Lunaria woke to a ceiling that no longer existed.
For a long moment, he lay still, staring at open sky framed by broken beams and jagged stone. Pale morning light poured through drifting dust, soft and indifferent. The air smelled of ash and old smoke, a scent so deeply embedded that it felt like it had soaked into his lungs.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
His body answered slowly, pain surfacing in distant echoes rather than sharp warnings. Everything ached, but nothing screamed. That alone told him how long he had been unconscious.
A week.
He pushed himself up, muscles protesting in a tired, resigned way. The ruined house creaked around him, walls cracked but standing, sheltering nothing but silence. No footsteps. No voices. No presence humming at the edge of perception.
Too quiet.
Lunaria swung his legs over the edge of the broken couch and stood. The world tilted briefly before settling. As he steadied himself, his fingers brushed his neck, then his hair—and stopped.
It felt… wrong.
He drew a lock forward.
Silver hair slid through his fingers and ended abruptly around his upper chest, uneven and lighter than it should have been. Half its former length. No ribbon. No tie. Nothing restraining it.
It framed his face openly now, softening sharp lines, exposing his neck, his jaw, the quiet delicacy he usually kept hidden beneath discipline and control.
He stared at his reflection in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall.
The Lunaria staring back looked different.
Not weaker.
Just… changed.
He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a simple black nose mask. He slipped it on without thinking, the fabric covering the lower half of his face, leaving only silver eyes and loose hair exposed. The contrast made his features look almost unreal—feminine in a way that felt unintentional, almost dangerous.
He turned away.
The moment he stepped outside, the truth struck him like a physical blow.
The city was gone.
Not damaged. Not ruined.
Erased.
Where towers once stood, there were craters and fused stone. Streets had collapsed inward, forming vast scars that stretched farther than he could see. Buildings were flattened into layers of debris, steel bent as though softened by unbearable heat. Ash blanketed everything, thick enough to swallow sound.
No birds flew overhead.
No insects crawled.
No distant alarms. No systems. No voices.
Only corpses.
They lay everywhere—hunters in shattered armor, civilians frozen in their final moments, bodies half-buried beneath rubble. The dead were so numerous that they blurred together, turning streets into silent graveyards.
Lunaria stopped breathing for a moment.
"This…" His voice came out muted behind the mask. "So this is what remains."
Footsteps approached from behind.
"You're awake."
Ash's voice was steady, but there was relief beneath it. Lunaria turned to see him standing a short distance away, eyes tired but alert. Kael leaned against a broken pillar nearby, arms crossed. Riven sat on a slab of concrete, sharpening a blade out of habit more than necessity. Juno stood slightly apart, gaze fixed on the horizon.
"How long?" Lunaria asked.
"A week," Kael replied. "No movement. No survivors."
Lunaria looked back at the city. "Nothing?"
Juno shook her head. "We searched everything. Not just here—surrounding zones too. There's no life left. Only… this."
The word hung heavy.
Lunaria stepped forward, boots crunching softly on ash. He knelt beside one of the fallen and closed the man's eyes with gentle fingers. He did it again. And again. Slowly. Methodically.
"We can't leave them like this," he said.
Ash nodded. "We didn't."
They gathered the dead together.
There were too many for graves. Too many stories lost. They stacked bodies carefully, laying them out with the kind of respect usually reserved for heroes and kings. Broken beams became pyres. Twisted metal became boundaries.
When the fires were lit, they burned steadily, flames climbing high into the sky. Smoke rose thick and dark, carrying with it the last remnants of a city that would never be rebuilt.
Lunaria stood closest to the fire.
His loose hair stirred in the heat, silver catching orange light. The nose mask hid his expression, but his eyes reflected the flames clearly—steady, unblinking.
"I couldn't save them," he said quietly.
Ash stepped beside him. "You saved us."
"That doesn't balance it."
"No," Ash admitted. "But it matters."
When the fires finally died, the city was nothing but ash and silence.
They returned to the ruined house one last time.
Inside, they changed.
Clean clothes scavenged from what remained. Armor repaired as best as possible. Supplies gathered for travel. When Lunaria emerged, his hair was still loose, framing his face openly, the mask in place. Without the ribbon, without restraint, there was something striking about him—soft lines paired with eyes that had seen annihilation.
Kael studied him for a moment. "You're not tying it back?"
Lunaria shook his head. "Not anymore."
Riven smirked faintly. "Looks good on you."
Ash didn't comment. He just looked away a second too late.
They stepped outside together.
There was nothing left tying them to this place. No guild. No orders. No future among ruins.
"We move," Kael said. "Another city. Somewhere alive."
"As S-ranked hunters," Riven added. "Not by title. By survival."
Lunaria looked at them—his companions, his anchors—and nodded.
"Together," he said.
"Together," Ash echoed.
They left at dawn.
Five figures walking away from a dead city, ash clinging to their boots, smoke fading behind them. Lunaria did not look back. His hair moved freely in the wind, mask hiding his breath, silver eyes fixed forward.
The city was gone.
But they were not.
And wherever they settled next, the world would feel the echo of what had been lost—and the presence of those who remained.