Two men wandered through the lush expanse known as the Land of Trees—a vibrant stretch of green nestled at the foot of the mountains. One of them spoke with a note of concern. "Are you sure it's wise to defy the marines again? Last time you ignored their orders, you ended up captured and locked away. And now, here you are, testing their patience a second time."
Blythe crouched low, fingertips brushing the forest floor as his masked face tilted toward a set of faint, deliberate tracks. His pristine suit remained spotless despite the dirt beneath him, the eerie white smile of his porcelain mask cracked faintly around the eyes and mouth, etched with black lines that resembled fractures. Beneath the slicked-back curls of dark hair, he spoke in his usual calm, almost clinical tone.
"I'm not afraid of the marines," Blythe muttered. "I've been on their leash long enough to know when to bite back. But Rhaziel wants the siblings in his grasp. That part's clear. What's not clear is why he let them slip through his fingers back at the city. It's like he enjoys making this harder than it needs to be."
Seated on a jagged stone behind him, Kaemor leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Cloaked in a tattered, soot-stained parka with a heavy fur-lined hood shadowing most of his face, he looked like a phantom born from war-torn ruins. The breathing tube from his gas mask extended downward, releasing slow, steady puffs like a tired engine, glowing faintly in the dim light.
"I've been wondering the same," Kaemor replied, voice muffled and low, yet sharp beneath the layers. "He's obsessed with those two, but I still don't get it. What does he think he'll gain from chasing them? A stronger version of his soul-severing technique? He already cuts deeper than anyone alive."
Blythe stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Maybe he thinks they're the key to something even worse."
Kaemor didn't respond right away—only exhaled another breath into the mask. "Or maybe he's afraid. And that's what makes this so damn dangerous."
Blythe stood slowly, his movements precise, almost rehearsed. Dust clung faintly to the hem of his tailored coat, but he paid it no mind. The white porcelain mask fused to his face bore its ever-smiling expression, a mockery of warmth beneath hollow, calculating eyes.
"It's the siblings. Cassian and Vivia. Both of them are Resonators."
Kaemor remained perched on the rock behind him, his fur-lined hood casting deep shadows across the gas mask that hid his face. The low glow of his lenses flickered. "Both? That explains the pull I felt from the boy, but the girl… she seemed too unstable."
"Instability doesn't cancel potential," Blythe replied calmly. "If anything, it makes them more valuable. Two young Resonators, emotionally bound by blood—one with a soul fractured on the edge of death, the other too desperate to let go. It's exactly what Rhaziel needs."
Kaemor scoffed. "To test his theories."
Blythe nodded once. "He's trying to manipulate the boundaries of Soul Resonance. Not just to observe it, but to control it—reshape it. Cassian's severed soul offers him the perfect broken canvas. And Vivia? She's the brush. If Rhaziel can trigger an artificial resonance between them, even in a damaged state, he may prove it can be forced."
Kaemor's voice dropped. "And if he does…?"
"Then he won't need harmony. Or consent. He'll be able to command resonance like a weapon." Blythe's gaze lingered on the crushed trail beneath his boots. "It's not healing he's after. It's dominance over souls."
"And if they die in the process?" Kaemor asked flatly.
Blythe's mask didn't flinch. "Collateral."
Kaemor's voice rasped. "That's what we've become. Ghosts trailing behind his obsession."
Blythe tilted his head slightly. "Speak for yourself. I know what I am. The difference is—I chose this."
Kaemor remained silent for a while, the only sound between them being the low rustling of wind through the tall grass. He tilted his head slightly toward Blythe, voice low and grainy behind the mask.
"…Didn't you have a sister once?"
The question lingered like a loaded trigger.
Blythe didn't move at first. His gloved hand adjusted the cuff of his coat, slow and deliberate. He crouched again beside the broken trail, fingers tracing a mark in the dirt—but said nothing.
Only after a long, strained silence did he speak.
"…Chiaki."
The name came out hollow. Not bitter. Not angry. Just… distant. Like something remembered from a life he no longer claimed as his own.
Kaemor didn't push. He simply waited, the glow of his lenses steady as if studying a ghost who hadn't yet noticed his own death.
Kaemor shifted his weight on the rock, his voice slow and musing beneath the rasp of his breath filter.
"Then why not just take her? Rhaziel's had chances. Hell, more than once. But he holds back."
His glowing lenses locked on Blythe, as if searching for something beneath the pale mask.
"You're his second. You know more than most. So what's the reason?"
Blythe's posture didn't change, but the silence that followed was heavier this time—thick, brittle, and sharp around the edges. His gloved fingers curled slightly at his sides. When he spoke, his tone didn't betray much, yet it was enough.
Blythe stood again. "She's not part of this."
Kaemor leaned forward. "Not necessary, or off-limits?"
Blythe looked away, gaze falling on the faint outlines of the trail Vivia had passed through hours earlier.
"She's still finding her path," he said at last. "And Rhaziel's curious to see where it leads."
Kaemor made a sound that might've been a scoff. "Curious? He's not a damn philosopher."
"No," Blythe agreed, the faintest drop of tension in his voice. "But he's patient. He waits. And watches. Until people shape themselves into what he wants."
Kaemor narrowed his eyes behind the mask. "And you? What do you want?"
This time, Blythe did turn to face him. Just slightly.
"…For her not to end up like me."
Kaemor's head tilted just a fraction, the glowing circles of his mask gleaming faintly as he leaned forward.
"That's cute," he muttered. "But you're not answering the real question."
Blythe didn't respond.
Kaemor stood from the rock, letting his gloved hand slide along the flat of his thigh before gesturing vaguely to the treeline. "You say she's not necessary. But I've seen her. You have too. That power, that spark. She's the kind of resonator Rhaziel dreams of cracking open. You know it. I know it."
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
"She's not just a tool. She's a gate. You're sitting on something the rest of us are chasing—someone who could change everything we understand about soul resonance. And you're holding her back. For what? Nostalgia?"
Blythe remained still, unreadable behind the carved white smile of his mask.
"She could be used," Kaemor continued, his tone edging sharper now. "Refined. Broken down and rebuilt into something even Rhaziel hasn't managed. Maybe she could even sever a soul without leaving it hollow. That's what he wants. And she might be the only one who can do it."
The silence lingered, thick between them like smoke.
"…And what would you do?" Blythe asked at last, quietly. "If you were the one holding the leash?"
Kaemor paused, then shrugged. "I'd yank it until something snapped. And hope the thing that snapped wasn't the world."
Blythe rose slowly, brushing the dirt from his gloves in one smooth motion. He didn't look at Kaemor right away—his masked gaze lingered on the trail ahead, quiet, calculating.
"You talk about her like she's just another piece in this sick little game," he said at last, his voice low but even. "Like she's clay to be molded, or a tool to be repurposed."
Kaemor crossed his arms, waiting for the rest.
"But Chiaki…" Blythe finally turned, the black cracks across his smiling mask catching the dim forest light like fractured porcelain. "Chiaki's too expensive for this world."
Kaemor tilted his head.
"I don't mean coin," Blythe continued. "I mean weight. Impact. Meaning. You try to use someone like her, you change the scales permanently. She's not like those two—weaker, younger, easier to bend without snapping. Vivia and Cassian are strong, sure, but they're manageable. They break right, if you push them hard enough."
He paced slowly now, deliberate steps crunching the grass beneath his boots. "But Chiaki? She doesn't break. She shatters. And when she does, the pieces don't stay still. They cut everything around them."
Kaemor's mask shifted ever so slightly in his direction. "So you'd rather she be left alone?"
"No," Blythe said, quiet again. "I just know what happens when people like her get pushed too far. She doesn't collapse. She rewrites the battlefield. And we're not ready for the version of her that stops holding back."
He exhaled. "Rhaziel may think he's ready. That he can tame a wildfire. But he's wrong. And if he ever tries to use her the same way he's using those two…"
Blythe's head turned slightly toward the mountain in the distance.
"…then I'll be the one standing in his way."
Kaemor tilted his head, watching Blythe in measured silence. His golden eyes scanned the trees again, then back to the man beside him. "You paused," he said plainly. "You felt something. Didn't you?"
Blythe didn't move. His gloved hand brushed faintly across the dirt again, almost absently, as though trying to hide the moment that had already passed.
Kaemor stepped off the rock, slow and deliberate. "It's not like you to hesitate, Blythe. Your instincts are sharp. What is it?"
"…It was nothing." Blythe rose to his feet and adjusted the cuff of his coat, his tone even but unusually quiet. "Just the wind shifting. This place echoes strange."
Kaemor narrowed his gaze slightly, studying him, but after a long pause, he seemed to ease. "Hm. I suppose you'd know better than me."
"Don't overthink it," Blythe replied, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. "There's no one here."
Kaemor gave a short exhale, something between a sigh and a hum. "Guess I'm still too used to looking over my shoulder." He glanced toward the tree line once more, then turned his back to it. "If we're heading up the ridge, we should keep moving before the clouds break."
Blythe nodded silently, but his eyes drifted once more toward the faint tracks behind them—barely visible, light impressions in the soil, leading off toward the north trail.
He said nothing, and Kaemor didn't press again. Whatever suspicion lingered had passed—for now.
In the stillness of his own thoughts, Blythe drifted inward, the world around him blurring into a distant haze. Why is she here... now of all times? The question lingered in his mind, barely a whisper on his lips—too faint for Kaemor to catch. Or so he believed.
But Kaemor, ever watchful, noted the slight shift in Blythe's tone, the flicker in his gaze. He said nothing.
Blythe straightened, brushing his coat sleeve with casual precision, then turned away from the forest's edge. "This sector's a dead end," he stated with cold finality. "We move on. Nothing of value remains here."
Kaemor gave a silent nod, but his eyes lingered just a moment longer on Blythe—sharp, unreadable. And without another word, they vanished into the green.
To be continued...