There were once three pillars, carved from promise.
One was hewn of stone, rigid lines and a body inked with ledgers no one else could read. His silence was a fortress, his discipline the mask he wore to choke the storm raging inside. He stood straight, always straight, and the world mistook it for strength when in truth it was penance, an iron rod jammed through marrow to keep him from folding.
The second was light caught in glass, sharp, reflective, unbearably sure of itself. He smiled like a dagger sheathed in silk, his arrogance as loud as thunder though it rang hollow. He carried his guilt in posture, in performance, in the play of superiority. The universe bent for him once, and now he bends himself into an endless sneer, as if contempt alone could keep the cracks from showing.
The third was warmth turned to ash. Once a voice of nurture, her hands had been gardens, coaxing strength where none dared bloom. But the garden was burned, the roots salted, and all that remains now is absence. A shape missing from the canvas.
Together they had been students, children of strength raised to be guardians of nations. Together they had carved their names into history with blood and brilliance. But history is a cruel tutor, and it left its lesson etched into them very differently.
Now only two remain.
One hides regret behind order.
One behind his arrogance.
And the one who once bound them together lies shattered and gone, leaving them to wander in the shadows of what they destroyed.
They are not masters anymore. They are ruins.
Not brothers and sister-in-arms, but relics.
And they cannot unlearn the shape of their guilt, nor forgive the memory of what they chose to do.
***
The room was vast and echoing. It was functional, purposeful, an official Paladin operations chamber. The oval shaped table dominated the center, smooth dark stone polished to a sheen, its edge rimmed with a faint silver inlay.
The Paladin that filled in the seats were a spectrum of presence, a cross-section of Ostara's strength and its politics. Lea Lantern sat toward the middle, posture upright but easy, as though she was trying to balance her natural warmth with the seriousness of the gathering.
Her eyes flickered now and then toward her partner Kade Varro, who sprawled in his chair with one leg kicked out, the sharp set of his jaw showed a man who was far more attentive than he let on.
Elise Vogel sat like a blade drawn from its sheath, straight backed, expression flat, dark green coloured eyes flicking between all faces in the room. Beside her was the same girl that had been tasked with following her for the experience, Rosette St. Jon.
The red haired girl leaned in her chair, arms folded across her chest, her crimson gaze was quiet and kept staring downward, not trying to catch anyone's eye. She was like the perfect soldier, just awaiting orders.
The doors swung open with deliberate weight, the hinges sighing against the wood. The last to enter was Lance Onida. He strode in with a confidence that was displayed in each step. He was wrapped in tailored black. His silver eyes gleamed in the light, his silky hair falling perfectly in place. The faintest curl of a smile tugged at his lips as he spread his arms in greeting, as if the room were a theatre and he its star actor returning to the stage.
"Ah, Brumália," Lance said, his voice smooth and rich. "The beautiful city by the sea. It feels good to be back."
Bruno Fernando, already seated at the head of the table, didn't bother to look up. His presence was heavy even in the silence, a gravity that pressed without the need for flexing. "Sit down," he said, his voice calm and carrying the authority of someone who hated to waste time. "You're late. You've wasted enough of our time already."
Lance ignored the order entirely. Instead of sitting, he moved slowly around the oval, his long fingers brushing against the table as though claiming a piece of every chair he passed. "It's good to see you all." He said, his silver eyes lingering briefly on Elise, on Rosette, on Lea, whose polite smile faltered under the weight of his regard.
Only once he had made the full round did Lance take his seat, sliding into it with a predator's grace. He leaned back, one hand lazily adjusting his cuff as if the entire performance had been for his own amusement.
Bruno exhaled through his nose, closing the file before him with finality. His gaze moved deliberately around the table, finally resting on Lea. "First, Lea Lantern. Your discovery in the sewers will be formally noted. It was great work."
Lea straightened, colour rising faintly in her cheeks. She inclined her head. "Thank you. I only followed a trail."
Bruno nodded once. "Nevertheless. I've reviewed the files. The attacks we're dealing with across the city, multiple, random and no clear pattern. And still no certainty of the cause is written down."
"Obviously an Ego," Lance cut in, his voice as casual as if he were pointing out the weather.
Bruno's eyes closed for a fraction of a second, the sigh in his chest audible. "Lance…"
But Lance only leaned forward slightly, silver eyes glinting with amusement. "I had a look myself. There are still traces of Ego use recently within the sewers and even some in corners with entrance to the sewers from where the last attack happened."
Elise's voice cut clean. "They wouldn't have lasted this long. Not after multiple incidents."
Lance's smile curled sharper, edged in quiet superiority. "Unless the culprit returned. But now that the news has exposed it all, there's no reason for them to return."
"Please." Bruno's voice was a wall. His eyes were fixed on Lance.
Lance raised both of his hands in mock surrender. "The floor is yours, old friend."
Bruno let the moment pass before continuing. "We will split into two teams. I will lead Kade Varro and Lea Lantern." He glanced toward them, his eyes lingering only long enough to register their nods. "Lance, you will take Elise Vogel and Rosette St. Jon."
Rosette inclined her head with clipped precision. Elise's expression did not shift.
Bruno's voice lowered, firm. "We don't waste time searching the outskirts. The culprit operates out in the open. And he blends into crowds."
There were nods around the table. Then Rosette's low voice cut through. "Do we know who the target is?"
"Yes," Bruno answered. The room stilled. Elise's brows arched faintly. Lea leaned forward. Even Kade. Only Lance looked unsurprised, his expression faintly amused, as though he had known all along.
Bruno tapped the table. A hologram flared into being, spinning into the shape of a boy's face. Wide-eyed, hair falling into his gaze, his age was glowing at the bottom. Eight years old. Named, Oscar Lorian.
The silence cracked with Kade's voice. "A kid!?"
Lance's smirk did not falter. "And that's no reason to underestimate an enemy."
Lea scoffed, disgust sharpening her tone. "You're sick. He's a child."
Bruno's voice cut in between them both, "Crass as he is, Lance is not wrong. But he was also not being serious. The boy is not the true target and he knows that."
Lance nodded with a sharp grin on his face, he didn't seem to be taking the situation seriously in the slightest. He just smiled and arrogantly cut in as he pleased.
"The child lacks control of his Ego." Bruno continued, "Always has. When he first awakened, the Bureau attempted to bring him in. He vanished before they could. He has been unaccounted for since."
Bruno tapped the table again. The hologram flickered, shifting to a dull, pale young man whose face was so painfully bland it seemed almost like an insult. The name was Paul Strahm. His eyes were flat, his expression devoid of anything memorable.
"This man," Bruno said, "is the one we hunt. He is the puppeteer. He awakened young. Killed his family and friends and many more after that. His Ego as you can see, is called Mime. If you see him and cannot apprehend him, the order is to kill on sight."
The details spilled into the light. Kade leaned back in his chair, frowning. "Strange, isn't it? We've been searching for days, with nothing. Yet now the database suddenly provides a neat file? Almost like it was waiting for you."
Bruno's silence lingered far too long. Then he said, "The information comes from the higher ups and whatever system they still follow."
Kade's scoff cut sharp. "You both are also national heroes. You fought in the purge of the nine tribes. You also were students of the late and great Dario Kosta. Don't tell me you receive scraps at the same time we do." Kade stalked the two carefully. He didn't know what it was but the two just had an odd presence.
Plus he never liked being around those that seem vastly superior to himself.
Lance's smile didn't waver, it was like he could smell it off of him. His eyes sharpened, and a cold glint of bloodlust slipped through his carefully maintained mask. "You still think that, after everything that's been revealed? In the end of the day we are all still Paladin, state tools maintaining the peace in the same playground."
Kade only leaned back further, folding his arms. "Just voicing a thought."
The silence held taut until Lea broke it with a nervous clap of her hands. She forced a chuckle. "Alright, alright. Doesn't matter where the info came from. We have it now. And I, for one, am grateful." She turned toward Bruno, earnestness softening her words. "Thank you. I promise I'll work hard."
Bruno inclined his head. "That is all I ask."
Lea smiled faintly, emboldened, her voice lighter. "I've always admired your guy's career. Both of you. The fire worm colony Lance burned down. And Bruno, The human trafficking ring you tore down, Silent Shipping. You did it single handedly, that all inspired me."
There was a little head tilt from Rosette as she heard the latter, and a spark of reverence for Bruno at that too.
Lea's enthusiasm carried her too far. "And Carmen Ford too. She advanced Brumália's plant life with her Ego while defending it from mercenaries. I thought it was incredible–"
The room froze.
Lance's voice cut cold, sharp as a blade of ice. "We do not mention traitors."
Lea blinked, her cheeks heating. She bowed her head quickly. "Forgive me. That was careless."
Bruno's voice was steady, quiet. "Enough. She did good once. That is still worth remembering."
Elise's lips curved faintly, venom seeping into her words. "I remember her for attacking the capital. Drunk too. And then running off when she failed."
Another silence pressed on.
Lance leaned back in his chair, breaking it with a drawl. "The past is boring. Let's leave it buried. There's work to be done." His silver eyes flicked toward Bruno, a smile too sharp to be sincere. "And besides… I want to catch up with my old friend."
***
The chamber had emptied, the muted voices were fading as they went further and further down the hall until silence reclaimed the room. A slow pitter patter of rain had started to fall and hit the windows.
Bruno Fernando sat where he had during the meeting, broad shoulders leaning back into the chair, one hand resting on the table. After a long, still moment, he pulled a cigarette from the inside of his coat and set it between his lips. A match flared. Smoke curled upward, gray ribbons twisting into the lamplight.
Across the table, Lance Onida raised his brows, silver eyes gleaming with amused disbelief. "Well, well. Never thought I'd see that. You? Smoking? When we started, I'd have bet a fortune you'd be the last man alive to pick up a vice." He fished for his phone from his coat pocket, its sleek black frame glinting in the light. He angled it like a photographer about to capture a rare moment. "Hold still now."
Bruno's hand closed on a nearby book. It flew across the table in one sharp motion, landing against Lance's arm with a dull thud. "Put it away," Bruno muttered. "You never let go of that pointless arrogance. You still carry it now, and it's as tiresome as ever."
Lance made a face, rubbing his arm theatrically before letting a grin slip back into place. "If I drop the arrogance, what then? Pick up bad habits like you?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Don't forget, you were always the strict one. You caught me and Carmen downing that smuggled beer on our first voyage. Tossed the bottle into the sea before we'd even had a second sip. You wouldn't stop sending us those dumb short videos or Bureau pamphlets afterwards, the ones about 'alcohol's detrimental effects on Ego users.' Those videos still pop up the exact same way today. Dry as a bone."
Bruno exhaled the smoke, the faintest crease of irritation pulling at his brow. "You know as well as I do, Ego use is tied to the body, soul and emotions. Dulling the senses is a weakness. Slowing reaction time, muddling concentration…."
Lance laughed, cutting him off with a flick of his wrist. "Spare me. I got the lecture enough from Dario and you back then. I don't need you replaying it."
The name dropped between them so naturally. Silence followed. Neither looked at the other for a long stretch, the only sound the soft hiss of smoke unfurling toward the ceiling.
At last, Lance's voice softened, losing some of its veneer. "Tell me, do you actually believe the old guy's dead?"
Bruno's gaze drifted to the cigarette, the ember at its tip glowing. "No," he admitted. "But then again yes. Maybe. I was banking on him."
"For what?"
"I don't know." His voice was heavy, ground out like rock grinding on glass. "A failsafe. Someone to fix things when I couldn't. Now he's gone, and I'm stuck here, stuck in a job I hate, being a man I despise. That safety net… isn't there anymore."
Lance tilted his head, a mocking smile creeped on his face. "Cheer up. You still have me."
Bruno gave him an unamsued look. "That brings me no joy."
Lance laughed, throwing his head back. "Man. I hate this city."
Bruno nodded once. "I know what you mean."
Lance's smirk faded, his eyes narrowing with something cold. "Tell me. After the purge twenty years ago… Did you try keep up with what happened?"
Bruno said nothing. He only drew on the cigarette again, then let the silence hang long enough before giving the smallest nod.
"I tried not to," Lance admitted. "But I felt like I had to know. After we left those islands, I heard the survivors were rounded up. Taken to one last island. Facilities were then built. Engineers, researchers, scientists, soldiers and Paladin, so many different types of people were brought in. You can guess what happened next." He glanced toward Bruno, though his tone carried no question. "Forced Crisis Manifestations. Experiments."
Bruno's eyes darkened, smoke curled from his lips. "It shouldn't have even been possible. It should have never even been. And it only got worse."
Lance leaned back, folding his arms. "Go on."
Bruno's gaze flickered toward the window, rain glinting down the glass. "Spies from Albion discovered it within a year. Didn't expose it though. Instead they wanted to be a part of it so they involved themselves with it."
They sold their own people to be a part of these experiments and got back the information and some of the success.
"I never wanted to know more. Instead I went to Dario and told him what I found out. He only said: 'I'll fix it.'"
Lance shook his head slowly. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd taken Carmen's path."
Bruno cut him off. "There's no point in what-ifs. Our sins are close to surfacing now. We should focus on that."
Lance scoffed, though there was no amusement in it. "I know. That's why we're here. They sent us because we're liabilities. They are still testing us. The other Paladin on that mission? They're older now, retired early and living it up, or still playing Paladin without a care in the world. We were the youngest in that mission and Carmen already turned rogue. The only reason we weren't discarded yet is because of Dario."
His eyes narrowed across the table. "Do you really want to keep running from it?"
Bruno inhaled, the drag long and slow, before answering. "It's the best decision."
Lance said nothing for a moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist he pulled a coin from his pocket and set it spinning across his knuckles. "Heads I agree. Tails I don't." He flipped it, the coin catching the light as it twirled in the air.
It landed on the back of his hand, heads. He stared at it for a moment, then whispered low, "I won't be joining Carmen anytime soon."
He slipped the coin away, his expression flattened to a cold visage now. "If I find Paul Strahm, I kill him. Quick and painless."
Bruno nodded once. "I'll do the same."
The two men leaned forward, their hands clasping firmly across the table. Their voices, in unison, came like an oath, similar to a memory brought to the center of their minds when they were a whole team.
A memory of an oath to fight by each other until they all die.
But now in their tenure, that oath had been forgotten and twisted, turning them into the simple tools they have resigned themselves to be.
"For the peace of the nation."