Raphael froze. His face twisted with turmoil, eyes once sharp now clouded with tears. The hatred that had sustained him began to crumble, replaced by guilt, by grief that had never healed.
"You don't know… I burned them. The children… the innocent ones. I let them die…"
Kaivan didn't look away. There was no judgment in his eyes, only deep, wordless understanding. He loosened the chain slightly, allowing Raphael to breathe.
"We all have blood on our hands," he said softly, each word sinking deep. "We've all failed. But failure doesn't mean it's over. You can still change. You don't have to be alone."
Another explosion shook the corridor, but neither moved. Just two souls standing in the rubble, gambling everything for a sliver of light.
Kaivan took a single step closer. His voice was low, but it struck with quiet force.
"Come with me. I'll show you what it means to live again. I'll be the first to see you, not as a terrorist, not as a weapon… but as a person."
Raphael's breath caught. His eyes trembled between resistance and longing. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered:
"Why me?"
A fragile question, yet within it lived years of pain, fading hope, and a quiet yearning to be held by the world he'd long rejected.
Kaivan met his gaze. In that silence, he remembered every page of the Tome Omnicent, stories of the forsaken boy who learned hatred when love never came. And in that moment, Kaivan understood: if Raphael could still be saved… then maybe the world could be too.
"Because you have to atone for your regrets," Kaivan said, his voice firm, gentle, yet burning with conviction. "There's a strength within you that can change everything. I believe in you, Raphael."
Those words shattered the wall around Raphael's heart like a storm breaking through glass. Before he could reply, a deafening explosion tore through the building's foundation. The ground shook, debris and shards of glass rained down, and flames crawled across the ceiling. Time was running out.
Outside, Felicia moved like a cutting wind. Her eyes narrowed against the smoke as she dashed through the wreckage. "Find Kaivan!" she shouted over the roar of fire and collapsing steel. Her breath came ragged, but her resolve didn't falter.
Kaivan knew there was no time left. He grabbed Raphael's arm. "We're getting out, now!" he hissed. Pain ripped through his injured arm, blood dripping with every movement, but he kept pulling Raphael toward a narrow gap, their only way out.
Raphael followed in silence, his body obeying, but his mind spiraled. Why was Kaivan saving him? Why did he still believe? Inside, guilt and shame began to smother the anger that once drove him.
Felicia tore through smoke and falling beams. Amid the chaos, one thought echoed in her chest: Kaivan. She reached the collapsing doorway, covered in ash and dust, her heart pounding with dread.
Then the dust parted.
In the glow of firelight stood Kaivan, bloodied, broken, but standing. Beside him, Raphael held him steady, his face hollow yet firm.
Felicia ran forward, stumbling over debris. Her eyes widened, filling with relief and tears. "Kaivan! What happened to you?!" she cried, her trembling fingers brushing the blood on his arm.
Kaivan gave a faint smile, forcing the pain down. "Just caught a bit of the blast," he murmured softly, then glanced at Raphael. "But he came back… and helped me."
Felicia turned toward Raphael. For a moment, her gaze was wary, but then it softened. "Thank you," she said, sincere and quiet.
Raphael didn't answer. Her words struck like lightning in the frozen void of his heart. Why was Kaivan protecting him? Why hide his part in the explosion?
Another blast rocked the ground. They started to run. Heat licked at their backs as flames burst from the walls, chasing them through clouds of smoke and falling ash.
Raphael looked back once. His gaze was empty, yet deep, Kaivan's voice still echoing in his mind: You must atone for your regrets. The weight he carried wasn't just in his wounds, but in the soul beginning to melt within him.
From afar, through the haze of fire and dust, a figure emerged, a tall man, his presence blending with the shadows. Each of his steps was silent, deliberate, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
He stopped, eyes scanning the ruins as though reading a message written in smoke and blood.
"If this is the work of another Tome user," he muttered, voice cold as steel, "then that makes three… in a single country."
While the outside world trembled with reports from the explosion site, the media spun their own stories: "Terror in the Abandoned Building", "Terrorists' Hideout Blows Itself Up." The headlines gripped the public, caught between curiosity and fear. Uncertainty spread like smoke, wrapping society in a haze of speculation.
In a dim meeting room thick with cigarette smoke, officials stared silently at the projected images. Photos of the ruins filled the screen, one showing Kaivan's face: young, weary, but sharp-eyed. He wasn't just another kid. His presence shook the room, forcing bureaucrats to change the tone of their discussion. His name crept into every report, whispering the same question: Who is he, really?
Meanwhile, dusk welcomed Kaivan and his team to an old workshop hidden deep in the Bandung mountains. The place was worn down, surrounded by dense forest and a city beginning to flicker with lights below. The sky burned in shades of violet and orange. Despite its roughness, the workshop offered safety, a wound tended quietly.
Zinnia stood by the door, her violet hair faintly glowing under the sunset. Arms crossed, posture firm, her gaze cut like a blade. She said nothing, but her restlessness was clear. Her foot tapped softly, like the heartbeat of a war clock that refused to stop.
Inside, Frans sat lazily on a rickety chair. His skilled hands toyed with a small bolt, but his eyes never left the doorway. He read every face that entered, Kaivan, Raphael, Felicia, as if flipping through the pages of a blood-stained book filled with secrets. No one spoke. Everyone knew: the storm wasn't over.
"So," Frans began lightly, "how was your little trip?" His tone sounded casual, like small talk at dusk. But his eyes were sharp, demanding more than polite answers.
Radit stepped forward with a half-tired grin. "Oh, you know... just a bit of noise. And a few explosions," he said with a chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. His hand gestures told more than his words, there was tension that hadn't yet healed.
Frans straightened immediately. "Explosions?" His tone wasn't a question. It was a demand for honesty.
Zinnia's footsteps echoed, calm but heavy on the concrete floor. Her eyes pierced through the two unfamiliar figures standing behind Kaivan. "Who are they?"