The chamber pulsed with sterile light, its silence broken only by the soft flicker of holographic footage rotating above the circular obsidian table. Each panel displayed footage from the lower Yen region mostly uneventful, except one.
Glitched. Corrupted. A single human boy. And then… a violent burst of red light before the feed cut to static.
"Again," Yuki commanded, her tone a quiet frost.
The image replayed. The boy. The pulse. The voided feed.
A pause.
"Same as before, Empress," an advisor said. "Red aura. System failure. Tracking lost. He's gone."
"And the girl?" Yuki asked, still watching the frozen frame. "The one beside him."
Another screen lit up, showing Sakura—her hood slipping for a moment, revealing the single curved horn.
"So the lizards failed," she said, her tone cool but sharper now.
An advisor hesitated. "They weren't prepared for interference. The boy—he wasn't part of the plan."
"But he didn't fight them. He outmaneuvered them. Took her and vanished like smoke."
She turned her attention to the frozen image of Sakura again.
"She's gotten bolder," Yuki murmured. "Escaping was one thing. But now she plays protector?"
Someone coughed gently. "Your sister always had a... rebellious streak."
"My half-sister," Yuki corrected without turning. "A failed heir. Marked and cast aside. I warned them she wouldn't disappear quietly."
"Should we alert the Chairmen?" another voice asked.
Yuki's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Not yet. Let the board sleep. The moment they hear 'red aura,' they'll scramble to contain what they don't understand."
She stood, her white cloak trailing over the smooth floor.
"Besides," she added, almost to herself, "I'd like to see him with my own eyes."
Far below the cold silence of the council chamber, the underground base thrummed with life—flooded with noise, flickering lights, and the restless pulse of those who refused to live under a crown.
The tension in Angus's chest finally loosened as they moved deeper into the twisting alleys of the underground base. Sakura had vouched for him—despite the risk—and he could tell she wasn't calm about it. But she said nothing. Just kept walking. That was her way.
Angus kept glancing around, absorbing the strange, chaotic beauty of this place. Rusted walls. Makeshift roofs hammered together from scrap. The ground sloped unevenly beneath their feet. The air was thick with the smell of oil, spices, and old blood. Yet somehow, it all felt… alive.
"So," Angus asked, eyes scanning the surroundings, "who's Makoto?"
"She's the one that'll answer your questions," Sakura replied simply.
They pushed past rows of ragged homes and into the heart of the market—an open area crammed with stalls and shouting voices. The shops looked like the homes: haphazardly built, barely holding together. Shoddy metal tables and rusting racks held everything from black-market weaponry to synthetic food slabs and outlawed cybernetic mods.
Colorful fabrics flapped overhead like banners, neon signs buzzed.
Angus caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. A dingy little shack tucked between two food vendors. The sign was hand-painted, peeling: DREGS & DREAMS.
Inside were glowing vials, small paper packets, and boxes of what could only be narcotics. But his eyes settled on the small cigarette case near the counter.
"Wait, Sakura—I'm gonna stop at this shop real quick."
She slowed, giving him a sideways glance. "You don't have credits, remember?"
"Shit. You're right."
Angus scratched the back of his head, trying to hide the restless itch crawling up his spine. His fingers twitched—he hadn't smoked since yesterday, and it was already starting to wear on him. The dim, flickering lights of the base didn't help; everything felt too loud, too close.
Sakura looked at him for a moment—really looked. She recognized that twitch. The tension in his jaw. The quiet way his eyes pleaded without him saying anything.
She sighed softly. "You're fine. I'll get them for you."
He blinked. "You don't have credits either."
"It's okay. I know them. I can get some now—we'll just owe them later."
She walked up to the shop's counter, where a dwarf stood atop a worn-out stool, adjusting a piece of scrap-armor on his shoulder. He had a square face, a long braided beard, and eyes that sparkled with warmth beneath heavy brows. The plating on his armor had small cybernetic runes carved into it, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular, scarred arms.
"Hey," Sakura said, leaning in slightly. "Could you give my friend a pack of cigarettes? We don't have the credits right now, but… he kinda needs it."
The dwarf looked up, blinking once before his face lit up in recognition. "Sakura! You're back!"
His voice was like gravel wrapped in velvet.
"Look, I'll give them to you for free. I'm just glad to see you again."
He reached down, picked up a pack of cigarettes, and handed it over gently. "Come back anytime, yeah?"
"Thanks, old man," she said with a rare softness. "I'll see you soon."
She turned and walked back to Angus, tossing him the pack.
He caught it, trying to play it cool—but his hands betrayed him. He tore it open faster than he meant to, slipping a smoke between his lips. With a quick flick of his silver lighter, the flame flared. The tip of the cigarette caught fire, glowing red. He inhaled deep, and for a brief second, the chaos of the world dulled.
Relief flooded his body. The tight coil in his spine unwound. His shoulders dropped, his heartbeat slowed. The fog in his head began to clear.
Sakura gave him a look—not annoyed, not judging. Just watching him.
They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the market washing over them. Angus took one more drag, then tucked the pack into his jacket.
"Alright," he said, his tone leveling back to that old laid-back calm. "Let's go find your mystery woman."
Sakura nodded. "She's this way."
They moved down the long central path of the underground base, the distant sounds of clanking tools and murmured voices fading behind them. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to thicken—like they were walking into the lungs of something ancient.
Eventually, they reached a small camp tucked into the farthest corner of the base. Black cloths were draped over the top and down the sides like a veil. Sakura stepped forward and pushed aside the front flap.
Inside, the light dimmed.
On the left sat a worn-down bed, wires sparking faintly from its exposed side like veins too tired to carry current. On the right was a small desk, buried under a layer of thick dust. No papers. No tools. Just abandonment.
But in the center of the room, sitting silently in a small metal rocking chair, was a girl.
She looked no older than twenty—frail, thin, yet composed with eerie stillness. A thin white cloth was tied gently over her eyes. Her snow-white hair spilled past her shoulders, and her eyelashes—just as pale—barely moved as she breathed. Her skin was like polished porcelain.
She wore long, tattered rags that draped around her like layers of mist, and in her lap rested a small wooden cane, smoothed with age. A carved line traced its length, ending in a swirl at the top—a mark of meaning long forgotten by most.
Behind her back, strands of cloth seemed to rise and hold shape, like something hidden beneath them.
Angus stopped cold.
Makoto, with a faint smile, her voice as smooth as falling ash:
"Ah… the cherry bloom returns, petals brushing the wind—yet today, it brings a storm behind it."
She tilts her head, the smirk ghosting across her lips, aimed directly at Sakura—like she's staring through the dark.
Sakura stiffens for a moment.
"How did you know it was me?"
Makoto, still unmoving:
"The scent of fire and frost is hard to forget… especially when it once danced so close to the void."
Sakura doesn't respond to that. She steps forward.
"We need your help with something."
Makoto tilts her head slightly to the left, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"Tell me, little flame… what storm do you chase, that leaves your soul so tangled?"
Sakura stepped forward, her voice steady. "We came here seeking an answer. Angus… he doesn't know what he is. He never looked into the Void."
Makoto's pale eyes staring through the air like it was glass. "Ah… the candle that would not catch flame. I've heard of you, boy. A shadow among names. The last branch with no fruit. You wear no blessing… and yet, something ancient clings to your roots."
Angus stepped forward, his voice steady but searching. "Do you know what happened to me? What 'One Strength' really means?"
Makoto tilted her head, the carved lines of her cane tapping gently against the stone floor.
"I know only the echoes that ripple through silence. Stories drift like ash, but the truth… the truth is a river I cannot dam. It flows forward, and I see where your feet must follow."
Angus frowned. "What does that even mean? Do I need to go somewhere?"
Makoto's white lashes fluttered. "The path is not walked—it is remembered. To find your one strength, you must walk through what was broken."
She straightened slowly, voice turning grave. "You must redo the ritual. Not as it was taught—but as it was meant. The true form, long forgotten. For that… you'll need the shattered pieces of the Void's word."
Angus's eyes narrowed. "Fragments?"
Makoto nodded once. "Four pieces. Scattered across the spine of Dera Final. One in each region, hidden in shadow, guarded by those who have forgotten why they guard."
With a small twist, she flipped her wooden cane upside down. The faint groove running down its center cracked open with a click, and from within, she pulled a dark, ancient fragment etched with whisper-thin symbols.
"This… is one."
She held it out with both hands like an offering. "The rest… I cannot see. But if you wish to see your soul clearly, this is where your steps must begin."
Makoto stood, her movements deliberate, almost trembling as she clutched her cane for balance. As she straightened fully, two ethereal wings unfurled slowly from her back—delicate, almost translucent, glowing faintly in the dim light. She was a Yōsei.
Step by careful step, she crossed the room until she stood before Angus. She reached out, and with gentle fingers, brushed against his face—her touch soft, like falling ash.
"Why are you—?" Angus began, confused.
But Makoto spoke before he could finish. "You remind me of a genius man. A man of virtue. I believe I know who your father was. I knew him. He… he was such a lovely soul. Always wore a smile on his face, no matter the weight he carried."
The words hit Angus like a wave. His breath caught. He tried to hold it in—he always did—but emotion cracked through his composure. A tear slipped down. Then another.
And all he could do was stand there—silent, vulnerable, trembling.
Angus blinked, the room fading.
The cold flicker of the underground base dimmed into warm sunlight—the artificial kind, filtered through a dome ceiling high above Level One. He was small again. Maybe six. His legs dangled off the edge of a metal rooftop, swinging carelessly, his shoes scuffed from climbing up there without permission.
Next to him sat his father. Tall, broad-shouldered, but with gentle hands and a permanent smudge of oil across his cheek. A maintenance badge hung from his jumpsuit, a silver tag stamped with his name: Eoin.
"See that glow over there?" his father said, pointing toward a stretch of glowing panels that pulsed like a fake sun. "That's the main power line. She's the heartbeat of this whole ship."
Angus squinted. "Why do you call the ship 'she'?"
Eoin chuckled, soft and low. "Because she protects us. Even when she's cold. Even when she breaks. That's what real strength is—silent, steady, and always there."
Angus leaned against him, the warmth of his father's arm a fortress.
"Will I be strong like you someday?" he asked.
His father ruffled his hair. "You already are. You just don't know your name yet. But when you do… the whole world will feel it."
The memory swirled, colors bleeding out, warmth slipping into shadow.
Sakura watched him, uncertain. She'd never seen him like this. She didn't know what to say, what to offer. But her body moved before her mind caught up, and she stepped forward.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him.
Angus collapsed into the hug like a dam breaking, clutching her back, arms tight around her—too tight—but she didn't pull away. She let him hold on, let him breathe through the ache.
They just stayed there, together in the silence, as Makoto watched with a soft, knowing smile.