Ash clung to her boots.
Every step Kiana took crushed memories into the ground.
She ran.
Not in panic.
Not in fear.
But with the cold, practiced urgency of someone who had fled battlefields before—and lived.
Her fingers tightened around the shard wrapped in layered sealing cloth, Shinrei sigils faintly pulsing through the fabric. Even suppressed, it felt heavy. Not in weight—but in meaning.
A shard guarded by their family
A shard soaked in blood.
A shard her father had died protecting.
Kiana's breath came steady despite the distance. Her Vein Gates remained closed—she wasn't wasting Shinrei on speed. Veterans knew better. Endurance mattered more than bursts.
Still
Her chest burned.
Not from exhaustion.
From memory.
The image struck her again without warning.
Pink hair cut wild, uneven, like a wolf's mane caught in a storm.
Eyes that didn't reflect light correctly. As if the world bent away from them.
Lucere.
