Clouds stirred. Light seeped through.

Saiya was the first to move. Her eyes widened for a heartbeat before she took a step back.

Her breath came sharp, unsteady — though she hid it behind steel.

Static flickered faintly over her skin, crawling across the red markings that pulsed with a will of their own.

She pressed a hand to her temple.

“Tell me that didn’t just happen.”

Her voice was cold.

Her hands, trembling.

No one answered.

She scoffed, looking away—

—but her silence said everything.

Mirai stood motionless, eyes fixed on where the Eye had been.

The sky was still, yet the weight in his chest lingered — as though something was still watching.

Quiet. Patient. Waiting.

His voice broke the stillness, low and uncertain.

“My mom,” he murmured. “She’s probably losing it right now.” He hesitated, his tone shifting — softer. “That voice. The cadence…”

Takara turned. “What?”

He blinked, forcing an exhale. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

But his eyes never left the clouds, as if the world might freeze again if he dared to look away.

Takara lowered her wrist.

Her analog watch was frozen once more — the second hand glaring back like an unblinking eye. The only thing in the world that stopped when the world restarted.

Its silence ticked louder than any clock.

“If this is a dream,” she whispered. “Why does it hurt to wake up?”

Zenobia stood apart, arms locked around herself, tail twitching beneath her cloak.

Her feline eyes darted across the plaza — at the “NPCs” who had resumed mid-motion, oblivious to the apocalypse seconds ago.

A woman laughed. A merchant haggled.

“They didn’t even see it,” she whispered, voice cracking. “None of them did.”

She looked down at her trembling claws.

“…If they didn’t see it… then what are they?”

No one answered.

No one could.

Her thoughts spiraled.

“It’s over. I’m dead. I can’t do this. I’ll just get in the way. I’m useless. I’m weak. I’m a burden.”

Each word crushed her smaller. The air itself felt like it was closing in, chest heaving. Sweat pooling on her face, vision blurring.

“Zenobia.” 

Her name barely pierced the noise in her head. “I’m going—“

“Zenobia.” The voice grew firmer. Someone caught her trembling hands — steady, grounding

Still she didn’t meet their eyes. “I’m going to di—”

“Zenobia!”

The sharpness in Mirai’s tone cut through everything.

Her head jerked up. Reality slammed back in. The others were watching her.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m scared,” she stammered. “If something goes wrong… use me as bait. It’s all I’m good for.”

Takara stepped forward instantly nodding in disagreement, her voice warm but steady.

“Don’t say that. You’re not bait. You’re one of us. Your abilities are stronger than you think — even if you don’t believe it, we do.”

Zenobia shook her head, voice breaking. “I don’t want someone to get hurt because of me… I’ll just get in the way.”

Issan approached adjusting his glasses, calm —  unwavering. “Then we adapt around you. That’s what a team is. You’re Sephoric — meaning we stand or fall together.”

Silence followed. The chaos of the plaza faded; only their small circle remained.

Zenobia’s hands still trembled, but she finally lifted her head. 

That was when Saiya spoke — cool, clipped, but with weight behind every word.

“Anyone with a functioning brain is scared right now. Including me.”

Her silver eyes locked onto Zenobia’s. “You stay with us. I’ve seen what you can do when you stop tearing yourself apart. I trust you. That’s why you’re here.”

Her tone softened — just enough to sound like a promise. “And nobody will lay a finger on you. Not while I’m around.”

Zenobia’s breath caught. Hearing that from her felt unreal — like the world had cracked open in a way she hadn’t expected. All she could do was blink.

Before the silence could settle again, Mirai smirked, breaking the weight with that familiar ease.

“Well, that’s a relief. I was starting to think we’d turned into a therapy group.” 

He glanced at Saiya, mischief sparking behind tired eyes. “But wow. You’re basically soft-serve ice cream. Soft.”

Her head snapped toward him, static flaring at her fingertips. “Mirai.”

“Yes, honey-bunches-of-oats?” he replied, grin unfazed.

For a heartbeat, she looked ready to fry him alive. Then, impossibly, she laughed.

Low. Genuine. Real.

“I hate you,” she muttered, shaking her head. She punched his arm, the blow crumbling harmlessly on impact.

The sound broke the tension like sunlight through a storm.

Takara giggled first. Issan’s dry chuckle followed. Even Zenobia laughed — tears still glistening, but lighter now.

For a Fleeting moment, despite the chaos around them, Sephoric laughed —  fragile, human.

And for the first time since the sky spoke, it felt like the world had started moving again.

Together.

Around them, the plaza erupted — not in calm, but in collapse.

Some players broke down laughing, the sound sharp and brittle. Others screamed, shouted, or prayed to whatever god might still be listening.

“This is part of the story, right?!”

“Early Halloween event, maybe?”

“I have work tomorrow!!”

Others clawed through their menus in blind panic, swiping through empty screens, breath catching when the logout icon refused to appear.

A girl’s scream cut through the noise. She jabbed at her interface again and again, eyes wide.

“It’s gone — it’s just gone!”

Near her, a man pressed both palms to his temples as if peeling off a headset that wasn’t there.

He dragged his nails across his scalp until blood mixed with sweat, gasping between words. “Wake up—wake up—wake up—”

Then — movement.

Several players bolted toward the direction of the city’s edge, desperation replacing reason.

“Nah, there’s gotta be an exit out by the barrier!” Said a first.

“It’s just a map boundary right? Maybe they hid it in the abandoned parts of the city. They wouldn’t—!” The second was cut off.

Guards rushed to intercept — a wall of polished steel and trembling faith.

“Stay within the light! Sacred grounds are forbidden!”

One man — older, furious, desperate — grabbed a guard by the collar and shook him.

“Where are the devs?! Tell them to stop this sick shit!”

The guard moved first.

Steel flashed — single motion. Clean. Precise. Merciless.

The player staggered back, eyes wide, clutching his throat as blood gushed through his fingers.

He fell to his knees. The plaza froze.

Someone whispered, barely audible:

“…He’s bleeding…”

The man collapsed. His body didn’t vanish.

No light. No respawn.

Only the slow, rhythmic drip of blood on marble.

For one heartbeat, the world went still—

Then the screaming began again.

Some Skyfallen retaliated in blind panic, striking at the guards who cut down their squadmates. Others stumbled back, crying, vomiting, or collapsing in shock.

A few dropped to their knees, mumbling prayers they didn’t even believe in.

Across the square, the natives mirrored the chaos— but differently.

Some fled, clutching their kin.

Others fell to their knees, whispering frantic prayers.

“The Skyfallen break the covenant—”

“The light trembles—”

“Mercy, oh divine one, mercy…”

And a few simply stared, pale with awe.

“The Skyfallen can die…” one whispered.

It was like watching a god bleed — something no one had ever thought possible.

Incense from nearby temples spilled into the air, thick and suffocating. The bells began to toll across Elysium — slow, heavy strikes that no longer sounded ceremonial, but condemning.

And above it all, Sephoric stood frozen amid the noise, watching the world they’d entered Fracture for the first time.

The screaming wouldn’t stop.

It rippled through the plaza like wildfire — panic, denial, disbelief — until even the guards began shouting over one another.

The air itself shook with noise, every voice clawing for control that no one had anymore.

Saiya exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Enough,” she muttered.

The single word was quiet — but it cut through the chaos like glass.

She stepped forward, lifting one hand—the motion lazy, almost graceful. Her middle and index finger extended toward the crowd.

The red markings along her arm flared to life.

Crimson light surged beneath her skin, crawling upward like veins igniting.

Then came the sound —

A crack that split the air like reality itself tearing. 

A bolt of red lightning burst from her fingertips, screaming across the plaza.

It didn’t strike a single person.

Instead, it wove between them — darting past faces, grazing shoulders, threading between wide eyes and trembling hands. The pressure alone lifted dust and hair, a searing warmth brushing skin without burning.

For a hearbeat, the entire plaza glowed red.

Everyone felt it — the raw, unrestrained energy brushing against their souls. For some, vision blurred with flashes of something deeper: a storm-torn sky, a shadowed figure whispering, a world breaking.

Then silence.

The bolt vanished, leaving only the faint hiss of static and the scent of ozone.

Saiya lowered her hand slowly, expression carved from ice.

Her voice was calm, but it carried like thunder.

“Breathe. 

Stop running. 

Stop screaming.

You won’t find answers in panic.”

Her silver eyes swept the crowd, unflinching.

“You want to live? Then start acting like it. Next time I won’t miss.”

No one spoke. No one moved.

The fear hadn’t vanished — but it had changed.

It wasn’t wild anymore. It was contained.

A still, electric dread that followed every breath Saiya took.

Mirai exhaled softly beside her, a half-smirk breaking through the quiet.

“Graceful as always,” he murmured.

“Efficient.” She simply replied, lowering her hand.

As Sephoric began to move through the silent native crowd and Skyfallen parted like water.

Saiya’s voice cut through the stillness — calm, cold, absolute.

“Attack us,” she said, “And watch how fast you meet darkness.”

Some looked at her with awe.

Others, with terror.

But no one dared make a sound.

And when Sephoric passed, the whispers began spreading through Elysium—

“Velskara.”