Six Hours After Crossing the Threshold…
The cell wasn't what Kairo had expected.
For one thing, it wasn't really a cell at all—more like a waiting room designed by someone with a deeply pessimistic view of human nature. The walls were made of some kind of crystalline material that seemed to absorb sound, light, and probably hope itself. There were no bars, no obvious locks, no dramatic iron gates like the dungeons in old stories.
Just four seamless walls, a pair of simple chairs, and the overwhelming certainty that leaving without permission was not an option.
"Well," Takumi said, his voice unnaturally muted by the strange acoustics, "this is going great so far."
Kairo paced from one wall to another, his amber eyes tracking the subtle patterns in the crystal. His void-step ability was responding to the confinement, essence crackling faintly around his fingertips as his power searched for gaps in reality that simply weren't there.
"There has to be a way out," he muttered. "Every prison has weaknesses. Every barrier can be—"
"Can be what?" Takumi interrupted. "Bypassed? Broken? By us?" He gestured at the walls with bitter amusement. "Kairo, we're Tier 2s sitting in a box built by people who casually reshape reality before breakfast. I'm pretty sure the chair I'm sitting on could probably kill us if it wanted to."
That was the most unsettling part of their situation. Nothing about this place felt actively hostile or threatening. The temperature was comfortable. The air was fresh. Even the lighting was pleasant—a warm, golden glow that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.
It was the kind of place where dangerous people were kept safe while more dangerous people decided what to do with them.
"How long do you think they'll leave us here?" Takumi asked.
"Long enough," a new voice answered.
Both boys spun toward the sound, but the walls remained seamless, unchanged. For a moment, Kairo wondered if he'd imagined it.
Then a section of what had appeared to be solid crystal simply... wasn't anymore.
Six figures stepped through the gap with the casual grace of people who had never encountered an obstacle they couldn't overcome.
The first thing that struck Kairo was how different they all were.
Not just in appearance—though their individual features ranged across the spectrum of human variation. But in the way they carried themselves, the way they occupied space, the way their very presence seemed to bend reality around them like light around a star.
These weren't just powerful people.
These were forces of nature wearing human shapes.
Yahto entered first, and immediately Kairo understood why he was called the Captain of the First Division. Everything about him radiated controlled authority—from his broad shoulders and jet-black hair to the way his black eyes seemed to catalog every detail of the room in a single glance. When he moved, the air itself seemed to make room for him.
Saar followed, leaner but no less dangerous. His sharp black eyes swept over the two prisoners with the detached efficiency of a predator evaluating prey. There was something coiled about him, like a spring wound too tight, ready to explode into motion at the first sign of threat.
Mirele glided in with a grace that made walking look like an art form. Her long black hair moved like liquid shadow, and her calm, guarded expression gave away nothing of her thoughts. But Kairo could feel something around her—a sense of barriers, invisible walls that would stop anything she deemed unworthy of reaching her.
Nyarai they had already met, of course. He positioned himself slightly apart from the others, those impossible black eyes studying the boys with the same unsettling intensity as before. If anything, being in the presence of his fellow captains seemed to make his otherworldly awareness even more pronounced.
Lukyan was perhaps the most unnerving of all, despite—or perhaps because of—his youth. At twenty-three, he should have been closer to their age, more relatable. Instead, there was something wrong about the way he smiled, the way his black eyes seemed to glitter with private amusement at jokes nobody else could hear.
And finally, Indra—tall, serene, with shoulder-length black hair that seemed to catch light that wasn't there. He moved with deliberate slowness, as if he existed on a different timescale from everyone else. When his black eyes focused on something, that something felt suddenly significant, as though the universe itself had taken notice.
They arranged themselves in a loose semicircle, not quite surrounding the boys but making it clear that escape was not an option. The crystal walls seemed to pulse faintly, responding to their presence.
"So," Yahto said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, "you want to join the Beyond Order."
It wasn't a question.
Takumi straightened in his chair, flames flickering just beneath his skin despite his obvious nervousness. "Yes. We do."
"And you came here," Saar added, his tone suggesting this was somehow amusing, "without invitation, without recommendation, without any credentials beyond your own desperation."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "Our friend is missing. Vanished without a trace. The local authorities can't help us, the dojo instructors have no answers, and everyone else has given up looking."
"So you thought," Mirele said, her voice calm and measured, "that you would simply walk into the most elite organization in Astralyn and demand assistance."
"We didn't demand anything," Kairo shot back, his amber eyes blazing. "We're asking for help. And we're willing to do whatever it takes to get it."
"Whatever it takes?" Lukyan repeated, that unsettling smile widening. "How wonderfully... naive."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Kairo felt something brush against the edges of his mind—not quite fear, but something darker, more primal. His void-step ability reacted instinctively, essence crackling around his fingers as his power tried to find escape routes from whatever was reaching for his thoughts.
"Enough," Indra said quietly, and the oppressive presence vanished. His black eyes regarded Lukyan with mild disapproval. "They're children, not enemies."
"Children who broke into royal sector," Nyarai observed. "Children who evaded checkpoint security with forged documents. Children who somehow managed to approach our headquarters without triggering any of our perimeter defenses."
Yahto's eyebrows rose slightly. "Is that so?"
"The void-stepper has better instincts than his tier suggests," Nyarai continued, those impossible eyes fixed on Kairo. "And the fire-wielder's emotional control is... adequate, despite his volatile nature."
"High praise from you," Saar remarked dryly.
"It's an observation, not praise."
Mirele leaned forward slightly, her barriers shifting to allow closer scrutiny. "Tell us about your friend. The one who vanished."
Kairo and Takumi exchanged glances. How much should they reveal? How much could they reveal without sounding insane?
"His name is Itsuki Naoya," Kairo began carefully. "He's seventeen, same as us. We were training together at Zenkai Dojo when he... disappeared."
"Disappeared how?" Indra asked, his voice carrying the weight of genuine interest.
"He was there one morning, gone by evening," Takumi said. "No signs of struggle, no witnesses, no trace of where he went or how he left. It's like he just... wasn't anymore."
The captains exchanged glances—subtle communications that spoke of shared knowledge and long experience with impossible cases.
"And his ability?" Yahto prompted.
Another hesitation. Itsuki's Abstract Shift was Mythic-tier, the kind of power that drew attention from very dangerous people. But lying to these individuals seemed like an even worse idea.
"Abstract Shift," Kairo said finally. "Mythic rarity. He can alter the fundamental nature of objects and concepts."
The reaction was immediate and telling.
Yahto's eyes sharpened with genuine interest. Saar straightened from his casual lean against the wall. Even Mirele's carefully neutral expression flickered with something that might have been concern.
"Mythic," Lukyan breathed, his unsettling smile faltering for the first time. "Well, well. That changes things considerably."
"Does it?" Nyarai asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"A Mythic-tier wielder vanishing without trace?" Indra mused, his ethereal demeanor gaining weight. "Yes. That would definitely fall under our jurisdiction."
Takumi leaned forward eagerly. "Then you'll help us? You'll look for him?"
"Perhaps," Yahto said carefully. "First, let's discuss your qualifications to assist in such a search."
He settled back slightly, the gesture somehow making him seem even more imposing.
"Tell me—what tier are you both currently?"
"Tier 2," Kairo answered honestly, his amber eyes meeting Yahto's black ones without flinching.
The silence that followed lasted exactly three heartbeats.
Then Yahto threw back his head and laughed.
It wasn't cruel laughter—not exactly. But it was the sound of someone who had just heard something so absurdly optimistic that they couldn't help but be genuinely amused. The kind of laughter that came from the collision between innocent hope and harsh reality.
"Tier 2," he repeated between chuckles, wiping at his eyes. "Oh, that's... that's actually adorable."
Mirele's hand moved to cover what was definitely a smirk, her barriers flickering with suppressed amusement.
Lukyan shook his head with exaggerated pity, making soft tsk-tsk sounds. "Oh, children. Sweet, brave, utterly delusional children."
Saar didn't even try to hide his amusement, though his remained more restrained than Yahto's open hilarity.
Only Nyarai and Indra maintained their composed expressions, though something that might have been sympathy flickered in their eyes.
"I'm sorry," Yahto said, finally getting his laughter under control. "I don't mean to be unkind. It's just... do you have any idea what the minimum requirements are for Beyond Order consideration?"
"Tier 4," Takumi said quietly, the color draining from his face as understanding began to dawn.
"Minimum Tier 4," Saar confirmed. "With demonstrated mastery of advanced techniques, proven ability to operate independently in hostile environments, and psychological evaluations that confirm mental stability under extreme stress."
"The average member of our Order," Mirele added gently, "is Tier 4 with at least a decade of specialized training. Our captains are all Tier 5 or approaching it."
"Our leader," Indra said, his voice carrying overtones of reverence, "operates on scales that make conventional tier classifications meaningless."
Lukyan's unsettling smile returned full force. "And you two thought you could simply... what? Walk in off the street and demand positions in our ranks?"
The words hit like physical blows. Kairo felt his carefully maintained composure begin to crack, desperation seeping through the gaps like poison.
"But... but our friend..."
"Will be investigated appropriately," Yahto said, his amusement fading into something more professional. "A Mythic-tier disappearance is indeed within our purview. But that investigation will be conducted by qualified personnel."
"Not," Saar added with brutal clarity, "by a pair of Tier 2 children playing at being heroes."
The rejection settled over them like a suffocating blanket.
Everything they had risked—the dangerous journey to Astralyn, the illegal entry into royal sector, the desperate gamble of approaching the Beyond Order—all of it rendered meaningless by a simple numerical designation.
Tier 2.
In a world where power was everything, where the ability to reshape reality determined your place in the hierarchy of existence, they were nothing. Less than nothing. They were children with parlor tricks trying to play in games that killed gods.
"However," Yahto continued, his tone softening slightly, "your... initiative... is noted. Breaking into royal sector without alerting security, approaching our headquarters undetected, and demonstrating enough raw determination to risk everything for a friend... these are qualities we value."
"Just not at Tier 2," Lukyan added helpfully.
Mirele shot him a disapproving look before turning back to the boys. "There are training programs. Accelerated development courses. If you're truly serious about reaching the level required for consideration..."
"How long?" Kairo interrupted, his voice hoarse with desperate need.
"For dedicated individuals with significant natural talent?" Indra mused. "Three to five years to reach Tier 4. Another decade to prove competency at that level."
"Fifteen years," Takumi whispered. "You want us to wait fifteen years while Itsuki is missing now."
"Time," Nyarai observed, "is not a factor we can control. Only endure."
The crystal walls seemed to pulse with finality. The interview was over. The decision made. The cruel mathematics of power had spoken, and they had been found wanting.
One by one, the captains began to file out through the gap in the crystal wall.
Yahto paused at the threshold, glancing back with something that might have been genuine regret. "Your friend's disappearance will be investigated. You have my word on that. But this is where your involvement ends."
Saar followed without comment, already dismissing them from his thoughts.
Mirele lingered for a moment longer. "The training programs I mentioned are real. If you're serious about developing your abilities..."
"Fifteen years," Kairo repeated numbly.
She nodded sadly and left.
Lukyan's departure was accompanied by that unsettling smile and a soft chuckle that seemed to echo long after he'd gone.
Indra moved with his characteristic deliberate pace, but paused to offer a single piece of advice: "Desperation makes poor fuel for growth. Find better reasons to become strong."
And finally, Nyarai. Those impossible black eyes studied them one last time, seeing truths they probably didn't want revealed.
"Your friend," he said quietly, "carries a burden greater than you realize. The forces interested in him operate on scales that would crush you both without noticing. Consider that mercy comes in many forms—including being told you're not ready for a battle that would destroy you."
Then he too was gone.
The gap in the crystal wall sealed itself with a sound like breaking glass, leaving them alone with their frustration, their inadequacy, and the crushing weight of their failure.
For the first time in days—since Itsuki's disappearance had set them on this desperate path—Kairo and Takumi were forced to sit still.
To really think about what they were dealing with.
To confront the possibility that some problems were simply too big for good intentions and determination to solve.
Minutes passed in heavy silence.
Takumi stared at his hands, watching small flames flicker between his fingers—such a small power, he realized now. Such a limited ability compared to the forces they'd just encountered. What was controlling fire compared to reshaping reality? What was teleporting short distances compared to seeing the fundamental truth of all existence?
"We're never going to be strong enough, are we?" he said finally.
Kairo's amber eyes tracked the patterns in the crystal walls with mechanical precision, his mind racing through possibilities and finding them all inadequate.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "Maybe we're not."
"So what do we do? Go home? Pretend none of this happened? Tell Itsuki's parents we tried but gave up because we weren't strong enough?"
The words hung in the air like accusations.
Outside their crystal prison, the Beyond Order continued its work—investigating impossible cases, confronting threats that could end civilizations, operating on scales that made individual lives seem insignificant.
And somewhere in that vast machinery of power and purpose, their friend's disappearance would be reduced to a file number and assigned to operatives whose names they would never know.
"No," Kairo said finally, his voice gaining strength. "We don't give up."
"Did you miss the part where they laughed at us? Where they made it clear we're completely, utterly, hopelessly outclassed?"
"I heard them." Kairo's void-step energy began to crackle around his fingers again, but this time it felt different. Less desperate, more focused. "But I also heard something else."
"What?"
"They didn't say we couldn't get stronger. They didn't say the training programs were impossible. They said fifteen years for the average person."
Takumi's flames flickered brighter. "You think we're above average?"
"I think," Kairo said, standing up and facing the sealed wall with new determination, "that we're about to find out exactly what we're capable of when everything we care about is on the line."
The crystal walls pulsed gently, as if responding to their renewed resolve.
Outside, the Beyond Order went about its business of saving the world.
And inside their comfortable prison, two Tier 2 boys began planning how to become strong enough to matter.
The real journey was just beginning.