Ash still drifted in the morning light, curling like ghost-smoke through the cracked ruins of Artimia.

At the edge of the town—where broken stone gave way to the wide, open stretch of road—two wooden carriages stood waiting.

One for the frightened. The other for the brave.

Theo stood among those few, alongside Dawn and David, their feet rooted in the soil.

Behind them, the world they knew smoldered quietly in ruin. Ahead—the unknown.

Caught between two futures—one promising peaceful survival, the other offering nothing but warfare, risk, and the chance to change everything.

Suddenly, a firm hand clapped down on Theo's shoulder. He turned quickly—and froze.

"Mr. Gramm…? You're alive?"

"Of course I'm alive!" he barked, a shaky grin cutting through the weariness on his face. "Don't you go writing me off just yet, boy."

Theo let out a long breath. Before he could respond, Mrs. Gramm stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

The relief that passed between them was real, but the grief never left Theo's eyes.

"I'm… glad you made it," he whispered.

She held him tighter. "Theo… we heard. Your parents…"

Mr. Gramm's head lowered, his voice dipped low, respectful.

"They could've ran. But they didn't. They helped people. Saved more lives than we'll ever know."

Theo turned away. Just when the pain felt like it had found its bottom—it dropped again.

His eyes drifted to Dawn, who cradled Mimi quietly against her chest.

"I hate to ask…" he said, reaching gently for Mimi, "but can you take her with you?"

Mr. Gramm blinked. "You're not coming with us… are you?"

Theo didn't respond. His silence was enough.

Mrs. Gramm's voice cracked. "Theo, think about your parents. What would they have wanted?"

The words hit like stones to the ribs.

He closed his eyes. He saw them—his father's hand on his shoulder, calm and steady even at the end.

His mother's smile, tired but strong, still lighting the room.

They hadn't run. They had chosen to stay. To fight.

When he opened his eyes again, something inside had solidified.

"I think…" he said slowly, "they would've wanted me to live with purpose. Not fear."

"…I see," Mr. Gramm said softly, placing a steady hand on his wife's shoulder.

Mrs. Gramm shook her head, tears welling. "This isn't right. We can't just let him throw his life away. Alvin and Alicia would never forgive us."

Mr. Gramm interrupted gently, his voice didn't waver, but the ache behind it was clear.

"It's his choice now. When a man sets his heart on something like this there's no stopping him. If we try to stop him now, he'll regret it for the rest of his life."

He looked at Theo—not with pity, but with something close to pride.

"And I don't think that's the kind of weight we have the right to ask him to carry."

Mr. Gramm carefully took Mimi into his arms. "We'll take care of her. But under one condition."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Condition?"

"You come back for her," Mr. Gramm said flatly. "Or I'm releasing her into the wild."

Theo blinked, caught off guard. For a split second, he almost laughed—thought maybe it was one of Mr. Gramm's old, dry jokes meant to lighten the mood.

But then he saw his face—calm, collected, sturdy.

He wasn't joking.

"…Alright, we have a deal," Theo muttered, voice rough with something heavier than just agreement.

Mr. Gramm gave a single nod. "Good."

Before the moment could settle, a voice boomed through the morning air.

"Alright, everyone—simmer down!"

Evaughn's voice cut through the mumbles like a gust of wind through tall grass.

The crowd fell quiet. Then, footsteps. Crisp. Deliberate.

Nozomu stepped forward, cloak shifting in the breeze like the banner of a dying nation, his boots crunching softly against the dirt.

Standing tall beneath the rising sun, he stopped at the center, its light casting his shadow long across the ground.

He faced them—fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters of loss. He raised his voice, not with force, but with conviction.

"As promised—two carriages."

He pointed left, the morning light catching the worn road of the safer path.

"To Nageama. A quiet town to the east. There, you can start over. You can forget. You can survive."

He turned right. Toward the second carriage. Toward the horizon beyond.

"This is a path of fire and purpose. For those who choose it, there will be no peace—only pursuit. No comfort—only conflict. But beyond it… freedom."

His voice carried now, low and cutting like a blade across a whetstone.

"This is your moment. No one will force your hand."

Theo's chest tightened. His lungs refused to move. He watched as heads turned. Feet shuffled. Then… movement.

A slow trickle of people peeled away, drifting toward the left carriage.—toward safety.

Families, elders, the wounded. Some looked back. Others didn't.

Mr. and Mrs. Gramm lingered beside Theo. A final hug. A whispered farewell.

Theo reached down and patted Mimi one last time.

"I'll come back for you. I promise."

Then they were gone. Folded into the crowd like pages turned too soon.

Dawn watched as the crowd boarded the carriage. "...I'm scared. But I'm more scared of living quiet while everything burns..."

David's jaw locked. His words were like a stone lodged in his throat. "Gramps… I won't forgive them."

Beside them, Theo's words drifted like a vow carved into his bones.

"I swear… I'll change this world—or burn with it trying."

When the dust settled, only a handful remained.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Nozomu looked at them—really looked at them.

To some, they were just survivors.

To him—they were the beginning of something new.

"To those of you who remain... I see you. I commend you. Not for your pain. Not for your strength. But for your courage. The courage to face the storm when everything tells you to run."

He stepped forward, his gaze sharp as shattered glass.

"Our goal is simple—liberation. For every man, woman, and child still shackled under the illusion of peace. For the Wastelands. For the future."

His hand rose, fingers curling into a fist.

"But make no mistake. This is rebellion. Against a system that feeds on your fear. Against the very idea that you were ever meant to be less. Against a self-proclaimed God-King!"

Tana leaned toward Evaughn and whispered, "He's going to scare them away again."

He shrugged. "That's the point. We don't need the weak-hearted."

Nozomu continued, eyes burning beneath the early light.

"This path will cost you. Some of you won't survive. But those who endure will shake the foundations of this world."

The air turned colder.

"So, ask yourself this... What are you willing to sacrifice in order to be free? If your answer is nothing, then you've already lost."

Pop muttered to Isabella. "Aren't you going to stop him?"

She sighed, arms crossed. "What's the point…?"

Sure enough, a few others turned. Feet retreating back toward safety, toward silence.

"This is suicide..." someone whispered. "We're not soldiers..."

But Theo didn't move. Neither did David. Or Dawn. They stood rooted to the ground like trees in a storm.

"This will be considered treason. You'll be hunted. Hated. Every breath could be your last. Can you carry that weight?"

The crowd was still. Breath held. Futures hanging in the balance.

One voice broke through, "...We don't want to die!"

Everyone turned.

Curtis Carpenter—tall, lean, broad-shouldered. He looked too handsome to be here. Too perfect. The kind of face you'd expect on a poster, not a battlefield.

"So, let's stop surviving… and start making them afraid of us!"

The silence cracked. Murmurs stirred. Eyes widened.

Nozomu smiled, slightly. The kind of smile you make when a plan begins to work.

"I like that answer."

He turned, marching toward the carriage to the right.

"Fall in. We're moving out."

Theo climbed into the carriage, the wheels creaking beneath him as the others followed.

Isabella peeked in from the edge, eyes gleaming. "Welcome aboard, recruits!" she called with a smile as she boarded. "Let's all become good friends, okay?"

Evaughn raised his voice from the front. "Commander Nozomu, Tana, and I will take the Nageama group as planned."

"Good. We'll regroup at the base."

"Yes, sir!" Salutes cracked the air.

The carriages split—two paths rolling off in opposite directions across the plains of Sector Five.

Theo turned in his seat, eyes lingering on the outline of Artimia—now just a ruin swallowed by distance and rising dust.

"Wait—" Dawn gasped, pointing back. "Isn't that… Mimi!?"

"No way..." Theo yawned. "She's with Mr. Gramm."

Theo squinted through the wind. A blur streaked down the road behind them, tiny legs pounding, fur flying.

But it wasn't just a trick of the light.

Mimi was running—sprinting with every last ounce of strength in her small frame, ears flattened, eyes locked on the carriage.

"Damn it, Mimi!" Theo shouted, his body halfway out of the carriage.

She didn't stop. Her steps were shaky, breath coming in tiny gasps—but she kept running, each leap more desperate than the last.

"Stop the carriage!" Theo yelled.

But before anyone could move, the wind shifted. A sudden current swept across the land—sharp, controlled, precise.

Theo's mouth dropped open as Mimi lifted off the ground—legs flailing for a moment—before the breeze caught her, twirled around her like a cradle of air.

She floated upward, suspended in the gust like a leaf caught in a summer draft.

Then—gently—she landed in his arms.

A soft thump. A sharp meow. She dug into his chest, tucked her nose under his chin, and purred like nothing had happened.

"...What are you doing, huh?" Theo whispered. "You're so damn stubborn... Why'd you leave them?"

There was no answer. Just her warmth, her tiny heartbeat, the feeling of something small and fierce choosing him again.

"You should take better care of her, dumbass."

Theo's head jerked up.

Pop sat crouched on the roof of the carriage, arms folded, boots casually braced against the wood like he'd been there all along.

A smug smeared across his face like he was born with it.

"I don't remember asking for your input," Theo replied.

"My bad. Didn't realize I needed permission to help the weak."

"Oh yeah?" Theo stood halfway, Mimi tucked in one arm. "Well, this weak—"

David didn't even glance over. He reached out and calmly pulled Theo back.

"It's not worth it. It's not like we could win anyway."

Pop laughed. "See? One of you gets it."

He tapped the roof twice with his knuckles. "Still, when someone saves your cat, a thank you goes a long way."

"...Thank you?" Theo growled.

But Pop was already gone—whipped away by a swirl of air, a chuckle still hanging in the breeze like an echo.

Theo slumped into the seat, glowering. "What's his deal…"

David didn't answer. He stared out at the road.

Artimia had vanished behind them, erased into the horizon.

No one said much after that.

Dawn's head leaned into Theo's side, slipping into slumber.

Theo's gaze shifted to his hand—scraped, dirty, not the hand of a boy anymore.

Then, to the sting in his ribs. The echo of fire behind his eyes.

He remembered the screams. The weight of his father's words.

Live—and change this world. I don't know how I'm gonna do it. But I will...

Beside him, David rested his chin on his hand, staring out toward the horizon.

"Theo. Let's learn all we can from these guys. Let's get strong. Strong enough to stop this from happening to anyone else. To change everything."

Theo didn't respond right away.

Because somehow—David had said everything he was thinking.

Everything he hadn't found the strength to put into words yet.

Maybe that was the point.

Maybe… his father's last words had reached David as well.

Not with blind rage. Not with reckless vengeance. But with purpose.

Theo nodded—slow and sure."Yeah, let's change it all."

And for the first time since the flames swallowed his home—Theo didn't feel like he was drifting.

He was striding toward something.

Not yet a soldier. Not yet a hero. But someone that could grow into both.

The carriage rolled forward into the sunlight, and the road stretched on—endless and wild.

Behind them, the ruins of Artimia, scattered to the wind.

But ahead? Ahead was a world waiting to be changed.

And Theodore Gray was done waiting.

From this day on—he was walking into war.