“Answer me!”

  The person tilted their head slightly at Blue’s sudden outburst, a glimmer of amusement flickering in their eyes. “It seems you are indeed a strange pair.”

  They slowly raised their hands, fingers spread. “Though I don't believe you're in a position to make demands.”

  The den of dragons now had only her as the sole target. She was the only quarry, and she was surrounded.

  Her authority longer carried the same power it once did when Red was near her.

  She was now in a dire situation. Her strikes—once effective—passed through the gel dragons without leaving a mark. They didn’t even recoil. Her attacks meant nothing now, as though the rules of the encounter had changed entirely.

  Not a single one of them had stayed down, and worse yet, their numbers were no longer static. New ones were emerging.

  She was cornered. Every direction was cut off. There was no path forward, no retreat behind. Her situation was, by every metric, hopeless.

  And yet, Blue didn’t lower her hands or let them tremble. Instead, she adjusted her footing, widening her stance for balance, her arms steadying as she readied herself. Her eyes locked on the imposter with unwavering resolve.

  “Give me back my brother.”

  The imposter raised their brows, genuinely surprised by her defiance. “Woah, are you insane? You might die, you know?”

  Blue held her glare. Unflinching. Her body didn’t so much as twitch.

  The imposter sighed, a long and exasperated breath, then his form began to dissolve. From the top of his head downward, the body warped, melted, liquefied into a translucent, shifting substance. Skin and features slipped away like melting wax, limbs compressing, bones disappearing as the form collapsed inward—only to reform seconds later.

  In his place stood another gel dragon, one unlike the others. It stood tall on its hind legs, the only one so far to do so. Its frame was noticeably larger, bulkier. While the others prowled, this one loomed. The change wasn’t just in size, but posture, as if it carried more awareness.

  “Relax,” the dragon said casually as it turned its back to her. Its voice, changed, echoed off the stone walls. “You both passed.”

  It began walking deeper into the cavern, unbothered by her lingering tension.

  “Follow me. I’ll take you to your brother.”

  Blue didn’t move right away. Her thoughts were still catching up. There were too many questions flooding her mind all at once.

  Why could it speak so clearly—and in their language? When had it taken Red’s place? Had it always been beside her, disguised from the start, or had it switched during the chaos? If this whole ordeal had been a test, then what would have meant failure? And above all, the only question that truly mattered: where was Red now?

  Even if it had lied. Even if it was leading her into a trap. There were no better options. No clearer paths to her brother.

  So she followed.

  …

  On a bridge road spiraling southeast through Simulum City, a desticar glided a foot above the granite surface, its engine humming with magnetic propulsion.

  “This is really starting to get repetitive.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Tell me about it. I could’ve never imagined easy transportation could get annoying,” Yon concurred with Tyson’s complaint. “I never did like taking them either, though I hardly ever found the need to.”

  “Right, you grew up in this city, didn’t you?” Tyson concluded. It also explained Yon’s familiarity with the place called The Lord's House.

  “Yeah, but for the city at the center of the world, it’s not as jolly as you'd think.”

  “Is that so?” The young woman seated between them, who had introduced herself as Clarisse, interceded. “I never left the House of the Lord that often, you see. Life in the city is something I'm not quite knowledgeable about.”

  “Any particular reason?” Tyson inquired with interest. “If that's alright to ask.”

  “It’s quite alright,” she responded. “Truthfully, my identity is that of the direct apprentice and designated successor to the Grandmaster of the Divine Heritage Evangelical Mission.” She proclaimed it in a ceremonious manner, her tone radiating the sophistication her title demanded.

  “...”

  “...”

  Yet her audience failed to match her grandeur, though their lack of response did nothing to dim her radiant demeanor.

  “So, you’re some kind of big-shot in your following?” Yon finally asked.

  “Well, if you consider being second in standing across the entire ministry as such, then that is the case.” Her hands came to rest over her heart with practiced grace, and delight emanated from her in waves. “Though I try not to be arrogant in regards to such matters,” she added—ironically, with unmistakable pride.

  “Still, why do you say such a thing about this city?” Tyson continued, returning to his question for Yon. “Even when I first got here from the East, I ended up choosing the cheapest rental I could find, yet it was still better than apartments that’d cost a dozen times more anywhere else.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But for some, the convenience is a chain that forces them to ignore a deeper issue with this city.”

  “...And that is?”

  “It seems trouble has found us just as he predicted,” Clarisse interrupted, pointing forward.

  Ahead of them, several desticars appeared to have collided, now forming a tangled blockade across the magnetic roadway.

  “An accident? How is that possible?” Yon wondered aloud, eyes narrowing.

  “Is that rare?” Tyson asked, surprised by Yon's expression, as if this occurrence were beyond improbable.

  “Extremely,” Yon replied. “Desticars constantly communicate with one another. They also have a full 360-degree spatial awareness. There’s hardly a scenario where they just crash—not even if a manual driver tried.”

  Near the pile-up, a cluster of individuals stood beside their damaged vehicles. They seemed wholly absorbed in a heated argument, ignoring the traffic jam they had created.

  “I should go see what’s going on,” Tyson suggested.

  “I… think I’ll go with,” Yon replied, stepping out of the desticar from the far side.

  Before shutting the door, Tyson glanced back at Clarisse, who was also preparing to exit.

  “Sorry, Ms. Clarisse. Do you mind waiting here for us? We’ll try not to be long.”

  “Should I be hurt by your rejection of my assistance? I'd rather not be a burden.”

  “Not at all,” Tyson said quickly. “The thing is, getting you to the base safely is supposed to be our initiation mission. We'd like to be at least capable of overcompensating for something so trivial.”

  “When you put it that way, it seems I cannot refuse,” she relented. “Alright then. From now on until we get there, I shall not lift even a finger in your assistance.”

  “I appreciate it.” Tyson closed the door as he and Yon began walking toward the scene.

  “Actually, Yon,” Tyson began again, lowering his voice. “Could you stay a bit closer to the car? In case something happens.”

  “Good call,” Yon nodded. “But is there a reason?”

  “Well, ignoring her strange words right before we stopped, I don’t believe that guy would make things so easy for us. In fact, something tells me it’s the opposite.”

  “You mean Cosmo? You don’t trust him?”

  “Of course I don’t. But I will cooperate.” Tyson’s expression hardened with determination. “I refuse to lose—no matter what he has planned.”

  Yon was already more than eager to avoid confrontation with strangers if possible, which made Tyson’s suggestion a convenient excuse. But the way Tyson spoke—and the resolve that clung to his words—made Yon feel more inclined to follow his directive.

  “Alright, you go on ahead then.” Yon crossed his arms and stayed back as Tyson moved forward.

  “Thanks.” Tyson approached the arguing individuals. As he drew closer and their features became clearer, he called out.

  “Hello?! Is everyone alright?”

  They turned to him simultaneously. A bald man with a scar running across his left cheek, wearing a sleeveless black vest. A man with messy blond hair dressed in a black leather jacket. And, as best Tyson could discern, a woman in a hooded jacket—one who refused to meet his gaze.

  Each of them was cradling a large, oddly shaped case—far bulkier than any average travel pack.

  When they noticed Tyson, they waved him over. He interpreted the gesture as a sign of needing assistance.

  But as he stepped closer, and the noise of the city seemed to dull around him, an unnatural sensation crawled into his thoughts. The hair at the back of his neck bristled.

  “Tyson, dodge!”

  Yon’s urgent voice rang out just in time.

  Tyson’s leg slipped instinctively, throwing off his balance—but not before he stared directly at death through the dark barrel of a pistol.

  A pistol held by the hooded woman, emerging from the edge of his vision.

  POW!