the air around me shimmering like diamond dust.

He stared at me, the words caught in his throat. “A snow maiden…” he murmured, awe breaking through discipline.

March smirked. “Told you she’s good.”

He blinked rapidly, regaining his composure. “You! all of you are coming with us. Belobog will decide your fate.”

“Wait!” March reached into her satchel, pulling out her camera. “We’re not criminals! See? We’re travelers!” She scrolled rapidly through the photos, shoving the device toward him. “Look, that’s us with Asta! That’s us saving people!”

The guard hesitated, his stern expression wavering. “ Asta?”

Himeko’s voice crackled faintly over the comm from orbit. “Show him the researcher insignia.”

Dan Heng handed the man a data card bearing Herta Station’s emblem. The guard scanned it, eyes narrowing in recognition.

“Commander Gepard Landau,” he finally introduced. “Captain of the Silvermane Guards. If what you say is true, you’ll come with me to explain it to the Supreme Guardian.”

He glanced around, frowning. “Where is Sampo?”

The wind answered for him. The man was gone.

Caelus sighed. “Called it.”

March groaned. “Unbelievable.”

Dan Heng’s calm voice broke through. “Let him go. This might work to our advantage. We need an audience with Belobog’s leadership anyway.”

I couldn’t help but notice Gepard’s gaze lingering on me longer than it should have before he cleared his throat and looked away quickly.

“Follow me,” he said, voice clipped. “And don’t try anything reckless. The city’s walls don’t open easily.”

The group exchanged glances. March muttered something about bad first impressions, and Caelus shrugged.

They fell into step behind the captain, boots crunching through snow. The mountains loomed ahead, vast and white against the horizon. Between them, a faint glow marked the distant walls of a city built on the edge of survival.

Belobog. The last bastion of warmth in a frozen world.

I looked toward it, heart a strange blend of ache and hope.

The wind howled around them as they walked, and above, the stars dimmed against the pale light of the planet’s eternal winter.

The massive gates of Belobog groaned as they opened, ancient gears echoing through the mountain pass. Beyond them stretched a city of light and stone, its walls rising high against the pale sky. Steam drifted from copper vents and heating towers, mingling with falling snow that melted before it touched the streets.

Gepard turned to them, his armor catching the glow of the gate lamps. “Welcome to Belobog,” he said with quiet pride. “The City of Preservation.”

March’s eyes widened as she stepped forward, her breath fogging in the air. “Whoa… it’s beautiful. Look at the lights, the people! there’s even music!” She spun once, her boots scattering snow. “And it’s so much warmer! I can actually feel my fingers again.”

“That’s because you’re inside Belobog,” Gepard replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “The last bastion of humanity on this planet. Everything you see here has survived against impossible odds.”

I glanced around, taking in the streets lined with brass lanterns and the faint hum of machines buried beneath the snow. The warmth pressed softly against her skin, strange but comforting.

“How did you keep all this alive?” Caelus asked.

Gepard straightened, his voice taking on the rhythm of something well rehearsed. “Seven hundred years ago, the Eternal Freeze swallowed the world. The Fragmentum spread across the surface, consuming all life. Only this city remained. Our ancestors sealed Belobog behind walls powered by the preservation of the Amber Lord Qlipoth, guardian of this world. Since then, we have endured. We survive through duty, unity, and faith.”

Dan Heng’s tone was dry but not unkind. “That sounded like it came straight from an historical record.”

“It’s our creed,” Gepard said simply. “Every guard knows it by heart.”

My eyes ever so softened. “Even so… it’s admirable. To keep hope alive for so long.” voice carrying a quiet sincerity. “You’ve preserved not just the city, but the spirit of it.”

The compliment caught him off guard. His posture faltered, and a faint red touched his cheeks. “Ah… well, we only do what must be done.”

March grinned immediately. “Oh? The brave captain’s blushing.”

“March,” he said warningly, though the flush deepened.

I laughed, light and sudden. The sound seemed to warm the air around them more than the city’s heating towers. Gepard cleared his throat, tugged his cloak higher, and forced his composure back into place.

“Please, try to stay close,” he said briskly. “Belobog may be safe, but we take no chances with outsiders.”

They followed him through the streets. The city unfolded like a clockwork dream, steam rising from grates, children running between market stalls, the scent of baked bread and hot metal blending into something strangely human. Above, vast pipes stretched across rooftops like veins, carrying heat from the underground reactors that kept the frost at bay.

March snapped photos every few steps. “I can’t believe this place exists! It’s like winter on vacation.”

“Focus,” Dan Heng murmured, though he glanced around with quiet interest.

Caelus walked near me, his gaze flicking from the walls to the people. “Hard to believe there’s still life here after all that time.”

I nodded. “Where there’s warmth, there’s always a way.”

Their path wound toward the city’s heart where the fortress rose, vast and silver-blue against the dim light. Massive statues of armored sentinels guarded its base, their visors carved in the likeness of the Amber Lord. The steps were worn but immaculate, every stone maintained as if the city itself refused to forget what it represented.

Gepard paused before the entrance. “This is the Fortress of Qlipoth,” he said, the name crisp and reverent. “It was built upon the original foundation of the Guardian’s temple. Within these walls resides our Supreme Guardian, Her Excellency Cocolia Rand. She governs Belobog and ensures the flame of civilization never fades.”

March tilted her head. “Cocolia Rand… sounds fancy.”

“She is a descendant of the very first guardians,” Gepard said. “To stand before her is to stand before the will of Belobog itself.”

Dan Heng studied the towering doors. “You speak with remarkable devotion.”

“It’s not devotion,” Gepard answered. “It’s gratitude. Without her, this city wouldn’t exist.”

I looked up at the great statues, their faces half-buried in frost. “Preservation… to hold on to what remains, even when the world forgets.”

Gepard turned at my words. Perhaps something in my tone drew his attention. “You understand more than most.”

I smiled faintly. “Maybe I’ve spent too long amongst the ruins.”

He looked as if he wanted to ask what I meant but stopped himself. Instead, he gestured toward the grand staircase. “Her Excellency will want to see you. Be prepared to answer questions about where you came from and how you reached Jarilo-VI. Few outsiders have ever stepped within these walls.”

March saluted playfully. “Don’t worry, Captain Blush. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

Gepard sighed. “Please don’t call me that.”

Caelus hid a grin behind his hand. Dan Heng simply adjusted his spear and muttered something about professionalism. I laughed again, the sound light against the fortress’s solemn walls.

As they climbed the final steps, the heavy doors began to open with a deep, echoing hum. Warm light spilled across the marble floor, cutting through the lingering cold. Inside, the world widens. The ceiling arches so high it could cup a small piece of sky. Impressive, I think to myself. 

People fill the corridors like a river that knows its path. Workers hurry with stacked files. Scholars drift in knots, arguing in careful voices over crystalline terminals. Guards move in patterns I don’t fully see until we’re already through them, armor catching the light like frost.

“So this is where all the important people are,” March whispers, turning in a slow pirouette that draws a warning glance from a clerk and an amused one from a guard.

“Not hiding,” Gepard says over his shoulder, that restrained, proud warmth in his voice. “Working. Belobog’s heart beats here.”

The further we go, the quieter everything feels. Not because the halls are empty, but because the stone itself expects silence. I match my steps to the rhythm of the guards’ boots, but a second rhythm braids through it, softer, a vibration under my skin. It starts as a breath I didn’t take.

Then the whisper comes.

So close…

I blink hard and the world steadies a fraction. The corridor tilts long and bright toward a set of carved doors at the end. The whisper threads my pulse like a thin wire.

Open it…

“Aldra?” Caelus glances back, his brow creasing. I realize I’ve lagged a step.

“I’m fine.” My voice sounds normal, which feels like a small miracle.

Dan Heng notices too. He doesn’t comment, only adjusts his pace until he’s beside me. “Her Excellency’s office is ahead,” Gepard says. “Mind your words. She values precision.”

Of course she does.

We stop before doors bearing the Amber Lord’s sigil, chiseled so sharply the edges look new. Two guards step aside. Gepard knocks once. A woman’s voice answers, calm and commanding.

“Enter.”

The chamber is a cathedral of glass and shadow. Tall windows frame a city the cold never claimed, lanterns dotting the streets like fallen stars. A desk of black stone sits at the center, metal filigree running across it like veins. Behind the desk: silver hair, crystal eyes, poise turned into a weapon. Another woman stands with her. Young, in white, and posture perfect.

“Captain Landau,” she says, cool and clear, “I wasn’t expecting—”

“That will be all, Bronya.” The older woman lifts a hand without looking. “Our guests have arrived.”

Bronya’s gaze flicks to us, measured and polite. “Yes, Mother.” She inclines her head, glides past, and the doors close quietly behind her.

Cocolia Rand studies us. I feel it more than seeing it. “So,” she says, “these are the travelers from beyond the gates. Or better yet, beyond the sky.”

Her eyes cross each of us like a ledger entry. When they reach me, the whisper spikes.

Take…

My fingers go cold. It’s not my frost. It’s something wrong. The sound turns razor-thin. I don’t move. Even a blink might break me.

Gepard steps forward and bows. “Your Excellency, these are the outsiders who aided Herta Space Station and assisted us near the mountain pass. They request an audience.”

“You are welcome, travelers,” Cocolia says, gaze still on me for a breath too long before sliding to the others. “Belobog rarely entertains visitors, and rarer still from the stars. I would be grateful to know the purpose of your arrival.”

Dan Heng answers like the line has been waiting in him for years. “We’re here regarding the Stellaron that struck this world centuries ago. Its influence may be responsible for the Eternal Freeze.”

Trust… then take…

The whisper ripples beneath her words like an undertow. Light seems to pulse at her throat, a trick of glass or a reflection from the window. I cannot tell. I’m not breathing properly.

“Aldra?” March’s voice brushes my ear and somehow still feels far away.

Cocolia’s eyes settle on me again. “Is there a problem, child?”

My mouth opens. Nothing comes. A bead of sweat slows down my temple like a clock with no hands. If I tell the truth, if I tell her something inside you feels like a storm learning a language… What happens?

“No, Your Majesty.” The lie lands with appalling ease. “I was only… struck by your presence. Your beauty and your command.” The words sound like someone else measured them onto my tongue.

Silence dips the room a degree. Cocolia holds my gaze, unreadable. Then the faintest curve touches her lips. “How flattering.”

Conversation exhales again.

Caelus steps in. “We believe the Stellaron is the root of the Eternal Freeze. If we don’t address it, the Fragmentum will keep spreading. Belobog won’t last forever.”

March nods vigorously. “Stellarons wreck everything they touch. We help seal them before things get even worse. Think of us as interstellar public service. Free of charge. Mostly.”

“How noble.” Cocolia’s tone doesn’t change. “But the Eternal Freeze has been with us for seven centuries. We endure. With or without myths. Why should we believe your star-born tale? What do you gain?”

“You have no obligation to trust us,” Dan Heng says, steady as a metronome. “But you have seen the signs. The Fragmentum’s growth. Air thinning. Cold intensifying. The Stellaron feeds this. If nothing changes, even your walls will fail.”

“And your solution?”

“We seal it,” he says, as if telling her the time.

For the first time, her expression shifts for only a small fracture in perfect ice. “You can seal it.”

“Yes.”

She considers it. The city glows behind her like a promise it cannot keep on its own. “Then perhaps fate has sent you. I will see that you receive assistance while you conduct your investigation.”

Threat... Silence them… Take…

The whisper ratchets not through the room but through Cocolia, and it makes no sense and makes perfect sense at once. It is not her. It is with her. It is inside the edges of her voice like breath in winter.

“Aldra?” March again, closer. A hand presses my arm. Warm. Human. Loud enough to push the whisper a step back.

Cocolia inclines her head. “You must be tired from traveling. Rest in the city tonight. We will speak again when you’ve recovered.”

We bow. Or maybe I do not, and they drag the motion out of me by example. I turn to leave. The doors open on soft hinges. Before I cross the threshold, the weight of watching presses the back of my neck. I look without meaning to.

Cocolia is still staring, some unreadable equation running behind her eyes.

I look away first. I never used to have to do that.

Gepard waits in the corridor. His shoulders relax when he sees us. “How did it go?”

March clasps her hands behind her head. “She’s terrifying and amazing. I loved it.”

“She seems reasonable,” Caelus says.

I nod because silence would pull too much attention. “It went well,” I say, and will the words to be true.

Gepard’s gaze lingers on me. “Are you alright, Miss Aldra?”

“I’m fine.” A smile, small and plausible. “It’s a lot to take in. That’s all.”

Dan Heng’s look slides over me, cool and exact. He does not call me on the lie. He files it.

Gepard clears his throat. “I should return to my duties. While you’re here, you should see the Monument of Preservation. It’s the heart of our city. Follow the main avenue.”

“Thanks, Captain,” March sings. “We’ll behave.”

His mouth twitches. “Do.” He nods to each of us and strides away, a neat line of authority traveling down the hall.

We move with the building’s current until the current turns into streets. Evening makes Belobog glow softer. Steam breathes from vents. Lanterns bloom warm and coppery along the avenues. Children race each other, scarves streaming, the air full of happiness so thin it shines.

We reach the monument almost by accident, holding it to the center of the city like a star. A pillar of crystal lives under a cage of bronze, humming so faintly I feel it more than hear it. The hum is not Cocolia’s whisper. It is older and honest and heavy.

March is already taking pictures. “You can see everything,” she says, and she can: the snow-dusted roofs, the tall pipes strung like veins, the people, stubborn and flickering.

“It’s beautiful,” I say. The word feels like a stitch pulled snug. “But it feels like the air is holding its breath.”

“You think it’s connected,” Dan Heng says, not asking so much as calibrating.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I do know. “Maybe.”

Caelus stands beside me, hands tucked into his sleeves against the cold. “Jarilo-VI doesn’t feel dead,” he says quietly. “Just… waiting.”

“We should find a place to sleep,” March decides. “Or Pom-Pom will put our names on the scolding board.”

We turn from the view as the street bends us toward a smaller square. Music coils out of an open doorway, lazy and bright. Before we can place it, a voice calls across the stones.

“Well, if it isn’t Belobog’s newest rumor.”

The woman who crosses to us moves like she already knows the answer to every question. Silver hair slashed with blue, a fur-lined jacket, grease on one knuckle and confidence worn like perfume.

“Serval,” she says. “Mechanic, musician, hopeless collector of strays. And before you ask, yes, I’ve already heard about you. Loudmouth guards and a city with nothing better to do.”

March lights up. “You run this rumor mill personally?”

“Only on weekends.” Serval’s grin is quick and clean. “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’ve got an inn not far from here. You look like you could use heat, a seat, and a conversation that doesn’t echo off palace walls.”

“What do you want in exchange?” Dan Heng asks, because someone has to.

“Stories,” she says simply. “Tell me what the sky looks like past the cold.”

March clasps her hands. “An inn. With blankets.”

“Sold,” Caelus says, not even pretending to be the suspicious one.

Serval tips her head toward a side street. “This way. And try not to stare like tourists. The city already thinks you’re interesting.”

We follow. The city has layers I didn’t see when we came in. Warm little courtyards tucked under pipes, shop doors painted with steady, careful hands, the sharp smell of hot metal and bread. People look at us sidelong without stopping what they’re doing. Belobog runs. Belobog endures.

I hang back a step. The fortress spires slit the distance if I look over my shoulder. From here they glint like nothing but stone. My skin knows better. The whisper isn’t words anymore. It’s a pressure. A promise. A hand resting on glass that wants to be ice.

Take... Trust... Threat….

I breathe out. The air makes small ghosts in front of my mouth and then swallows them. My boots make an honest sound on the stone, and the sound is enough. I quicken to catch the others.

Serval laughs at something March says about “boss energy” and “cape swish ratio,” and Caelus answers with a dry line that makes even Dan Heng’s mouth tilt. I look at them and think of Himeko’s smile and Welt’s steady eyes and Pom-Pom’s indignant bell. I think of how movement stopped being fearful and started being a way to keep warm.

We turn a final corner. Light spills from a door painted the color of old summer. Music slides out to meet us, soft and alive. Serval pushes the door with her shoulder and glances back at me, curious and kind.

“Coming?”

I step into the warmth.

The whisper stays outside.

For now.

Chapter Text

Serval pushes open the door, and heat rushes out like a living thing. The smell hits first of sweet oil, roasted beans, and the faint tang of metal polish. Lamps dangle from copper pipes, throwing soft gold over everything. Tools hang from the walls in careful disorder: wrenches, guitar strings, half-built contraptions I can’t name. A record hums in the background, a slow melody that sounds like summer found a way to survive winter.

“Welcome to my little corner of the world,” Serval says, tossing her gloves aside. “It’s not much, but it’s my baby.”

“It’s so cool!” March practically squeals, spinning once in place. “And cozy, too! Like… a music café had a baby with a workshop.”

Serval grins. “Best compliment I’ve gotten all month.”

Caelus laughs under his breath, taking in the walls covered in posters and blueprints. “You built all this yourself?”

“Every nail.” Serval pats a humming radiator fondly. “Though lately the heater’s been—”

A hiss interrupts her. The radiator groans, then sputters cold air. Serval curses softly. “See what I mean? This thing’s moodier than I am.”

Dan Heng kneels by the vent, already inspecting the piping. “The air valve’s jammed.”

Caelus joins him, sleeves rolling up without hesitation. “Got a wrench?”

Serval blinks, then grins, passing him one. “Look at that! handy and brave enough to touch my mess.”

March leans against the counter. “Boys fixing heaters. There’s something poetic about this.”

A few minutes later, warm air floods the room again. Steam curls through the light, and the space feels alive.

Serval claps once. “Ha! Fixed in record time. Maybe I should hire you two.”

“No payment, though, right?” Caelus teases.

“Of course not,” she says, smirking. “You’d be doing it for the experience.”

March snorts. “No thanks! We already work for free.”

Laughter ripples around the room. It feels light, unburdened, until Serval gestures toward the counter. “Sit down. First round’s on me. Let’s toast to my heroes and you can tell me all about your royal audience.”

March hops onto a stool. “She was terrifying! Beautiful, but terrifying. Like she could fire you and hug you in the same breath.”

Caelus chuckles. “She was… composed. Like she’s seen too much to be surprised by anything.”

Serval leans her elbow on the bar. “Sounds like a queen to me.”

Her words slip through me like a current. The air feels too heavy again, the memory of that voice behind Cocolia’s eyes scratching at the edges of thought.

“I- excuse me,” I say quietly. “I need some air.”

Serval’s smile falters. “Oh, I didn’t mean- did I say something wrong?”

Dan Heng shakes his head. “She’s fine. It’s been a long day.”

I grab a coat from the hook near the door and step outside before anyone can stop me.

My breath fogs in the air as I walk. The borrowed coat is too big, the sleeves brushing my fingers, but the weight of it feels comforting. I pass a vendor closing his stall, humming to himself as he counts his coins. A group of children chase each other through the street, their laughter slicing clean through the cold. Two guards share a flask at a corner, arguing softly about something that sounds like love or loss.

Everywhere I look, the city moves. It breathes. It lives.

My home was nothing like this. Everything stood still that laughter was something remembered, not heard. But here, every corner hums with motion. Every sound, every scent, every flicker of light feels like a song I used to know.

A small bakery catches my attention. It’s warm light spilling through the frosted glass, steam clouding the windows. The sign outside reads Sweet Hearth. The scent is impossible to resist: cinnamon, baked sugar, something soft and golden.

Inside, an elderly couple works behind the counter. The woman notices me first and beams. “Well, come in before you freeze! We’re handing out samples tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” She presses a small pastry into my hand. “First-timers eat for free.”

The first bite dissolves on my tongue, sweet and buttery, the warmth seeping straight to my chest. I blink in surprise. “This is… delicious.”

Her husband laughs, deep and hearty. “Made it with our own hands. Been baking together since before the Freeze took half the city.”

His wife smiles softly. “We rebuilt this place from rubble. Grew it with our marriage, you could say.”

“I think it’s wonderful,” I say, meaning it. “You built something warm in a world that forgot warmth.”

The woman tilts her head, studying me. “And you, dear? Someone waiting for you?”

The question catches me off guard. “Oh- no. No, no one.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “With a face like that? Surely there’s a line out the door.”

Her husband chuckles. “Reminds me of you when we were young. Thought you were too good for me.”

“I was,” she teases, elbowing him lightly. “But he wore me down.”

He grins at me. “When you find your match, don’t let the world take them from you. Life’s short enough as it is.”

Something stirs behind my ribs, a quiet ache I can’t name. “I’ll remember that,” I say softly.

They insist I take another pastry for the road. I thank them, bowing slightly before stepping back into the street.

Belobog unfolds around me like a painting coming to life. Steam curls from vents underfoot, mingling with snowflakes that melt midair. Shopkeepers lock doors, but their windows stay lit, each one glowing like a promise against the cold.

I drift past a small music stall where a woman hums along to a record. Past a man carving intricate designs into wooden toys. Past a stray cat stretched under a vent, its fur silver in the lamplight.

For once, I don’t feel like a stranger. I feel like someone waking from a long sleep. The cold doesn’t bite, it welcomes me.

It’s strange how something so ordinary could feel so holy.

My phone buzzes, breaking the spell.

Welt: How are you holding up?

I smile faintly, thumbs hovering.

Fine. For the most part.

A moment passes.

Welt: Then, for the most?

I exhale, leaning against a railing overlooking the street. 

There’s something off about the ruler here. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think she’s hiding something.

His reply comes fast. 

Welt: How peculiar. Though not surprising. Power rarely lives alone. Keep your guard up, Aldra. Observe before you act.

I start to type a response, but a sudden impact against my knees makes me flinch.

A little boy tumbles backward, his toy car skidding across the snow. “Ow!”

I crouch immediately. “Hey, careful.”

He stares at me, wide-eyed. His cheeks are red from the cold, his gloves too big for his hands. “You’re… not from here.”

His mother hurries over, breathless. “I am so sorry! He doesn’t look where he’s going.”

“It’s alright,” I assure her, smiling. “No harm done.”

She tugs his hand gently. “What do you say, Felix?”

He mumbles, “Sorry, miss,” but keeps staring like I’ve stepped out of a story.

As they leave, I hear him whisper, “She’s really pretty.”

My face warms despite the chill. I pick up my phone again. 

Sorry, I got distracted. A kid ran into me.

Welt: He must have good taste, 

Welt replies a moment later, dry as ever “Stay safe.” it reads. 

I laugh quietly, slipping the phone into my coat pocket.

The streets grow quieter as I wander deeper into the residential district watching. 

A small fountain sits at the center of a square, water flowing despite the cold. The flowers surrounding it are small, purple, almost frost-proof, glow faintly in the lamplight. I sit on the edge, observing the petals.

I should feel at peace, but instead, I feel alive. Too alive.

For so long, I believed that stillness was safety. That to feel nothing was to survive. But now, surrounded by warmth and noise and laughter, I ache for something I can’t name. A heartbeat. A connection. Maybe even a home.

It’s terrifying.

I close my eyes and listen to the fountain. The sound reminds me of laughter I can’t quite remember… of mornings before the frost, of faces long gone. My chest tightens with something like grief, or maybe hope.

Then it happens.

The air shifts.

It’s subtle at first, a prickling against my skin, the hairs on my arms lifting. Then the temperature drops not sharply, but unnaturally, as if the world is holding its breath again.

The whisper returns.

“Closer…”

I look up. The square is empty. No vendors. No voices. Even the fountain seems quieter.

A shiver crawls down my spine. “Who’s there?”

Nothing.

Then, a stronger gust that feels almost deliberate slams into me. I stumble backward, catching myself on the edge of the fountain. My phone slips from my hand and skitters across the stone, clattering to a stop.

Panic claws at me. I scramble for it, fingers shaking.

The wind stops. The whisper dies.

My phone screen lights up, blinding in the dark. A new message.

March: Where are you?? Serval’s worried!

I type quickly. 

I’m okay. Just needed some air. Heading back now.

When I lift my head, the square isn’t empty anymore. People move through it. Vendors packing up, a man leading a horse, children laughing. The fountain gurgles like nothing ever happened.

I blink, heart pounding. My breath catches in my throat. “Was I… imagining it?”

The flowers sway in the breeze, innocent and ordinary.

I tuck my phone away and start walking, faster now. The streets seem narrower, the lights too bright. My reflection flashes in each passing window, pale skin, wide eyes, the borrowed coat too big across my shoulders. I barely recognize myself.

Whatever that was, it didn’t feel imagined.

It felt real. Watching. Waiting.

By the time the inn comes into view, my pulse has finally slowed, but my thoughts haven’t. I grip the door handle, breathing in the warm air that leaks through the crack.

Laughter filters from inside with March’s bright voice, Serval’s easy humor, Caelus teasing Dan Heng about something mechanical.

For a moment, I just stand there, hand on the door, grounding myself in the sound of them. In the normal.

Then I push it open and step back into the light.

When I step back inside, warmth wraps around me like forgiveness. All eyes lift when I close the door behind me.

“There she is,” Serval says.  “Was the city treating you well?”

“Pleasant,” I say, hanging the coat back on its hook.  “Then creepy. Then pleasant again.”

Serval laughs. “Sounds about right. Belobog’s charming until it remembers it’s haunted.”

The others chuckle. I cross to the bar where a cup waits, something amber and faintly sweet and sink onto the stool beside March. The drink’s warmth spreads through me as I listen to them talk, half humming along to the record’s scratchy rhythm. The air smells like citrus peel and oil, a mixture that shouldn’t be comforting but is.

March leans across the counter suddenly.  “Wait! Captain Blush is your brother?”

Serval bursts out laughing. “Captain what?”

“That’s what we call Gepard,” March says proudly. “He blushes every time Aldra so much as smiles at him.”

My head drops into my hands. “March.”

Serval grins wickedly. “Ahh, well, I definitely don’t blame him.”

That makes the room explode in laughter, mine included, though my cheeks burn so hot they could power the heater. Serval winks at me over her mug, and I swear I can still hear her giggling when she finally stretches and stands.

“Alright, starlings, it’s past midnight and even geniuses need sleep.” She slides a small ring of keycards onto the table. “Rooms are upstairs. On the house tonight.”

“Seriously?” Caelus looks up, surprised. “That’s generous.”

She shrugs. “No worries! You deserve a bed that doesn’t hum like a reactor core.” A yawn slips out. “Just lock up if you stay up gossiping.” With that she waves and disappears through a side door, still humming to her own music.

The quiet that follows is soft, like the city’s exhale. We drift upstairs together, footsteps muffled against the carpeted hall.

At our floor, everyone hesitates, still half awake, reluctant to let the day go. March breaks the silence first, whisper-loud.  “So… what did you really see out there, Aldra?”

Her eyes are bright in the dim corridor. The others look at me too, Dan Heng steady, Caelus curious, gentle. I lean against the wall, fingers tracing the grain of the wood.

“I can’t explain it,” I begin. “When we met Cocolia, I heard something. Not her voice, it's something inside her. It kept whispering, like it was speaking through her instead of to us.  And tonight, when I went walking… I heard it again. The air went still, the world vanished for a moment. It felt like I was being watched.”

Dan Heng nods slowly. “That matches what I sensed.  During the audience, her gaze didn’t focus on us. It was like she was listening to someone else. And the air behind her had… weight.”

Caelus folds his arms. “So we’re all thinking the same thing. Something’s got its claws in her.”

March’s usual spark dims a little. “Creepy. Really creepy.”

“Whatever it is,” Dan Heng says, “it’s linked to the Stellaron. Aldra’s reaction confirms it.”

I look between them, the quiet hum of the hallway surrounding us. “Then what do we do?”

Caelus yawns, running a hand through his hair. “We handle it tomorrow. We’ll get answers in daylight, when it’s not whispering at us from every shadow.”

March nods quickly. “Agreed. I vote for eight hours of uninterrupted not-dying.”

Dan Heng’s expression softens almost into amusement.  “Rest first. Strategy later.”

We trade faint smiles, the kind that belong to people learning to trust the dark together. I slip my keycard into the door reader; it blinks green. As I step inside, the warmth of Serval’s inn folds around me again. Taking in the hum of the repaired heater, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. 

For the first time since the station, I let myself believe that maybe I can sleep. 

But as the light clicks off, the memory of that whisper curls quietly under my skin. By

"Closer…"

Chapter Text

The next morning began with shouting.

A blaring voice boomed through a megaphone outside the inn, cracking against the walls like thunder. “All occupants, exit the building immediately! This is the Silvermane Guard! Comply at once!”

I jolted upright, heart hammering. The room still glowed faintly with dawn light, and for one perfect second, I thought it might be a dream. Then another order rattled the windowpanes.

“By decree of the Supreme Guardian, come out with your hands visible!”

March’s voice erupted from the hallway. “What the?! are we under attack?!”

I threw on my coat and opened the door. Caelus was already in the corridor, rubbing sleep from his eyes; Dan Heng stood beside him, fully dressed, composed even in chaos.

He glanced out the stairwell window, eyes narrowing. “It’s the Silvermane Guards. A full squadron. And it doesn’t look like a friendly visit.”

March groaned, brushing her hair into a ponytail. “If that’s our morning escort, it’s a terrible first impression.”

“You can’t always be friendly on the job,” Caelus muttered.

“Still,” I said quietly, fastening my gloves, “let’s keep our guard up.”

Dan Heng nodded once. “We’ll go down and see what they want. No sudden moves until we know the situation.”

Boots echoed as we descended the stairs. The air outside buzzed with tension and the metallic scent of guns. 

A line of Silvermane soldiers waited, rifles raised. Their armor gleamed coldly in the pale morning light. One of them, a broad-shouldered officer with frost in his breath, stepped forward.

“Commander Bronya is expecting you,” he barked. “Move. No tricks.”

March forced a shaky laugh. “Oh, great, breakfast with the commander. Just what I wanted.”

We obeyed, descending the steps under a forest of rifles. Serval’s shop looked smaller behind us, its warm windows stark against the gray morning. I caught a glimpse of her silhouette through the glass, her hand pressed to the pane.

The march through the street was silent except for the clatter of armor. Citizens stopped to watch, whispering. I felt their stares on my skin like ice.

When we reached the main square, the guards parted, revealing Bronya. She stood tall, immaculate in her uniform, silver hair catching the light.

March blinked. “Wait- you were at the fort yesterday!”

Bronya’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes. And now I stand before you as the commander of the Silvermane Guards. By the authority of the Supreme Guardian, you are under arrest.”

“What?” March’s voice cracked. “For what?!”

Bronya’s tone was measured, formal. “You are charged with infiltration, incitement of rebellion, and suspicion of espionage. As agents of the Supreme Guardian, we hereby strip you of your freedom and your right to speech until judgment is passed by the Adjudication Panel.”

The words struck like physical blows. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

March broke the silence. “That wasn’t the deal! The queen said she’d meet us again to discuss the Stellaron!”

Dan Heng’s voice was calm but sharp. “This was never a misunderstanding. It’s an orchestrated betrayal.”

Caelus exhaled slowly. “So much for diplomacy.”

March groaned. “Back to being accomplices again. Great. My résumé’s ruined.”

The guards began closing in, forming a ring around us. The clink of metal filled the air.

“Commander Bronya!” Serval burst from the inn, her coat half-buttoned, hair wild. “What’s going on here? They’re guests!”

One of the soldiers stepped forward, shoving her back. “Stay out of it, citizen!”

Serval caught herself, fury flashing in her eyes. “You can’t do this!”

“Serval,” Bronya said firmly. “Enough. Go back inside. I have this under control.”

“This is wrong, and you know it,” Serval snapped. “Don’t do this.”

Their eyes met for a long moment, sister to sister, loyalty against conscience before Serval’s shoulders sagged. She stepped back toward the door, voice trembling. “Please, Bronya… don’t become her.”

Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt heavier than the snow.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicked to me, then to Caelus. “We won’t win a standoff like this.”

I understood immediately. The others did too. March’s hand drifted toward her bow; Caelus flexed his fingers as if stretching for battle. I felt the frost stirring under my skin, eager, alive.

Dan Heng’s tone barely changed. “On my mark.”

Bronya began to speak again, but the word mark fell from his lips before she could finish.

He moved first blindingly fast, knocking the nearest rifle aside. Caelus lunged next, grabbing March’s arm and pulling her back as I swept my hand outward. Ice surged across the street in a burst of blue light, sealing the soldiers’ guns in a thick sheen of frost. The air crackled.

March fired an arrow of shards of glowing ice into the chaos and an explosion of color lit the square. Guards stumbled; some fell. Dan Heng’s spear cut through the smoke with deadly precision. Caelus spun beside him, determination flickering in his eyes.

Bronya’s voice rose, sharp and furious. “Stand down! Do not let them escape!”

We didn’t listen. There was no time.

I swept another arc of frost toward the advancing guards, freezing the ground beneath their boots. March darted ahead, waving for us to follow. “This way!”

The alley narrowed into a tunnel of crumbling stone. We sprinted through, breath steaming, boots skidding across the frozen ground. Behind us, rifles cracked and shouted orders echoed off the walls.

A ripple of energy pulsed at the end of the passage. The faint shimmer of a Fragmentum portal, unstable but open.

Dan Heng’s voice came steady and sure. “Go!”

March dove through first, her laughter swallowed by the glow. “Have an icy day!” she shouted. Caelus followed, then me, the frost still clinging to my fingers.  Dan Heng came last, his form slicing through the light as the portal collapsed behind us.

The world flipped, the air tore, and then we were somewhere else, somewhere darker, colder, and far from Belobog’s warmth.

For a long heartbeat, all I could hear was my own breathing and the distant echo of Bronya’s command fading into nothing.

For a few seconds, there was no up, no down. Only weightlessness remained and light that flickered like shattered glass. Then the ground slammed back into existence beneath my boots, rough and cold.

I gasped, steadying myself on March, who looked about as dizzy as I felt. Caelus coughed into his hand, shaking out the shimmer of energy still clinging to him. Dan Heng was the only one standing upright, already scanning the surroundings.

We had landed in a ravaged district, a graveyard of collapsed buildings and fractured streets half-swallowed by crystalline growths. Fragmentum corruption bled through every crack, glowing faintly blue and violet in the fog.

“This place…” March whispered. “We’re still in Belobog?”

Dan Heng nodded once. “Technically. But this area’s restricted. Too close to the core of the Fragmentum.”

“So we’re trapped,” March muttered. “Great. Love that for us.”

Caelus adjusted his coat, eyes narrowing. “We’re not trapped. Just misplaced. We can find another exit portal. We just need to keep moving.”

He was trying to stay calm, but I could hear the edge of frustration in his voice. I didn’t blame him. The air here was heavier and thick with energy that pressed down on the lungs and whispered just beneath hearing. The kind of silence that remembered every scream that had ever passed through it.

Dan Heng motioned us forward. “Quietly. Avoid conflict if possible.”

We crept through the ruins, weaving between the shells of old towers and rusted machinery. Snow crunched softly underfoot. Ahead, two Silvermane guards were patrolling the broken streets, flashlights sweeping across the debris. Their armor gleamed faintly through the mist.

March reached for her bow. “I can take them both before they blink.”

Dan Heng raised a hand, stopping her. “No. Avoid combat. We can’t risk drawing attention.”

Reluctantly, she lowered the weapon. We waited until the guards passed, then slipped across the street, hugging the walls of the half-collapsed buildings. The air buzzed faintly with the hum of Fragmentum energy, flickering between static and whispers I tried to ignore.

We moved like ghosts through the maze of corridors and alleyways. Every sound, every drip of water, every loose pebble, felt too loud. At one point, a Fragmentum beast lumbered across the street ahead of us, its body warped and crystalline. Its single glowing eye turned, searching. We pressed into the shadows and didn’t breathe until it passed.

Finally, after what felt like hours, we saw it: an intersection up ahead glowing faintly blue. Another Fragmentum portal, rippling at its center like a pool of glass.

“There,” Caelus said. “That’s our way out.”

But before we could move, March froze. “Uh… guys?”

I followed her gaze. A dozen Silvermane soldiers poured out from the ruined buildings around the intersection, rifles raised. Another squad appeared on the rooftops above, aiming down at us.

“How did they—?” Caelus started.

March threw her arms up in disbelief. “An ambush?! How did they have time to set this up?!”

“Because they know this terrain,” Dan Heng said grimly. “We’re in their territory.”

A sharp voice cut through the air. “Correct.”

Bronya stepped out from behind the soldiers, her white cape brushing against the frost. Her silver eyes glinted beneath the pale light. “Even though this area has suffered greatly from Fragmentum corruption, it is still part of Belobog. My soldiers know it like the back of their hand.”

March planted her fists on her hips. “Wow, you’re really committed to being a nuisance, huh? Mind telling us why we’re even being charged again? I hope it’s worth following us all the way here!”

Bronya’s gaze didn’t flicker. “You deceived the Supreme Guardian. The background checks have confirmed it. Your identities are false, and your intentions to overthrow the rule of the Architects cannot be ignored.”

Caelus took a step forward. “That’s not true.”

Dan Heng’s tone was calm, cold. “You know it isn’t. This is propaganda meant to keep her people obedient.”

Bronya’s eyes hardened. “Insulting the Supreme Guardian only elevates your crimes.”

She raised her hand. “Put down your weapons and surrender. You will still have the chance to defend yourselves before the Panel.”

Something in me snapped. The whispers from before stirred again, faint but urgent. My pulse thrummed in my ears, my breath frosting in the air. I stepped forward before anyone could stop me.

“No.”

Bronya turned, startled. “What?”

“I said no.” My voice trembled, but not from fear. “You will not harm them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And who are you to give orders to me?”

The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled outward from under me, climbing the walls and spreading over the cobblestones like veins of living ice. The air cracked; soldiers stumbled back, breath catching in their throats.

“Aldra!” March shouted. “Wait!”

I raised my hand. The cold surged through me, answering like an old friend. The world froze. Literally. Rifles, armor, snowflakes midair, all suspended in crystalline stillness. The guards stood immobilized, their eyes wide behind frosted visors. I hadn’t killed them… only stopped time around them.

Bronya’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What… on earth are you?”

The young girl beside her, one of her lieutenants, stared at me in horror, clutching her weapon but unable to move.

Before I could answer, the frozen silence shattered. More guards poured in from the rooftops and alleys, too many to stop this time. The spell broke with a sharp crack of air, and chaos erupted.

“Fall back!” Dan Heng shouted, spear spinning to deflect incoming shots.

March ducked behind a broken pillar, firing off arrows of condensed light. “I thought we agreed to avoid conflict!”

“Plans change!” Caelus yelled, striking a guard’s weapon aside.

I threw up a wall of ice, blocking the next volley of gunfire. The impact rattled my bones. Bronya moved through the smoke with the precision of a soldier trained since birth, her lance whirling arcs of cold silver light.

We clashed, her precision against my instinct. Every time our attacks met, sparks of frost scattered through the air. She was strong, but so was the force pulsing inside me, wild and ancient and hungry.

“Stop this!” she shouted. “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”

“Neither do you,” I said through clenched teeth.

Another wave of guards poured in. Dan Heng tried to flank left, Caelus covered the right, March drew them off with suppressive fire but we were outnumbered, cornered from all sides.

Then a flash of red smoke burst across the battlefield.

Everyone froze as a haze rolled through the intersection. Coughing erupted on both sides.

“Wha- what is this?!” March wheezed. “I can’t see!”

Through the fog, a familiar voice rang out smooth, theatrical, and infuriatingly calm. “Now, now… no need for all this violence.”

Sampo Koski stepped out of the smoke, grinning like a cat who’d found a canary. “I never let friends who helped me come to harm.”

Bronya coughed, eyes watering. “Sampo—? You—!”

He tipped his hat, utterly unfazed. “I say what I mean and mean what I say. A man of principle, that’s me.”

The smoke thickened, heavy with some kind of soporific powder. My vision blurred. March stumbled into Caelus, laughing weakly. “Ugh, tell your ‘principles’ they stink…”

Sampo only smiled wider. “Sleep tight, my valiant companions.”

The world tilted sideways. My knees buckled, the frost slipping from my control. The last thing I saw was Bronya collapsing beside her guards, the snow swirling in soft spirals between us.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Text

At first there was only the light.

Cold, white, endless.

Then the screaming.

I was on my knees again, the sky folding in on itself, the ground splitting like glass under my palms. Wind tore through the ruins, carrying voices that weren’t mine, millions of them, fading one by one. I reached toward the frozen horizon, tears freezing on my cheeks.

“Stop!”  My voice broke. “You can’t take them! They’re mine!”

A figure shimmered in front of me, blinding, faceless, vast.  The voice that answered was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You were to remember, not to feel.

“I won’t forget them,” I cried. “You hear me?  These are my memories, my feelings. They’re all I have left!”

The light flared, swallowing everything, the planet, the sky, even the pieces of myself still clinging to existence. I screamed against it.

Then the world fell silent.

I woke gasping.

My body lurched upright before my mind caught up, and a hand pressed gently to my shoulder.

“Easy now. You’re safe.”

I hear a woman’s voice, steady and warm.  I blinked hard until her face came into focus: black hair tied loosely back, a white coat smudged from long hours. She smiled when she saw I was conscious.

“Good. You’re the first one up. Been a whole day since you all came in.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “A day?”

“Smoke bombs,” she explained, checking my pulse.  “Potent stuff. I’m Natasha, the local doctor. You’re fine… probably just nightmares from the toxins.” Her smile softened. “Go stretch your legs. Get some air. I’ll watch over the others.”

Air. I almost laughed at the irony when she pushed open the door.

The first breath hit different down here. It was damp, metallic, tinged with coal and oil.  A low hum of machinery filled the cavernous space. Lights strung overhead cast the whole city in amber, flickering over steel beams and rough-hewn stone.

An entire world beneath the world.

People hurried through narrow streets lined with scrap-built homes. Steam curled from pipes; children darted between vendors selling bread that smelled faintly sweet. Despite the rust and ruin, there was… life.

Natasha joined me on the steps outside.  “Welcome to Rivet town,” she said.  “Built by the ones left behind when the upper city sealed itself off.  We’ve made do ever since.”

“It’s incredible,” I whispered. “You built all this down here?”

Her smile held both pride and fatigue. “Belobog doesn’t know half of what keeps it alive. You’re safe here, at least for now. Go on and explore. Clear your head. Then come back; your friends will need you when they wake.”

I nodded and drifted into the streets.

The deeper I walked, the more the city unfolded. Shops patched together from scrap metal, walls plastered with faded posters of the Silvermane crest scratched out in protest. People looked tired, but they laughed easily, trading jokes as they worked. Music floated from a nearby square, rough, lively, and defiant.

For the first time in days, I smiled.

Then I heard it, a roar of voices somewhere ahead, rhythmic and electric. I followed the sound through an archway lit by flickering bulbs and found the source: an underground arena carved straight into the rock, surrounded by cheering crowds. Fighters clashed inside a circle of steel, sparks flying with every hit.

And then someone whistled.

“Now, what’s a beauty like you doing all alone down here?”

I turned. A red-haired man leaned against a railing, metal prosthetic gleaming where his arm should have been.  His grin was too bright for the gloom.

“I… was… just looking around,” I said carefully.

He chuckled, straightening to his full height. “Name’s Luka. You picked the right night to visit, doll.” He winked.  “No need to explain yourself. Come on, watch the match.  Maybe I’ll fight better knowing you’re cheering for me.”

Before I could answer, a familiar voice came from behind.  “She’s with me.”

I turned to find Dan Heng beside me, calm as ever, though his hand rested lightly on my shoulder.

“You’re awake,” I said, relief slipping into my voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he replied, eyes never leaving Luka. “Is he giving you trouble?”

Luka raised both hands, laughing. “Easy, pal. I don’t pick fights outside the ring. You shouldn’t leave your girl wandering alone down here.”

Heat shot straight to my face. “I’m not his girl!”

“And I’m not her—” Dan Heng started, only for Luka to double over laughing.

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “You look like someone who can throw a punch, though. Why don’t you join the competition? We could use more fighters who don’t scare easy.”

Dan Heng glanced at the arena, then at me. “Maybe I should.”

I caught his wrist. “Are you serious? We just woke up.  Shouldn’t we check on the others first?”

He gave a small shrug. “I’d rather blow off some steam first.”

Luka grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Before I could argue further, he motioned for us to follow and guided us through the narrow path that circled the pit. The crowd parted, some greeting Luka with cheers, others slapping him on the back. He pointed out fighters resting between bouts, scarred veterans, bruised newcomers, and a few who looked half-mechanical.

“This is our pride down here,” Luka said. “We don’t have fancy palaces or marble halls, but we’ve got heart. You want respect? You earn it in the ring.”

He led us to a balcony overlooking the pit. From here, the view was dizzying: hundreds of faces illuminated by torchlight, chanting a name I didn’t know. Below, two men fought savagely until one fell, the crowd roaring in approval. The victor raised his arms, blood on his knuckles, pride in his grin.

Luka leaned over the railing with a showman’s flair.  “Ladies and gents, we’ve got something special tonight!”

The noise dimmed slightly as he vaulted onto the stage, grabbing a microphone patched from spare wiring. His voice boomed across the cavern.

“A newcomer to the Underworld! Straight from who-knows-where, but let’s see if he’s got what it takes to make the ground shake! Give it up for our new challenger!”

The crowd erupted again, pounding on the railings. Dan Heng exhaled quietly beside me, already removing his coat and rolling his sleeves.

I gripped the railing, anxiety twisting in my chest.  “Be careful.”

He glanced at me, faint amusement in his eyes.  “Always.”

The lights above the arena flared, casting long shadows over the pit. Luka grinned down at us from center stage.  “Let’s show the Underworld what travelers from beyond the sky can do!”

The bell rang.

And the fight began.

The ring’s floor shimmered with a thin film of dust and oil, and every step Dan Heng took echoed like a drumbeat. His opponent was massive; arms thicker than most tree trunks, mechanical plating gleaming under the flickering lights. The crowd chanted the man’s name, a heavy rhythm that shook the catwalk beneath me.

Luka leaned against the railing beside me, eyes sharp with interest. “Not bad. Most new fighters would already be shaking.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Dan Heng moved like water, precise and controlled. Every strike he dodged looked almost intentional, every counter swift and exact. The crowd roared when he landed the first clean hit across his opponent’s jaw.

“He’s good,” Luka said, sounding impressed. “Real good.”

I smiled faintly. “He always is.”

The fight grew faster, wilder, the clash of fists and metal filling the air. Dan Heng ducked a blow that could’ve shattered the ground, twisting to sweep the man’s legs. The crowd went feral. Luka was grinning so hard I was starting to suspect he’d bet money on him.

Then the doors burst open.

“Dan Heng, hang on! We’ve got you!”

The whole crowd turned as two familiar figures came barreling through the entrance, March and Caelus, both slightly out of breath and definitely misinformed.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

Before I could shout for them to stop, they jumped straight into the arena, weapons drawn like this was an ambush instead of an exhibition.

“What in the—” Luka broke into a laugh. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

The announcer’s mic squealed with static as Luka vaulted onto the edge of the pit again. “Looks like we’ve got some unexpected guests, folks! How about we make this a real show, huh?”

The crowd howled in approval.

Dan Heng sighed audibly from the center of the ring. “This isn’t—”

But it was too late. Luka raised his hand dramatically, calling to the opposing side. “Two more on their team! Let’s even the odds!”

A few of the resting fighters rose from the benches, grinning wide as they climbed into the pit.

March twirled her bow, smiling as if this were the best thing that had ever happened. “Alright, team, let’s make it fair!”

Caelus turned, scanning the crowd until he spotted me in the upper stands. Our eyes met, and he flashed a quick wink.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed, loud enough for him to hear even over the noise. “You’re all insane!” I shouted down.

The bell rang again.

Chaos.

The Underworld crowd went wild, stomping and shouting as the fight exploded into motion. Dan Heng moved with the precision of a dancer, staff glinting under the lights. March’s arrows streaked through the smoky air like pink comets, each one striking true. Caelus charged headlong into two opponents at once, grinning as the shockwaves from his strikes scattered debris across the floor.

Luka leaned toward me, eyes bright. “Your friends don’t do subtle, huh?”

“Subtle?” I said, laughing breathlessly. “They’ve never met the word.”

The fight stretched on, metal clashing, fists flying, the crowd’s cheers merging into a single heartbeat that shook the cavern. For every blow the opponents landed, the team answered twice as hard. Dan Heng’s focus never faltered; March’s laughter echoed above the noise; Caelus fought like the world itself was daring him to lose, swinging his bat and crashing into the opponents once more like a comet.

Then, as if on cue, the final opponent stumbled, hit the floor, and didn’t get back up.

The crowd erupted. Cheers thundered through the arena, boots stomping, hands pounding the railings. Luka jumped down into the ring, grabbing Dan Heng’s wrist and holding it high.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winners!” he shouted into the mic. “Give it up for our travelers from beyond the sky!”

“And since everyone’s dying to know… who are our mysterious champions?”

The crowd roared, stamping for answers.

March bounced forward. “March 7th! Photographer, adventurer, and part-time hero!”

Luka pointed to Dan Heng. “And you, stoic one?”

Dan Heng blinked. M “Dan Heng.”

A laugh rippled through the spectators, some showing half confusion, and others half affection. Luka turned expectantly to Caelus. “And you, golden boy?”

Caelus grinned, brushing snow from his sleeve. “The Galactic Baseballer.”

The entire pit exploded. Cheers, whistles, laughter; The sound of pure approval. Someone threw a battered cap into the ring; another started chanting his name.

March threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. “I knew you had a hero name in you!”

Even Dan Heng cracked a faint smile, shaking his head.

Luka clapped his hands together, grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies and gents, give it up for the Galactic Baseballer and his out-of-this-world team!”

March threw her arms around Caelus and cheered loud enough to rival the audience. Dan Heng shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

From the stands, I couldn’t stop laughing, caught somewhere between pride and disbelief as the cheers swallowed every worry I’d carried since Belobog.

They’d turned a misunderstanding into a victory. That was us, I thought. Somehow, always finding chaos first, triumph second.

Luka looked up toward the balcony and caught my eye again, grinning wide. “Looks like your guy’s got talent, doll.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled all the same. “Don’t think about taking him from us either.” 

The crowd was still cheering, the music thundering through the chamber. 

The noise of the crowd was still ringing in my ears long after the final bell faded.

Steam and laughter filled the air, the scent of metal and sweat thick around the ring.  March and Caelus were grinning like maniacs, bumping fists as Dan Heng wiped a sleeve across his brow, trying and failing to look unaffected.

I hopped down from the stands and landed lightly on the edge of the pit. “You were amazing,” I said, throwing my arms around them. “All of you.”

March squeezed me back before Caelus laughed.  “Careful! we’re covered in sweat.”

“Ugh!” I stepped back, wrinkling my nose. “Disgusting.”

He grinned, then lunged forward and pulled me right back into another hug, locking his arms so I couldn’t wriggle free. “Too late. You’re part of the team now.”

“Caelus!” I squealed, half laughing, half struggling as March clapped and cheered. Even Dan Heng’s composure cracked; a quiet smile ghosted over his face.

When Caelus finally released me, we were all breathless from laughing. It felt good, a real laughter, not the nervous kind we’d been surviving on since Belobog.

“Now that,” Luka said, dropping into the ring beside us, “is what I call spirit.”

He extended a hand to Dan Heng first, then to the rest of us. “Luka, by the way. Guess I should properly introduce myself now that you’ve nearly demolished my favorite fighters.”

March tilted her head. “So you run this place?”

“Among other things.” Luka’s grin widened. “I’m a member of Wildfire.”

“Wildfire?” I echoed. “What’s that?”

“A rebellion group,” he said, pride flickering behind his easy tone. “We keep the peace down here, protect our people, and push back against the regime up top. I’d assume you’ve already met our leader, Natasha.”

March’s eyes lit up. “So we do have a common enemy!”

“Yeah,” Luka said with a shrug. “Which is why I think it’d be smart if we worked together. You folks clearly aren’t ordinary travelers. Wildfire could use that kind of muscle.”

Before anyone could answer, Dan Heng’s gaze flicked toward the upper walkway. “Hold that thought.”

There, half-hidden behind a pipe column, was a familiar silhouette. A purple coat, a glint of goggles; Sampo. The moment he realized he’d been spotted, he turned on his heel and bolted.

“Are you kidding me?” March yelled. “Him again?!”

Luka blinked. “You know that guy?”

“Oh, we know him,” Caelus said, already breaking into a run.  “Keep our rooms warm, we’ll be right back!”

We tore after him through the narrow streets, Luka’s voice echoing behind us. “Hey! Don’t break anything!”

Sampo darted through alleys like a rat that knew every hole. We chased him past shuttered shops, over a low bridge, until he finally misjudged a turn and skidded to a stop in a dead-end corridor flanked by pipes.

He turned slowly, hands raised in mock surrender.  “Whoa!  Easy, friends. Thought you were bandits for a second.”

March folded her arms. “Yeah right. You ran because you saw us and panicked.”

“Panicked? Me?” Sampo pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Scared of old friends?  Perish the thought! I’ve got nothing to fear from my dearest companions. We’re comrades, aren’t we?”

Dan Heng stepped closer, his voice low. “There’s always more than what meets the eye with you, friend.”

Sampo chuckled nervously. “Well, to prove my everlasting loyalty, why don’t I introduce you to Wildfire myself? Free of charge, might I add.”

Caelus smirked. “You’re late. Luka already beat you to it.”

Sampo’s grin didn’t falter. “Excellent! One introduction down, then. But I can still take you to the others.  Efficiency is key, yes?”

He dusted off his coat and adjusted his goggles.  “Besides, I heard you’re looking for something. What was it again? A Stellaron? Sounds rather powerful. You’ll definitely need Wildfire’s help for that kind of business.”

DanHeng’s expression stayed unreadable. “You’re awfully informed for someone who keeps ‘accidentally’ running away from us.”

“I stay informed; it’s good for one’s health.” Sampo twirled his finger in the air. “Anyway, trust me. If you want answers, the Wildfire folks are your best shot.  And if you need a little push to win their favor and well, lucky you!  You’ve already got the new fight-club champion on your team.”

“I’d think you’d know that,” Dan Heng said dryly. “You were there.”

Sampo laughed. “True, true! I never miss a good show.  And winning that fight? Oh, it’ll make Wildfire fall head over heels for you. They’re desperate for strong allies.”

Caelus crossed his arms. “And what do you think of them?”

“Oh, me?” Sampo tilted his head thoughtfully.  “Personally, I think they’re a bunch of artless, stubborn fools. But don’t quote me on that! Still, faith where it’s due, Sampo never lets friends who help him come to harm.” He grinned. “Hehe.”

March rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. So what do they actually do all day?”

“Everything,” Sampo said brightly. “Keep peace, uphold justice, steal back what’s been stolen. Oh, and the tiny speck of trust they have for me comes from that last part.”  He winked. “Mutually beneficial arrangements keep the world turning, you know.”

His voice faded into the murmur of the street around us. I exchanged a look with the others, half skepticism, half curiosity. 

The streets thinned as we followed Sampo deeper into the Underworld. The clamor of the fight club faded behind us, replaced by the steady thrum of machinery and the hiss of steam leaking from old pipes.  Lamps flickered weakly overhead, painting everything in orange and gold.

Sampo led with his usual bounce, hands stuffed into his coat pockets.  “Right this way, my esteemed companions!  We’re heading toward Wildfire’s turf.  Best behavior, please.  I have a reputation to maintain.”

March trotted beside him, eyes darting to the glowing veins running along the cavern walls.  “Whoa… what is that? It’s beautiful!”

Sampo stopped just long enough to give her his signature salesman grin.  “Ah, that, my dear, is geomarrow. The lifeblood of the Underworld.  See those orange veins?  They’re what keep this city alive. Everyone down here mines it, one way or another. We sell it to the surface to trade for supplies.”

March crouched to peer at the ore, the glow reflecting in her eyes. “So it’s like… money and power all rolled into one?”

“Precisely,” Sampo said, tipping an imaginary hat.  “And dangerous if you don’t handle it properly. Geomarrow keeps the heaters running and the bellies full.  But it also keeps people chained down here. The surface never sends enough back.”

Caelus frowned slightly.  “So most of the people here are miners?”

“Either miners, mechanics, or scavengers,” Sampo replied. “If it breaks, they fix it. If it glows, they sell it. If it explodes… well, they blame me.”

March chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

We followed him along the narrow walkway that curved through the mining district. Steam pipes lined the walls, dripping condensation that hissed when it hit the hot metal floor. The further we went, the more desolate it became, fewer homes, more machinery, the air heavy with dust.

Sampo stopped near a rusted gate, looking around.  “Oleg’s usually around here. Our fearless second-in-command, the muscle of Wildfire.” He peered left, then right. “But he’s… not.”

Dan Heng crossed his arms. “You’re sure you’re not leading us in circles again?”

“Please.” Sampo gave a wounded sniff. “I’m hurt by your lack of faith. I only do that to people who deserve it.”

March groaned. “You’d better not be pulling another one on us.”

“Perish the thought.” He waved a hand dramatically, then paused as his gaze lifted to the horizon of the cavern.  “Ah, but if it’s sights you want, look there.”

Beyond the maze of pipes and bridges stood a massive structure. An enormous tower of iron and glowing energy that pierced the ceiling of the cavern. Its light pulsed faintly, the color of molten metal.

March’s eyes went wide. “What’s that?”

Sampo followed her gaze. “The Furnace Core. The pillar that connects the Underworld to the Overworld. Used to be, people could travel between the two freely through it.  Trade, family visits, all that good stuff.”

“Used to be?” I asked softly.

He nodded, hands sliding deeper into his pockets. “Then came the freeze. The Supreme Guardian sealed the passage. Said it was for everyone’s safety. Now it’s just a dead bridge between two worlds.”  He gave a crooked grin.  “But that’s a long story, and one I’m not paid enough to tell.”

Dan Heng’s voice was quiet but pointed. “Except you still use it.”

Sampo froze mid-step, then turned with an exaggerated laugh. “Hey! Fewer rumors about me, the better, thank you very much. Let’s not tarnish my spotless record.”

We kept moving, winding through the tunnels toward the central square. The crowds here were thinner, shadows long against the uneven ground.  A few miners glanced up as we passed but said nothing.

That’s when I saw them, three vagrants up ahead, voices raised in drunken fury. Between them stood a woman in a white-and-gray military coat, her silver hair unmistakable.

“Bronya,” I whispered.

The others stopped with me. She stood near an old loading platform, surrounded by the vagrants who were jeering, mocking her uniform. One shoved her shoulder hard enough to stagger her.

Sampo hissed under his breath. “Well, isn’t this a twist.  Commander herself, down in the dirt. You might want to lend her a hand, it could be… advantageous.”

March frowned.  “Advantageous or not, we’re not just going to stand here.”

Before anyone could move, one of the vagrants pulled a gun. “Let’s see how the princess handles this!”

The shot cracked through the air.

But before the bullet could hit, the world flashed indigo.

A crescent of light sliced through the air, clean and silent.  The bullet disintegrated midflight, leaving behind a trail of shimmering butterflies that drifted gently to the ground.

The vagrants froze. A shadow stepped between them and Bronya, a girl with crimson eyes and hair the color of twilight, a scythe resting casually across her shoulder.  The faint glow of the Fragmentum shimmered along its blade.

“Want to try that again?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut.

The vagrants took one look at her and backed away fast.

I exhaled slowly, the butterflies still falling around her like snow.

“Who is that?” March whispered.

Sampo’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Ah, that, my dear, would be trouble.”

The girl tilted her head, eyes flicking toward us just once.  They were bright as molten stars.

And then she smiled, with a dangerous, confident curve of the lips.

“Name’s Seele,” she said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll stay out of my way.”

The echoes of her voice lingered, the indigo butterflies still dissolving in the air as the chapter closed.

Chapter Text

The air still shimmered where the bullet had dissolved. The fragments of indigo light hung like butterflies caught in the last breath of a storm, slow to fade.

Bronya stared at them, then at the girl who’d appeared between her and death.

“Seele,” she breathed. “You—”

“Didn’t expect to see you down here?” Seele’s tone was cool, her scythe balanced across her shoulder. “Guess the great Commander finally decided to visit the people she forgot.”

Bronya’s composure faltered for a heartbeat before returning behind that officer’s mask. “I didn’t come to debate politics.”

Seele stepped closer, eyes flashing. “Then why are you here, Bronya? Looking for trouble, or just pretending the world below doesn’t exist?”

Sampo whispered under his breath. “Ah, love these reunions. Always so polite.”

March elbowed him hard. “Shh.”

Dan Heng’s attention flicked between the two women, assessing, cautious. “They know each other.”

“They more than know each other,” Sampo murmured. “Those two have a history sharp enough to cut glass.”

The tension between them felt like a living thing. Seele’s voice softened, just slightly. “You shouldn’t have come alone. The people here don’t forgive easily.”

Bronya lifted her chin. “I don’t need forgiveness. I need answers.”

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Two halves of Belobog, one bound by duty, the other by defiance; meeting where the light couldn’t quite reach.

Then Seele’s gaze drifted past her and landed on me.

It lingered.

Her head tilted, expression shifting from guarded to curious. “And who’s this?”

I blinked, taken off guard. “Aldra.  We’re… travelers. Just passing through.”

“Passing through the Underworld?” Seele’s smile was small, but not unkind. "Not many do that and live to tell it.”

Her eyes narrowed faintly. “Your skin… it’s glowing.”

I froze. “It’s... just the light from the ores.”

She stepped closer, studying me. “No. I’ve seen geomarrow glow. This isn’t that. You look like you swallowed a piece of the sky.”

Dan Heng shifted slightly, putting himself between us. “She’s with us.”

Seele arched a brow. “Relax. I’m just looking.” Her voice softened again, almost thoughtful. “You don’t belong here.  I can feel it.”

The words sank deeper than I wanted them to. “Neither do you,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

Something flickered in her expression… recognition, maybe, or pity. But it passed quickly.

Sampo, ever the opportunist, clapped his hands. “Well!  Now that everyone’s getting acquainted, maybe we can take this charming little reunion somewhere less… bullet-ridden?”

Bronya’s gaze snapped to him. “You. What are you doing with them?”

“Guiding them, of course.” Sampo gave a mock bow. “My civic duty as an upstanding citizen.”

Seele snorted. “Upstanding, huh? You’re about as trustworthy as a pickpocket at a parade.”

“That’s slander,” Sampo said cheerfully.  M“Completely true, but still slander.”

March took a step forward, voice tentative. “Wait, so you two know each other too?”

Seele rolled her eyes.  “Everyone down here knows Sampo. Unfortunately.”

“He means well,” I offered weakly.

Seele glanced back at me, then laughed softly. “You’re sweet. Don’t lose that.  It’s rare in a place like this.”

Bronya, still visibly unsettled, straightened her coat. “You’re working with them now?”

“I’m helping them,” Seele corrected. “Something you should try once in a while.”

Bronya’s jaw tightened.  M“You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

“And you don’t understand what’s been taken from us,” Seele snapped back. “The Supreme Guardian built her paradise on our graves. You think sealing us off was mercy?”

Dan Heng’s voice cut through the tension. “Arguing won’t solve anything. If we’re going to survive down here, we need allies.”

Seele gave him a long look. “You talk like a strategist. Maybe you’re not as useless as you look.”

March gasped. “Hey! He’s our strategist!”

Seele only smirked. “Then you won’t mind if I borrow him for a bit.”

Bronya’s tone cooled again. “This conversation is over. I have orders to return them.”

She turned to leave, but Seele’s voice stopped her.

“Orders from who?” Her scythe lowered, the blade glinting faintly. “Cocolia? The woman who turned her own city into a cage?”

Bronya’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t look back.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

Seele’s eyes softened for just a moment. “Maybe I do.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.

Sampo clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “Well this was interesting! Since everyone’s playing nice again, perhaps we can all take this riveting reunion somewhere that doesn’t involve gunfire?”

Bronya shot him a sharp look. “You stay out of this.”

“Gladly,” he said cheerfully. “But you might want to stay off the streets, commander. The locals aren’t big fans of uniforms lately.”

Seele nodded in agreement. “He’s right for once. You showing up down here alone’s going to stir the whole district. Wildfire’s hideout isn’t far. You can catch your breath there.”

Bronya frowned. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“No,” Seele said quietly. “But you can walk yourself right into trouble, lol or you can walk with me and avoid it.”

For a moment, neither moved. The sound of the Underworld filled the silence: the hum of machinery, the drip of water, the echo of distant voices.

Finally, Bronya sighed, shoulders lowering. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Seele’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “Good choice.”

March let out a soft sigh of relief. “Phew, so no more shooting today?”

“No promises,” Sampo said, hands raised in mock defense. “But we’ll do our best.”

Dan Heng glanced at him. “You’re coming too.”

Sampo blinked innocently. “Me? Naturally! Can’t let my favorite clients wander into Wildfire’s den unchaperoned.”

I fell into step beside March as we followed Seele and Bronya deeper into the tunnels. The glow of geomarrow lit the path ahead, throwing long shadows that danced along the walls.  Seele walked in silence, the faint indigo shimmer of her weapon casting ghostly reflections on the metal.

March whispered, “So… that’s Seele, huh? She’s kind of scary.”

“She saved us,” I said. “And her city.”

“Still scary,” March muttered, though her smile betrayed her admiration.

Up ahead, Seele glanced back briefly, her gaze catching mine again. For a heartbeat, I could’ve sworn her eyes softened, not curiosity this time, but something closer to recognition.

She turned away before I could place it.

The air grew warmer as we approached the heart of the cavern. Somewhere ahead, orange light pulsed against the walls, the hearth of the Wildfire’s domain. Voices carried faintly through the air, growing louder with each step.

Sampo stretched his arms wide, grin returning. “And here we are! Home sweet home. Try not to touch anything that glows too much or hums ominously.”

Seele ignored him. “Come on. Oleg will want to meet you.”

Bronya hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper.  “Oleg’s still with Wildfire?”

Seele didn’t look back. “He never stopped.”

Bronya said nothing after that.

The path opened into a vast hollow carved into the heart of the mountain. Rusted scaffolds and catwalks stretched between cliffs, their lights glowing orange from the heat below. Fires burned in metal drums, and the air smelled faintly of oil, ash, and smoke.

It was alive down here. Workers moving crates, children chasing each other through the dust, people laughing even in the ruin. The pulse of the Underworld.

“Welcome to Wildfire’s camp,” Seele said.  “Not much to look at, but it’s home.”

Natasha stood near one of the makeshift tents, her white coat unmistakable even through the haze. Luka was beside her, cleaning his mechanical arm with a rag until he spotted us. His grin appeared instantly.

“Well, well. unexpected guests indeed.”

Natasha’s smile was calm, though surprise flickered behind her eyes. “So the travelers are awake after all. I wasn’t expecting you to arrive with… quite this crowd.”

Seele shrugged. “Blame fate.  Where’s Oleg?”

Luka’s grin faltered. He tossed the rag aside and scratched the back of his neck. “He went down to the mines with a team yesterday. Supposed to check on the extraction routes. Hasn’t come back.”

Natasha’s expression tightened.  “It isn’t like him to vanish for this long.  Something might be wrong.”

Caelus stepped forward, his voice steady. “Then we’ll find him. Why’d he go down there in the first place?”

Natasha folded her arms.  “Miners and their families were desperate.  Ore shipments have slowed to a trickle, and no one knows why. They went to investigate.”  Her tone darkened. “Vagrants have taken over the tunnels, raiding, blocking trade routes. The workers are afraid to fight back.”

Seele frowned.  “When did it get this bad?”

“Gradually,” Natasha said softly. “Everything down here is a compromise between survival and risk. The balance doesn’t last.”

As she spoke, something inside me stirred, a low hum beneath the earth, faint at first, then stronger.  It wasn’t sound but sensation, thrumming through my chest. The hairs on my arms rose.

I staggered a half step, hand pressing to my sternum.

Caelus looked at me sharply. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

I nodded slowly.  “Something’s down there. And it’s not just geomarrow. Whatever it is, it’s calling, and it feels wrong.”

Natasha’s brows knit. “The miners did report a new vein of geomarrow, deep below the main shafts. Large deposits, maybe the biggest we’ve ever found. But the fragmentum corruption is spreading faster than anyone expected.  We can’t stabilize it. That’s probably what you’re sensing.”

Seele’s jaw tightened. “People are still going down there?”

“Every day,” Natasha answered. “They don’t have a choice.  It’s all they know. The desperation runs deeper than the mines themselves.”

A quiet fell over the group. The flicker of firelight painted everyone’s faces, determined, uncertain, but united by the same grim purpose.

“So,” Natasha asked gently, “you came here to help with the conflict?”

Seele shook her head.  “Not exactly. They came looking for Oleg to ask a favor. But since he’s the one missing, and our goals align…”  She met Caelus’s gaze. “We go together.”

March raised a hand enthusiastically.  “And because we care about other people too!  We’ll help.”

Caelus smiled faintly. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Dan Heng adjusted his spear strap. “We need to move quickly before the corruption spreads further.”

As we gathered our gear, Luka looked around suddenly.  “Uh… anyone seen Sampo?”

Silence. The space where he’d been standing was empty, as if he’d evaporated into the smoke.

March groaned. “Again?  Does he ever stay in one place?”

Luka sighed, half amused.  “That man’s allergic to responsibility.”

Seele snapped her fingers toward Bronya, who stood a few paces behind, still watching everything in wary silence. “You’re staying here.”

Bronya’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Seele said. “It’s not safe where we’re going, and you’re not exactly built for hiding in tunnels.  Stay with Natasha. We’ll bring Oleg back.”

Bronya hesitated, pride and concern flickering in equal measure. Then she exhaled quietly.  “Fine. But come back alive.”

Seele’s grin softened into something almost warm.  “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

We set out together, the team, Seele, and Luka guiding us through the winding metal corridors leading toward the mines. Behind us, Wildfire’s camp glowed faintly in the distance, a fragile pocket of light in the dark.

The tunnels narrowed as we moved deeper, the air thick with dust and the faint shimmer of fragmentum residue. Lamps flickered weakly overhead, their light warped by the strange static hum that grew louder the further we went.

Luka led the way with a torch, Seele close behind, her scythe gleaming faintly with each step. The rest of us followed in silence, the sound of our boots muffled by the soft grit of the floor.

It wasn’t until we passed a collapsed bridge that I noticed movement behind us, a figure slipping through the fog.

“Wait.” I turned sharply. “Someone’s following.”

A familiar voice called out. “You’re not leaving me behind that easily.”

Bronya jogged into the light, slightly out of breath, her expression equal parts determination and defiance.

Seele stopped, arms crossed. “Seriously? I told you to stay put.”

“I’m not hiding while people are dying,” Bronya snapped.  “You need me. I know these tunnels better than you think.”

Seele muttered under her breath. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

But she didn’t send her back. Instead, she just sighed and kept walking. “Fine. But stay close.”

We moved on, the path winding deeper until the faint echo of shouting reached us. Around the next corner, we saw them. Vagrants harassing a group of miners trapped behind a fallen scaffold. The workers huddled together, shielding their children as the thugs closed in.

Bronya’s voice rose before anyone could stop her.  “We have to help them!”

“Already on it,” March said, summoning her bow.

The battle was quick but brutal. The vagrants fought with desperation, but against Seele’s scythe and Caelus’s strength, they didn’t stand a chance. My frost carved a barrier between them and the miners while Dan Heng disarmed the last with a single strike. Within moments, the cavern fell silent again except for the frightened breathing of the rescued group.

One of the vagrants, half-conscious, laughed bitterly before fleeing into the dark. “You’re wasting your time. The miners are doomed anyway. Can’t fight his machines.”

Luka frowned. “His machines?”

“The Guardian’s,” the man rasped before disappearing into the shadows.

The miners began to gather themselves, murmuring thanks. Among them was a woman with soot-streaked cheeks who stepped forward, trembling. “Thank you. My name’s Antonia. You cleared the path so we can get the children out now.”

March smiled kindly. “Happy to help. Have you seen someone named Oleg?”

Antonia shook her head. L “He went deeper with the others. Toward the new vein. But it’s crawling with robots, Svarog’s machines.”

Seele’s expression darkened. L “So it’s true then. He’s involved.”

Caelus looked between them. “Who’s Svarog?”

Seele hesitated, her voice cooling. “He—or it—calls itself a guardian of humanity. Controls every robot in the Underworld. When order breaks down, his machines appear to ‘restore balance.’  But lately… they’ve been blocking the tunnels, sealing off the furnace hub, attacking miners who get too close.”

“No one knows why,” Luka added quietly.  “Svarog never acted against us before.  He’s a machine, but he has logic. He doesn’t hurt people without reason.”

Bronya frowned. “A guardian of humanity?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Seele’s tone turned sharp. “Of course you haven’t. It’s easy to stay ignorant when you live above the problem.”

Bronya’s eyes flashed. “You think ignorance is a choice when the Supreme Guardian hides the truth from everyone?”

“Enough,” March said firmly, stepping between them. “Arguing isn’t helping. We need to find Oleg and figure out why these machines are attacking.”

Seele let out a breath and turned away.  “You’re right.  Let’s move.”

Chapter Text

And there, standing at the center of it all was a massive machine. A towering figure of metal and light, its core pulsing red beneath an armored chestplate. Beside it stood a small girl with white hair, her hands clasped before her as she looked up at the mechanical giant with wide, trusting eyes.

Dan Heng’s voice broke the silence, low and wary. “That must be Svarog.”

I couldn’t speak. The resonance inside me flared so strongly I had to steady myself against the wall.  The sound, the vibration, it was the same rhythm I’d felt back on the station before the first battle. But this time, it was deeper, like the heartbeat of the planet itself.

The girl noticed us first.  Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.  “Who are you?”

Seele stepped forward slowly, her scythe lowering. “We’re here to talk to Oleg. But it looks like we found something bigger.”

The machine’s eyes flickered, twin embers locking onto us. Its voice rumbled through the cavern, calm but impossibly heavy.

“Intruders detected.”

And the air around us turned cold.

The machine’s eyes glowed a deep crimson, cutting through the haze like beacons. The sound of shifting gears echoed through the cavern as it straightened to its full height, towering over us.

Seele stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Svarog.”

The machine’s head turned slightly, the motion deliberate and unnervingly smooth. “Seele. Member of the organization known as Wildfire. And Luka the combatant, rebel, former miner.”

Luka gave a crooked grin. “Guess he remembers me. Always nice to know my reputation’s intact.”

Svarog’s gaze swept across the rest of us, scanning. “Additional units detected. Unknown identifiers. Not from the Underworld.”

“Not your concern,” Seele replied sharply. “We came to find Oleg and help the miners trapped down here.”

Svarog’s red optics pulsed. “Your assistance is unnecessary. Human intervention in the mines only escalates instability. The geomarrow veins are volatile. Continued excavation risks catastrophic collapse.”

Seele’s jaw tightened. “People are starving, Svarog. We can’t just sit back while families die. You were built to protect humanity, weren’t you?”

“I am protecting humanity,” Svarog said evenly. “By eliminating variables that threaten survival. Human greed. Resource exploitation. Disorder.”

Luka stepped forward. “You’re talking about us like we’re numbers on a chart. People are more than your data logs.”

Svarog’s gaze flicked toward him. “Emotionally driven reasoning detected. Statistical outcome: inefficiency. History confirms human governance leads to destruction. I will not allow it again.”

I felt the hum beneath my feet grow stronger, a rhythm that matched the slow pulse of his core. The resonance inside me reacted to it like I was drawn to it. I couldn’t tell if it was calling me closer or warning me away.

Caelus frowned, hand on his weapon. “So you’ve decided what’s best for everyone? Without asking them?”

Svarog’s massive frame turned toward him. “Consensus is not required. Preservation is.”

March crossed her arms. “That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re holding everyone hostage!”

Svarog’s tone remained calm, but there was something final in it. “Order demands sacrifice. Those who cannot adapt… will be removed.”

The small girl beside him stepped forward nervously. “Mr. Svarog, wait—”

“Clara.” His voice lowered slightly, a modulation of care within the monotone. “Stand back.”

She obeyed hesitantly, retreating behind his leg, though her eyes lingered on us. on me.

I took a small step forward, ignoring the cold rush of fear crawling up my spine. “You say you’re protecting humanity. But you’ve blinded yourself to what that means. You’re keeping them trapped, not safe.”

Svarog’s head tilted slightly, the metal creaking. “Your energy signature is anomalous. Not human. Not machine.”

My breath caught. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I do not answer to those who endanger my directive.”

And just like that, the ground trembled. Gears whirred. From the shadows of the chamber, smaller automatons emerged; Svarog’s units, eyes glowing the same crimson hue.

Dan Heng moved first, spear drawn, eyes narrowing. “We tried reasoning.”

Seele pulled her scythe free in one smooth motion. “He doesn’t listen to reason.”

Svarog’s voice rumbled like thunder. “Wildfire. Intruders. Leave this place; or be neutralized.”

Luka clenched his mechanical fist. “Guess that’s our cue.”

The machines surged forward, metal claws scraping against the rock. March raised her bow, her cry echoing through the cavern. “Let’s show him how inefficient we can be!”

Energy filled the air with shards of frost, arcs of light, the whine of servo-motors and the crack of metal on stone. My frost raced across the ground, freezing gears in mid-spin. Caelus’s bat connected with a flash, sending one unit crashing into a wall of ore.

Svarog’s hand came down like a hammer, the impact sending a shockwave through the chamber. I threw up a wall of ice just in time to keep March from being thrown into the pit.  It shattered on impact, scattering into glittering snow.

Seele darted forward, her scythe a streak of violet light that cut through two drones at once. “You always said you wanted peace, Svarog!” she shouted over the chaos. “Is this what peace looks like to you?”

Svarog raised his arm again, mechanical pistons flaring. “Peace demands control. Control demands obedience.”

The fight blurred into flashes of light and color from the pulse of Caelus’s strikes, the chill of my power, Seele’s rhythm of violence, and Luka’s mechanical fist burning red.

Svarog’s blows shook the ground, his strength beyond anything human. Yet even as we fought, I saw Clara watching from the sidelines, her small hands gripping her dress, tears welling as she whispered, “Please… stop…”

Svarog turned toward her for a fraction of a second and that hesitation gave us an opening.

Dan Heng lunged in, his spear driving into one of the machine’s shoulder joints. Sparks exploded, the metal groaning under the pressure. Svarog reeled back with a sound like twisting steel.

Luka yelled, “Now!”

Caelus swung his bat upward, and I sent a surge of frost along the ground that crawled up Svarog’s legs, locking him momentarily in place. Seele struck last, her scythe slicing across the crack in his armor, releasing a burst of searing light that filled the chamber.

When it cleared, Svarog was still standing but weakened, one knee bent, steam venting from his core.  Clara ran to him, wrapping her arms around the massive metal frame.

“Please, stop fighting! They’re not your enemies!” she cried.

Svarog’s optics flickered, dimming to a softer glow. “Clara… step back.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No! You always tell me you’re protecting people. Then why are you hurting them?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the machines around us paused, awaiting his next command.

Finally, Svarog’s head lowered slightly, voice slower now, almost weary. “My parameters… may require reevaluation.”

Seele exhaled shakily, lowering her weapon. “Then do it. Before someone else gets hurt.”

Svarog’s gaze moved across each of us again, then settled on Clara. “Go. I will not pursue you.”

Dan Heng nodded cautiously, pulling his spear back.  “We’ll take that as a truce.”

Seele hesitated but gave a small nod.  “Come on. Let’s find Oleg before the whole tunnel collapses.”

As we turned to leave, Clara’s small voice called after us. “Thank you for not hurting him.”

I paused, glancing back at her. “He’s not our enemy,” I said softly. “Not yet.”

Svarog’s red eyes dimmed fully as we left, the faint sound of his systems cycling down echoing behind us.

For a long moment after the fight, none of us spoke. The echo of metal on stone still rang faintly in my ears, the air thick with steam and scorched frost. Clara knelt beside Svarog, whispering something too quiet to hear.

Seele’s scythe lowered at last, her voice steadier than I expected. “Thank you. We’ve never managed to stand up to him before. Not like that.”

Luka nodded, brushing dust from his mechanical arm. “Yeah, you guys really turned the tide. Guess we owe you one.”

Bronya, who’d spent most of the battle guarding our flank, straightened and brushed off her coat. “You all did well,” she said softly.

March turned to her with a teasing grin. “You mean we did well. You didn’t even swing at anything.”

Bronya blinked, caught off guard, then sighed. “I… suppose you’re right.”

Seele smirked faintly, her usual bite tempered by exhaustion. “At least you admit it.”

Bronya frowned but didn’t answer.

Svarog’s chamber was collapsing in small ways the sound of groaning metal, the hiss of pressurized steam. Oleg was still somewhere deeper in these mines, and none of us were in the mood to test how long the truce would last.

We gathered ourselves and pushed forward again, heading deeper into the tunnels. The walls were darker here, the geomarrow glow fading to dull veins of rust-orange light. Every few steps we found traces of struggle was evident everywhere.

After a while, Dan Heng crouched by a half-buried lantern and brushed away the dust. “Someone’s been here recently.”

Seele leaned in, her eyes widening. “That’s Oleg’s mark. This is one of his camps.”

We followed the trail of boot prints, drag marks, the faint scorch of explosives until we reached an open cavern lit by scattered lamps. A man stood near the center, tall and broad-shouldered, his coat heavy with soot and grime. The sharp lines of his face softened when he saw us.

“Oleg,” Seele called, breaking into a run. “You’re alright.”

He turned, his expression weary but alive. “Seele? Luka?” He smiled faintly, a gruff warmth beneath his voice. “Didn’t expect to see the whole gang here. Thought I was done for when those machines surrounded me.”

Luka clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not that easy to kill, old man.”

Oleg chuckled, then looked past them at the rest of us. His gaze settled on me first, then Caelus, then Bronya. “And who might these new faces be?”

Bronya stepped forward, composure returning in an instant. “It’s been a long time, Chief.”

He blinked, recognition dawning. “Bronya… from the Silvermane Guards? Huh. Never thought I’d see you in the Underworld.”

“Circumstances change,” she said evenly.

Caelus stepped up, grinning. “So you’re the famous Chief Oleg everyone keeps talking about. You’re a hard man to find.”

March elbowed him lightly. “Caelus! Don’t start with him.”

Oleg laughed under his breath. “It’s fine. I’ve been called worse.” He gestured toward the cavern wall. “But that still doesn’t tell me why a bunch of strangers risked their necks trekking down here.”

I exchanged a quick glance with the others. “We told him everything,” I said, sparing the long version. “About the Stellaron, the planet’s freeze, and why we came.”

When I finished, silence hung over the group for a beat. The low rumble of machinery filled the space.

Oleg crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “So that’s the story, huh? A cosmic disaster in our backyard, and the Supreme Guardian’s little guests are here to save the day.”

Seele raised an eyebrow. “You sound skeptical.”

“I’ve seen plenty of saviors come and go,” he said. “And none of them ever fixed anything. Wildfire can barely keep itself afloat, and now the people who run the overworld want our help? Feels like a bad joke.”

Bronya’s voice came quieter, but sharp. “We didn’t come here to trade insults. And I won’t let anyone speak ill of Her Majesty.”

Oleg turned his gaze on her, not angry I'm just tired. “You still believe in her that much? Even after seeing all this?” He gestured toward the broken tunnels, the ruins, the starving miners scavenging through crates. “You think she’s protecting these people? Or do you just believe what you’re told to?”

Bronya’s jaw tightened. “She’s… she’s doing what she must for Belobog.”

“And what has that done for the Underworld?” Oleg’s tone hardened. “No sunlight. No warmth. No contact. Just orders and isolation. You can keep your loyalty, but don’t ask us to respect it.”

Bronya said nothing, her gaze flickering toward the ground. For a moment, the strength she always carried seemed to waver.

Then Oleg sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But… if you’re here to help, I’ll respect that. You’ve earned it. Just don’t expect me to start singing praises for the people who left us here to rot.”

Seele folded her arms, smirking faintly. “That’s the nicest thing he’s said all day.”

Luka chuckled. “Trust me, that’s basically a compliment from Oleg.”

Oleg ignored them, stepping closer to the wall of the cavern where a large map had been carved into the rock.

Oleg leaned against a rusted railing, his eyes tracing the tunnel ceiling as if searching for something long lost. The lamps flickered over the lines of his face, worn but resolute. “You’ve all done enough for today. The miners you saved are being escorted back to camp, and these tunnels won’t collapse for a few more hours... hopefully.”

Seele crossed her arms. “We’re not leaving without you, Chief.”

He gave a tired grin. “You always were stubborn.” Then his gaze softened. “But fine. Let’s head back before the air gets any worse.”

We began retracing our path through the tunnels, our footsteps echoing in uneven rhythm. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy like the kind that follows too many battles in one day. The air thinned as we climbed, and faint light spilled through the cracks of the ceiling above.

By the time we reached the upper passage, the hum of Wildfire’s camp came into view again. The orange glow of forges. The chatter of miners returning home. It felt almost peaceful.

Luka stretched, his mechanical arm clicking. “I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink or ten.”

March laughed weakly. “I’d settle for a warm bed.”

Caelus smirked. “You’d settle for any bed.”

“Hey!” March jabbed him with her elbow, and the tension finally broke into soft laughter.

Natasha was waiting at the entrance, relief clear in her expression. “Thank the stars. You made it back in one piece.”

Oleg stepped forward, nodding. “The mines are clear for now. But we’ve got bigger problems than I thought.”

Natasha’s brows drew together. “Svarog again?”

“Worse,” he said, glancing briefly toward me and the others. “Something deeper. But it can wait.”

Seele folded her arms. “You should rest, Chief. The team can handle patrols.”

Oleg chuckled. “Orders from my own crew now. Fine, fine.” He turned to us, the outsiders, the newcomers, and the ones who didn’t belong but somehow fit anyway. “You’ve done more than I expected. You have my thanks. The people down here… they owe you one.”

Caelus shrugged. “Just doing what we do.”

Dan Heng inclined his head politely. “We’ll regroup and plan our next move. You need rest more than answers right now.”

Oleg grunted approvingly. “A sensible one, huh? Good.”

He started toward the medical tents, Luka and Seele following close behind. Bronya lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the camp.

“It’s different seeing it up close,” she murmured. “The Underworld… it’s alive in its own way.”

Seele paused beside her. “Maybe now you’ll understand why we fight so hard for it.”

Bronya said nothing, but her silence carried an unspoken small seed of doubt beginning to take root.

I stayed behind for a moment, watching the others scatter among the camp, listening to the hum of the camp filled the air again.

Most of us the camp had gone quiet as we slipped later in the night. The fires burned lower, the heat from the forge soft and steady. People were finally resting, their faces lit by the glow of survival.

Oleg stretched his shoulders with a groan, brushing soot from his gloves. “You’ve all done plenty for one day. My people need time to recover before we can plan what’s next.” He looked to us, the flickering light catching the tired edge in his eyes. “If you need a place to stay, go to the Goethe Hotel. Tell the innkeeper Oleg sent you. You’ll get a room, no charge.”

Caelus tilted his head. “Generous of you.”

Oleg shrugged. “Call it a favor for saving our hides. Besides, it’s safer for you tonight.”

Dan Heng nodded. “Then we’ll rest and regroup tomorrow.”

We said our goodbyes and made the quiet trek back toward the surface. The path felt different now... less like a descent into someone else’s world and more like a climb out of our own exhaustion. When we reached our destination, the Goethe Hotel’s warm light spilled out through frosted windows, soft and golden against the snow.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of spice and clean linen. March spun in a slow circle. “Finally! Somewhere that isn’t a medical mat.”

Caelus chuckled. “Try not to scare the staff.”

Welt arranged the rooms quickly, and soon we gathered in the common lounge. It should have felt peaceful, but none of us could quite relax.

March broke the silence first. “So… do we trust Oleg? He seems decent, but decent doesn’t always mean honest.”

Dan Heng leaned against the wall. “He’s a realist. That makes him cautious, not deceitful. Still, we should stay alert.”

“I can keep watch,” March offered, then immediately slumped. “Actually, I’ll probably fall asleep.”

Caelus snorted. “At least you’re self-aware.”

We were still trading ideas when a calm voice interrupted from the doorway. “Let me.”

Bronya stepped into the firelight, composed as always but softer somehow. “You may not trust me yet, and I may not agree with your methods, but I’d like to uncover the truth myself. If we’re chasing the same answers, let’s call it a truce.”

No one argued. Even Dan Heng gave a short nod. March smiled faintly. “Guess we have our night watch, then.”

The others filtered away one by one until it was just Bronya and me by the fire. She stood near the window, the flames reflecting in her silver eyes.

I hesitated before speaking. “Why do you have so much faith in her? The Supreme Guardian, I mean. You defend her even when the world below is breaking apart.”

Bronya’s gaze drifted to the snow outside. “Because she saved me. I was born in the Underworld, just like Seele and the others. I was nothing then hungry, frightened, alone. The Supreme Guardian took me in, raised me, gave me a name and a purpose. She showed me what it meant to be more than my circumstances. I owe her everything.”

Her voice softened. “Surely you understand that kind of loyalty. When someone rescues you, you don’t question them. You just… want to believe they were right to choose you.”

I thought of the Astral Express, reminiscing about the warmth I felt from everyone. Of the moment they first reached out to me when I’d been nothing but a frightened stranger with frost in her veins.

“I do understand,” I said quietly. “Maybe more than you think.”

For a while, we stood in silence, watching the furnace burn away. Bronya finally turned toward the hallway. “You should rest. Tomorrow will bring enough questions for both of us.”

I nodded and followed her out, the warmth of the fire fading behind me.

Chapter Text

When I woke, the lamps inside the Goethe Hotel were still dim.  The air smelled faintly of steel and snow.  Somewhere down the hall March was humming through a mouthful of toothpaste, and the pipes rattled like restless ghosts.  It almost felt peaceful.

Caelus sat at the table by the window, elbows on his knees, staring into the cup of tea that had long gone cold.  His hair stuck up in every direction, and the shadows under his eyes were darker than before.

“You look like someone who fought a war in your sleep,” I said, tugging my coat around me.

He gave a half-smile. “Maybe I did.  Long night.”

“Had an interesting one, I assume?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think Seele and I finally got through to Bronya last night, but… we’ll see.”

“That’s good,” I said, sitting across from him.  “Maybe she’s starting to see what we see.”

He hesitated, eyes unfocused. “There was something else.  A dream, I think. Voices. They were whispering something soft but clear.  It felt real.”

The words hit me like ice water. I leaned forward before I could think. “You heard them too?”

He looked startled. “You mean—”

“Yes.”  I reached across the table, fingers curling around his hand.  “I thought I was losing my mind.  I knew I wasn’t imagining it.”

His hand tightened around mine, warm despite the chill. “Then whatever’s calling us… it’s close.”

Dan Heng’s reflection appeared in the window behind him. “If both of you are hearing it, we need to move quickly,” he said, adjusting the strap of his spear.  “The source can’t be far.”

March stumbled out of her room, hair sticking out in pink tufts. “Move quickly where?  I just woke up.”

Caelus laughed softly, and for a heartbeat, the heaviness between us broke.

We left the hotel an hour later, our breath fogging in the air.  Seele and Bronya waited near the stairway, lanterns casting long shadows across the walls.  Sampo leaned against the railing, spinning a ring around his finger with theatrical ease.

“Morning, travelers!” he greeted. “Lovely weather for a little trespassing, don’t you think?”

Seele sighed. “You mean you found us a way into Svarog’s territory.”

“Same thing,” he said, flashing a grin. “Follow me, but maybe don’t ask how I got the map.”

Bronya crossed her arms but said nothing. Her gaze lingered on the flickering lights above, the trails of water gathering around the metal beams.  I wondered what she was thinking and how different the Underworld must look to someone who’d spent her life pretending it didn’t exist.

The tunnels wound downward, spiraling through old maintenance shafts and collapsed corridors.  The further we went, the colder it became.  Even our voices seemed to freeze mid-breath.

March tried to make light conversation, but her words came out in soft clouds. “Does anyone else feel like we’re walking into an icebox?”

Dan Heng answered without looking back. “The air pressure’s dropping. We’re close to the Furnace sector.”

Each step felt heavier. The hum beneath my skin returned, faint but steady and low vibration threading through the bones of the earth.  I stumbled once, the world spinning, and Caelus’s hand was there instantly at my arm.

“You’re freezing again,” he whispered.

“It’s not the cold.”  My voice shook. “It’s calling again.  Louder now.”

His brow furrowed. “Then we keep going.  Together.”

The tunnel opened into a cavern so wide it stole my breath. Above us, fractured stone gleamed with faint blue light, and from the cracks, snow drifted down, real snow falling in a place that should never have seen the sky.

March’s gasp echoed. “It’s snowing… underground?”

Seele’s voice was low. “The Furnace cooling system collapsed years ago.  The heat bled out, and this place froze over.  It’s been like this ever since.”

But it wasn’t lifeless. Fires burned in oil drums along the rock walls. Cloth tents clustered around them like huddled stars.  People moved between them. Some miners, vagrants, and others families wrapped in patched coats.  The sound of hammers, the murmur of trade, the laughter of children cut through the cold.

March whispered, “It’s like a town. I thought it would be… empty.”

Sampo led us through the maze of tents, his voice hushed now. “Careful where you step.  Everyone here’s desperate, and desperate folks don’t ask many questions.”

Bronya slowed as we passed a woman selling bread beside a fire. The woman’s hands were cracked and bleeding from frostbite, but she smiled as she handed half a loaf to a small boy.  Bronya looked away quickly, eyes dark.

The resonance inside me trembled in response, not in pain this time, but in recognition.  This place was alive, against all odds. It reminded me of how to live.

Caelus glanced sideways at me. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Just wondering how they keep going.”

“Same way we do,” he said. “One step at a time.”

At the far edge of the settlement, the cavern opened again into a narrow platform that led to a titanic gate carved from dark metal. Frost crawled across its surface, and faint red lights pulsed along its seams like veins.

Sampo swept an arm toward it.  “And here, dear friends, is the illustrious front door to Svarog’s humble abode.”

March whistled. “That’s not a door… that’s a fortress.”

Dan Heng’s eyes traced the glowing runes etched into the metal. “Security locks. Multiple layers of encryption.”

I stepped closer, the air biting at my lungs. The hum inside my chest flared; the door’s pulse matched it perfectly, as if it were breathing with me.  “It’s still active,” I whispered. “Alive.”

A sudden mechanical tone cut through the air, sharp and clear.  From the shadows, a sentinel drone glided forward, its optics burning red.

“Unauthorized personnel detected. Access denied.”

March yelped, pulling her bow halfway up.  “That’s one way to say hello!”

“To proceed, authorization code required.  Access restricted to Clara.”

Sampo blinked. “Ah.  Clara.  Sweet kid.  Not exactly here right now.”

Dan Heng turned a flat stare on him. “You brought us all the way down here without the access code?”

Sampo laughed nervously. “Well, improvisation’s my specialty.”

“Improvisation got us locked out!” March snapped.

Before the argument could rise, the drone’s optics flickered, projecting a wavering holographic light.  Clara’s voice filled the chamber, soft and sincere.

[Recording – Clara]

“Mr. Svarog’s systems are unstable. I had to go back to Rivet Town to check the power lines and look for parts. If anyone needs me, that’s where I’ll be. Please don’t go near the Core without me. It’s too dangerous.”

The image faded, leaving only the cold hum of the gate.

March groaned, dropping her shoulders. “Rivet Town? Seriously? That’s forever away!”

Sampo rubbed the back of his neck, laughing weakly. “Well, funny story… I was planning to head that way anyway. Fate, right?”

Dan Heng sighed. “Of course you were.”

Bronya looked from the gate to the rest of us.  “Then we find her.  If these machines only obey her, she’s the key.”

I turned toward the sealed door once more.  The red lights blinked slowly, in perfect rhythm with the ache beneath my ribs.  The whisper came again distant, almost tender.  It said my name.

Caelus stepped beside me, his voice quiet.  “Do you hear it now?”

“Yes,” I breathed.  “And it’s waiting.”

He looked at the gate, then back to me.  “Then we’d better not keep it waiting long.”

Dan Heng’s voice cut through the silence, calm and sure.  “We leave for Rivet Town.”

March threw her arms up.  “Another detour.  Just once I’d like an easy mission.”

Caelus smiled faintly.  “You’d get bored.”

We didn’t make it ten steps from Svarog’s gate before March noticed it.

“Hey, where’d Sampo go?”

Dan Heng didn’t even turn. “Vanished.”

I glanced back at the shadow the man had occupied seconds ago. Empty. “He’s getting good at that.”

“He was always good at that,” Seele said, already taking point. “Come on. I know the way up. We don’t want to be here when the patrol drones cycle.”

Bronya fell in beside her without a word. Caelus came up on my left, hands tucked under his arms for warmth. We started the climb.

The path back threaded through narrow switchbacks and low ceilings that made us duck. The only sounds were our boots and the quick, white clouds of our breathing. It felt less like a retreat and more like surfacing after a long dive.

“You good?” Caelus asked quietly.

“Better,” I said. “The voices are… quieter, away from the gate.”

He nodded. “Same.”

March trotted backwards so she could look at all of us. “So the plan is we find Clara, get her code, and come back before Svarog turns the door into a pancake?”

“Close enough,” Dan Heng said.

By the time the tunnel widened, the air had warmed by a degree you could argue about. The Underworld town reappeared in pieces of lamps first, then the hot breath of cookfires, then the hum of people pretending disaster wasn’t crouched at their door.

Seele pointed toward a plaza where three streets met. “Rivet Town’s route branches out from here. It’s big, easy to get turned around. We split, covering more ground.”

Bronya folded her arms. “Agreed.”

Dan Heng looked over at us. “Pairs of two;  no, teams of three.”

March’s hand shot up. “Dibs on Dan Heng!”

He blinked, then simply accepted his fate. “Very well.”

Seele glanced at Bronya. “You and me?”

Bronya nodded once.

That left Caelus looking at me like the answer had been obvious the whole time. I tried not to smile too openly. “Guess it’s us.”

March waggled her eyebrows. “Don’t freeze your date.”

“Not a date,” Caelus said too fast.

“Not freezing,” I said, too late.

We chose a meet-up time by the fountain and split. The town wrapped around us almost immediately with rib like alleys, rooftops stitched together by pipes, the air full of the metallic chatter that happened when many small lives overlapped.

“So,” I said, scanning faces and hair colors. “We’re looking for a white-haired girl with a robot for a shadow.”

“Hard to miss,” Caelus said. “Unless she wants to be missed.”

“Do you think she does?”

He thought about it. “If Svarog’s systems are unstable, she’s probably moving on purpose. Short stops, no crowds. Edges, not centers.”

“Then we check the edges.”

We cut down a quieter street, where the lamps flickered like tired eyes and the ground was dusted with the kind of snow that falls indoors. I was watching the footprints when a small voice popped up beside my hip.

“Hey, strangers.”

We both turned. A little girl with a dirty face and a chin up to the ceiling stood in the shadow of a support beam, a toy pickaxe slung over her shoulder like a warrior’s banner.

I knelt automatically, smiling. “And who might this cutie pie be?”

She scowled. “Don’t call me that. I’m Hook. Leader of the Moles.”

I put a hand over my heart. “My mistake. The fearless leader.”

Her chin tilted higher. “That’s right.”

I looked up at Caelus. “We’re in the presence of underworld elite and you didn’t tell me.”

He lifted his hands. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

Hook squinted at him, the glare melting into shock. “Hey, I know you.” She jabbed a finger. “You’re the snow boy who’s always with the pretty snow maiden.”

Caelus turned the color of a ripe fruit. “I—uh—she’s—”

“Accurate,” I said mildly.

He made a strangled sound that might have been my name, which did not help his case.

Hook planted her prop pickaxe like a flag. “You two need something? The Moles don’t do charity. Except for kids and old people and people with candy.”

“We’re looking for someone,” I said. “White hair. Named Clara.”

“Robot girl?” Hook’s mouth did a sideways see-saw. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Could you… keep an eye out?” Caelus asked. “Point her our way if you do?”

Hook swung the pickaxe idly, thinking. “Information is valuable. I could keep my eyes open for a price.”

“What’s the going rate?” I asked.

“Candy,” Hook said promptly. “Or a really cool button. But candy is better.”

I dug into my coat pocket and produced two wrapped sweets Himeko had slipped me back on the Express. “Payment up front.”

Hook’s eyes went wide. “You’re speaking my language.” She snatched them, then pointed the pickaxe at Caelus like a judge delivering sentence. “You. Take good care of her, snow boy. She’s a keeper.”

I bit my lower lip to keep the smile from escaping. Caelus covered his mouth with his knuckles. “She’s eight,” he muttered, voice muffled.

“Wise beyond her years,” I said solemnly.

Hook tucked the candy like contraband. “If I hear anything, I’ll pass it along. Moles keep their word. Also, if you see a guy named Sampo, tell him he owes me two buttons and a story.”

“We’ll get in line,” Caelus said.

Hook saluted with the pickaxe and vanished between two crates like she had dissolved on purpose.

We walked a few steps in silence. A laugh tried to escape me, and then it did. Caelus shook his head and let one out too.

“So,” I said. “A keeper?”

“Please,” he said. “Have mercy.”

“Noted.”

We threaded past a repair stall where a woman hammered a panel back into shape. The rhythm of the strikes set my thoughts into order.

“You didn’t deny it,” I said lightly.

He glanced at me. The Underworld light made his eyes look more gold than amber. “Didn’t I?”

“You tried. It didn’t take.”

He looked forward again, the corner of his mouth fighting a smile. “Maybe Hook’s right and I should get over myself.”

“What would that look like?”

He drew a breath like he was about to say something honest. Then he didn’t. “Probably me tripping over a pipe and dying of embarrassment.”

“Heroic,” I said. “Legendary. Statues would be raised.”

We checked a row of stalls where traders sold heat coils and bent spoons and things that had dreamed of being a radio. No Clara. A few people had seen a red-haired girl earlier, moving fast, eyes on the ground.

“Toward Rivet Town,” an old miner said, pointing with a gloved finger. “Taken the east shaft.”

“That’s two mentions,” Caelus said when we’d stepped away. “Seele will want to hear it.”

“We’ve got time,” I said, checking the shadows. “Let’s run one more loop.”

We cut down a side street that smelled like hot oil and frying bread. It reminded me of the bakery above ground where the little couple who laughed about love and dough is. The memory warmed a place in me that hadn’t thawed in years.

“You’re smiling,” Caelus said.

“I was thinking about food.”

“That tracks.”

“And about… people,” I added. “How they keep making something out of nothing.”

“Stubborn,” he said. “Like us.”

“Like you,” I said, and meant it.

We turned another corner and almost collided with March and Dan Heng.

“Report!” March said, bouncing on her toes. “We found exactly zero Claras.”

“We found Hook,” I said.

March clutched her heart. “The tiny menace? Is she still awesome?”

“More than ever,” Caelus said. “She charged us candy.”

“That’s my girl,” March said, misty-eyed.

“What about you two?” I asked.

Dan Heng spoke. “Two separate mentions of a White-haired girl heading toward Rivet Town this morning. No confirmation of robots with her.”

“Same direction as our lead,” Caelus said.

Seele and Bronya arrived a minute later, dust clinging to their coats like second thoughts. Seele jerked her chin toward the east tunnels. “Three separate sources confirmed: Clara passed through right after sunrise.”

“Alone?” Bronya asked.

“Looked that way,” Seele said.

Dan Heng surveyed our little circle and drew the line for us. “Then we head for Rivet Town. We stay in threes. No detours. No extended stops.”

March raised a hand. “What if a pastry detour is unavoidable?”

“Then it isn’t,” Dan Heng said.

She deflated. “Rude but fair.”

We started toward the tunnel that would become Rivet Town if you had enough stubbornness. The crowd thinned the farther we went. The lamps turned sparser, their light stretching long and thin like caution tape.

Halfway there, we passed a wall scrawled with chalk. Children’s drawings. A big robot with a little stick figure holding its hand. A girl with red hair done in angry lines. A sun drawn like no one had ever seen one, only heard rumors.

Bronya slowed, just a fraction, then matched our pace again.

“How are you doing?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t look at me. “Observing.”

“What do you see?”

Her jaw worked once. “Cost. Everywhere.”

We walked. The tunnel breathed. Somewhere distant, water dripped like a metronome for the planet’s patience.

At the East Shaft gate, a tired guard in a coat two sizes too big sighed when he saw our faces. “Rivet Town?”

“Rivet Town,” Seele said.

“You know it’s bad there.”

“We’re good at bad,” March said.

He flipped a latch. The grate groaned up like it had been woken from a nap it did not consent to. Cold air rushed through. The kind that scraped the back of your throat and made you think about all the warm words you hadn’t said yet.

We filed in. The door slammed shut behind us with the finality of a chapter break.

The tunnel to Rivet Town didn’t want to be a tunnel. It wanted to be a memory of a tunnel. Sections were missing. Others were patched with whatever had been brave enough to hold weight. Our lamps threw our shadows onto the broken walls, tall and thin and a little ridiculous.

“Stay close,” Dan Heng said. “Listen for machinery and for silence.”

“Silence?” March whispered.

He nodded. “It means the wrong thing is listening back.”

We moved three and three. Seele with Bronya ahead, light sure, steps sure. Dan Heng and March behind them, mouth and muscle. Me and Caelus in the middle, sharing a pocket of air that felt less cold than the rest.

“Do you think she’s scared?” I asked.

“Clara?” He considered. “I think she’s brave. Brave people get scared and keep going anyway.”

“You sound like you’re talking about someone else.”

He smiled, just enough. “Maybe.”

The tunnel hiccuped us into a small chamber where someone had once kept tools and now kept nothing. We took a water break because March asked three times in two minutes.

“I keep thinking about Hook,” I said, twisting the cap back onto my bottle. “How easily she decided I was worth keeping.”

Caelus capped his own bottle. “Kids are simple about the right things.”

“And we… complicate them,” I said.

“We forget,” he corrected gently. “And then we remember.”

We set off again. The way dipped lower, then rose in a reluctant slope. At the top, the tunnel split. Seele pointed right without hesitating. “This way.”

“Left looks safer,” Bronya said.

“Left is a dead end with a bad attitude,” Seele said.

Caelus leaned in, conspiratorial. “We defer to local experts.”

“I noticed,” I said. “You’re very good at going where you’re told.”

“Only when it’s your voice,” he said before he could stop himself.

The words hung there. He looked like he wanted to reach out and pull them back into his mouth. I felt the heat climb my neck, absurd in this air.

“Then I’ll give good directions,” I said, aiming for a tone that sounded like a joke and missing by an inch.

We hit the last bend before the shaft mouth. The temperature dropped like it had been waiting for us. A thin drift of snow crept along the floor, pale and fine as sifted sugar.

“Underground snow again,” March whispered.

“Not natural,” Dan Heng said. “Don’t touch it with bare skin.”

We didn’t. We stepped around it like it was asleep and we were trying to be kind.

At the end of the tunnel, Rivet Town opened like a breath held for a century and finally released, still lively as when we first arrived.

Seele stopped at the threshold and scanned. “We spread out within sight lines. Check the Natasha’s pharmacy, the power yard, and the schoolhouse first. Clara favors routes with cover.”

Bronya nodded. “No shouting. No running. If you see a drone.”

“Don’t engage unless necessary,” Dan Heng finished.

March tapped her bow against her palm. “Copy.”

We were about to step into the ruins when a metal clatter bounced down a side alley. Everyone froze. Caelus’s hand found mine without asking. I didn’t make him let go.

Seele angled toward the sound, quiet as an apology. Bronya covered her. March and Dan Heng flanked the opposite side.

A figure darted across the gap. It was small, and quick.

“Clara,” I breathed.

She vanished behind a low wall as if the town had eaten her. Then a moment later, her face appeared at the corner, cautious and open all at once.

“You came,” she said softly.

Seele lowered her scythe. “We need your help.”

Clara looked past her at each of us in turn, gaze lingering on me and Caelus, like she was line-editing something inside herself.

“So you saw my message,” she said softly.

Seele lowered her weapon. “We did. We need access to the passage below the Core.”

Clara’s brow creased. “Why? Mr. Svarog said it’s too dangerous. His calculations show your efforts would be futile.”

Caelus answered before anyone else could. “Maybe his calculations don’t account for what people can do.”

Clara tilted her head, quiet for a moment. “He calculates everything. He protects us because we can’t fight what’s coming.”

Seele stepped forward, firm and steady. “And yet you’re still fighting to survive down here, aren’t you? That means you haven’t given up. We can’t just sit around while your protector turns away from the world he swore to defend. We need to set things straight with him, face to face.”

Clara flinched slightly, eyes lowering. “He doesn’t like talking to others… especially Wildfire.”

Seele’s tone sharpened, conviction crackling like a spark. “Then he’ll make an exception. He’s evaded talking long enough. It ends now.”

Clara’s lips parted, a flicker of hurt crossing her face. “You don’t understand him. He only wants to protect humanity. That’s what he’s meant to do. Human emotions cloud judgment, that’s why he has to make the hard choices.”

Bronya took a step closer, hands open, her voice gentler. “Clara, no one is questioning his purpose. But protection without trust isn’t safety! it’s control. We only want to talk.”

Clara’s eyes hardened in a way that made her look older than her years. “Talking won’t change what must be done. I can’t take you to him… and I won’t give you the code.”

She turned, the fabric of her coat brushing the cold air. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

The silence she left behind felt heavier than snow. We stood there, watching her small figure disappear between the half-broken walls and flickering lights, her footsteps fading into the heartbeat of the town.

March was the first to exhale. “Well… that went great.”

Seele crossed her arms, jaw tight. “We’ll find another way.”

Bronya looked at the empty path Clara had taken. “She’s not our enemy. But she’s made herself our obstacle.”

Caelus glanced at me. “She’s scared.”

“Maybe she’s right to be,” I said quietly. “But so are we.”

Seele’s jaw tightened. “She’s loyal. I’ll give her that. But loyalty without reason can destroy just as much as it protects.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I need a minute.”

Bronya nodded quietly. “So do I.”

The two of them stepped away toward the edge of the square, voices low, silhouettes drawn sharp against the faint snowlight.

That left the four of us, the Express crew just standing in the quiet ruins. The wind rattled an old sign nearby, squealing like it was trying to fill the silence for us.

March broke it first. “So what now? We can’t just go back empty-handed. If Svarog won’t listen, and Clara’s refusing to help, we’re stuck.”

Caelus brushed a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing as if weighing invisible pieces. “She said his calculations showed we’d fail… maybe we just have to prove them wrong.”

Dan Heng leaned on his spear, his tone measured. “Her logic isn’t flawed. Svarog’s reasoning is sound. The Underworlders don’t have the resources or strength to resist the next collapse. From a purely analytical view, their odds are nonexistent.”

March frowned. “So what, we just… agree with him? Let him keep everyone trapped?”

“No,” Dan Heng said simply. “We acknowledge the truth and challenge it.”

He turned slightly, looking at us each in turn. “Svarog’s numbers aren’t wrong. But his variables are incomplete.”

I tilted my head. “Incomplete?”

“He’s calculated the strength of this world alone,” Dan Heng said, his gaze steady, calm as ever. “What he hasn’t accounted for… is us.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The words hung between us, quiet but resolute, warming something deep inside me.

Caelus exhaled, a small grin forming. “Then we make ourselves the outlier.”

March’s expression softened into determination. “Yeah. We’re not just passing through… we’re here to help them change the outcome.”

I found myself smiling, the heaviness in my chest easing just a little. “Then we don’t need his permission to act. We’ll find a way.”

Dan Heng nodded once, decisive. “We regroup with Seele and Bronya. If we can’t convince Clara, we’ll prepare to face Svarog on our own terms.”

March groaned dramatically. “That sounds like it’s going to involve danger, impossible odds, and probably another explosion.”

Caelus smirked. “Sounds like us, doesn’t it?”

March sighed but smiled anyway. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

The four of us started walking back toward the tunnel where Seele and Bronya waited, the cold air curling around us like fog. Somewhere above, the ceiling of the Underworld groaned as if it alive, restless, maybe even listening.

As we reached the others, I glanced back once at the direction Clara had gone.

“She believes in her protector,” I murmured. “We’ll just have to make him believe in us.”