The Todcast audio still looped in my head like a curse you couldn't unlearn:
League of Men—domestic terrorists.
Election season.
Government demands.
Crystal counters.
All "headlines."
All the same old play.
Except I'd seen the evidence Bo sent up the chain—photos that didn't feel like photos, maps with pins like a disease spread, and those neat little "donor" lists that were really buyers.
That's what brought us here.
Scene 1 — Crow
"Alexis—bring more blankets!"
My voice cut through the gym like a command barked in a battlefield—because that's what this was, just quieter.
A shelter disguised as a school gym. Fluorescent lights. Fold-out cots. Stacks of donated food that looked plentiful until you started counting mouths. Kids in rows, wrapped in too-thin jackets, staring at the floor like the floor was safer than eye contact.
I kept moving down the line, passing blankets to small hands.
"Thank you," a girl murmured.
I nodded once and kept going. Too much emotion and you became a mirror. Too little and you became a wall. I aimed for something in-between—present, but not soft enough to break.
We got sent out after the recent elections—because the new president cut a deal with the Society.
Full responsibility over the cults inside the nation.
That deal stripped the former party of most of its teeth. No more legal choke chains. No more political theatrics where they pretended they could "force" Travelers into compliance. The entire country felt it shift—like a jaw unclenching.
The older generation of Travelers complained anyway.
Tradeoffs, they said. Compromises. "What about the kids already involved?"
As if you could punish a child for the adults who shaped them.
The students were deployed again—backing up operations across multiple states, running relief and extraction side-by-side.
I had command of our division.
Alexis ran logistics like her brain was built for war supply chains.
Thomas ran security with the Traveler-students—strong idiots who could crack concrete but still needed someone to tell them which direction to face.
Amber led the Studies Department students—aid, triage, counseling, stabilization. The ones who could walk into grief and not flinch.
Alexis returned with bundles of food under one arm and blankets under the other. She didn't stop moving while she talked.
"Here, Crow. We're running low on supplies. We need to send word back to HQ to send more."
I took the bundle and immediately started passing them out again, one blanket per kid, one steady breath per flinch.
"I'll handle it," I said. "Me and Thomas will go meet with Huginn. He's running main operations here—he can route a supply push straight to us."
Alexis exhaled, then glanced across the room at the Studies kids working with Amber.
"What do you think about the Studies Department?"
I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I already knew the answer.
"They haven't grown much strength-wise," I said, blunt. "But the teachers have been beating them to death with Odin diaries and astral theory. Chiron even passed down a generalized cultivating method."
Alexis snorted like she'd felt the same homework burden.
"So we build around the students we keep seeing on missions," she said. "You could start offering pointers as the most experienced out of us."
"Not just me," I said. "You and Thomas too."
Alexis paused mid-step.
I kept going, voice calm, hands working.
"That's why I put Thomas with the idiots. They all have one thing in common—too stupid to think, too strong to ignore. Like dumb bulls that learned how to charge."
Alexis stared at me like she'd just been insulted and complimented at the same time.
"Amber is with Studies the most," I continued. "She'll struggle dealing with Travelers who've been in this world since childhood like us. That's where you fill her gap. Take charge of the smarter ones—mid-range to long-range specialists. The ones who survive by thinking."
"And you?" Alexis asked.
I finally glanced at her.
She already knew why I wasn't volunteering to be the "mentor" everyone wanted.
"Stick to researching my uncle and father," I said, turning back to the kids. "Huginn promised to tell me more than enough to keep me questioning myself."
Her mouth tightened.
I handed a boy my spare shirt—his sleeves were soaked through. He stared at it like it was a treasure.
"Huginn put the rank behind S-rank," I added. "We both know that's just time. This next year, I break through. I break my core."
Alexis' face flushed hard enough it looked like anger—until she turned away too fast for it to be anger.
"With you and Amber leading, I don't need to interfere," I said, almost casually. "You follow me just as much as Thomas does."
Alexis stopped, half-turned.
"Is there something you'd like to say, cousin?"
She walked off like the conversation never happened.
I watched her go, smiling.
Then I looked back at the kids.
Outside, somewhere beyond state lines, the world was shifting again.
It didn't feel like politics.
It felt like a torch rolling downhill—quiet, inevitable—about to hit something dry.
And burn.
Scene 2 — Tasey (Ridge Line / Black Site)
"You ready, Grim?"
Grim nodded once—no wasted motion—and tossed me his glasses.
I caught them and slid them on while he went prone, calm as a machine built for war.
He placed a magazine into his scopeless rifle like it was ritual.
No scope.
No adjustment.
He didn't need help aiming.
He needed permission.
I raised binoculars and pushed astral energy into my eyes until the horizon stopped being distance and became detail.
A dot beyond the mountain ridge—nestled in tree cover so thick it hid from aerial scans. A black site that "strangely" missed the official list.
Funny how evil always found the gaps in paperwork.
Huginn got coordinates from a leak that didn't exist on any report.
Me and Grim got sent to full-clear.
Even Baldur gave Grim permission to pull out the rifle for once.
We banned ourselves from using anything too destructive on Earth. Not because we couldn't—but because Earth was fragile, and if Travelers started "solving problems" with full output, the planet would become collateral.
But some things needed to be erased.
No debate.
No vote.
All three factions signed off—Cani-B, Huginn's main operation, Ashes of Circles, and the Giver.
Separate actions, same purpose.
We took on the criminal label again in exchange for a golden chance:
Cut out a tumor without the usual political leash.
I lowered the binoculars and looked at Grim.
His eyes brightened to a violent red.
Astral circles overlapped in front of him—one, two, three—stacking like gates being opened in sequence.
Twelve total.
His sigil of a Deadman hung in the air like a sentence.
Grim exhaled.
Thunder answered.
The bullet left the barrel clean.
Then it hit the first circle and lit like a spark.
Hit the second and became flame.
Hit the third and the sound changed—no longer a gunshot, but a tearing scream of air being forced to accept speed.
Each of the twelve rings multiplied the force.
An arm-sized slug of pure metal turned into a shooting star.
The pitch black night covering our hilltop flashed into daylight for half a second—
—and the mountain where the hideout was hidden disappeared.
Not "damaged."
Leveled.
The ridge trembled under the aftershock like the Earth itself flinched.
I tapped my earpiece.
"Signal the next group," I said. "Sweep surrounding cities. Pull every kid you can find. No hesitation."
We weren't just killing a building.
We were crippling response capability.
If the cult couldn't move.
If it couldn't communicate.
If it couldn't threaten—
Then the children might get a clean breath for once.
Scene 3 — Tasey (Breach / Cleanup)
I kicked down a burning door.
The fire wasn't planned—Grim's shot turned the area into heat and debris, and oxygen does what oxygen does when you give it an excuse.
"Contain it," I ordered immediately. "Water specialists—now. I'm not burning the forest down over garbage."
Teams moved.
Cani-B strike units flowed through gaps like they were poured into the mountain.
Grim stayed rear guard—resting, monitoring, commanding from the back like artillery always does. He didn't need to move fast. He needed to stay stable. He was the insurance policy if anything ugly crawled out.
None of us wanted to be outdone by that rookie criminal group, League of Men.
If they could knock our five plus the one Bo got labeled a terrorist for—then we could step it up.
This wouldn't go on the official list of crimes.
But we still got the satisfaction of Grim breaking loose for once.
Close-to-mid range, he was still dangerous.
But this?
This was his real shape.
Artillery specialist.
SSS-borderline Saint output in one strike, or multiple S-tier barrages sustained at mid range while backing me up.
Our normal setup.
I went in first, clearing anything that moved.
Wipe everything.
And if anything survives—
If it's human, contain it.
If it's not—
Don't ask questions.
A runner burst in through smoke, coughing, eyes watering.
"Tasey—can't find anyone surviving. We'll remove rubble, open pathways. Grim ordered triple manpower to cover the entire mountain. Derek and his wolf pack are already hunting in the ridges."
I nodded and walked into the largest warehouse.
The kind of place that always pretends to be storage.
Crates.
Metal hooks.
Chains too clean for "tools."
The smell of bleach trying to hide something older.
I sat down on a broken slab of concrete while the fire's smoke rolled around me.
It barely annoyed me.
"If you find survivors," I said, calm, "contain them. If they're human, send them to the cosmic therapist."
The runner blinked.
"Let her break them," I finished, voice flat. "I'm done listening to excuses."
Scene 4 — Crow (Command Unit / Huginn + TV)
"Approved. Anything else?"
Huginn didn't look up from his report. He sounded bored—like the world only mattered when it was on paper.
I forced my brain to cut off the memory of what I'd seen. Focus on supplies. Shelter counts. Transfer routes.
Huginn looked up at me like a reflex.
"What did I say?" he snapped. "We don't need your mom overreacting. We're already doing this publicly instead of quietly because of you. So no—stick with the kids until you understand what exactly you have inside you and what you saw. If you can't find answers then that's on you."
I slammed Alexis' logistics report book onto his desk.
The sound cracked through the room.
Huginn didn't flinch.
"No sir," I said, forcing my voice down. "I'll stick to the plan then."
I turned and left.
And that laughter inside me—soft, pleased—stirred again.
It only made my frown deepen.
Already in a deal with a God and not receiving even the slightest hint. Just a name. A title. And the feeling of being dragged around the country helping kids and training, trying to bridge the gap the Chinese teams were putting on everyone.
I met them at the last Explorer class meeting when I accompanied the Monkey of the Zodiacs—the hidden leader who annoys half the Explorers into hating him.
He forced me into a duel with his student, with Huginn in Rooster role egging it on.
I learned how to change species as a bird.
Now I had a measuring stick.
Along with Zeus.
Even though Ei Sei was younger than me and Zeus, he could put Thomas down with minimal effort due to his techniques being a direct counter—unless Thomas got creative enough to trick astral senses with spell usage.
I stepped into the command unit and the TV audio grabbed the room.
Most of the unit was paying attention—half working, half feeding on the broadcast like it was oxygen.
The current so called King of the outcast. A man barely ten years my senior who's return to fame. Saw him debuting as a S tier with a bunch of A rank followers. Is arguing with the European talking head of the old guard. A desperate attempt to shatter the budding movement among travelers in America.
"I understand you want your gotcha moment but here's the difference between me and you Mr.Tuck. You can call me a racist, the sexist or whatever and I'll accept it. Yet let me ask you a question since this isn't a good faith conversation anymore."
The reporter stiffened.
"So you're self admitting on live T.V that you agree with the numerous horrible titles the peers of your generation have labeled you with. Well that's refreshing to speak to the Devil of the internet."
Pulling out my generations nickname for the man who doves deeper into Odin lore and the predications he claimed that sea was going to reopen.
Even the society had to play dumb regarding his claims. With the new information concerning Odin. The man's theories. Which go viral these days ad the middle schoolers find his more accurate pieces. Although he couldn't know the inner details regarding the relationship and harsh facts like why Odin did it.
But his aiming of the blame on the Europeans and them forcing everyone to accept one narrative under their shared government. Now with zero ways to truly say this man is wrong. They're forced to confront him with the cuck this man's followers are currently leaking online.
"Let's be honest buddy. Out of the racist and the coward. It seems like your nation's generation is taking a side. Big surprise it's my country who they are siding with. Not the puppet of the last guard. The one we labeled as the one to pass the torch within the western media. How big of a scheme was it that one's passing the torch is young travelers of the west. Is it ironic that brought the Devil of the 2nd gen and not the Chaos Engine Tasey his brother.
Who by the way was pardon for his excellent service in beating down that fraud Artemis who Zeu- I mean Charles. Can't break the ban on his usage of that name. The same person who's been receiving unchecked authority by the supposed old gaurd. Where's his interview? Why hasnt the western media besides independent guys like Tod to cover that brat's crimes. So one knew and didn't tell."
The reporter's smile twitched, trying to keep it professional.
"You make excellent points young man. The only thing I can say is that we are investigating as journalist. I'm not a politician but your concerns will be passed to my friends. But we've run out of time so commercial break is up next with the mayor of London. Where can people find you?"
I saw the grin on the outcast king's face.
So did everyone else.
"I just want the English man to ask himself if their kids are imporant or stran—"
He got cut.
The reporter tried to mask his panic behind shock.
I didn't stay for the excuses.
I turned away from the TV and headed back to my division—back to blankets and food and names on clipboards.
Because while adults fought wars on screens…
Somewhere else, in a different kind of night, the first torches were already rolling downhill.
And the world was about to learn what burns fastest:
Wood.
Or lies.