The grasslands of Sector Five glowed under the morning sun, bathed in gold and quiet wind.

A single wooden carriage rolled swiftly across the plains, wheels cutting soft furrows into the earth.

Inside, the silence among its passengers grew thicker with every mile—like the distance from home had weight.

Tension thickened with each passing second, the kind that made even small talk feel impossible.

Not until Isabella broke the quiet with a bright, bell-like clap.

"I have an idea!" she chirped, her voice slicing like sunlight through fog. "Why don't we all introduce ourselves?"

Everyone looked at her, startled.

All of them were from Artimia—but war and fire had turned familiarity into distance.

Theo, seated near the back, glanced at Dawn and David beside him.

They were the only constants he had left. Everyone else—strangers, despite their shared ruins.

"I'll go first," Isabella declared, undeterred by the silence.

"I'm Isabella Rain—but everyone calls me Bella. And the grump up there is—"

A blur dropped from the roof.

Pop landed lightly on the carriage floor. "Pop," he muttered, brushing dirt from his cloak.

"Not his real name," Isabella added with a grin. "He hates it. Says it sounds too—"

"Bella," Pop warned, his voice low. "Enough."

"Sorry, sorry," she said, pinching his cheek. "You know I love you, Poppy."

He winced. "...Don't call me that."

Isabella turned back to the group. "Next!"

A hand shot up without hesitation.

"I'm Aeda Milestone," said a girl with fierce eyes and a confident tone. She motioned beside her. "And this is Aida—my sister."

Aida peeked out, identical to her twin except for her longer hair and softer expression.

"Hello," she said shyly. "Nice to meet you all…"

Isabella's smile softened. "Aeda and Aida—such pretty names. Ugh, I'm officially jealous."

One by one, introductions followed.

Next came a taller girl, her frame lean and honed like someone built for motion. Dark green hair was drawn back into a tight ponytail, and the carriage light caught on the thin glasses perched across her nose—two sharp flashes on lenses that seemed to guard the steady focus in her eyes.

"Clarissa Edwards," she said with a polite nod, her voice calm, composed.

Then came the two boys seated side-by-side—Bryce Soto and Arthur Pentadraig.

One looked like he punched bricks for fun. The other looked like he signed them.

Bryce had a buzz cut, thick brows, and the twitchy energy of someone always ready to throw hands.

Arthur, had the air of royalty who'd wandered into the wrong story—short blond hair perfectly tousled, ocean-blue eyes sharp as glass.

Both wore the same look behind their eyes—a grief they hadn't figured out how to speak aloud.

Curtis, sitting next to them, sighed and tapped Bryce on the head.

"You're up."

"Oh? Uh—I'm Bryce Soto , and this guy is—"

THWACK!

The blunt end of a wooden sword smacked him squarely on the back of the head.

"Ow! What's that for!?"

Arthur stood slowly, adjusting his shirt with all the poise of a prince brushing dust off his throne.

"I can speak for myself, thank you."

He stepped forward, calm and theatrical, then reached for Isabella's hand and bent low.

With a smirk carved straight from a storybook, he pressed a kiss to her hand.

"Arthur Pentadraig," he said smoothly. "A pleasure, my lady."

Isabella giggled, a hand lifting to her mouth as if to hide the smile spreading across her face. 

Arthur's gesture had clearly worked.

A few feet away, Bryce looked like he was about to combust—jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, the heat practically rising off him in waves.

If steam had started pouring from his ears, no one would've been surprised.

"Seriously?" he muttered. "What a kiss ass. She doesn't want you."

Arthur shrugged, twirling his wooden blade with infuriating ease. "Jealous?"

"Jealous?" Bryce snorted. "Careful, I'll knock that grin off your pretty face, Pentadraig."

"Careful," Arthur said smoothly. "Your left jab's still lazy, Soto."

Bryce lunged, fists cocked. Arthur raised his blade like a saber, tip stopping just short of his nose.

The whole carriage tensed as the two collided—fist and wood.

"Enough!" Curtis's voice cracked like a whip.

The boys froze just as the carriage jolted, sending them both sprawling in a heap.

"We're recruiting for the circus now?" Pop muttered, arms folded as he leaned lazily against the carriage wall.

Isabella stifled a giggle behind her hand, eyes still watching Arthur and Bryce bicker on the floor.

"You have to admit, they do keep things interesting," she whispered back.

Curtis ran a hand down his face and turned toward the others with the air of someone who'd been here far too many times.

"They're always like this... I apologize in advance."

Isabella burst out laughing, clapping her hands in delight.

"Honestly? That was better than half the stage plays I've seen."

Curtis sighed again, this time with a small smile. "Curtis Carpenter. Nice to meet you all."

Isabella tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "Are they your brothers?"

Curtis glanced back at the ongoing scuffle.

"More or less. We grew up in the same orphanage. Some habits… never really die."

Curtis turned toward the back of the carriage.

"You three haven't introduced yourselves yet."

David sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat. "David Hartwright."

Dawn gave a soft nod beside him. "I'm Dawn Cypress. Nice to meet you all."

Theo's turn came last. "Theo...Theodore Gray." He glanced down for a second, then looked up. "And… this little one here is Mimi."

As if on cue, the black-furred cat poked her head from Theo's lap, gave a single impatient meow, and leapt down.

She trotted straight toward Isabella like she owned the place.

"Aww—Mimi!" Isabella squealed, scooping her up in one smooth motion. "You look like a Mimi."

She cradled the cat like a prized treasure, rubbing her cheek against her fur.

"You are too cute." She turned toward Pop. "Poppy, look! Isn't she adorable?"

Pop glanced over just long enough to be polite. "I guess."

Isabella frowned, just slightly, but let it pass. She set Mimi down gently, and the warmth in the carriage cooled by a few degrees.

Theo hesitated, then raised his hand like he was still in school.

Isabella perked up. "Yes, Theo?"

"I… have a question."

"Perfect. I love questions. Fire away."

"Back in Artimia," he said slowly, "how were all of you able to fight like that?"

"Simple," Pop replied. "We aren't weak like you."

The words hit like a blade.

Theo shot to his feet, fists clenched. "Say that again."

Pop yawned—a sudden gale ripped through the carriage. Theo's feet left the floor before he knew what was happening.

"Theo!" Dawn lunged for him, too late—he crashed to the boards with a hard thud, pain shooting up his back.

Above him, Pop was already sprawled on the carriage roof, lazy as a cat.

"See? Not even worth the effort."

"Pop!" Isabella snapped, eyes flashing. "That's enough!"

Theo sat up slowly, muttering under his breath. "Asshole..."

Isabella turned to him, softer now. "Don't let him get to you. He doesn't play well with others."

Her expression shifted—lighter, then darker. Her cheer faded like a curtain lowering on stage lights.

"To answer your question... We all took the first step toward becoming free."

"You mean by fighting?" Theo asked.

"No. Freedom doesn't start with fighting. It starts when you refuse to wear their silence."

She leaned forward slightly. Her fingers brushed against the back of Theo's neck, right over the hard bump of the KC implant.

"We removed these."

Theo's eyes widened. "You what?"

Bryce nearly jumped out of his seat.

"That's impossible!" he blurted. "Everyone knows you can't get rid of a KC. It'll fry your brain if you mess around with it."

"They're permanent," Arthur added. "That's just how it is."

Isabella tilted her head, her voice calm and almost pitying.

"Only if you believe everything they tell you."

The carriage went quiet, but then a harsh cry split the air above.

A crow.

Then another.

Dozens wheeled in lazy circles through the sky, black specks blotting out the sun.

Their cries cut sharp through the wind, pulling every gaze upward.

At the front, Nozomu's hand rested on the reins, the other on his knee like stone left undisturbed.

His eyes, though, were already fixed on the sky.

Far above, the flock lingered—too many to ignore, their wings slicing slow arcs as if waiting.

Watching. Like vultures that had caught the scent of something dying long before it had fallen.

"Pop," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the sky.

From above the carriage, Pop leaned into view, perched casually on the roof, a toothpick shifting between his teeth.

"Yo?"

"Trade places with me."

"Now?"

"Now."

Pop sighed, as if this wasn't the first time he'd been asked to take over mid-gut-feeling.

He dropped from the roof in one fluid motion, boots tapping the wood beside Nozomu.

"We'll continue this later," Isabella said softly to the group, though her attention was already drifting.

Pop, now seated at the reins, shifted slightly. His eyes followed Nozomu's, lifting to the sky where the crows circled in silence.

"Crows? Weird time of day for them, or something?"

No answer.

Only a faint stream of wind left Nozomu's lips—nearly invisible—winding upward like breath whispered to the sky.

Pop's brow creased. "A Whisper?"

"Stay on course."

Nozomu rose—lifted effortlessly by the wind, his cloak dragging upward in a slow swirl as he left the carriage behind.

Pop watched him ascend. "You know this path doesn't lead back to base, right?"

Nozomu's voice returned from above—distant, barely loud enough to carry over the rumbling wheels.

"We're taking a detour."

The crows shifted at his approach, their circles widening. Then—they scattered.

Pop tightened his grip on the reins, gaze narrowing on the horizon.

"A detour...?"

Behind him, the chatter and introductions had faded. The carriage had gone quiet—as if the air itself knew something had changed.

Theo leaned forward, squinting toward the sky. "What's he looking at?"

David followed his gaze. "They're just crows, right?"

Isabella frowned faintly. "Maybe... but the Commander doesn't do things without a reason."

Far above, Nozomu hovered like a statue, eyes sharp and locked on the retreating birds.

His arms were still. His breath, steady. But his jaw—tight.

And as the carriage rolled down a road that no longer led home—the wind began to shift.

Subtle at first. Then heavier.

Like something old had stirred awake.

Something waiting on the other side of the silence.

And the only sound left… was the low rumble of wheels beneath them, rolling steady into the unknown.