"Where does seeking justice end, and seeking vengeance begin?" - Paula Stokes (This is How it Happened)

* * * *

What the hell am I even doing here?

That thought—the same one that had haunted him since the moment the messenger appeared, echoed louder than ever in Leroy's mind as he sat hunched near the rusted wall of the old shelter, elbows propped on his knees, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his jacket.

He sighed inwardly, not for the first or even the tenth time since arriving, and certainly not for the last. Every breath he took here felt heavier, as if the air in the Abyss itself was steeped in the weight of all that had been lost.

The summons had been abrupt, handed down from the Premier herself—an audience he hadn't sought, hadn't expected, and frankly, hadn't wanted.

The fact that someone had tracked him and Alisa down to their current hideout—one they thought was off-grid, silent, and buried deep, had sent his nerves spiralling. They had nearly drawn their guns before the messenger could even speak. Luckily, he had gotten his message out before either one of them could pull the trigger.

That moment hadn't left Leroy's head since. The sheer panic. The reflexive reach for violence. The realisation that even underground, even in the shadows, they weren't truly invisible.

It's been over a year now. A year since the fall of Elvryn and Blade.

A year since the hunters ripped everything apart with surgical precision and smiling indifference.

And in all that time, he hadn't seen a single soul from Blade—not besides Alisa. The rest scattered like ash in the wind. Maybe some were still out there, clinging to survival in places even the underground hadn't touched.

But deep down, Leroy doubted it. The hunters didn't leave loose ends. Not when they performed a subjugation. They came to erase, to cleanse, and to rewrite.

And Blade had always been a target too loud to ignore.

Leroy ran a hand through his messy reddish-orange hair, further dishevelling the strands that already stuck out in a dozen directions. The old, familiar habit did nothing to settle the knot coiled in his chest.

His gaze drifted around the cavernous room—the central hub of the Abyss, dimly lit with flickering lights screwed into ancient concrete beams. Rusted rebar hung like vines from the ceilings. Faded murals from a forgotten era clung to the walls in tatters.

The shelters might have been centuries old, but they had been reinforced, refurbished, and reimagined by the people of the underground. Scavenged tech, barricaded corridors, repurposed living quarters—the Abyss was more than just a hideout now. It was a city hidden beneath a city, a breathing thing carved from Eldario's old bones.

Leroy spotted a few people nearby, seated on the cracked floor, chatting in quiet tones that never rose above a certain pitch—as though even here, voices carried too much risk. In one corner, two guys were either brawling or sparring; it was hard to tell. Their movements were quick and angry, with a circle of others cheering them on in the half-dark.

Distractions. Anything to keep the fear and grief from setting in.

The Abyss.

That name had sounded so ominous the first time Sera had said it back in Elvryn, her voice low, and her eyes unreadable. According to her, this place had once been Eldario's last-resort fallback plan—ancient tunnels and shelters built to withstand catastrophe. But as the surface world evolved, and those fears were buried under concrete and politics, the tunnels were left to rot.

Forgotten. Abandoned. Erased from maps.

Until the underground claimed them.

Now, it was the closest thing to a capital for the broken, the hunted, and the defiant. A sanctum for those who refused to kneel to the surface's rules. And with the Premier herself living here, along with her Enforcers—her spies, and her secrets, it made sense that the Abyss was locked behind layers of silence and secrecy.

Most in the underground didn't even know where it was. Only a select few were trusted with its location: leaders of the surviving street gangs, information brokers of worth, and the Enforcers.

Leroy's chestnut-brown eyes dropped to his left wrist.

There, faint beneath the dim lights, lay the faded ink of the Blade tattoo etched along the underside—once a symbol of pride, now a brand of loss. His hand reflexively covered it, his thumb pressing against the skin as if he could hide it from himself.

His lips parted, whispering a name into the silence around him, "…You're alive, right? Sera?"

Her voice flickered in his memory again—haunting, steady, and unshakable even as everything around them burned.

"It doesn't matter anymore. One more time. This will be the night that Blade fights our final battle. And regardless of what happens, you will always be my best friends—"

"Leroy?"

The voice yanked him back into the present.

Leroy nearly jolted upright but managed to mask the reflex, looking up sharply. A figure approached him from the other side of the room—spiky silver-grey hair jutting out in all directions, a black eyepatch covering the left eye, and a long, narrow scar curving down the cheek beneath it, like an old wound that refused to fade.

The grey trench coat made it obvious enough. Even without it, Leroy would have recognised that voice anywhere.

Hayder Beck.

Leroy stood, brushing dust off his trousers as he did. "Hayder," he greeted, nodding once, the tension in his shoulders only slightly loosening.

Hayder was an Enforcer. One of the Premier's own. But more than that, he was an old face. A familiar face. Back when Elvryn still stood, Hayder had been a regular presence—meeting with Sera, trading intelligence, and even sharing jokes too dry for most to understand.

Not a friend, exactly, but someone Blade had learned to trust in a world with very few certainties.

"She'll see you now," Hayder said with that same clipped, gravel-worn tone. "Follow me."

Leroy hesitated for a breath, just long enough to feel the pulse of nerves in his throat. Then he fell in step behind the Enforcer, deeper into the Abyss.

His eyes scanned the shadows of the Abyss as he followed Hayder down the winding corridor, where the scent of smoke and damp metal mingled in the air like a half-forgotten memory.

Makeshift vendor stalls clung to the cracked stone walls, their owners murmuring hushed deals with wary eyes. Families huddled in tucked-away corners of the tunnels, their small rooms barely separated from the outside by curtains or salvaged doors.

It was a strange contrast—life surviving in the hollows of a city that no longer remembered this place existed.

This was the Abyss: the underground's beating heart, carved from the discarded bones of old Eldario. A place that had once been built for war, for hiding, and even for the end of the world. And now, it had found its purpose—sheltering those the surface no longer wanted.

Leroy didn't belong here. Or so he told himself.

"You've never been down here before, have you?" Hayder's voice cut through the murmur of the corridor. Smooth, almost casual, but not without weight. The man walked with calm precision, as if the world would shift to accommodate his steps. He didn't even turn to look at Leroy.

The younger man shrugged, his expression flat. "Zest was always the one with Sera when she came down here."

Hayder gave a soft, thoughtful hum at the mention of Zest, but didn't comment. He didn't have to. That name hung in the air like smoke—sharp, stinging, and familiar.

"I heard Sera was planning to bring you with her next time," Hayder added. "When she got the call for the usual annual meet. But well…"

His voice trailed off as they approached a door at the far end of the passage. Heavy metal, and reinforced, a silent monument to the weight of the decisions made behind it.

Just before they reached it, a woman stepped out.

Black hair cut sharply at the shoulders. Blue eyes that glinted like cracked ice. A white cropped shirt exposing her midriff, black pants tucked into boots, and a long black coat swinging off one shoulder like she didn't give a damn what anyone thought. She moved like someone who knew people were watching, and liked it that way.

Leroy's gut tensed.

"Leaving, Ebis?" Hayder asked, and the woman—Ebis, nodded.

Her gaze then shifted towards Leroy, looking him over. A quiet, appraising glance that lingered too long. It wasn't the flirtatious stare of someone interested. It was colder. Calculated. Like she was logging his weight, his stance, the sharpness in his gaze, and deciding whether or not he was a threat.

"I've got things to do," she murmured to Hayder, who nodded without a word. Her gaze slid back to Leroy. "I'll see you when I return."

She brushed past him, her perfume sharp, floral and synthetic. Leroy turned slightly as she passed, watching her go, every part of him screaming that something about her was wrong.

She moved too smoothly. Smiled too little. She had the kind of presence that slid beneath the skin and stayed there, twitching like a splinter. Familiar and yet…not.

He didn't know her. Not really. But he felt like he should.

And his instincts had kept him alive this long.

That woman… She's not just another Enforcer.

But Leroy didn't speak. He kept it tucked away.

Hayder knocked once before opening the door. "Larissa. Leroy's here."

"Leave us," came the smooth, commanding voice from within.

Leroy stepped inside, feeling the weight of the space immediately. The room wasn't grand, but it didn't need to be. Clean lines, steel shelves lined with records, and maps pinned to the wall behind a wide desk. Function over flair.

And her.

Larissa leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed over a dark blue off-shoulder dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and utterly intimidating. Fishnet stockings and black heels completed the ensemble—but nothing about her said "frivolous."

Her presence filled the room effortlessly, eyes sharp and calculating, a mind always three moves ahead. This was a woman who ruled the underground not by brute strength, but by understanding everything—people, systems, and secrets.

"Been a while, Leroy," Larissa greeted, offering a rare, almost fond smile. "Three years, if I recall."

Leroy inclined his head silently.

"I was relieved to hear you and Alisa survived the purge at Elvryn," Larissa added, her smile fading into a scowl at the memory.

"Why am I here?" Leroy asked, getting straight to the point.

Larissa studied him in silence before motioning to the chair in front of her. He sat down as she slid into her seat across from him, picking up a worn file from the desk.

"Have you heard what happened to Zalfari?" she asked.

"Who hasn't?" Leroy muttered, his jaw tightening.

The fury had raced through the underground like wildfire. What the hunters did to Zalfari… What they did to Whirlwind… It wasn't an attack. It was a message.

But if they thought they'd sent that message without consequence, they were wrong. Rumours whispered of the hunters involved being found—what was left of them, anyway, sent back in pieces.

Painfully dismantled. Not by accident.

Larissa nodded slowly. "I'll be blunt, Leroy. I trust you. Sera did. And if there's anyone who knew how to read someone, it was her." Her voice softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again. "First Elvryn and Blade. Then Dragonfly caves and gives up one of their own. Then Zalfari. Whirlwind's annihilation. This isn't just coincidence. These are precision strikes."

"You think they're going after Blade's allies," Leroy murmured.

"I don't think. I know." Larissa's eyes narrowed. "The question is why."

"I don't know the full story," Leroy admitted. "Only scraps Zest told me before the fall. Sera was digging into something about the hunters. Something big."

"And they found out," Larissa finished.

"Maybe. But let's be real. The hunters don't need reasons. They hate what they can't control." Leroy's voice dropped. "They've always hated the Gifted. And even the underground. And we just made it easier for them by being loud."

Larissa blew out a sharp breath and waved the topic aside. "We'll deal with them later. I called you here because of Zalfari. I'm not losing that town to the ESA, or worse, the hunters. It's too valuable. And too vulnerable right now."

Leroy frowned, the pieces clicking into place. "You want me to guard it."

"I want you to lead it."

He blinked.

Larissa leaned forward. "You're not just a survivor, Leroy. You were Blade's eyes and ears. Intelligence, influence, and strategy. You think I don't know how much of Blade's rise was you, and not just Sera? You have what it takes. And I need someone I can trust."

"I don't belong to any gang now," Leroy replied stiffly. "And I never will again. Blade is—was—my family."

"I'm not asking you to form another gang," Larissa said gently. "I'm asking you to protect what's left. Zalfari is wounded, but it's not dead. And if anyone can hold that town together until it heals… It's you."

Leroy didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted to the dusty ceiling, thoughts churning. Zalfari was more than just a town—it was a crossroads, a market, and even a sanctuary. If the hunters got their claws into it…

He sighed. A long, heavy breath that seemed to drain the weight from his chest. "…Fine. I'll do it. I'll take charge of Zalfari."

"Thank you," Larissa breathed, visibly relieved.

"But I have one question," Leroy added. His voice lowered. "Sera."

Larissa's expression didn't change much, but it didn't need to. A flicker in her eyes. The tiniest twitch in her posture. "She's your leader," Larissa said softly. "You know what she's capable of better than anyone."

Leroy nodded slowly. "Dragonfly. The hunters at Zalfari. That wasn't a gang attack. That was calculated retribution. Only one person I know can do all that."

"Then you have your answer," Larissa replied. "If she's alive, and I believe she is, she's doing exactly what she always does. Surviving. And protecting those she cares about."

Leroy stood. "That's all I needed to hear." He turned to go, pausing only once at the door. "I'll do what I can for Zalfari. But before that, I have things to take care of. People to find. Some shadows to chase."

He didn't say any names. He didn't have to.

Larissa watched him go, her fingers tightening around the file in her lap. She said nothing, but her silence weighed more than most people's words ever could.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

And in the quiet of the Abyss, something had shifted.

Blade's ghosts were stirring again.

* * * *

Alisa Frazier was already waiting when Leroy returned, the loud grumble of the motorbike echoing like a warning through the quiet of the cracked, narrow street outside. The garage—an old, oil-stained structure nestled on the edge of a small town where secrets were currency and questions died in silence, had become their temporary shelter, a place where people minded their own business and left others to theirs.

That kind of anonymity was rare these days. Precious.

She was crouched beside a dented bike frame, with grease on her fingers and a rag in her hand, wiping down tools with a rhythmic focus that betrayed the restlessness underneath. Her raven hair was tied back into a low ponytail, strands sticking to her cheek, which bore a thin smudge of black oil. She hadn't bothered with her jacket—it lay draped over the back of a folding chair in the corner, and the plain white tee clung to her frame, streaked with the grime of the day's work.

Her ocean-blue eyes flicked up the second she heard the engine cut out.

Leroy stepped through the open doors, pulling off his helmet slowly, as if each movement weighed more than it should. His reddish-orange hair was messy, damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his chestnut-brown eyes looked clouded—guarded, even worn. The ever-present black choker with the silver cross gleamed faintly against the dim light as he tossed the helmet aside.

"How is it?" Alisa asked without preamble, rising to her feet, the rag still in her hand. Her voice was sharper than usual—an edge of worry she didn't bother hiding. "Why were you called to the Abyss, to begin with, anyway?" Her frown deepened as she crossed her arms.

In the far corner, Jeff looked up from the carburettor he'd been examining. He wasn't part of Blade, not officially, but he'd ridden close enough to their shadows to know what was at stake. Blade had once helped him set up shop, back before the world tilted off its axis. He still owed them. Owed Leroy.

"The Premier asked me to take charge of Zalfari," Leroy said after a beat of silence. The words came out low, like they tasted strange on his tongue. "I agreed."

Jeff blinked. "Well, that's a surprise," he muttered, his eyebrows raised, though not with judgment. "Though I get it. Whirlwind's gone. Someone has to step in, especially now…" His voice faltered, the weight of what had happened hanging too heavy in the air to finish the sentence. "And Sera?"

Leroy hesitated again. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, then relaxed. "She's alive."

Alisa let out a shaky breath, a sigh of relief so sharp it bordered on a sob. She hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath, but she could feel the way it uncoiled inside her chest. "Thank the Goddess…" she whispered. Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to gauge just how true that truth really was. "At least she's alive. That's something."

"Yeah." Leroy dragged a hand down his face, pressing his thumb into the corner of his eye like he could will away the headache forming behind it. "We never really believed she was dead to begin with," he murmured, the faintest bitterness lacing the words. "Sera doesn't go down that easily. If anyone could crawl back from the edge of death, it's her."

Both Alisa and Jeff nodded.

That much was true. Sera Kroix was a storm—quiet, calculating, and unstoppable once in motion. You didn't survive what she had and vanish without a trace unless you wanted to.

"And if she's alive…" Leroy continued, lowering his hand, "then odds are Zest made it too."

Alisa blinked at that, startled. "Zest? Seriously?"

Jeff, however, nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Makes sense," he said. "He's your second-in-command. No one in the underground underestimates him. Not twice. Those that do never live long enough to survive it."

It was true.

Normal or not, Zest had a presence that commanded attention and demanded caution. Those who underestimated Zest just because of his lack of ability normally don't survive long enough to regret it.

Leroy still has an alarmingly clear memory of the very first time when they met Zest.

Despite it being years, it's still clear as day, like a wound that never quite healed—the first time he watched Zest go head-to-head with Sera. The clash had been brutal and precise, a storm meeting wildfire, and Sera had been forced to draw on her Gift just to end it without killing him.

That memory had left a scar somewhere deep in Leroy's instincts, a respect that never faded.

"We need to find them," Alisa said softly, stepping closer. There was something in her voice—urgency, fear, and guilt maybe. "Or at least find her."

Leroy looked at her, and for a long second, he didn't speak. There were a thousand emotions flickering in his chest—guilt, yes, and frustration, but more than anything, helplessness.

It wrapped around him like chains he couldn't break. His jaw clenched, and his eyes turned away.

"You know we can't," he said finally, his voice taut. "Sera wouldn't be found if she didn't want to be. We both know that better than anyone."

Alisa opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. She saw it—the stubborn set of his jaw, the flicker of something broken behind his steady gaze. He hated it as much as she did.

The waiting. The silence. The thought of her out there, alone.

"She always did carry too much," Alisa said after a moment, her voice quieter now, tinged with something almost like grief. "Always tried to protect everyone but herself. It's just like her to vanish and leave the rest of us wondering whether to mourn or chase ghosts."

Leroy exhaled slowly, then nodded. His voice, when it came again, was low, edged with steel. "But I know someone who might know where she is." He looked at Alisa then, eyes locked. "And I know just how to make him talk."

Alisa studied him. The glint in his eyes wasn't reckless—it was resolved. Whatever walls he had built since Blade's fall, since the hunters turned everything they knew to ash, they were cracking. The thought of Sera—her fire, her silence, and her stubbornness, still haunted him, and it haunted Alisa too.

For a moment, the silence in the garage felt different. Not just tense, but sacred. Like they were standing at the edge of something big again. Something dangerous.

"…Then let's go find him," Alisa said, tossing the rag onto the workbench. "We owe her that much."

Leroy didn't smile. But he nodded.

* * * *

The gentle night breeze always managed to soothe Sera Kroix's thoughts in a way nothing else could—not the calming words of her allies, not the structured plans they built together, not even the temporary silences she buried herself in.

There was something about the wind at night—cool, quiet, and untethered, that slipped past her defences and settled into the corners of her restlessness. She sat alone atop the flat rooftop of the old boathouse, her legs drawn loosely to her chest, one arm draped over her knee while the other rested on the cold metal railing, her fingertips idly tracing the rusted curve.

Below, the dark waters whispered against the sides of the structure, rhythmic and constant, like a lullaby meant for no one.

Up here, under the indifferent stars and the ever-turning sky, Sera could breathe without expectation. Without masks. The others knew that by now. They'd learned not to bother her when she came up here unless it was urgent. And unless it was something only she could answer.

It had been several months since Aegis first came together under her lead, a patchwork of the Gifted and the burned, the brave and the broken. Most days felt like forward motion, chaotic but necessary, like the group was running toward some invisible line they couldn't yet define.

But the nights, especially the quiet ones, were when doubt had the loudest voice.

Ness had once jokingly called their upcoming debut a "grand spectacle of rebellion and fireworks," in that sarcastic, sharp-tongued way of his. Sera had smiled at the time, but deep down, the weight of everything they were building—it never left her.

Aegis wasn't just a symbol of resistance. It was a target. And she was its center.

Raul had been buried in his work since the day she'd asked him for something—something only he could do. Whatever she'd whispered to him had sent their brilliant, soft-spoken hacker into a state of focused obsession. He hadn't told the others what it was, and they hadn't pressed.

Maybe because they knew. Maybe because they trusted her.

He'd even constructed a strange device that now occupied one shadowed corner of the rooftop, something compact and wiry with faintly glowing lights. Most assumed it was an anti-tracking field, or maybe some kind of jammer. Whatever it was, it hummed faintly at night—barely noticeable, like a warning to anyone who dared to listen too closely.

Sera leaned back now, letting her gaze lift to the stars above—sharp pinpricks of light scattered across an endless, unknowable sky. Her black coat fluttered slightly in the breeze, the hem brushing against the wood behind her. The black and white scarf tied at her waist shifted like a shadow, barely revealing the outlines of hidden weapons beneath. Her fingers curled gently around the edge of the plain black choker resting against her collarbone, feeling the familiar smoothness of it.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing here, Zest," she murmured, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. Her eyes held onto the stars with a desperation she would never show the others. "Don't let this be a mistake."

For a moment, she just sat there, still and silent, her heart pressed beneath layers of instinct and armour and grief she hadn't unpacked in months. Doubt clung to her—not loud, but lingering.

She had made decisions that couldn't be undone. And somewhere in the echo of those decisions was the shadow of someone she had left behind.

The sound of footsteps cut through the wind like an unexpected note, not hostile, but intrusive nonetheless. Sera turned sharply, her boots scraping quietly as she stood, her gaze fixed on the stairwell door.

It creaked open, revealing Tatius, tall and dishevelled as always, framed by the dim light spilling out behind him. His untidy dark red hair looked slightly damp, and the single hoop in his left ear glinted under the moonlight. His green eyes were narrowed. Not angry, just confused.

"What's up?" Sera asked, brows furrowing.

Tatius shrugged with a twitch of his shoulder, one gloved hand gesturing behind him with a lazy thumb. "There's somebody downstairs asking for you," he said. "Says his name's Leroy."

The name hit her like a static charge beneath the ribs.

Her breath caught. Her spine stiffened.

"…What?" she whispered, the word barely audible.

Tatius raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Leroy. Sound familiar or…?"

But Sera wasn't listening anymore.

Her body had gone still, tense in a way that had nothing to do with combat instinct and everything to do with memory—an old, complicated memory. Her heart had started beating faster before she even registered it, a familiar ache blooming in her chest that she had long since tried to bury.

Leroy. Here. After all this time?

She hadn't seen him since before everything fell apart—before Blade shattered, before she vanished into the wind and chose to become a ghost. Part of her had wondered if he hated her now. If he thought she had abandoned him. Abandoned them all. She had carried that silence like a wound, stitched shut only because she refused to reopen it.

And now…

Now he was here.

The stars above her felt suddenly too bright. Too open. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, as if that could shield her from the storm now rising behind her eyes.

Sera's fingers twitched near the edge of her scarf, but she made no move to adjust it. Her voice came out softer than she wanted, laced with something fragile.

"Send him up."

Tatius nodded without prying and slipped back through the door.

The moment he was gone, Sera turned away from the stairs and pressed her hands against the metal railing again. She didn't look at the sky this time.

Her eyes closed.

She breathed in deeply, the night air filling her lungs, sharp and cool and grounding.

Leroy.

She wasn't ready. But then, she hadn't been ready for anything in a long time.

* * * *

More than one pair of eyes tracked the stranger with the reddish-orange hair as he moved confidently through the boathouse, heading toward the rooftop stairwell without hesitation.

He walked like he belonged, like the creaking wooden floorboards remembered him. His deep red shirt and dark brown jacket contrasted sharply against the pale light bleeding through the windows. And something about the silver cross on the choker around his neck glinted like a quiet warning.

Kailey leaned toward her twin, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Who is he?"

Neil didn't answer right away. His pearl-white gaze followed the man's ascent, brows drawn in quiet suspicion.

The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly—the comfortable hum of safety, so rare and hard-won here, had been pierced. Raul, hunched in his usual corner of the couch with his knees drawn to his chest and a portable computer glowing faintly in his lap, didn't speak at first. But Neil could tell by the way Raul's fingers slowed across the keyboard that he was listening.

"Leroy," Raul said finally, his voice calm but edged with something deeper. "A former member of Blade."

That got everyone's attention.

"I was wondering how long it would take before one of them found Sera," he added, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Ness, sitting on the armrest with a cup of coffee cupped between both hands, gave Raul a skeptical glance. "You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not," Raul replied flatly, finally lifting his golden eyes. "It was only a matter of time. Blade wasn't just any gang. It was the gang. Everyone in Eldario's underworld knew the name, feared it, or owed something to it. After the attack, we all assumed there were survivors. No way someone like Sera was the only one to make it out." He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. "If I had to guess, Leroy's been searching for her since Blade fell. And he probably wouldn't have stopped until he did."

The room fell silent for a beat, tension drawing a quiet line between the faces gathered.

Raul looked around, his voice dropping. "You have to understand, loyalty in gangs, real gangs, it's not something that ends just because the group falls apart. You don't just forget someone like Sera. Especially not if you served under her. She wasn't just a leader—she was their center. Their anchor in chaos." He sighed, voice roughening at the edges. "Apart from Letha… Maybe Laura too… I'm probably the only one here who knows what it's like to follow someone like that. That kind of trust—earned in blood, through fire, through watching your friends die, it doesn't die. Not really."

Letha and Laura both nodded in unspoken agreement. They'd lived the street life. They knew what it meant to follow someone when it wasn't law or hope that kept you going, but the fierce gravity of loyalty and survival.

"Even among the wider underground, Blade wasn't a secret," Letha added softly, brushing a strand of silvery hair from her cheek. "They took mercenary jobs. Bounty hunting. Escort protection. Recovery contracts. And when Blade accepted a contract, most others didn't even bother. Not if they knew Sera was involved."

Kailey blinked, still trying to wrap her mind around the scale of it. "Sera?"

Letha gave a dry, knowing smile. "You haven't heard the name they gave her down here? The Death Reaper."

"No one crossed her and lived to brag about it," Raul said quietly. "Even the hunters didn't take chances with her. I've seen it. Without even using her Gift, she's…lethal. That reputation? She didn't earn it with stories. She earned it in blood."

Claudia let out a slow breath, arms crossed over her chest as the conversation sank in. "No wonder the underground spiralled after Blade was wiped out," she murmured, piecing together the unspoken cause and effect. "With them gone… With her gone…"

"Everything fractured," Laura finished for her, her tone cool and controlled but sharp. "The structure collapsed. The contracts went unclaimed. The smaller gangs got bold. And the hunters… They took advantage of the power vacuum."

Ness tapped a finger against his cup. "So this guy, Leroy… He's a survivor. From the most feared gang in Eldario. And he just…walks in?"

"That's what worries me," Neil muttered. "He doesn't look rattled. He looks like he knows where he is. Like he belongs."

"He used to," Raul replied. "This boathouse was a Blade contact point once. I'd bet anything he's been here before. Back then, before all of this."

"But this isn't Blade anymore," Kailey said, her voice soft but firm. "It's Aegis now."

There was a beat of silence.

Raul's lips pressed together, then he nodded. "You're right. And we have to treat it that way."

Laura stood from where she'd been seated near the table, arms uncrossing as she adjusted her sleeves. Her dark eyes swept over the group—assessing and measured. There was something quiet in her presence, but undeniably strong. The kind of calm that came just before a storm.

"If Sera's going to lead this movement, she can't be the only one holding it together," she said. "And if she's not here, we need to be ready to hold it ourselves."

Raul glanced at her, eyes sharp. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We start building structure," Laura said. "Not just instincts. Leadership. You take tactical and tech decisions. I'll handle internal cohesion and personnel."

Claudia smirked. "So the rebellion finally gets a chain of command?"

Raul snorted. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"But it's a start," Laura said. Then, to Raul, "We watch Leroy. Closely. If he's from Blade, he may be trustworthy, but that doesn't mean he's not dangerous."

Neil gave a small nod, arms folded. "Agreed. Trust isn't automatic here."

Kailey hesitated, but then echoed her brother. "If he hurts Sera…"

"He won't," Raul said, his voice steady. "Not Leroy."

"And how do you know that?" Ness asked, squinting suspiciously.

Raul leaned back, glancing toward the rooftop as if he could feel the conversation happening above them. "Because he's from Blade," he said. "And Blade doesn't abandon its own."

* * * *

"I was worried for Raul when I heard about Dragonfly." The voice came just as the rooftop door creaked open. "Guess I didn't need to be."

Sera didn't need to look up to recognise it.

Leroy's footsteps were solid and deliberate, his boots scraping gently against the wood, and in one hand, he carried a modest grocery bag, evidence of a stop at one of the few still-functioning markets in the nearby sector. The bag rustled as he reached inside and casually tossed a can toward her.

Sera caught it without flinching.

"Another year before you're legally allowed to drink," Leroy said, lifting his own can—alcoholic, judging by the branding. "So, soda for you. Cheers."

Sera didn't speak. She merely clinked her can against his, the soft metallic pop echoing faintly as she opened it. The silence between them stretched, heavy but familiar, the kind that only existed between people who had once been close, close enough to read each other's silences better than their words.

Together, they stood at the edge of the boathouse, the waters below them black and windless. The stars were obscured, as if even the night had no desire to shine on the state of the world below.

"How did you find me?" Sera asked at last, her voice quiet, edged with weariness.

"You weren't exactly hiding well," Leroy replied, though his tone lacked any real judgment. When Sera glanced at him, unimpressed, he sighed. "Alexis. I had to twist his arm, swear a dozen times I wasn't here to cause trouble. He still didn't look convinced. But eventually, he cracked." He paused, leaning forward, resting his elbows against the rooftop ledge. "Besides… After everything that happened at Elvryn—after Dragonfly fell, and after Whirlwind, I knew you had to be using the sea to move. It's the only route left that makes sense, and this boathouse? We built it together. You always liked having backup plans."

Sera gave a faint nod. Leroy was right. He usually was. There was a reason she'd made him third-in-command all those years ago, when Blade had still been more than a ghost.

"Anyone with you?"

"Just Alisa," Leroy replied. "We've been staying low. We went to Jeff for help—he's been covering for us for over a year now. I don't know if the others made it. Lleucu… Probably. That bastard's too strong to die easily. And Jamie? Earl? Earl was out of town when the attack hit. Could've survived. Could've not. I don't know anymore." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I still don't understand why you let Zest in, by the way. There's something off about him. And I know I'm not the only one who felt that."

Sera didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked down at the soda in her hands, twisting the can slightly as if hoping it would offer answers it couldn't give. Then, quietly, she said, "Zest is alive."

Leroy didn't look surprised. He only made a low, affirming sound in his throat.

"You already guessed."

"Of course." Leroy shrugged. The silver chain around his neck rattled with the motion, the cross swinging gently against his chest. "I was there when we first met him on the streets of Elvryn, remember? You were barely twelve. He was fourteen. Alisa and I were sixteen, still trying to pretend we had some sort of future. Zest, though… He was already something else. A weapon in human skin. The way he fought even back then…" Leroy shook his head, his lips twitching into a half-grimace. "It was like watching someone dance through hell and come out without a single burn."

Sera smiled faintly. It was tight. Hollow. "He's still unconscious," she murmured. "When Alexis brought him to Reina, he was barely holding on. I've never seen him that bad before. It scared me."

"He'll survive," Leroy said without hesitation, elbowing her lightly in the side. "It's Zest. He's survived things that should've killed him ten times over. The Black Demon doesn't die that easily."

"I hate that name," Sera said under her breath.

Leroy gave her a questioning glance, but she didn't elaborate.

Few knew the truth behind Zest's title. Even among Blade, his past had remained a mystery wrapped in silence. Only Sera, and maybe Jamie or Lleucu, driven by obsession more than loyalty, had ever pieced it together.

Zest hadn't just earned the title through violence. He'd been made into it, forged in cruelty and darkness, and while the world feared him, only a handful ever tried to understand him.

After a beat, Leroy nodded toward the lower levels. "Those people down there… They're all Gifted, aren't they?"

Sera didn't answer, but the look on her face was answer enough.

"Raul's presence told me everything I needed to know. And Letha… She was with Whirlwind, wasn't she?"

Leroy's voice was quiet now, something heavy coiling beneath the surface. A part of him hurt, watching Sera surrounded by new allies—ones she didn't have to hide from, ones who shared the burden of what she was.

A part of him envied that. Envied that she could finally breathe freely around them. The rest of him, though, just ached with the memory of everything they'd lost.

"I'm not trying to replace you guys," Sera said sharply, eyes narrowing as if she could read the thoughts twisting through him. "I couldn't if I tried. I just… I needed to protect someone. To feel like I could still do something for someone."

"You don't need to explain," Leroy said, though his throat tightened around the words. "But for the record… You don't owe us guilt. You gave us a home, Sera. A chance. You looked at a bunch of nobodies from the gutter and treated us like we were worth something. That's not nothing."

She looked away, her expression guarded.

"I keep thinking… If I'd been stronger, faster… Maybe more of them would still be alive," Sera said softly.

"They were always going to come after Blade," Leroy replied, his voice firm. "You know that. We made too many enemies, rattled too many cages. The ESA might have ignored us, but the hunters… They had plans. And we didn't fit in them."

Sera tapped her temple. "I know. Up here, I know that. But in here…" She rested a hand over her heart. "It still hurts like I could've done more."

"You're not a prophet, Sera. You don't get to rewrite the past," Leroy said, dry as ever. "Unless you developed foresight recently?"

That earned a small laugh, and Leroy smiled, genuine this time. He'd missed hearing her laugh. Even the bitter ones.

"For what it's worth, I think the ones we lost… They died without regrets. They died knowing they followed someone who gave a damn."

Sera didn't respond. But her silence wasn't the sharp kind. It was quieter now. More thoughtful. After a pause, she turned toward him, her eyes catching the faint moonlight. "You're here about the hunters, aren't you?"

"Figured you'd guess," Leroy said, nodding. "The attack on Zalfari… Whirlwind being wiped out… Klein would've called you. And now the Premier, Larissa, wants me to take over. To be the new guardian."

Sera blinked, then nodded slowly. "Congratulations, I guess. Though you're inheriting one hell of a graveyard."

"I'm not afraid of hard work," Leroy said, with something like a smirk. "Alisa and Jeff are helping. I've still got a few contacts. But this… This rise in hunter activity? It isn't normal. They're not just raiding towns or hunting Gifted. They're coordinating. Strategising. Like someone lit a match and now the fire's spreading."

Sera's face darkened. "I've heard the same," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The hunters came after us. After Blade. Then Dragonfly. Then Whirlwind. They knew exactly what they were doing."

Leroy shivered slightly at the glint in her eyes. That look. The cold fury. The same one she wore before walking into Elvryn for the first time and making a name for Blade in blood.

"If they wanted war…" Sera whispered, "…then I'll give them war. They've gotten away with too much for too long. If they want to call me a demon, then fine. I'll give them a reason."

Leroy watched her, the small girl with raven-black hair, eyes of fire and forest and blood, standing alone on a rooftop like the storm waiting to break.

And he believed her. He always had.

* * * *

Faster! Just run! Run faster!

That was the only thought racing through the hunter's mind, pounding louder than the thud of his boots against the damp forest floor as he crashed through the underbrush, lungs screaming for air, his heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to escape.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs burning with each frantic step, and yet, he didn't dare slow down.

He had to get away.

Away from that thing.

That demon—no, that boy—who had come out of nowhere and turned the roles upside down.

The hunter stumbled, nearly twisting his ankle on an exposed root, then threw himself behind the thick trunk of a gnarled tree, pressing his back to the bark. He could barely hear anything now. Just the rasp of his own breathing, and the pounding in his ears.

The forest was eerily silent. No rustling of leaves, no snapping of twigs.

Had he managed to lose him? For a moment, he dared to hope.

Then… Snap.

He went rigid. The sound was subtle, almost delicate. But it was there. Real.

His breath caught.

He's here.

But how? There'd been no sound. No footsteps. No movement. No warning. And yet the hunter knew. The demon had found him again.

Another crackle of leaves to his left. Then right. Then behind him.

He spun, drawing his gun with trembling hands, frantically scanning the darkness between trees, every shifting shadow a threat.

"This… This is impossible…" he muttered, his voice cracked and desperate, sweat streaking down his face as he whispered prayers to the Goddess. "No one said it'd be like this…"

The bushes in front of him rustled. He turned sharply, his breath caught in his throat, gun trained on empty air.

Nothing.

The leaves settled again. No figure emerged.

He's being toyed with.

"Come out here!" he shouted, his voice rising with panic. "Face me like a man!"

The forest returned only his echoes.

Face me… Face me…

A laugh answered him—quiet, almost amused. It echoed as though the forest itself were mocking him.

"Who are you?!" The hunter screamed again, his voice cracking.

His question was returned only by his own screams, bouncing back through the trees.

Then, another laugh. This one was however, colder. Closer.

He spun and fired, but the shot went wide, missing entirely and slamming into the bark of a distant tree. His hand was shaking too badly to aim properly.

"Not so much fun, is it?" came the voice, low and steady, drifting from the shadows behind him. "Being the hunted, hunter?"

He turned again, eyes wide and desperate. Bang! Another shot, another miss.

"Fight me!" The hunter shrieked, bordering on hysteria now. "Coward! Where are you?!"

Then… Crack.

Pain exploded in his wrist as a hand shot out of the darkness and snapped the bone cleanly. He screamed as the gun dropped from his hand and landed with a dull thud on the forest floor.

Before he could react, a blade—ice-cold and unforgiving, rested against the side of his cheek, not pressing in yet, but steady enough to draw a shallow line of blood.

He didn't dare move.

"W-Who are you?" he gasped, the pain making his voice weak.

The answer came as a whisper, as if spoken directly into his ear.

"I'm disappointed. You've already forgotten us?" The voice was young, no older than nineteen, but it held a weight far beyond its years. "After everything you did—destroying our home, burning our safehouses, leaving families in ash and blood, and now, when the blade is at your throat, you can't even remember who we are?"

Recognition widened in the hunter's eyes. "You… You're…"

But he never got the name out.

The blade moved with practiced precision, slicing cleanly through flesh and artery in a single, fluid motion. The hunter gasped, a gurgled choke leaving his lips as blood spilled from his throat like a crimson waterfall, staining his uniform, pooling at his boots, seeping into the soil.

He collapsed, clutching at the wound, wide eyes fluttering with panic and disbelief. He tried to speak again, but only bubbles of blood escaped.

The attacker crouched beside him, not out of sympathy, but to ensure the end was final.

"You should never start something you can't finish," The boy said calmly, wiping his blade clean with the dying man's own shirt. His movements were fluid and efficient—too confident to belong to someone new to killing. "You shouldn't have targeted us. You knew what the name meant. Blade. Sharp and unyielding. And when necessary… Merciless."

The hunter's hands fell limp. The light in his eyes began to fade.

"…M-Monster…" he rasped, one final breath escaping his lips before his body went still.

The young man stood, looking down at the corpse without pity. "Monster, huh?" he echoed quietly. "Maybe. But we're only monsters because people like you made us that way."

The forest had fallen utterly silent now, as if nature itself was watching.

He glanced up at the sky. The clouds shifted, and the moonlight broke through at last, pale silver light spilling across the clearing.

It touched the boy's face—sharp features, dark hair streaked with a striking line of white through his fringe, like a scar across shadow. The glint of steel shone faintly at his thigh as he slid the bloodied dagger back into the leather holster strapped to his leg.

A faint breeze lifted his jacket. Along the side of his neck, the moonlight caught the edge of an inked tattoo.

A single blade, stark against his skin.

He turned without another word and walked back into the darkness, leaving the body behind, cold and motionless beneath the moon.

But one thing remained clear in his departing silence: This boy—this Blade, had not been sent for revenge.

He had come as a warning.

And the hunters should have known better than to provoke a ghost that bled like steel.

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