For days, Iris had lain unconscious in a sterile void, her mind adrift in endless darkness. But on the night of the 13th, something stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a dimly lit room, the faint glow of medical monitors and the sterile scent of antiseptic grounding her in reality. A heavy blanket weighed over her, and the soft hum of machines whispered that she was still alive.

  As her eyes adjusted, she noticed Charles slumped by her bedside. He had stayed with her—his head resting on the edge of an uncomfortable chair, his steady breathing providing a quiet, rhythmic comfort. A tender smile tugged at Iris’s lips as she watched him, grateful for his unwavering loyalty.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, Iris detected a strange movement—a small, flaming butterfly flitted into view. Its wings shimmered with an ethereal glow, and time seemed to slow as the creature drifted gracefully toward her. Even the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall fell silent, as if the world itself had paused. The butterfly alighted softly on her lap before transforming, in a flash of brilliant flame, into a crumpled scrap of paper—a ripped journal page stained with fresh tears and scrawled in messy, trembling handwriting.

  A surge of dread mingled with curiosity as Iris carefully picked up the page. She unfolded it slowly, feeling the raw weight of the words that had been hastily inscribed. Each smudged line and frantic stroke spoke of profound pain and desperation, as if her future self had poured a lifetime of anguish onto the paper.

  No sooner had she begun to read than a voice filled the room—unmistakably her own, yet resonating with a depth of sorrow and authority that sent shivers down her spine. “You must listen to my message,” the voice intoned, clear and urgent. “A horrible ordeal is about to confront you.”

  The words pressed down on Iris like an oppressive shroud. Her pulse quickened and her breath caught as she realized this was no idle warning, but a desperate plea from a future where everything had gone terribly wrong. With trembling hands, she continued reading, each word igniting a fear that mingled with a fierce resolve to change what was to come.

  “The red book is not your only danger. While using it led to our personal tragedy, the ordeal you face tomorrow threatens to unleash a catastrophe upon all of A.E.G.I.S. You must be the one to correct the disasters of my time. I beg you—prevent the horrors that lie ahead.

  Tomorrow, Wallace Valentine will die. Alone in his office, he will be poisoned and then beheaded. Before seven o’clock, you must be there—stop him from drinking his coffee, for it has been tainted with poison.

  If Wallace falls, we will lose an extraordinary healer, a vital pillar of our strength. Worse still, Markus—the strongest of the Awakened—will be plunged into unbearable despair. His anguish will set off a chain reaction, making future tragedies far more difficult, if not impossible, to avert.

  I am sorry to place this burden upon you, but it is imperative. Please, do not let your life end as mine has. I regret that tomorrow falls on your birthday, but you must not let this day become the harbinger of tragedy.

  —Your future self, Iris Blackwell”

  The final words of the letter echoed in her mind, searing themselves into her memory. The gravity of the situation was overwhelming, yet Iris knew she could not falter. The fate of her friends, her future self, and all of A.E.G.I.S. now rested squarely on her shoulders. As the letter slipped from her trembling fingers, she drew in a deep, steadying breath and steeled herself for the monumental task ahead—determined to alter the course of fate.

  Gazing over at Charles, she found a moment of solace in his peaceful, slumbering form. His presence, a silent testament to his unwavering loyalty and concern, offered her a brief reprieve amid the chaos. Yet, she also understood that his steadfast support would soon pull him into the storm brewing on the horizon—a storm that threatened to engulf A.E.G.I.S. entirely. The impending disaster loomed like a dark specter, its weight a tangible burden upon her soul.

  But in that quiet moment, as she watched Charles sleep, a surge of determination welled up within her. The bond they shared ignited a renewed sense of purpose. With him by her side, even the impossible seemed within reach. She could protect everyone—she had to. The stakes were too high, and every heartbeat echoed the urgency of the task before her.

  As the clock inched closer to dawn, the urgency of the situation crystallized into a steely resolve. In just a few short hours, the world of A.E.G.I.S. would plunge into chaos. But Iris vowed that she would be ready—she had to be. With one final, resolute glance at the slumbering Charles, she silently promised herself that she would do everything in her power to avert the looming catastrophe. The fate of her world hinged on the choices she would make, and she was determined to ensure they were the right ones.

  The weight of the coming day pressed down on Iris as she stole a glance at Charles, sleeping soundly beside her. His peaceful expression now stood in stark contrast to the aggressive loner he once was—proof that the choices she’d made were slowly changing not just her own fate, but that of her friends as well.

  With a heavy heart but renewed determination, Iris allowed herself to drift into sleep, knowing she needed every ounce of energy for the ordeals ahead. For once, her slumber was undisturbed—no haunting dreams, no nightmares, and even Fate, who sometimes invaded her vulnerable moments, was absent. When she finally awoke at 6:30, the urgency of the day slammed into her like a freight train. In just thirty minutes, Wallace would be poisoned, and there was no time to waste.

  Gently, she nudged Charles, rousing him from his sleep. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, meeting hers with a mix of relief and lingering weariness. Without a word, he pulled her into a tight hug, his voice thick with emotion.

  “You had me so worried,” Charles murmured, a solitary tear escaping down his cheek. “You were unconscious for days. I was scared you’d never wake up.”

  Iris returned the embrace, feeling the warmth of his concern. “I’m sorry for making you all worry, but I need your help—right now,” she said, urgency sharpening her tone.

  Charles hesitated, his protective instincts surging. “Just take it easy. The doctor usually checks on you around 7:30, so at least wait for him. And do me a favor… don’t let anyone know I’ve been skipping class just to check on you.”

  A small, affectionate smile tugged at Iris’s lips, despite the looming crisis. “You dummy… Listen, we don’t have time to wait. I know this sounds crazy, but at 7:00, Wallace will be poisoned. We need to get to his office before that happens.”

  Charles raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. “Here I thought you were the role model here. But if you want to skip class, you don’t need to make up an excuse. Sure, let’s go to Wallace before he’s poisoned.”

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  Exasperated yet resolute, Iris shot him a look. “Just follow me, dummy,” she snapped, her tone a mix of annoyance and determination.

  With that, the two dashed out of the room into the cold, uncertain dawn—every second ticking away toward a day that would test their resolve and alter their futures forever.

  They bolted through the facility's corridors, the relentless ticking of the clock pounding in Iris's ears as if counting down her very heartbeat. Though the halls buzzed with the usual activity, Iris pushed forward with unwavering determination—each second was a precious resource slipping away. Finally, they reached Wallace's office, and the clock read 6:59. Without a moment's hesitation, Iris kicked the door open, startling Wallace just as he was about to lift his coffee cup to his lips.

  “Charles, quick! Destroy the cup—that’s what was poisoned!” Iris ordered, her voice slicing through the tense air.

  Wallace, still reeling from the sudden intrusion, glanced between them in confusion. “Wait, what are you two doing? And Iris, when did you wake up?”

  A crimson aura crackled to life around the cup as Charles focused his telekinetic power. The air vibrated with raw energy, the aura tightening its grip until the cup trembled violently. With a swift twist of his hand, Charles crushed the cup in an audible, shattering crack. Fragments of porcelain flew in all directions, one shard narrowly slicing across Wallace’s hand.

  The poisoned coffee, once hidden beneath a seemingly innocent exterior, splashed onto the floor in dark, viscous drops. The liquid hissed ominously upon contact, its rich brown hue warping into a sickly black as it spread. A faint, acrid stench filled the room—a dire warning of the lethal substance that had been concealed within the cup. Every drop sizzled against the floor, leaving behind charred marks that marred the pristine surface. Blood from Wallace's hand mingled with the toxic brew, a grotesque fusion of red and black that underscored the narrow escape.

  Wallace winced, staring down at his bleeding hand in disbelief. “What in the world…” he muttered, his voice trailing off as the magnitude of the situation sank in.

  The room fell heavy with tension, each passing moment laden with the unspoken threat that had been averted by mere seconds. Charles’s breath came in ragged bursts as he stared at the sizzling remnants of the poisoned coffee, his wide eyes reflecting the dark, bubbling liquid. In a shaky, incredulous tone, he finally blurted out, “Wait… you were actually telling the truth?”

  The words hung in the air, mingling with the fading hiss of the poison and the shock etched on everyone's faces—a stark reminder of how perilously close disaster had come.

  Iris’s adrenaline still surged as she shot Charles a look of exasperation mixed with disbelief. “If you didn’t believe me, then why did you destroy the cup? Did you just want to break it for fun, you dummy?”

  Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the shattered fragments of the coffee cup, still crackling faintly with the residual energy of his telekinesis. The enormity of what had just happened began to sink in, leaving him silent and lost for words.

  Wallace, clutching his bleeding hand, looked equally stunned. His normally calm demeanor was shattered, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend the unfolding chaos. “I have so many questions,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. “I’m not even sure where to begin.”

  Before anyone could speak, a deafening explosion rocked the facility. The walls trembled, and the floor rippled like disturbed water. A monstrous roar reverberated through every corridor as the overhead lights flickered and then died, replaced by the blaring of emergency alarms that filled the room with an ear-piercing wail.

  An authoritative voice crackled over the loudspeakers, its message sharp and uncompromising despite the pandemonium: “All students, hide in your dorms. If you are out, proceed immediately to the nearest bunker. All agents, intruders have breached our perimeter. Secure all students and eliminate any attackers.”

  Iris, Charles, and Wallace froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear. The precision of the explosion—the poisoned coffee, the exact moment of crisis, and now intruders—seemed too calculated to be mere chance. Wallace’s stomach churned with dread as the pieces fell into place; this was a coordinated attack, planned down to the last second.

  “I’m not going to ask any questions right now,” Wallace finally said, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the mounting panic. His eyes, usually kind and patient, had hardened into steely resolve. “But I forbid either of you from leaving this office. Is that clear?”

  In a near-unison whisper, Iris and Charles replied, “Yes, sir.” The command settled over them like a heavy blanket, silencing any thoughts of defiance as the weight of the crisis pressed in around them.

  Intruders had breached the facility’s defenses, and among them six figures stood out—two in particular leading the charge.

  The first was a striking presence, a flamboyant man who reveled in theatrics. His perfectly styled blonde hair peeked from beneath a tall, elegant top hat, and a flowing black cloak—embroidered with intricate silver patterns—draped over his shoulders. His ensemble blended formal sophistication with eccentric flair, a dark sweater vest festooned with jingling trinkets, and a white half-mask decorated with two red diamonds beneath his piercing deep-blue eyes. Casually, he played on a portable game console, seemingly indifferent to the surrounding chaos.

  “You need to focus, you damn brat,” snapped Hummingbird from across the room, their voice taut with irritation.

  Standing nearby, the second figure was an enigma. Their entire face was hidden behind a red mask, and layers of dark clothing, accented by a billowing black cloak and a wide-brimmed straw hat, shrouded them in mystery. A solitary yellow sun-shaped necklace glowed softly, while in one gloved hand they held a golden scepter that sent eerie reflections dancing on the walls. Their voice, distorted beyond recognition, offered nothing of their true identity.

  “Oh please, the Saint should be poisoned by now,” Mockingbird replied lazily, not diverting his gaze from his game. “Besides, the Swan and the Slayer are the only ones posing any real threat—I’m sure you two can handle the Slayer, right?”

  “Just in case the Saint isn’t dead,” Hummingbird interjected coolly, “bring Frost with you.”

  Frost appeared next—a vision of ethereal beauty. Her long, light-blue hair cascaded in shimmering waves, and her golden eyes, cold and unyielding, reflected the icy aura surrounding her. Dressed in a sleek, black dress and elegant gloves, every step she took left a delicate trail of frost on the floor. With a pouting sigh, she murmured, “How boring… but fine, I’ll help you freeze your corpse.”

  Hummingbird then turned to the rest of the team. “Knight, Scholar—go eliminate the Swan and Iris. They should be together.”

  Knight was an imposing figure, towering over the others in battered metal armor that still held a menacing gleam. His helmet, cracked across the visor in a way that resembled a vicious grin, concealed his face. In a curious twist, he paired his heavy armor with casual sweatpants and a black hoodie, amplifying his unhinged presence. A large, well-worn sword hung at his side, each step echoing with barely restrained violence. “I’ve been waiting to kill her for a long time now,” he growled ominously.

  Beside him sat Scholar—a young woman with short, curly pink hair and intense eyes hidden behind circle-framed glasses. Dressed in a modest white hoodie over a maroon shirt and sweatpants, she exuded an unexpected power. A lime-green messenger bag, whimsically shaped like a grinning monster, hung over her shoulder, and in her grasp was an ancient book with yellowed pages covered in pulsating symbols. “I’m excited too,” she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “She’ll get what’s coming to her.”

  Hummingbird then addressed the last member of their assault force. “And you—I'll leave dealing with Slayer to you. Do as you wish.”

  The final figure stepped forward, radiating an aura of chilling calm. A young man with medium-length blonde hair framed a striking, almost otherworldly face. His deep, bloody-crimson eyes pierced with an intensity that unsettled all who met his gaze. Clad in a maroon hoodie lined with fur, with the hood drawn up to cast shadowed mystery, and paired with sleek black pants and dress shoes, he exuded a casual elegance that belied a monstrous nature. This was no ordinary Awakened—this was The Boogeyman, a creature born of nightmares, whose very existence fed on human fear. His name alone was enough to inspire dread, a dark reminder of an ancient evil lurking just beyond the light.

  An invasion against A.E.G.I.S had begun.