After World War III ended, the survivors swore they would build something better.

They abandoned the ruins of the old world and carved out the Republic of Shanan, a place meant for humans and arcanes to live side by side.

From the moment the republic was founded, conflict was inevitable. Where humans were the minority, they were pushed down. Where arcanes were the minority, they were cast out. Harmony became the slogan. Discrimination became the practice.

And honestly, what else did people expect?

Humans and arcanes are not the same. Anyone who insists otherwise is either blind, naïve, or lying to themselves.

Arcanes have Gifts, abilities that twist the rules of physics. Humans don’t. That gap alone was enough to rot coexistence from the inside.

Take gardening, for example. A human needs hoses, water, time. An arcane with water control? Just point, and the plants thrive. Guess who gets hired. Guess who gets called useless.

Resentment spread. Tension piled up. And twenty years ago, it finally snapped.

Arcane extremists torched a human settlement. Dozens died. What followed was a brutal fifty-day conflict that ended with the extremists’ leaders executed. The republic declared it over.

Humans didn’t.

To them, it was proof that coexistence was a fantasy. Many packed their lives into whatever they could carry, left Shanan, and staked their claim elsewhere. That exodus became the Freajan Kingdom.

The problem was, not all extremists died with their leaders.

Their organization fractured, vanished into the underground, branded forbidden and hunted into silence. We call them The Lost Ones.

Or simply—LOST.

And LOST never really disappeared.

They just waited.

Two days ago, they made their move.

A fire tore through a popular cafeteria near Roxley Academy. Three students were injured. The official report blamed a gas leak.

“We’ve found the tail that leads to him.”

Etsune spread a file across the table. Photographs there are grainy, poorly lit, but unmistakable. A thin, hunched man stared back at us from every angle.

“Confirmed,” he said. “He’s here.”

The air in the room tightened. Even I felt it, though I didn’t let it show.

The face belonged to Donn Marivaldi.

Arsonist. Terrorist. Relic of war.

Eight cities reduced to ash. Eleven confirmed dead—twenty more if you count those who never recovered from their burns.

He’d been a ghost for a year. Untouchable, even by arcane standards. But no name stays buried forever. With the right informants, we finally pinned him down.

And now, he was in Argon.

“We caught his men yesterday, just like you ordered,” Mine said, fists clenched tight against the table. “But during interrogation… it went bad.”

“Their heads exploded from the inside,” Etsune added, flat as ever, like he was commenting on the weather. Rosa and Flo grimaced. Of course he would say something like that so casually. “I assume you don’t want the photos.”

“No, thanks,” I said, waving it off. “Still, I’m impressed a bastard like him managed to gather followers. What are they; cultists?”

“More like pawns,” Erna cut in from the couch, eyes sharp as she glanced my way. “A king stays hidden. Pawns open the board. Most of them probably don’t even know what LOST is. Anarchists don’t care about banners—they just want authority torn down. If someone strong enough promises that, they’ll follow him. The irony is that their so-called savior is worse than what they’re fighting. Do they even know who Donn Marivaldi really is?”

That was a good question from her.

Unfortunately, the answer was obvious.

Erna cracked open a soda and drank like she wasn’t dropping a speech in the middle of a briefing. Typical. Monologue first, snack second. If Klaus wasn’t biting his tongue because of the serious mood, he’d have already mocked her.

“So, no leads left?” Klaus asked.

“One. But it’s thin,” Etsune said, pulling another folder from his stack and spreading out several photos. The sheer amount of intel he’d dug up in such a short time was ridiculous, even by his standards. “Three days ago, a general store on Parem Street was hit. Cash, canned meat, bread, tissues, gas canisters, matches. At first I suspected reselling. Then I checked five other shops hit over the past two weeks.”

He tapped the images.

“Item lists vary, but every case includes the same three: tissues, kerosene, and matches.”

I leaned back, exhaling slowly. “So. Marivaldi’s pawns again?”

“Possible,” Etsune nodded. “A week ago, six stores reported a group of hikers buying out all their gas and matches. Same story every time. The robberies followed immediately after restocking.”

“They’re stockpiling for a major burn,” Klaus muttered. “You get their faces?”

“I pulled the CCTV.”

Klaus blinked. “How?”

“Walked into their security rooms.”

“…Ah.”

No one questioned it further. That was Etsune. His Gift, ⟨Nine Tails⟩, allowed him to weave illusions so perfect that alters almost everything of his body; fingerprints, DNA, or even retinal scans. He could wear another life like a coat. Infiltration work was trivial for him.

“At first, it looked random,” he continued. “Different faces, different locations. But they weren’t strangers.” He spread the photos wider. “I mapped their movements. All vectors converge to the same location.”

He glanced at Erna.

With a sigh, she picked up the thread, still sprawled on the couch like this was casual gossip.

“Mount Huma. Belna Village, specifically. They’ve rented a rundown warehouse on the outskirts. Belna’s a retirement stop and a hiker checkpoint. Groups in trekking gear won’t draw attention.”

“They still there?” Klaus asked.

“Checked eleven minutes ago,” Erna replied without looking up. “Through my eyes.”

So that was it. That’s how she knew Klaus was talking trash earlier.

Erna’s Gift, ⟨All-Seeing Eyes⟩, did exactly what it promised. Sight without obstruction within forty kilometers. Walls, terrain, elevation, none of it mattered. A perfect match for Klaus’ ⟨Parcel Shift⟩, which required precise surface data to compress objects into cards.

Of course, as siblings, their teamwork oscillated between flawless and catastrophic. No in-between.

“Alright, enough,” I cut in. “Any additional intel, Etsune?”

“I have one more,” he said.

No preamble. No emphasis.

Etsune replaced the photos on the table with four new images: an abandoned school building, a vehicle loaded with black barrels, a local map, and a man with a sharp mohawk and a spiral tattoo carved into his forehead.

“Taken last night,” he continued, voice level. “This man is the field leader in Belna Village. He serves as Donn Marivaldi’s right hand.”

And he pointed at the school.

“The entire group is scheduled to gather there tomorrow. The location is an abandoned school on the northern outskirts of Belna Village. It has a long history as a den for local thugs. Criminal presence won’t raise suspicion.”

Another tap. The map shifted slightly.

“It’s far enough from the village center to avoid disrupting tourist traffic during summer or hiking season. That isolation makes it suitable for storage. Over the past week, large quantities of flammable materials have been delivered to the site. They are likely stockpiled inside the building.”

Silence followed.

Even Rosa gave a small, impressed clap before catching herself. As expected of Etsune.

I leaned forward and pulled the map to the center of the table.

“Alright,” I said. “We move tomorrow.”

My finger traced the outskirts of Belna Village.

“Marivaldi himself is unlikely to be on-site. But his subordinates are active, organized, and preparing for a large-scale burn. That makes them a priority.”

I straightened.

“We split into two teams. Team One: Surveyor. Primary objective: engage hostile elements at the abandoned school. Secure personnel and confiscate all flammable materials on-site. The members are me, Flo, Klaus, and Rosa. Team Two: Observer. Objective: overwatch and rapid response. Monitor surrounding regions for secondary movements or diversionary attacks. Members: Erna, Mine, and Etsune.”

I looked directly at the three; Erna, Etsune, and Mine.

“If Erna detects hostile activity away from the main operation, Etsune redeploys immediately. Mine, establish a sniper position and confirm threat level. You are authorized to engage. However—if the target exceeds acceptable risk, disengage and delay. Your priority is time. Hold until Surveyor regroups.”

I paused.

“Do you copy?”

“Copy!” the room answered in unison.

“Good,” I turned to Flo, Klaus, and Rosa. “Surveyor team departs tonight. We stage near Belna Village and move at first light.”

“Where do we set up?” Flo asked, relaxed as ever.

“We rent an inn outside the village,” I replied. “Close to the arterial road.”

“Disguised as hikers?” Flo asked.

“No,” Klaus answered before I could. “Almost no one climbs Mount Huma in winter. Hikers would stand out.”

He continued, precise. “Tourists won’t. I’ve secured an inn with hot springs on the village outskirts. Close to the road. Low visibility.”

“Oh?” Rosa grinned. “So this is a hot spring trip?”

“Expect blood, not relaxation,” Klaus said coldly. “The inn is ready.”

“Good,” I said. “Get to your rooms. Rest if you can. Stay sharp, we operate overnight.”

“Got it,” Flo replied.

“I’ll grab coffee,” Mine said.

“Later, cap’n,” Rosa waved as she headed out.

Chairs scraped as they stood. One by one, they filed out. Klaus lingered behind, pressing his palm against the chairs. Pale grids flared, folding them into clean white cards before he slipped them into his wallet and followed the others.

Their rooms were on the same floor, most of which we’d rented out. Easier for meetings. Easier for secrecy. Everyone else had already returned to their rooms.

Everyone except one.

“Hey. I’ve got something else to report,” Erna said once the last footsteps faded.

Exactly what I’d expected.

“Oh? About Theodore Morgan?”

“What else?” she snapped. “That’s all you told me to dig into.”

I flicked my fingers, raising a soundproof dome around us, then leaned back against the door.

“Alright. What did you find?”

She hesitated—fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, eyes skirting away. That alone told me this wasn’t going to be light.

“First,” she said carefully, “let me emphasize this: I only did it because you ordered me. Trespassing into someone’s personal life is not my hobby.”

“Yeah, yeah. Disclaimer accepted. Talk.”

She inhaled, steadying herself.

“Theodore Morgan lives with his younger sister, Elysia Ciaran. Their mother died two years ago from a chronic illness. Their father’s been gone for eleven. Financially, they’re stable. He inherited his mother’s account. Enough to support them through college, roughly. But living alone at that age isn’t easy. People tried to leech off him. He drove them away. Thugs too, he fought them himself. That’s where the delinquent rumors came from. His sharp gaze didn’t help.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“Academically, he’s exceptional. A genuine prodigy. Multiple awards, especially in STEM and robotics. His name’s easy enough to find online. He has two close friends; Valentine Delaune and Serina Ballard. Serina Ballard's even helped raise Elysia, on and off.”

I let out a long breath. “So that’s his life.”

Even Erna—usually unshakable—lowered her gaze.

“Yes. He’s devoted to his sister. To an unhealthy degree.” She hesitated.

“A man so bound to family he forgets himself,” I murmured. “Reminds me of someone.”

“….”

Her silence confirmed it. She knew exactly who I meant.

“Well,” I continued, “that explains why he refused Roxley. He didn’t want to leave his sister alone.”

“That’s part of it,” Erna said. “But not the real reason.”

I looked at her. “Is there something else?”

“Yes. Something that explains why he truly hates Roxley.”

My brow rose. “Funny. I never told you he hated them that much.”

“You didn’t need to,” she replied. “It’s obvious once you know his real name.”

The air shifted.

“The ‘A’?” I asked quietly.

“Yes. And it’s why Roxley didn’t write his full name in the letter.” Her jaw tightened. “They know exactly who else carries it.”

My pulse ticked up. “Who?”

Erna’s expression hardened. When she spoke, the room felt heavier for it.

“Ashera.”

My breath caught.

“His full name is Theodore Morgan Ashera.”

For the first time in a long while, my composure cracked.

“…Ha.” A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out. “So Klaus and I were right after all.”

“No one else at Roxley carries that name,” she said. “It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

I snapped my fingers. The dome dissolved. Sound rushed back in.

“Scandal of the decade,” I said lightly. “Thanks for the report. Get some rest.”

“Hey, listen.” She turned back sharply. “You didn’t hear this from me. I don’t want to be dragged into whatever comes next.”

“Relax,” I replied. “I’m not acting on it. Not yet. Pure curiosity.”

“You’d better mean that.”

She walked away down the corridor.

“See you, Lulu.”

“I told you to stop calling me that!”