5 Years before the collapse.

London was blanketed by darkness. Raymond stood on the rooftop of his fifty-story building, the city a void below him, broken only by scattered lights flickering like dying embers. His coat flapped violently in the wind, the cold biting through the fabric and tugging at his sleeves.

Behind him, Ino stood still, her white hair lashing in the wind like strands of lightning. Though her face was younger, the steel in her eyes mirrored his own.

“My men are scouring the city,” Ino said, her voice slicing through the howl of the wind. “If Shana’s here, they’ll find her.”

Raymond exhaled sharply, a cloud of breath escaping his lips only to vanish a second later, swept away by the cold. “No,” he replied. “Let her be.”

Ino’s jaw clenched. Her teeth ground together with tension. “You can’t be serious. She has the key.”

“We will not pursue this course of action, Ino!” Raymond spun, boots grinding against the gravel-strewn roof. His face twisted with fury. “We don’t need what’s in that vault. War will not achieve our objectives.”

Ino’s eyes narrowed to slits. She reached into her coat and drew a pistol, its metal catching the ambient light with a dull gleam. “That’s where you’re wrong, old man,” she said, voice low and tight. Her knuckles turned white around the grip. “The world needs this. Before it’s too late. If you can’t stomach it, I’ll handle it myself.”

Raymond’s eyes widened. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. “What are you doing?”

Ino didn’t answer. She leveled the pistol. A flash, a bang— The shot cracked across the rooftop. Raymond staggered, the bullet striking him in the chest with a dull thud. His coat flared as he stumbled back, gasping.

He leaned against the railing, eyes wide, breath shallow, blood blooming through his shirt. “Ino...” he croaked, his voice caught between betrayal and disbelief. A tear welled at the corner of his eye, cold against his cheek. “I raised you! I’m your—”

The second shot rang out. The bullet struck him clean in the head. The force hurled him over the edge, his body vanishing into the night.

“Yes you did,” Ino said, her voice cold as the wind. “But the time for weakness is over.”

She holstered the pistol with a fluid motion and turned to face the men behind her. A hundred strong, they stood at attention, coats snapping in the wind, eyes fixed on her.

“You take your orders from me now. Any objections?”

A man at the front, blond hair whipping across his face, shook his head and dropped to one knee.

Then the man beside him followed.

Then the next.

And the next—until all knelt before her.

The afternoon sun bathed the sleepy town of Serito in a warm, golden light. Nestled at the base of a mountain, the village rested in silence, wrapped in a lazy stillness far removed from the chaos of city life. A cicada chirped somewhere in the distance, its rhythmic buzz mingling with the occasional squawk of an orange-feathered bird. The air smelled faintly of dust and pine. It was tranquillity’s ultimate work.

Until the throaty growl of an engine tore it apart.

A sleek black-and-red motorcycle—easily mistaken for a Harley but unmistakably custom-built—ripped through the quiet road leading into town. Its engine snarled like a caged beast. The rider was a tall man, his muscular, scar-scattered frame hidden beneath rugged jeans and a thick leather jacket, the fabric faded and cracked with age. Behind him sat a teenage girl, no older than fifteen, her slim frame leaning back against his, arms resting loosely around his waist. Her long blonde hair, styled into twin tails, whipped behind her like twin flags in the wind.

The bike veered off the highway and into the village’s heart. Mysemi’s head snapped forward, sharp eyes narrowing. Her grip tightened instinctively as Ikari steered them past the charred skeleton of what had once been a large complex. Smoke no longer lingered, but the blackened remains still reeked faintly of ash and memory. Her gaze locked onto the ruin, lingering on the warped, half-melted sign that read: Serito Orphanage.

The bike slowed, engine rumbling to a low purr, as they neared a small but well-kept traditional house at the village’s edge. The scent of old wood and mountain air replaced the scorched ruins behind them.

Ikari brought the bike to a halt, cut the engine, and swung it onto its stand with a practiced motion. The sudden silence pressed in. Both riders removed their helmets, placing them gently on the handlebars.

A woman stood in the doorway, framed by fading sunlight. She was striking—tired eyes, stern expression, but undeniably beautiful. Her body trembled, betraying the emotion she tried so hard to conceal.

Mysemi ran to her, arms flying out as she crashed into her sister with enough force to almost topple her.

“It hasn’t been that long, Mysemi,” Ongaku murmured, voice strained with surprise and affection. Her hands moved instinctively, fingers threading through Mysemi’s hair, stroking gently.

“Long enough,” Ikari said, approaching with slower steps. He pulled Ongaku into a side hug, firm but brief, his eyes never leaving the quiet street behind her.

He leaned in, his lips barely moving. “Someone’s watching us. House across the street.”

Ongaku’s body didn’t flinch. Her tone remained even as she whispered back, “I know. Let’s head inside. We need to talk.”

Izuna Suragatsumi—a lean, quietly handsome young man—slouched over a half-finished beer at Serito’s lone bar. The overhead fan creaked with every lazy rotation, stirring the stale scent of spilled beer and old wood. Outside, the sleepy town simmered beneath the late afternoon heat. Inside, all was calm—for now. But it wouldn’t stay that way. There was little else to do in Serito once the sun began to dip.

The door creaked open and Kitomi Saitō—an old classmate of Izuna’s—slid onto the stool beside him. Her perfume drifted faintly, floral and familiar.

“Hey Izuna, something on your mind?” she asked, squeezing his shoulder.

A jolt of electricity surged through him. Izuna sat bolt upright, eyes wide, ass clenched, his beer bottle trembling like it was feeling the pressure too.

“Oh, hey... Saitō. Nothing to worry about,” he said with a shaky laugh, waving her off with a flutter of fingers.

“Is it Sakura again?”

Izuna took a longer swig of his beer, staring into the bottom like it might offer answers. “Yeah. She’s being a real handful lately.”

“You really gonna stick with Sakura after everything?”

He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to drop. “Sakura and I have history. We grew up together in that orphanage.” His voice softened, tinged with a weariness only old bonds can bring. “She’s... like a sister to me.”

“I think she’s got feelings for you, you know,” Kitomi said. Her eyes, sharp as ever, studied his face with a knowing tilt.

“There’s no way.” Izuna chuckled. “Besides, there’s already someone else I’m interested in.”

“Oh?” Kitomi leaned in, the edges of her lips curling. “And who’s the lucky girl?”

Izuna glanced at the bartender, then at the door, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll tell you... but you have to promise not to breathe a word.”

Kitomi’s eyes lit up, her grin growing wide. A faint blush crept up her neck. “I promise. Not a soul.”

Izuna leaned closer. She tilted her head, expectant.

“Ezra,” he whispered.

The blush vanished. Her smile froze, then cracked at the edges. Her hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vice.

“Ezra...”

“Saitō... Ow—hey, easy.” Izuna winced, prying her fingers loose. “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Kitomi said, her smile stretching back into place—too wide, too even. Something cold flickered behind it. He hoped she wouldn’t pull another stunt like last time… That poor tourist had ended up in a coma instead of a coffin. Whether that was a mercy or cruelty, Izuna still couldn’t decide. Thank god for Kushina’s reach keeping the cops away.

He sighed again, thoughts drifting to Kushina—the constant thorn in his side. A problem for another day. A mess still brewing.

Today, however, was a beer kind of day.

He downed what remained in his bottle and signalled for another.