"I'll think about that later. For now, I need to rest."
Nemor threw himself onto the bed, fingers still holding the photograph of the silver-haired girl dressed in a seventh-year university uniform. His eyes closed heavily. Consciousness slipped into darkness within seconds.
The silence of the room settled like a living presence, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing. Time passed slowly, marked only by the sunlight changing angles through the window.
Three hours later, the voice emerged.
It wasn't real. It was a memory echoing inside his mind like a persistent ghost. Hansel's calm, professional voice: "My question is: do you want to abandon the nightmare forever?"
His eyes opened violently. His body jerked up from the bed in a sharp spasm, muscles contracting. The photograph was still clutched between his fingers, paper crumpled by the unconscious pressure during sleep. He let it fall onto the sheet and dragged himself to the bathroom, legs still heavy.
The faucet creaked when he opened it. Cold water gushed into the sink. He leaned over and threw the icy liquid on his face repeatedly, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. But the water brought something he didn't expect.
The memory.
It came as it always came – fast, cruel, impossible to ignore. No matter how much he fought, no matter how much he tried to bury it deep, that specific memory always found its way back.
---
Busy street. People passed in all directions, some hurrying across between cars, others walking slowly along the sidewalks. But everyone, invariably, looked at the same spot.
The child sitting on the ground.
Six years old. Skin covered by layers of dirt that made it impossible to distinguish his real color. Clothes that once were white now hung in rags from the small, bony body. Tremors ran through his limbs even under the strong afternoon sun.
Nemor was leaning against a metal pole, knees pulled against his thin chest, trying to occupy the smallest space possible. As if he could disappear.
The voices came from all sides:
"I heard the parents were murdered. A gang of delinquents broke into the house."
"How tragic... Poor boy."
"Someone should take him in, don't you think?"
Pause. Heavy silence.
"Look at the state of him. In that deplorable state. Who in their right mind would put a child like that inside their house?"
---
The last sentence echoed in his mind like a slap.
Nemor blinked, vision returning to focus. He was back in the bathroom, hands gripping the edge of the sink with enough force to make his fingers hurt. The water kept running, wasted. He shut the faucet abruptly. He grabbed the hanging towel and rubbed his face harder than necessary, as if he could erase the memory along with the moisture.
He returned to the bedroom. The photograph remained on the bed, where he had left it. He picked it up again between his fingers, studying the girl's face. Silver hair falling over her shoulders, impeccable uniform, serene expression. He murmured low: "Abandon the nightmare. What a thing."
He put the photo in his pants pocket and opened the door.
The corridor was silent. He crossed to the stairs, descending each step carefully to avoid the ones that creaked loudest. The main room was modestly honest. Patched but clean sofa. Wooden table with scratches from years of use. Old television on furniture that had seen better days. It wasn't poverty, but it was far from comfort. It was the reality of those who worked hard for every penny.
He opened the front door and went out. The afternoon sun hit directly on his face, making him squint by reflex. But he didn't stop. He descended the small entrance stairs and began to walk.
The neighborhood streets were familiar. Every corner, every broken fence, every dog barking behind rusted gates. He passed everything without really seeing, mind focused only on the destination. His steps were slow but determined, footsteps marking the cracked asphalt with steady rhythm.
The more he walked, the more the scenery changed. The houses grew larger. The walls higher. The cars parked in the driveways were models he only saw in commercials. Even the air seemed different – less dust, more well-maintained trees.
He finally arrived.
Amister School. The name was engraved in golden letters on the wrought iron gate. The main building was a mixture of classical architecture with modern facilities. Perfectly trimmed gardens surrounded the complex. Students in impeccable uniforms could be seen through the windows, sitting in air-conditioned classrooms.
The most expensive school in the region. Where children of businessmen, politicians, doctors studied. People who never had to choose between food and the electric bill.
He crossed the street and sat on the edge of an ornamental fountain near the gate. Water gushed in an artificial cascade, constant sound that he barely registered. He stayed there, body tense, eyes fixed on the closed gate.
He waited.
Sasha's voice emerged in his mind, tone soft but worried: "Sir, the right thing would be to return home."
He responded mentally, irritation clear: "Don't be a pain in the ass."
Time dragged on. Students occasionally passed by the sidewalk, looking at him with curiosity or distrust. He ignored them all. Kept his focus on the gate.
Then the bell rang. Deep sound reverberating throughout the complex.
The gate opened slowly, automatic movement perfectly synchronized. And the wave came. Dozens of students poured through the opening like dammed water being released. Loud conversations, laughter, groups forming and dispersing. The noise was deafening after the silence of waiting.
He stood up. Muscles tense like steel cords. He took the photograph from his pocket and began comparing. Every female face that passed was quickly evaluated. Hair color. Face shape. Approximate height.
Then he stopped.
There.
Silver hair capturing the sunlight like polished metal. Impeccable red uniform, without a single fold out of place. Genuine laughter illuminating her face as she talked with two friends beside her. Expensive backpack hanging from one shoulder.
Hana.
He didn't think. Didn't plan. His body moved on its own. He crossed the crowd of students in a straight line, ignoring the irritated looks when he bumped into someone. He reached her within seconds.
He extended his arm. Fingers touched hers.
"Come with me."
The reaction was instantaneous. Hana jumped, eyes widening in surprise and confusion. The two friends beside her turned abruptly, expressions changing from casual amusement to genuine alarm.
"Who the hell are you, you delinquent?!" shouted one of them, shrill voice cutting through the air.
The other took a step forward, protective posture. "Let go of Hana's arm now!"
The word pierced through his chest like a sharp blade. Delinquent. He clenched his teeth involuntarily, jaw tightening with force. That word carried too much weight. Too many memories.
He raised his head and forced his voice to come out calm: "I saved you. How about a little respect?"
Hana stared at him with a mixture of confusion and growing fear. "So what? That doesn't give you the right to hold me like this!"
The friends noticed the photograph in his other arm. One of them stepped back, voice coming out high-pitched:
"Hana, he has a picture of you!" She pointed with a trembling finger. "We need to call security. This guy is a stalker!"
"I'm nothing like that," he responded, frustration burning in his voice.
"You still have the nerve to deny it?!" The other friend practically spat the words, taking a protective step in front of Hana.
The crowd around began to stop. Conversations gradually died as more and more students realized what was happening. Circles formed, everyone watching. Whispers grew like a swarm of bees.
"Who's that guy?"
"He's holding Hana..."
"Someone call the police!"
Sasha's voice emerged urgent in his mind: "Sir, my recommendation stands. Move away from the girl."
He completely ignored it.
Hana tried to break free, pulling her arm with force. "Let me go, you pervert!"
Then he felt it. Like an electric current running down his spine. Tingling on his nape. Invisible weight pressing against his skin. Energy. Power. Multiple sources pulsing at different frequencies, coming from various directions at the same time. The sensation was unmistakable to someone who had felt it before.
His breathing stopped for a second. He asked mentally, voice tense: "Did you sense that?"
Sasha responded immediately: "Yes, sir. Power energies. It seems some intos are already here."
He didn't hesitate. Using superhuman strength that made Hana give a choked scream of surprise, he grabbed her by the collar in a single, fluid movement. She weighed almost nothing to someone with his amplified strength.
"If you don't come with me," he said looking directly into her wide eyes, "they'll take you."
The crowd exploded in shouts and shocked exclamations. Students instinctively stepped back, creating space. Hana's friends were paralyzed, mouths open but unable to form words.
Hana began to struggle. "LET ME GO! Who are you talking about?! Who's going to take me besides you, you perverted kidnapper?!"
He turned his head to the left side. There. Five men in black suits crossing through the crowd with decided steps. Something about them was wrong. The way they moved. Too synchronized. Too focused. Completely ignoring the chaos around while everyone else looked amazed.
"Those guys," he said pointing with his head.
In that instant, he planted his feet on the ground. Leg muscles contracted. Red energy exploded around his lower limbs.
And he shot off.
The speed was so absurd that the wind created by the movement made nearby students stumble. In one second he was there. In the next, he had already crossed fifty meters.
Behind him, chaos.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
"He... he just disappeared!"
"HE TOOK HANA!"
The friends finally found their voices, screaming in genuine panic: "SOMEONE DO SOMETHING! HE KIDNAPPED HANA!"
But he was already too far to hear.
---
The five men in suits stopped where he had been seconds before. All bore a red cross on their forehead and two horizontal bars. One of them clenched his fist, solar energy beginning to pulse.
The leader spoke, voice calm but loaded with authority: "Track him."
The five disappeared in bursts of superhuman speed, following the energy trail left behind.
---
Nemor ran through the streets at a speed that turned everything around into blurs of color. He jumped over the hood of a parked car, feet barely touching the metal before propelling himself again. He dodged a pole by centimeters. He turned a corner at an impossible angle, body tilted parallel to the ground.
Hana tried to scream something, but the wind hitting her face with hurricane force made it impossible to form coherent words. She squinted her eyes, tears being torn from the corners and flying backward.
Sasha's voice echoed in his mind, tone more urgent: "Sir, I still maintain my recommendation. Please, avoid the girl."
He responded through clenched teeth, mental voice harsh: "Do you happen to know what these guys can do to her? So don't come at me with that!"
He dodged a pedestrian who shouted something incomprehensible. He jumped over a low fence. He crossed a narrow alley where he barely fit.
Hana finally managed to gather enough strength to shout above the wind: "WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO, YOU LUNATIC?!" Pause to breathe, voice breaking. "WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"
He didn't answer. Kept his focus on running, on putting distance between them and the pursuers.
But she didn't give up. Her voice came out trembling, torn: "IF YOU DON'T LET ME GO... I'M GOING TO CRY! PLEASE!" The tears came now not only from the wind, but from genuine fear. "PUT ME ON THE GROUND! I'M SCARED!"
Something tightened in his chest. Guilt. Sharp and unexpected.
He planted his feet on the ground abruptly. The friction generated sparks against the asphalt. The speed decreased within seconds until stopping completely. They were on an isolated street, surrounded by abandoned buildings and graffitied walls.
He placed Hana on the ground carefully.
She collapsed immediately, legs not holding her weight. She stayed there, sitting on the dirty asphalt, and began to cry. Loud. Desperate. Body shaking violently.
He looked at her, discomfort growing. He opened his mouth to speak.
"I... I'm sorry."
But in that instant, the air vibrated.
Dust near the ground dissipated in concentric waves. From all sides. Right. Left. Front. Back.
They were there.
On the left side, the five men in suits who had started the pursuit. On the right side, ten others who must have come as reinforcement. Fifteen in total. All with red cross and two bars on their forehead.
Completely surrounded.
He clenched his fists. "Shit."
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, screen lighting up through the fabric. He took it out quickly. Name shining: Mom.
He looked at the screen for a second. There was no way to answer. Not now. He put the device back, guilt adding to the tension.
Hana continued crying on the ground, completely oblivious to the danger that surrounded them.
The pressure in the air was palpable. Fifteen energy sources pulsing simultaneously, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
Then the center of the circle illuminated.
Blue rays exploded from nowhere, tearing through space. When they dissipated, a figure was there.
Hansel.
Impeccable black suit. Upright posture. Four bars on his forehead glowing slightly. Hands in pockets, expression calm as if he were commenting on the weather.
He took a step forward. "Hand over the girl."
Nemor asked mentally, urgency clear: "Tell me. What are my chances of winning?"
Sasha responded after a brief pause, voice neutral: "Your chances, sir, are seven percent."
His eyes widened.
Sasha continued: "But that doesn't mean you're going to take a beating." Deliberate pause. "You just need to give me a name."
He frowned. "Is this a good time for this?!"
"Yes, sir. I demand a name. After all, you created me."
"Enough with this creation talk!"
Hansel tilted his head slightly. He spoke with almost polite calm: "Are you not going to hand over the girl?" He took another step. "It would be much easier for everyone."
Sasha insisted: "Sir, please. My name."
"You're very annoying!" He took a deep breath, frustration mixed with desperation. He thought quickly. He murmured low: "How about Sasha? It's a nice name. You can keep it."
Hana had stopped crying. She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, vision gradually returning to focus. When she could see clearly, she found herself facing the men in suits. Same uniforms. Same marks on the forehead. Identical to those who had pursued her before, when that strange boy had saved her for the first time.
Renewed terror ran through her body. She quickly crawled across the ground until she was at Nemor's feet, clinging to the hem of his pants. Voice trembling: "What's happening? Who are these people?"
Sasha responded, tone satisfied and solemn: "Yes, sir. Sasha is a perfect name." Pause. "Do you wish for me to appear?"
He asked mentally: "Could you handle them?"
"Yes, sir." Absolute conviction in her voice. "After all, I am a deity. Your deity."
He had no idea what that meant. But there was no time to think. "Whatever that means... appear."
VROOMM.
The air tore behind him. Golden energy mixed with red exploded from his back in concentric waves that made space itself tremble. The pressure was physical, pushing against everyone's skin.
The fifteen men stepped back half a step involuntarily, expressions finally showing emotion. Intimidation. Uncertainty.
Hansel maintained his upright posture, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
Hana moved away from Nemor stumbling, voice coming out in a trembling whisper: "Who... who are you?"
The energy began to take shape. Light solidifying into contours.
When it finally dissipated, she was there.
Sasha.
Two magnificent wings sprouted from her back – one golden like the sun, another red like living embers. Bare feet floated centimeters above the ground. Long hair waved slightly even without wind. Serene expression but loaded with incomprehensible power.
Very close to Nemor. Protective.
Some of the men visibly trembled. Others clenched their fists, trying to maintain composure.
Sasha looked at Nemor and said, voice calm as always: "Sir, you can rest easy." She turned to face the fifteen men and Hansel. "I'll deal with all of them."
**END OF CHAPTER 3**