The night was horrifying as you know.
The dunes outside were silent, the moon fractured in the black sky. Its broken light spilled through the bunker's narrow windows, striping the room with pale silver. Inside, only the smooth hum of the generator filled the silence.
Tom sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing his Yari with a rag. Across from him, Elior leaned against a wall, arms folded, lost in thought.
Neither of them were speaking anything out. The air between them was simple but not comfortable.
Tom broke the quietness.
"You ever wonder," he said, voice low, "if this whole thing…. was already decided before we even started?"
Elior's head tilted. "You mean fate?"
Tom nodded. "Note sure about fate. Just.… the way everything's been leading to something. It is like synchronicity. How everything is doubtful yet undeniable."
Elior's eyes flickered, the light from the lamp glinting off them. "I've wondered," he admitted, "but I don't believe in predetermined endings. We make them happen but it is true that it is undeniable."
Tom smiled faintly. "Right, that sounds very horrifying at times."
Elior chuckled once under his breath. "What about you, kid? You starting to believe in destiny?"
"Not exactly." Tom set the Yari down carefully. "There's something strange about how things keep looping back like puzzles pulling together, even when we jumble them."
Elior looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "You're thinking too far ahead. Try sleeping once in a while."
Tom smirked. "Says the guy who hasn't slept since last two days and twenty nights."
Elior opened his mouth to reply but stopped.
His eyes blinked once, twice looking away.
Then his hand shot to his temple.
Tom straightened immediately. "Elior?"
Elior's breath hitched. His body stiffened as if a cold current had passed through him.
The sound of the generator faded for a second, replaced by a low hum. A pressure filled the air, which was creating eerie thoughts and misdirections into Elior's mind.
"Something's…." Elior whispered, his voice breaking mid-word. "Something's coming."
Tom moved closer. "What do you mean? What now?"
Elior didn't answer. He stumbled forward, gripping the table. The veins in his neck tightened. His pupils flickered between blue and black, as though something beneath the surface was trying to claw out.
"Hey?" Tom reached out, but Elior raised a hand sharply.
"Don't…. touch me."
The shadows in the corners of the room seemed like someone was hiding there, silently spectating, bending slightly toward Elior, as if drawn by gravity. The faint smell of ozone filled the air.
A soft, from nowhere, from everywhere.
"He still carries it."
Tom froze.
"Who—who said that?"
Elior's head turned slowly, his eyes unfocused. "You…. heard it too?"
The shadows shivered again, the moonlight dimmed.
Elior's breathing quickened. "No," he muttered. "Didn't thought it could come this soon!"
Tom's heartbeat thudded in his ears. "Elior, what's happening?"
Elior didn't answer. He looked straight ahead at the wall though his eyes seemed to see far past it.
Then, under his breath, barely audible:
"Seven seals…. someone broke one."
The lamp flickered violently once, twice, thrice, then went out completely.
The room drowned in darkness.
Tom stood, Yari in hand, his pulse racing.
"Elior?"
By the dark corner of the room came a sound like breathing ruthlessly. It wasn't Elior's voice, without any doubt.
"Elior?"
A voice, distant, metallic, roared out but low.
"It's already begun."
....
Rosario was standing on a small wooden table, sleeves rolled up, face half-lit by the single working lamp above him.
The wires in front of him looked like veins he used to rip off . A fuse had burned out, and the bunker's main bulb was dead.
He clicked his tongue. "Power fluctuation," he muttered, unscrewing the socket carefully. "Too much draw from a single line. Typical mess."
A few survivors gathered around, curious. Grace leaned on the doorway, arms crossed but smiling. Arlong sat nearby, holding the toolbox.
Rosario pulled out the broken fuse and examined it, whispering to himself.
"See, electricity isn't magic. It's like people, it needs direction, balance, and a place to go. If it's blocked, it gets angry, burns through whatever's in its way."
Arlong tilted his head. "Where did you even learn this stuff, man?"
Rosario chuckled quietly. "Everywhere," he said. "I've seen many dead towns with lights that never came back."
Grace smiled softly. "Of course he knows. He's wandered the world longer than any of us. Probably wired half of it."
The survivors smiled, lighthearted. Rosario shrugged, pretending not to be proud but inside, something was melting his heart.
He twisted the new fuse in, tightened the wires, and pressed the switch.
The bulb turned on steady and golden.
The children near the corner was amazed. One of the old survivors murmured, "Feels like home again…."
Rosario stepped down from the table, wiping his hands on his pants.
"Electricity's like trust," he said quietly, half to himself. "You don't notice it until it's gone. Once it returns, even for a second, it reminds you what light feels like."
Arlong grinned. "You talk like an old philosopher every time you fix something."
"Who knows." Rosario said, smiling tiredly. "A lost person, but still trying to make things work. That's me."
Grace laughed softly and handed him a cup of warm tea. "You're doing more than that. You're keeping this place alive with your knowledge."
Rosario looked around the bunker. The worn walls, the shadows, the tired but smiling faces.
He didn't feel like an outcast or a wanderer.
He felt.… What home, family feels like.
The mercy of the light reached everyone, including him.
....
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the old generator outside.
A single lamp swung lightly from the ceiling, casting a long shadow across the cracked walls.
Elior sat on a chair letting his elbows on his knees, his eyes half lost in thought. Tom sat opposite, back straight, waiting for whatever Elior had to say.
"According to the script of 'O Beyou'," Elior began, his tone was slow, careful, "the Overseers can't descend completely unless they have at least one of the Haztek's Chalout, ancient runes that embody fragments of the cosmos itself."
Tom raised a brow. "Runes that.… embody the cosmos?"
Elior nodded, rubbing his temples. "There are seven of them. Each one holds a principle that shapes existence. They were forged when during the beginning era of cosmos by unknown Gods."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes staring at the lamp's soft light. "The fifth one is different. The Bizarro Solace of Sun. It's said to contain the dual nature of order and destruction. The blessing and the curse of light. According to numerous historical Saints' divinations, the Fifth Vessel carrying it is somewhere in Durkan."
Tom frowned. "Durkan again…. always Durkan." He paused, lowering his voice. "Do we know who it might be?"
Elior shook his head. "Just records, prophecies, scattered memories. Some say the vessel doesn't even know what it carries. According to history, the last person who was Artorias was sealed away over eight thousands years ago."
Dust floated in the air like tiny stars, caught in the lamplight.
After a moment, Tom asked, "You said something before.… about Azmaik? That he interfered in your dream?"
Elior's sligtly nodded his head.
He leaned forward, hands clasped. "It wasn't like a normal dream. He stood there, healthy as that day. Told me his goal was to ascend into the Higher Depth to achieve eternity. Said I will pay for killing him last time." Elior's lips curled faintly. "We even traded insults. He is as arrogant as ever."
Elior sighed in amusement.
Tom smirked a little. "Sounds like something you'd do."
Elior's smirk faded, though, as he stared down at the floor. "What bothered me wasn't the dream. It was how he entered it. Dreams are protected by the subconscious and even powerful Faces shouldn't be able to trespass without permission."
"So how did he?" Tom asked.
"I don't know." Elior's voice was low, thoughtful. "Either he's learned something new from the Higher Depth.… or something up there wants him to succeed."
Tom's expression darkened, unease creeping in. "If the Overseers really need the Haztek's Chalout, and Azmaik's already stepping up then we need to hurry."
"Time's running out." Elior finished for him.
The lamplight flickered once, and for a brief second, both of them fell silent. The silence that carried weight, like the world itself was listening.
Elior sighed softly, looking toward the wall. "Whatever happens next, the cyclone has already took its form. We just haven't seen its center yet."
Tom looked at him, serious now. "Then we better be ready when it hits."
Elior smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah.… we will be."