..
"You little—! Come here!" Marcus barked.
"Kyaaaaaaa!!!" Riko screamed in mock horror and sprinted across the room, Marcus in hot pursuit.
And just like that, the great boutique chase began.
From the second floor, Damian descended silently halfway down the stairs, Lunar Fang drawn—only to pause and assess the situation. He stood still for a long beat, then slowly sheathed the blade and turned back.
He shook his head, muttering something unintelligible before vanishing up the stairs once more. No one had noticed his brief appearance—except Lana, who tracked his every move with those quiet, unreadable eyes.
..
--
Location: Johannesburg - Terrace Road - Clothes Shop - Second Floor.
Year: 2026.
Date: April 1st.
POV: Third Person.
Time: 2:01 PM.
--
The second floor of the boutique was the only part of the shop that still resembled what it once was. Where downstairs lay in ruin—scorched, shattered, and bloodstained—this upper level retained a quiet dignity, a remnant of elegance from before the fall. Here, amid "clean" mannequins and untouched displays, stood Damian.
He was no longer in the earlier white shirt and blue pants. Now, he wore a fresh, sleek outfit—one meticulously chosen. A matte black, brandless hoodie clung to his frame, minimalist but striking. Etched in white along the spine and mirrored across the lowered hood was a cryptic design—an interwoven series of angular lines and curves that hinted at something ancient, something almost magical. His combat pants matched in tone—jet black with reinforced stitching and multiple pockets built for utility. A silver chain connected the front and back belt loops, a subtle addition that clinked softly when he moved. Heavy-duty black boots—military-style and branded—hugged his feet. Durable. Expensive. Reliable. His final accessory: a functional black wristwatch with a slim, rugged design that looked like it could take a bullet and keep ticking.
Before him, laid flat on the tiled floor, was a glass display case he had repurposed as a workstation. He stood over it with both palms resting on its cool surface, shoulders square, head slightly bowed in thought. The arrangement atop the glass was meticulous, almost ritualistic.
On the right side of the display lay a small stack of neatly folded spare clothes, all black in color. Perched atop them was the map he had gotten earlier from the Sector Manager, it was perfectly folded without any wrinkles. Beside that: Lesser Oblivion Shards, glinting like fragmented dreams. And among them sat one different crystal, one that pulsed faintly with a deep gold hue—an anomaly he had set aside for later. To the left of those lay a cluster of miscellaneous items: a torn hospital gown, headphones, a USB charging cable, and a power bank that was still full, untouched.
On the floor nearby rested two duffel bags—his old, still functional one and the sleek new leather upgrade, next to them were three black pairs of shoes, sneakers, leather boots and another military styled boots. Just within arm's reach, leaned against the glass, was Lunar Fang—its obsidian blade safely secure in his previous sword—Nyxfang—strap, radiating quiet lethality.
A few feet away from his setup was the discarded white cloth he had once used to wrap his tattoo. He had since replaced it with a fresh strip torn from the hospital gown. Though unnecessary—his hoodie covered the arm completely—it was a choice born not of need, but instinct. Why not? he would've said. Sometimes, a fresh layer made all the difference...
Yeah right, or because it just made him look cool.
At the heart of the workstation—between his hands—were three phone boxes. Two were identical in brand; the third, slightly different. One of them was already open, with a brand new phone staring at him. His old phone lay beside the unopened ones, cracked and worn, a relic of constant travel and digital lifelines. Below them, like a surgeon's tools, were a tiny screwdriver set, a thin metal pry tool, and a squeeze bottle of liquid adhesive made specifically for phone screens. Tools he had scavenged from the previous phone shop, knowing teeth wouldn't suffice for this operation—Obviously.
Damian let out a low breath and tilted his head slightly.
"Alright, Nyxi. Let's begin."
The serpentine creature coiled loosely around his neck gave a soft hiss in response, her eyes glinting like silver stars. She slithered down his arm and onto the glass display with a fluid, graceful motion, curling between the tools and cartons, inquisitive as always.
He smiled faintly beneath his mask, watching her with a softness that contrasted his 'usual' stoicism.
But just as he reached for the back of the old phone to begin dismantling it, footsteps echoed from the staircase—voices approaching.
He instinctively turned to the side, grabbed the tattered hospital gown, and draped it hastily over the shimmering crystals to his right. The jagged bulges beneath the fabric made it obvious something was hidden, but it did its job—it masked their glow.
Hustin appeared first, ascending the final step and stepping into view.
"Hey, Damian," he greeted with a light nod and the kind of tired smile shared between survivors, he currently wore his blood and dirt stained shirt.
"Hey," Damian replied with a neutral tone, eyes glancing briefly over the group as they entered. From the worn state of their current clothes, it was clear—they were up here for a change of wardrobe or maybe spares.
But it was Riko who was first to break formation. Her eyes widened in delight when she spotted Nyxi.
"Oooooooh~ Hello girl~" she whispered, crouching low to Nyxi's eye level with exaggerated stealth, as if approaching a skittish cat.
Nyxi responded with a hiss, her body tensing, but it only made Riko beam brighter.
'Kyaaaa~~ She's so cute!' she squealed internally.
Meanwhile, Hustin's gaze drifted over the 'table'. His eyes paused at the cloth hiding the crystals—he noticed the odd shape, but didn't pry.
"Fixing your phone?" he asked, gesturing subtly to the tools.
"Yes." Damian replied simply, already prying off the back cover.
Hustin paused. "Hey… thanks. For back there. You saved my ass."
Before Damian could speak, Riko tried again to win over Nyxi with soft sounds and head tilts.
"Don't mention it," Damian muttered as he began removing the battery.
"No, seriously—"
"Didn't you all come up here for something else?" Damian interjected abruptly, his tone edged with discomfort. His eyes remained fixed on the device in his hands.
The room fell quiet. Then:
"What is your problem?" Amy snapped, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "He was just trying to thank you. You don't have to be a damn martyr about it."
Damian met her gaze. A flicker of irritation passed through his eyes, but it faded into something colder. He sighed.
"I see. Very well," he said to Hustin, calm and clinical now. "You're welcome."
He paused. Then, slowly, the next words came, sharp as knives.
"And thank you—for making me regret stepping in. Next time one of you is in danger, I'll look the other way."
Silence. The air turned brittle.
Hannah gasped behind her hands. Riko straightened, mouth open in shock. Even Marcus blinked.
'How the hell did that escalate so fast?' Riko wondered, mind scrambling.
Amy took a furious step forward. "Wait—what?!"
Before the fight could spiral, Hannah seized her wrist.
"Let me go! I need to give that guy a piece of my mind!" Amy yelled as she was pulled toward the stairs.
Marcus watched it all unfold but said nothing. He followed quietly behind them, Riko trailing last.
"Does he always have to be such an asshole?" she muttered, not exactly whispering.
Marcus didn't respond.
Left behind, Hustin stood in silence, watching Damian with a mixture of disappointment and contemplation. Then he turned to Lana, who held something in her hands: a small green crystal orb. She handed it to him.
He walked over and placed it gently on the glass 'table' in front of Damian.
"This came from the Necrogryph you killed."
Then he turned and walked away.
Damian looked down at the core, then up at Lana. She hadn't moved.
She was staring at the cloth covering the crystals. Her golden eyes shimmered with unreadable emotion. Damian tensed—but she said nothing.
Finally, she spoke, her voice soft and unwavering, as if understanding what Damian was doing.
"Everyone needs friends, Damian."
"Even you"
It was the first time she had spoken to him directly.
She turned away without waiting for a response, and followed the others.
Damian stood still, silent.
'This is why I hate talking to people, ....' he thought bitterly, reaching up to rub his face—only for his hand to meet the cold surface of his mask.
He shook his head and exhaled. 'Enough distractions.'
'Time to focus.'
His phone isn't going to fix itself.
---
Time: 2:09 PM
--
The air had thinned again—left hollow in the absence of voices. Faint thuds and laughter echoed from deeper in the boutique where the others now searched for jackets or boots or distractions, but here, in the modest temple he'd made of this glass table, Damian stood completely still.
He glanced to the side where the others were 'shopping' with furrowed eyebrows, the noise they were making was distracting him, he turned to his side leaned in and grabbed his headphones, he inserted the memory card from his phone and turned it on, after heard a faint 'Power on' from it speakers, he reached up, clicked his black headphones over his ears, and pressed play.
A soft drone of ambient synth washed through his brain. All distractions dulled. Voices vanished behind a wall of sound and focus. It was time.
He rolled his shoulder once, exhaled, and tapped the table lightly.
He glanced to the right where Lana had placed the green core and furrowed his brows in thoughtfully.
'So there are called Necrogyphs, huh....' He thought, glancing deeper into the boutique where the others where in a shopping spree and continued.
'How did they even know their names??' He thought quietly, he hadn't received a system notification Identifying it like it did back in the Eclipse Labyrinth.
He shrugged and turned away his attention.
"Let's begin for real this time, Nyxi."
The serpent—resting in a lazy coil near his right hand—lifted her head, blinking those sharp dark-silver eyes. She slithered slightly forward, tail twitching, as if intrigued by the ceremony that was about to unfold.
Damian turned to the old phone—its screen webbed with cracks, backplate scratched and half-loose. A digital war veteran.
The first thing he was to do was remove the sim tray, holding the his sim and his memory card, but he already did earlier when he took out his memory card and inserted it into his headphones.
He directly braced the phone it on a microfiber cloth to avoid it from skidding alone the surface of the glass 'table' and began removing the back screws with a fine-tip Phillips screwdriver. Each screw, he aligned on the magnetic tray he had salvaged from the phone shop, placing them in a neat spiral—like a mechanical sundial marking the passage of life from one body to the next.
As he pried off the old screen with a thin metal tool, Nyxi's head darted closer, eyes watching the twist of his wrist, the way he applied pressure with the perfect balance of force and caution.
"Delicate work," Damian muttered under his breath, not realizing he was talking aloud. "Like removing a mask from someone who forgot they were wearing one."
Nyxi tilted her head.
With the screen dysfunctional, he carefully unlatched the ribbon cables—display, touch, front camera—and disconnected the battery with his nylon spudger. A soft puff of dust rose from within the old casing. He took a fine brush from his kit and cleaned out the tiny crevices, shaking his head at the grime. Even in the end of the world, phones found ways to collect lint.
He flipped the device gently, like turning over a body on an operating table. There it was.
The motherboard.
The soul.
Using tweezers, he freed the motherboard from its anchors and lifted it free. He held it in both hands—not reverently, but with immense respect. A green slab etched with gold lines and tiny black chips. The container of all his notes, photos, videos, and some important informations.
Behind his mask, Damian's eyes softened. "You've earned this."
The new phone—gleaming and untouched—lay beside the empty box. He unboxed it with clinical precision, peeling off the thin plastic sheets that covered the new screen and back. The frame was cool, seamless, its branding subtle and premium.
Nyxi flicked her tongue against the box edge, then hissed softly as if approving its aesthetic.
Damian chuckled. "Yeah. Looks good, doesn't it?"
He placed the chassis on the anti-static cloth and removed its factory motherboard—brand new, never used, never lived. It was set aside without sentiment. In its place, he gently lowered the salvaged motherboard from his old phone. A perfect fit. Like a heartbeat returning to a chest that had never known life.
He began reconnecting the components one by one. Battery first—brand new and twice as long-lasting. Then came the display connector, camera cable, fingerprint sensor, and a new vibration motor. Each part clicked in like a puzzle coming home.
He tested the battery voltage with a handheld reader. 97%. Good. He ran a quick multimeter check on the power rail just to be sure. Clean. No shorts.
The adhesive for the screen came next—liquid, fine-tipped, forming a seamless ring around the frame. Then he aligned the display and pressed it gently into place with a silicone clamp tool, ensuring even pressure at all corners.
As the adhesive settled, Damian turned to clean up the mess—old parts, scratched housing, the shattered glass. He swept them into a discarded paper bag and tied it shut.
Midway through, a dull bang echoed from a distance away—someone had knocked over a mannequin or shelf. Nyxi jolted. Damian's brow furrowed.
He reached over and turned the headphone volume up.
Let the others get lost in their shopping spree. He had a friend to resurrect—The Irony...
He unclamped the screen after five minutes. The glue had set, the frame seamless. The new phone looked… whole. Familiar. Yet elevated. Like an old warrior in new armor.
He was about to press the power button but remembered a detail he had forgotten, he held down the power button of his headphone and heard a familiar announcement: "Power Off"
He took it off and was immediately hit with faint murmurs, he sighed and ejected the memory card and place the headphone on the table, he grabbed his new phone and turned it to it's side, with a small pin from the phone carton, ejected the sim tray and carefully placed his memory card on it and slowly inserted the sim tray into the phone.
He pressed the power button.
For a moment—nothing. Then the screen flickered. The boot logo appeared, glowing softly. The progress spinner rolled. Damian leaned closer.
Then—his wallpaper.
An AI art of a white haired young man, he stood wearing a black two piece suit with purple assents, he held a light purple bladed sword on his left, while his shimmering purple eyes focused on the levitating crystal on his right palm, he had black earrings in his ear and a plain black choker around his neck. Still there. Intact. Nothing wiped.
The corners of his mouth lifted faintly. "You made it."
Nyxi curled against his wrist, watching the lights dance across his phone.
Damian held the phone in his hands like a relic, and the screen blinked once in response—faint, as if recognizing him.
With a contented smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he raised the phone and aimed the newly replaced camera lens at Nyxi. The shutter clicked with a crisp digital snap.
'Hmm… sharper, deeper contrast. Definitely better,' he mused, admiring the image. Her glossy, obsidian scales shimmered with eerie elegance under the glow of the room. He nodded with satisfaction, then casually swiped down from the top of the screen. A soft tchhh sound followed as the quick-access menu appeared. He toggled on Bluetooth with a gentle tap.
Sliding his thumb up the screen, he accessed the main menu. Rows of colorful app icons greeted him—familiar, yet subtly different with the new display. He scrolled deliberately, locating the music app with a gentle flick and tapping it open. The interface blossomed into view with animated finesse.
Turning his head, he reached toward the table where his black wireless headphones laid. He slipped them over his ears and powered them on.
[Power On]
[Bluetooth Mode]
[Connected]
The calm synthetic voice in the headphones confirmed what the blinking blue light already had. He gave a brief nod to himself.
Another scroll through his music library, and he landed on a track—a mellow yet upbeat rhythm, laced with instrumental hums and slow percussion. As the beat washed into his ears, he let out a quiet breath, one he didn't realize he had been holding.
'Now, for one of the major reasons I fixed this phone…' he thought, his gaze shifting to the corner of the table where his folded clothes were neatly stacked. Resting atop them like a prized heirloom was the map.
He picked it up with hir right hand, the parchment rustling softly, and unfolded it gently. He laid it flat across the glass surface of the display table, smoothing it out with slow, deliberate motions. The creases left by the folding resisted at first, but he pressed them down with his palm, sliding across the paper to straighten its lines and borders.
Nyxi, ever the curious observer, had now slithered upward from his wrist. She coiled comfortably around his neck, her head resting over his shoulder, peering at the map with a curious flick of her tongue.
He opened the phone's camera and adjusted his grip, angling it precisely to capture the entire surface of the map. A few small adjustments—tilting the phone slightly, shifting it back to center—until he found the perfect shot. Then—click. One picture. He zoomed in to verify the details: every contour, every landmark, every written note was crystal clear. Still, he took a few more pictures from different angles just to be safe.
Once done, he began folding the map back with care.
"Now I have more than one." The words slipped from his lips in a quiet murmur, meant only for himself and perhaps Nyxi.
With a few swipes and taps, he opened his file manager, selected the captured images, and copied them to his SD card from paranoia and caution. There was no cloud backup available; no cell service here. But the SD card was physical, tangible, safe and could be removed and placed in another phone if this one ever got banged up again.
Satisfied, he slid the phone into his pocket. The music still flowed in his ears, its rhythm syncing perfectly with the calm focus that overtook him.
"Alright… let's get to it," he whispered to no one in particular.
He bent low, reaching near the table, and pulled up his new duffel bag, the durable, rugged black model with reinforced stitching and hidden compartments. Setting it on the table, he unzipped the concealed bottom pocket with a soft zzzzzt and began loading his folded clothes into it one by one.
Nyxi shifted slightly, coiling more firmly around his neck but not uncomfortably so. Her head leaned into his as if she, too, was studying his methodical packing. Occasionally, she would nudge an article of clothing with her snout or flick her tongue toward the open bag, eliciting a faint chuckle from him.
"Curious little thing, aren't you?" he mumbled with a half-smile, humming softly along with the song still playing in his ears. It was almost meditative—the rhythm of folding, packing, adjusting, and checking. The world outside this moment was distant, muted. Just him, Nyxi, and the quiet thrum of music.
---
| With The Girls |
| POV: Third Person |
---
Time: 2:41 PM
---
The clothing section hummed with subdued murmurs, the rustle of fabric, and the occasional metallic clang of a hanger striking a rail. Despite the peaceful exterior, the atmosphere within the group of six was subtly fragmented. Each girl had drifted into their own world, holding separate conversations and thoughts.
They'd all changed into fresh clothes, finally free of the grime and weight of their earlier battle.
On a sleek bench just outside the women's changing area, three of them were seated — chatting quietly. The bench was polished wood with a steel frame, long enough to fit four people comfortably. Currently, Amy, Riko, and Hannah occupied it.
Amy Williams sat cross-legged, her new outfit exuding a laid-back yet chic aura. She wore a forest-green crop hoodie with a white tank beneath, and a pair of snug, black cargo joggers that complemented her curves. Her glossy black hair was held back by a loose tie, exposing her sharp green eyes as they scanned the space ahead.
Amy Williams "So... are we just gonna let Marcus go off on a trip with that guy?" Amy asked with a skeptical raise of her brow, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned slightly toward the others. Her tone was a mix of unease and mild frustration.
Next to her, Riko adjusted the fluffy sky-blue cardigan she'd just slipped into. Underneath it, she wore a white pleated mini skirt and a pastel pink t-shirt that read "Stay Sparkly!" in cursive. She sat with her legs dangling off the bench, her petite frame full of tightly packed energy. Her shoulder-length blonde hair bounced slightly as she huffed and turned to Amy.
Hanabira Riko "It seems like Marcus-san has made his decision. But I don't like that Mister. He looks shady," she said with a faint pout and a narrowed glance. Her voice carried the subtle cadence of her Japanese accent, polite but stern. "His eyes... they looked too calm."
Amy exhaled. "Hmm… What do you think Hannah?"
Then both girls turned to the third on the bench — Hannah, who sat at the edge with her hands folded on her lap. She wore a fitted, long-sleeve navy blue dress that stopped just above her knees, paired with black stockings and white sneakers. Her mid-length black hair framed her delicate, fair-skinned face, and her soft blue eyes held a pensive glint as she looked ahead.
"Honestly... I don't know much about Damian," Hannah admitted, her voice quiet and calm. "He's just… a guy who helped us out when we needed it a month ago. He doesn't talk much — keeps to himself. It's hard to tell what he's really thinking."
Her gaze drifted to a figure a few meters away — Lana, who stood leaning against a pillar at the corner of the changing room section. Lana wore a sleek, all-black outfit: high-waisted tactical pants, a slightly form-fitting long-sleeve shirt, and a fresh pair of black combat boots. Her nose and mouth were hidden behind a matte black mask, and a low-brimmed cap covered part of her long black hair, which spilled down past her hips like a waterfall of silk. With her golden eyes focused on something in the distance, she radiated an unapproachable calm, listening silently to the conversation without joining in.
Hannah returned her attention to the others. "Earlier today… when he saved Hustin, Damian had the perfect opportunity to disappear. The Necroglyphs weren't after him — they were after us. No one would've blamed him if he ran. But he didn't. He came back and risked his life… for someone he barely even know."
Amy and Riko sat a little straighter, the gravity in Hannah's voice anchoring their thoughts.
"From what I've seen," Hannah continued softly, "Damian seems like someone who's… kind, even if he doesn't show it in the usual ways. I just think he's not used to being around people."
She closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, as if the truth weighed heavier when spoken aloud.
Amy's brows furrowed slightly as guilt crept up her spine like cold water. Her earlier outburst — the words she'd thrown Damian's way — now echoed in her mind, sounding childish and misplaced.
Her words — Damian not being used to people — reminded her of someone, the memory of him sleeping outside last night, in the cold, alone, burned into her thoughts.
She swallowed.
'Now I feel bad,' she admitted internally, pressing her lips together. He was probably going through something. Just like Lana used to—or still is....
She remembered how distant her sister once was — harsh, cold, isolated — before the walls started to come down. There had been reasons for it, deep scars behind her behavior. Maybe Damian had his own scars too.
Meanwhile, Riko glanced from Hannah to Lana and then back at Amy, her expression softening with quiet thoughtfulness.
Hannah broke the silence again, her voice firmer this time. "Let's be honest… how many people back at Fort Sentinel would've done what he did? Rescued strangers who were under attack? Most would've turned on us the moment they realized we were vulnerable. Some would've done worse."
The air grew heavy with the truth of that statement. None of them had forgotten what it felt like to live under constant threat — not just from monsters, but from other people.
Amy nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper as she looked down at her hands.
"…I guess… I owe him an apology."
No one said anything for a moment. But they didn't have to. The quiet was heavy, meaningful. A shared understanding settled between the three of them.
And from where she stood, leaning against the pillar, Lana's golden eyes flicked to them for a brief second — unreadable. Then she returned her gaze to the 'horizon', silent as ever.
---
| With The Boys |
| POV: Third Person |
---
Time: 2:54 PM
---
In the male clothing section, the space was quiet save for the rustling of fabric and distant voices. Racks stood tall, draped with simple yet sturdy clothes—nothing designer, just practical survival wear salvaged from old storage.
Hustin leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He now wore a dark green tactical jacket over a grey thermal shirt, with charcoal cargo pants tucked into worn combat boots. His jacket was zipped up halfway, revealing a bandolier of utility pouches slung across his chest. He looked a bit like a makeshift ranger from a video game, minus the flair.
Seated beside a heavy-duty zipped duffel bag filled with new clothes, Marcus Hale rested on the tiled floor. He had one leg stretched out and the other drawn close, arms hanging loosely over his knee. His outfit was a mix of muted brown and black—he wore a light vest over a long-sleeved black shirt, with fingerless gloves and slim-fit work jeans. His boots were reinforced at the toe, and a dark hoodie was tied around his waist.
Hustin Bright "From his get-up? He seems like a cold, heartless guy," Hustin said, responding to a question Marcus had asked moments earlier.
"But his actions are different from his whole vibe. If you look past the cold front, he seems like a rather nice guy who just wants to be left alone," Hustin continued, glancing sideways at Marcus.
"And even with that, he saved my life. I owe him... I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay that." His voice dipped slightly, his eyes distant as though replaying the moment.
Marcus Hale "He saved Kai's life too," Marcus said with a small smile. But that smile quickly faded when Kai's name lingered too long in the air. His fingers clenched slightly on his knee
Hustin picked up on the shift in mood immediately and pivoted.
Hustin Bright "So... you and Hannah, huh?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and smirking. "How did your talk go?"
Marcus's eyes widened like he'd been caught in a trap, then softened with a sigh that could've powered a turbine.
Hustin Bright 'That's a long sigh,' Hustin thought, his smirk growing.
Marcus Hale "Well…"
---
| Back With The Girls |
| POV: Third Person |
---
Time: 2:59 PM
---
A soft exhale of surprise escaped from both Riko and Amy at once. All three girls had gone for another change of clothes, they seemed to be enjoying their time in the boutique. To their were multiple bags filled with clothes and shoes, which they may or may not have tried on.
Amy, now dressed in a slim-fitting dark maroon top tucked into high-waisted faded jeans with a tactical belt, leaned forward on the bench. The snug fit complimented her hourglass figure while still remaining practical. Her black medium-long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and a sleek black jacket rested on her shoulders.
"He asked you to follow him?" she asked, her green eyes narrowing slightly, a mix of curiosity and disbelief sharpening her tone.
Riko, wearing a creamy beige turtleneck under a fluffy off-white coat with simple black leggings and flat ankle boots, turned toward Hannah with a gentle expression.
"What did you say?" she asked softly, tilting her head, genuinely interested.
Hannah, seated at the edge of the bench in a soft gray hoodie and dark blue jeans, her mid-length black hair gently framing her face, looked conflicted. Her usually bright blue eyes seemed distant, weighed down by things unsaid.
"...I didn't say anything," she murmured after a pause, eyes lowering. "Before I could respond, the Necroglyphs attacked."
The words hung heavy in the air. Amy shifted slightly, brows furrowed.
"How did things even get to that point?" she asked, seeking clarity.
Hannah sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. She began to recount the events — how Marcus had followed after her, their exchange at the staircase, the tension that followed, and how it had been cut short by the ambush. She left out the rawer parts: Marcus's guilt-laced confession, his regrets about Kai, the fragments of vulnerability he let slip in the shadows of his guilt.
"...Then the Necroglyphs attacked," Hannah finished with a long breath. "And we never got to finish the conversation."
Amy leaned back slowly, absorbing the weight of it all.
"So," she said after a beat, "what would you have said... if the Necroglyphs hadn't shown up?"
Hannah shook her head slowly, visibly drained.
"I don't know. I really don't," she admitted, her voice trembling. " From my lost memories of Damian returning, to Sofia and Kia's betrayal, then Marcus's confession... and now he says he's leaving. It's too much. I haven't even had time to breathe."
Riko, who was seated between Hannah and Amy, immediately leaned over and wrapped her arms around Hannah's shoulders. The soft material of her coat brushed against Hannah's hoodie as she embraced her warmly.
"It's gonna be okay, Hannah-san," Riko whispered. "We're here for you."
Amy stood up and walked over to Hannah's other side, placing a hand on her shoulder before kneeling down and hugging her as well.
"Riko's right," Amy said, rubbing slow, reassuring circles on Hannah's back. "We've got your back, Hannah. Just give yourself time to sort things out. No one's rushing you, and if it gets too much, come to use we will help as much as we can."
Hannah closed her eyes, letting the warmth of their support sink into her skin. For a moment, the tension in her chest loosened, the swirling confusion easing. The embrace, though brief, grounded her.
When they finally pulled away, a soft, shared smile passed between them — a fragile peace in a storm of uncertainty.
Amy then glanced across the space to Lana, who still hadn't moved from where she leaned silently against a nearby pillar. Dressed completely in black — black cap, black long sleeve shirt, black pants, black nose mask, she hadn't went for another spree when they did — Lana standing, looked like a shadow with a heartbeat, a statue that stared unblinking into the distance.
"Excuse me, guys," Amy said gently to Riko and Hannah. "I'm going to check on Lana. I'll be back in a few."
The girls nodded in understanding, watching as Amy picked up a nearby folding chair and walked toward her sister. She set it down beside Lana and took a seat, peering up at her with a teasing smirk.
"What've you been staring at all this time, hmm?" she whispered.
Lana flinched slightly, clearly caught off guard. She slowly turned her head, her golden eyes flickering like a candle behind stained glass. The subtle shimmer in her gaze indicated that one of her Facets was active.
Curious, Amy stood and followed her line of sight — she found herself looking across an opening in one of the clothing racks, which showed where Damian sat slouched comfortably in a mostly intact armchair. His head leaned back against the cushion, headphones snug over his ears, mask still on. He looked asleep, though it was hard to tell from their distance.
In front of him, his 'showcase table' was now mostly bare. Only the duffel bags remained. It looked like he had packed everything else away.
Amy raised an eyebrow and turned back to Lana, who was now glancing back and forth between her and Damian.
"Lana... why are you staring at Damian like that?" Amy asked pointedly.
Lana straightened slightly.
"Um, no reason," she said, voice just a little too casual.
Amy narrowed her eyes.
'Still a horrible liar,' she thought.
"Are you... interested in him?" Amy asked, genuine curiosity in her tone now.
Lana blinked a few times, as if trying to process what her sister had just said.
"What makes you say that?" she asked, slightly surprised.
Amy didn't miss a beat.
"I've seen you staring at him more than a few times. At first, I thought maybe you didn't trust him, but... this doesn't look like wariness to me. So, what is it, Lana? What's going on?"
Lana let out a long sigh and shook her head with a soft, helpless smile.
"Calm down, Sis" she said. "I don't know what you're imagining, but whatever it is — it's not that."
She paused, then lifted her gaze to meet Amy's.
"You know about my eyes, right?"
Her golden irises shimmered visibly, a ripple of light passing through them.
Amy nodded slowly.
"My Resonance — Essence Harmonization — lets me understand the composition of anyone I observe. The more I understand, the stronger I become," Lana continued.
"When I look at someone with these eyes, I see... shadows. Threads. A spectral imprint of who they are. Their Facets, their titles, their Resonances — all intertwined. If I analyze them long enough, I can replicate some of their Facets temporarily."
As she spoke, she lifted her hand. A silvery orb of moonlight coalesced above her palm — Amy's Twilight Comet, the same technique she had used to obliterate several Necroglyph limbs earlier that day.
Lana Flicked her hand and the moonlight ball disappeared, looking at Lana you would notice drops of sweat on her fore head.
Amy's jaw clenched slightly. She reached out and gently wiped the sweat that had formed on Lana's forehead.
"I know. The stronger the person, the harder it is to sustain the mimicry. That's why you haven't used it in battle yet — the cost is too high," Amy said softly.
Then, she crossed her arms, tone firm again.
"But that doesn't explain why you keep staring at Damian like he's a crush you're trying to analyze."
Lana blinked again, pausing.
'Seems like she doesn't like Damian...' she thought.
"When I look at Damian—" she started, but her voice trailed off.
She turned back toward the spot where Damian had been seated... but the chair was now empty. One of the duffel bags was gone.
She turned her head again—this time toward the rows of clothing racks—and saw Damian approaching, calm as ever. One duffel bag in hand, the other in his pocket, his lunar fang strapped to his waist, his gait unhurried. He seemed unaware of their attention as he scanned the racks, eyes casually flitting from one to the next.
"—I don't see anything."
Amy frowned. "What do you mean?"
But Lana didn't answer.
Amy followed her gaze and spotted him too. She looked back to Lana, her expression uncertain.
Lana's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind spinning. 'What are you, Damian?' she wondered quietly.
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To Be Continued....
A/n: All character images have been uploaded to the discord.
Check: Special Characters. Their names and Titles are listed.
Link in plot summary.