The scanners hummed softly.
Green-blue light washed over Reina's unmoving body as the device completed its cycle. The older soldier straightened, checking the small monitor one last time.
"Done," he said calmly. "She's not a sealbreaker."
A younger soldier scoffed, lowering his own scanner. "Didn't the general tell us to call them anomalies? People overhear that word and start connecting dots. Haven't you read the forums? We're an army, not—"
The sentence never finished.
A fist slammed into his face with brutal precision. The sound was dull and wet. The young soldier hit the pavement hard, blood spilling from his mouth as he gasped, stunned.
Silence followed.
"Speak out of line again," said a third soldier coldly, standing over him, "and you won't speak at all."
Another voice cut in, deeper, heavier.
"Kill her."
The man who spoke stepped forward.
Light gray beard, long and rough, his face lined with age and authority. He removed his military cap, revealing a bald head. His skin was dark, his eyes pitch black, empty in a way that suggested he had watched too many people die to care anymore.
A soldier snapped to attention. "As you say, general—sir. Um… General Alaric."
Veyron moved.
Not consciously.
Not rationally.
His hand shot out and clamped around Alaric's leg.
The grip was iron.
For someone half-conscious, barely breathing, it was impossible. Muscles screamed, nerves burned, but Veyron held on like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Alaric looked down, surprised.
"Hm."
He twisted his leg violently, barely pulling free, then stepped down hard on Veyron's arm.
Pain exploded. Veyron screamed. Bones protested. His vision blurred. He tasted blood.
Alaric raised his weapon.
The pistol looked unreal. Dark-metallic, compact, its top lined with curved vents like shark gills, faint blue energy pulsing within them. It hummed softly as it powered up.
He aimed it at Reina's head.
No hesitation.
No speech.
No mercy.
The shot fired.
There was no slow motion.
No dramatic pause.
Just a sharp crack of energy slicing through the air.
Veyron's eyes widened in pure terror—
And then—
The soldier standing beside Reina collapsed.
The body hit the ground lifelessly, smoke curling from a wound that should never have been his.
Above Reina's body, for a fraction of a second, something existed.
A perfect square.
A completely transparent, blue-energized mirror suspended in the air.
It shimmered.
Then vanished.
"What—" someone muttered.
Before anyone could react, a woman appeared.
She was simply there.
Standing behind Reina, holding her gently, as if she had always been there. Long dark hair, pale skin, sharp eyes filled with something between amusement and grief.
"Missed a shot there, General," she said lightly. "Looks like you shot one of your soldiers… again."
Her smile was thin. Knowing.
Almost mocking.
Alaric's eyes narrowed.
"That shot wasn't missed," Veyron thought to himself. "It was aimed perfectly, but it reflected."
Veyron couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. His mind refused to accept what he had just seen. A shot that bent reality. A mirror made of energy. A woman who appeared out of nowhere and caught death itself. Nothing about the world made sense anymore.
No one gave the order. They didn't need to. The moment the woman appeared, every soldier reacted on instinct.
Gunfire erupted.
Energy rounds, bullets, projectiles that hummed and cracked through the air—all of them aimed at the woman holding Reina's body.
She didn't move.
Instead, mirrors appeared.
Not one. Many.
Huge, translucent blue mirrors formed around her, each one the size of her entire body, angled and overlapping like shards of a broken reality. The shots struck them—
And reflected. Chaos followed.
Soldiers screamed as their own fire turned against them. Some dropped instantly. Others stumbled back, wounded, confused, firing wildly. The reflections were perfect. Merciless.
A few shots even bent toward General Alaric.
But he was already gone.
On the other side of the street, a heavy army-grade shield slammed into place. Alaric slipped behind it, expression unreadable, then dove into a nearby military jeep. The engine roared. He didn't look back. The vehicle vanished down the street, leaving silence behind.
The woman exhaled slowly.
Then she moved.
She grabbed Veyron first, then Akari, her movements strained now, her steps unsteady. Whatever she had done had cost her. She barely managed a few steps before her knees buckled—
That was when Veyron lost consciousness completely.
———————————————————-
Sound came back first.
A low rumble. Distant. Constant.
Cars.
Above him.
Veyron opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above him was cracked concrete, water dripping through rusted pipes. The place smelled like oil, damp metal, and old trash. It felt underground. Deep underground. His arm burned. He looked down. White bandages wrapped tightly around it, already stained slightly red. The pain was dull but present, like something healing the hard way.
"Look," a voice said lazily. "He's awake."
Veyron turned his head.
In the corner of the room sat a guy playing a slot machine. An actual slot machine. Rusted, buzzing, completely out of place.
The machine chimed.
"Ha," the guy grinned. "Jackpot."
A screen flashed.
668 Zons.
Veyron blinked.
That number meant something. Old history lessons. Pre-unification currency. Roughly four hundred U.S. dollars, back when those still existed.
The woman stepped into his view.
She crouched beside him, concern written across her face. "Hey. You okay? Are—are the bandages holding tight eno—"
Her fingers brushed his arm. Veyron squeaked. Actually squeaked. High-pitched. Undignified.
She froze. Then smiled.
"Oh," she said softly. "That one hurt, huh?"
"Yeah," Veyron muttered weakly. "It's hilarious when I'm injured."
Her smile vanished instantly. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry—really. Please don't hate me. Pretty please?"
He stared at her.
"…It's fine," he sighed. "But I need to know your name."
Before he could finish the sentence, a voice came from the adjacent room.
"Yuki. Yuki Shirogane. That's her name."
A guy stepped into view, reaching past her to grab a bag of snacks she had been holding.
He looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Dark hair, sharp eyes, a grin that said he enjoyed knowing things before others did.
Yuki spun on him. "Stop reading my mind, Shin!"
Shin only smiled and walked back into the next room, flopping onto a couch with his snacks. The doorway between the rooms was open, revealing more of the place—crumbling walls, exposed pipes, water pooling on the floor, rats scurrying along the edges.
Veyron noticed a transparent trash bin beside him. Inside were papers. Dozens of them. He couldn't read most of the writing—small, tight letters—but at the bottom of one page, a signature stood out.
Shin Yagami.
Great, he thought. More strangers.
He pushed himself up slightly. "Veyron. Veyron Okami."
His heart skipped. "My mom—"
"Yes," Shin said from the other room without looking up. "And yes, your sister is fine too. They're resting. Getting treatment."
Veyron sagged back down, relief washing over him so hard it almost hurt.
He looked up at Yuki.
Their eyes met. Both of them looked exhausted.
He started explaining. Everything. The road. The arrows. The soldiers. His voice shook, but she listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she stood.
"Come on," she said gently. "Let's take a walk."
She handed him a can of soda. Cold. Real.
They walked slowly through the underground base, footsteps echoing against old concrete as pipes rattled above them.
And somewhere above their heads, the city of Neoterra kept moving.