That night, Cathie slept deeply for the first time in days. But her dreams pulled her into the past—eleven years ago, under the heavy shade of that fateful tree, soaked in the guilt and terror of what they'd done.

  In the dream, she saw her younger self again, trembling, face streaked with tears, staring down at the lifeless body lying near the roots. Her hands were shaking. Draven, still a boy but already with that cold fire in his eyes, stood beside her.

  "I didn’t mean to," Cathie sobbed. "I just pushed… I didn’t know—"

  Draven knelt, pcing a hand on her shoulder. "It’s done. It was an accident."

  "But what do we do now?" she cried. "I don’t wanna go to jail, Draven—I don’t want my life to end here!"

  Draven looked out toward the river below the hill. "It's okay, everything is going to be okay."

  She hesitated, breathing raggedly. "I’m scared… I’m sorry. I didn’t want this… I regret it so much."

  He looked her dead in the eye. "Listen to me. No one will ever know. We’ll carry this secret. Just us."

  "You sure?" she whispered.

  "I’m sure."

  Cathie sniffled and held out her pinky with the innocence of a child desperately clinging to some form of hope. "Promise me? That we’ll never tell anyone?"

  Draven nodded, linking his pinky with hers.

  "Yeah," he said. "A pinky swear, sealed in silence."

  Their locked fingers squeezed tight, as if holding back the entire weight of their buried past.

  Cathie woke up with a sudden gasp. She blinked, feeling the wetness on her cheek and touched it—tears.

  “What the hell…?” she muttered to herself, sitting up slowly.

  Her eyes fell on the business card lying neatly on her desk, the one Draven had accidentally left behind.

  “Velmire Tax Consultation, huh…” she said, her voice sharpening with suspicion.

  “He lied to me again.” She picked up the card and stared at it with narrowed eyes.

  “Well then… let’s see what you’re really up to, Mr. Velmire Tax Consultation.”

  Cathie marched into the deceptively bnd building beled Velmire Tax Consultation without hesitation. The receptionist raised an eyebrow as she spped a card on the desk.

  “I’m here to see whoever runs this pce,” she said, calm but firm. “I want to hire this guy—Draven.”

  The receptionist gnced at the name on the card, then gave a tight smile. “One moment, please. Mr. Geret will see you.”

  Moments ter, Cathie was ushered into a sleek, dimly-lit office. Mr. Geret, a sharply dressed man with cold eyes, looked up from a stack of papers.

  “I’d like to hire Draven as my bodyguard,” Cathie stated pinly. “I have an important speech today. Security’s a concern.”

  Geret kept his expression unreadable. “Of course. Just a moment.”

  As soon as Cathie was out of earshot, Geret picked up his desk phone, voice low and irritated.

  Draven leaned against the brick wall of a back alley and his phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID, sighed, and answered.

  “Yeah.”

  Geret’s voice came through sharp and cold. “Are you out of your damn mind? Leaving your card with a journalist? With her?”

  Draven rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t intentional. She found it.”

  “She’s poking around. You know what kind of risk that is?”

  “She won’t talk,” Draven said ftly. “She’s not stupid.”

  “She just walked in here like she owns the pce and asked to hire you. You think that’s not a problem?”

  There was a long pause.

  “You’re taking the job,” Geret snapped. “Escort her, protect her, smile pretty if you have to—but don’t let her snoop around anymore. You understand me?”

  Draven clicked his tongue. “Yeah, yeah. Babysitting a journalist. Real upgrade from ripping spines.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation. You owe me after that mess with Drake. You’re lucky I don’t charge you for new floor tiles.”

  Draven hung up without saying another word.

  He muttered to himself, slipping the phone into his coat. “Guess I’m a bodyguard now. Wonderful.”

  Meanwhile, at the government office, President Gustavio stood by the window, hands csped behind his back as he gnced over his shoulder.

  “How’s the progress on the elite force?” he asked.

  Minister of Defense, Ted, adjusted his tie and replied with a calm smile. “They’ve been fully brainwashed. Loyalty is no longer a variable—it’s a guarantee.”

  The scene shifted to a dimly lit underground facility. A line of elite soldiers stood motionless, each gripping a high-caliber sniper rifle with eerie discipline. Their postures were unnervingly perfect, and their faces bnk, devoid of any trace of humanity.

  “They’re ready,” Ted said, his voice steady. “We call them... the Mysterious Marksmen.”

  Cathie stepped up to the podium, the microphone crackling softly as she faced the crowd. She took a breath and began:

  "Good afternoon, fellow citizens.

  We stand today not in comfort, but in consequence.

  Not in silence, but in defiance.

  What happened yesterday was not just an attack on a building or on an organization

  It was an attack on truth itself."

  The crowd murmured, the atmosphere tense but drawn in.

  Meanwhile, above the stage, Draven crouched behind one of the steel beams supporting the structure. His eyes scanned the crowd steadily.

  More people had gathered than expected. Some carried signs. Some just stared, waiting. Draven kept his hand near his katana, breathing slowly, calcuting exits, shadows, faces—anything off.

  "Too many blind spots," he muttered.

  Then he noticed a man in the far back shifting oddly… but not enough to raise arm. Not yet.

  Cathie’s voice grew firmer, sharper, echoing through the pza:

  "Freedom of speech is not a luxury—

  It is a right carved into the bones of every citizen.

  It is the weapon of the voiceless,

  The light in rooms the powerful try to keep dark.

  Some say speaking the truth is dangerous.

  But I say silence is even more lethal.

  Yesterday, someone died for the truth.

  Today, we speak for him."

  A few cps broke out in the crowd, building into a wave of appuse. Cameras fshed.

  Cathie’s voice hardened with intensity, her eyes scanning the crowd, firm and resolute:

  "Yesterday, this very union faced an act of terror.

  A package.

  Wrapped like a gift—

  But inside, the severed head of a pig… and a bomb.

  The one who brought it shouted two words before he changed—mutated—into a Vicious:

  'Heil Johan!' Yes. Johan. Johanes Alberto—the so-called representative of the Subhuman race during the founding of the Trias Gentium Pact. Alongside Hubert Alfonso of the Humangels… And William Janshen for the humans."

  She paused. Let the names settle. Let the crowd remember their history. "This wasn’t just an attack on a building—

  It was a provocation. A calcuted attempt to fracture our unity, to ignite an old fme we’ve barely managed to contain.

  But let me say this clearly:

  We will not be divided by ghosts of war. We will not be pawns in a game of blood and lies. Humans. Humangels. Subhumans. You all have the right to speak. To live. To fight—not each other—but for the truth."

  Amid the roaring appuse, a sudden explosion shattered the crowd’s cheer—several people had begun transforming into Vicious. Chaos erupted. Screams, panic, bodies pushing in every direction.

  Draven swiftly sprang into action, cshing with the grotesque beings as they lunged at civilians and rushed toward the stage. He struck down one, two, three—but they kept coming. His movements became more frantic, more defensive. He had to protect both the crowd and Cathie.

  Surrounded, breathing heavily, and cornered against a barricade, Draven clenched his katana tightly. Just as one of the Vicious lunged at him—

  Boom!

  A surge of radiant fme engulfed the creature before it reached him.

  Descending from above came three figures cd in ornate silver-and-gold armor. Wings wide and glowing with divine energy. The crowd gasped.

  Leading them was Lior, the commanding presence of The Guardians Society, his body cloaked in holy fire. Beside him nded Caelum, his metallic wings spreading out like bdes. On the opposite side, Aveline, her light-based shield pushing back two incoming Vicious in a single motion.

  “You looked like you could use divine backup,” Lior said calmly, fire flickering in his hands.

  Draven exhaled through gritted teeth. “About time you angels dropped in.”

  Without hesitation, the three Humangels of The Guardians Society unched into action.

  Lior, the commander, stepped forward—his Fme Dominion abze. With a single motion, a massive ring of sacred fire erupted around him, incinerating any Vicious that dared cross its threshold. His sword, forged from divine ore, sliced through their grotesque limbs like parchment. Each movement was measured and commanding, like a general in a war ballet.

  To his right, Caelum, with his Aetheric Wings, darted into the air. His wings weren’t just for flight—they were weapons. With each beat, they released sshes of pressurized wind that cleaved through the mob of Vicious. Caelum spun mid-air, using momentum to create a whirlwind that lifted several enemies off their feet before raining down metallic feathers like daggers. "You want a storm? You’ve got one!"

  Aveline, wielding her Lumen Aegis, charged into the crowd like a beacon of divine justice. Her shield pulsed with radiant energy, creating shockwaves that knocked back groups of Vicious at a time. Every time one tried to nd a blow, her shield absorbed it—then responded with a retaliatory burst of blinding light. “Get back, beasts! This is sacred ground!”

  Meanwhile, Draven, katana gripped in one hand, his other guiding Cathie through the crowd, stayed low and fast. He used the chaos as cover, sshing down any Vicious that strayed too close. Blood spttered across his coat, steam rising from his bde as his heat manipution made each cut cauterize instantly.

  Cathie stumbled but kept moving. “Are they winning?”

  Draven deflected a cwed strike, then elbowed the attacker down. “They’re Humangels. They better be.”

  As the sun dipped behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the quiet park, Draven and Cathie sat side by side on a weathered bench. The chaos of the day still lingered in the air, but here, under the canopy of trees and fading golden light, it felt distant—almost unreal.

  Cathie let out a long sigh.

  “This day’s been insane,” she muttered, her eyes tracking the slow-moving clouds above.

  Draven, arms resting on his knees, stared forward in silence for a moment before asking, “Why did you become a journalist?”

  Cathie blinked, then looked down at her hands. A moment passed before she spoke, voice soft but steady.

  “Because I don’t want anyone to live in fear... not like I did.”

  She turned to face him, her expression raw with honesty.

  “I wanted to speak for those who couldn't. To expose the lies, the systems that keep people oppressed. I don’t want what happened back then—what we went through—to happen to anyone else. Not ever again.”

  Draven said nothing, but his jaw clenched slightly. He looked away, the memory of their shared past flickering in his mind like an old wound reopened.

  Cathie added, almost in a whisper, “I guess... this is my way of atoning, y’know? Making sure the truth doesn’t stay buried.”

  Draven gnced at her again, eyes unreadable. “You still believe in truth, huh?”

  She smiled faintly. “Someone has to.”

  Cathie leaned back on the bench, letting the breeze catch her hair as she stared at the fading sky.

  “You know,” she said softly, “after we went our separate ways… it felt like something was missing.”

  She turned her gaze toward Draven, her voice barely above a whisper now.

  “I don’t want you to drift away again. I’ve been carrying this darkness secret alone for too long. I don’t want to do it by myself anymore.”

  Draven froze. The air between them thickened for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, his usual stoic expression cracking ever so slightly.

  Cathie, sensing the tension, let out a soft chuckle and nudged him with her elbow.

  “Oh, and by the way—your boss said this job’s free of charge.”

  She smirked. “Guess you’re on charity duty.”

  Draven scoffed, shaking his head. “That damn Geret… stingiest capitalist I’ve ever met.”

  Then, with a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he added, “Figures he’d use me as free bor the second he saw an opportunity.”

  Cathie ughed, the sound light and genuine. For a fleeting second, the weight of their past lifted.