When the dust settled, there was no fire. Just silence. The kind that buzzed in your ears after thunder. The kind that felt like the world holding its breath, waiting to see if it was allowed to exhale.
Seraph woke first, lungs full of smoke and grit. Her visor was cracked, vision blurred at the edges. She dragged herself upright, tasting blood, feeling the sharp sting of cuts along her arms. Around her, the warehouse—what was left of it—looked like a war zone. No. Worse. A graveyard. Twisted metal. Shattered glass. Wires hanging like severed nerves. The walls had buckled inward, the roof half-collapsed. And in the center of it all, a crater—smoking, still warm, shaped like two overlapping spirals.
She scanned the wreckage, heart pounding. "Ilias?" Silence. "Ilias!" Nothing. Panic clawed at her chest. She stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in her ribs, her leg, the way her vision swam. "Where are you?"
A groan answered her—low, pained, familiar. Reverb. He was half-buried under debris, one arm trapped beneath a fallen beam. Blood ran down the side of his face, but his eyes were open, focused. "Still… breathing," he rasped.
Seraph knelt beside him, checking his vitals with the efficiency of someone who'd done this too many times. "Can you move?"
"Define… move."
"Can you walk?"
"Eventually."
She helped him sit up, pulling the beam off his arm with a grunt. He hissed in pain but didn't scream. Good. That meant nothing was broken—at least, nothing critical.
"Where's Ilias?" she asked.
Reverb shook his head, still dazed. "Last I saw, he and Kojo were—" He stopped. Blinked. "Wait. You don't think—"
"No." Seraph's voice was flat. "I don't."
But she wasn't sure. She stood, scanning the crater again. No bodies. No blood. Just footprints—two sets, leading away through the rubble toward the back exit. And something else. A faint signal, pulsing in the corner of her visor's HUD. Weak. Intermittent. But there.
Her stomach dropped. The tracker.
Three Days Ago
Seraph had planted it while Ilias slept. A nano-tracker, Church-issue, designed to embed itself in skin and broadcast a low-frequency signal undetectable to most scanners. She'd told herself it was for his safety. That if they got separated, if the Cult took him, if the Council found him first—she'd be able to find him. She'd told herself it was the right thing to do.
But now, staring at that blinking signal on her HUD, she felt sick. Because she knew what it meant. If she could track him, the Church could too. And if Kojo had taken him somewhere—anywhere—she'd just handed the Church a map straight to his door.
"Shit," she whispered.
Reverb looked up at her. "What?"
She didn't answer. Just pulled up the signal, traced the path. It led east, deeper into the Morrows, toward the edge of the district where the buildings got older, the streets narrower, the Church's reach thinner. And then it stopped. Right at the location of a small clinic.
Mira's Hope — Free Resonance Care
Seraph's chest tightened. "We need to move. Now."
The clinic was small, tucked between two crumbling tenements, half-hidden by rusted fire escapes and tangled wiring. The sign out front was hand-painted, faded, barely legible. But the door was reinforced steel, and the windows were barred. Inside, it smelled like antiseptic and old coffee.
Ilias sat on a cot near the back, head in his hands, white hair still streaked with dust and ash. His golden eyes were dull, exhausted. He looked like he'd been hollowed out and put back together wrong. Kojo stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with an expression caught between concern and resignation.
And across from them both, cleaning a set of surgical tools with the calm efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times, was Mira. She looked up when they entered, eyes sharp but kind. "You must be Seraph."
Seraph's hand moved to her blade. "How do you know my name?"
"Kojo told me." Mira set down the tools, wiped her hands on a towel. "He also told me you've been keeping my brother alive. Thank you."
Seraph's jaw tightened. "I didn't do it for you."
"I know." Mira's smile was faint, knowing. "But I'm grateful anyway."
Ilias looked up, eyes locking on Seraph. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, quietly: "You came."
"Of course I came." Her voice was sharper than she meant. "You exploded a building and disappeared. What did you think I'd do?"
"I don't know." He looked away. "Leave, maybe. You'd have every right to."
"Don't be an idiot."
That earned a faint smile. "Too late."
Mira cleared her throat gently. "I'll give you two a moment."
She stepped out, pulling Kojo with her. The door closed, leaving Seraph and Ilias alone. Silence stretched between them—heavy, fragile, full of things neither of them knew how to say.
Finally, Seraph spoke. "I need to tell you something."
Ilias looked at her, wary. "What?"
"I planted a tracker on you. Three days ago. While you were sleeping."
His expression didn't change. Just stared at her, processing. "Why?"
"Because I was trying to protect you." Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. "If the Cult took you, if the Council found you first—I wanted to be able to find you."
"And now the Church can too."
She nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. They can."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: "You should've told me."
"I know."
"I would've understood."
"I know."
Another silence.
Then Ilias laughed—short, bitter, exhausted. "You know what's funny? I'm not even mad. I get it. You were scared. You didn't know what else to do." He looked at her. "But you should've trusted me."
"I do trust you."
"Then act like it."
The words hit harder than any blow. Seraph felt something crack inside her—not anger, not betrayal. Just exhaustion.
"I'm trying," she said quietly. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to care about someone without trying to control every variable, every risk, every—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know how to let go."
Ilias stood, walked over to her. For a moment, she thought he might yell, might push her away.
Instead, he just put a hand on her shoulder.
"Then learn," he said quietly. "Because I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."
Sanctum Prime
Far above the Morrows, in the gleaming heart of the High City, the Church of Crescendia pulsed with golden light. The inner hall was vast, lined with Choirmen in white and gold, each chanting in harmonic intervals that made the air vibrate like glass. At the center, seated on an obsidian dais, was Archon Malrec—High Resonant of the Church, voice like silk wrapped around steel.
"The anomaly has surfaced again," he said quietly.
A robed figure beside him bowed. "Our trackers confirm it. Two Resonant signatures, intertwined. The younger one… unstable."
"And the older?"
"Modified beyond protocol. The Requiem imprint is still active."
Vean's eyes gleamed. "Then our experiment And sins lives."
He stood, robes dragging across the floor like smoke. "Summon the Sanctifiers. Prepare the Choir Engines. If the brothers have found each other, the song is changing key."
The choir shifted tones—beautiful, dreadful, divine. A weapon being tuned.
Night had fallen. Rain whispered against the windows. They'd gathered around a makeshift table—Ilias, Seraph, Kojo, Mira, Reverb. A fire burned in an old barrel, casting shadows across their faces.
Mira poured coffee from a battered thermos, hands steady despite everything. "So. What's the plan?"
"We run," Reverb said immediately. "Far and fast."
"Run where?" Seraph asked. "The Church has eyes everywhere. The Council's mobilizing. The Cult's hunting him. There's nowhere left to hide."
"Then we don't hide," Kojo said. "We fight."
"With what?" Seraph's voice was sharp. "Three fighters, a medic, and a hacker? Against the Church?"
"We're not alone," Mira said quietly.
Everyone looked at her.
She set down her cup, met their eyes. "There are other Churches. Ones that don't answer to Crescendia. Ones that might help."
"Why would they?" Seraph asked.
"Because Ilias is from the outer sectors," Mira said. "Same as them. The Basilica of Boomlight, the Temple of Audion—they've been watching. They know what Crescendia's doing. And they don't like it."
Ilias frowned. "You're saying they'd protect me?"
"I'm saying they might." Mira leaned forward. "But you'd have to ask. And you'd have to trust them."
"Trust," Ilias muttered. "Yeah. That's been going great so far."
Kojo smirked. "Welcome to the family business, little brother."
Despite everything, Ilias laughed. And for the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt just a little bit lighter.