Sirens wailed across the shattered district. Their voices came off fractured towers and scorched glass.
Across the wide streets, crowds gathered in endless lines. Not just dozens or thousands. Millions.
They emerged from the glowing turret circuits that ringed the Arcology's perimeter.
Each activated node unfolded into a luminous aperture. The Pocket-dimension's exits stabilized one after another like mechanical flowers blooming in the dark.
Pale blue light spilled onto asphalt as civilians stepped through in waves: injured, shaken, exhausted… but alive.
Some clutched children tightly against their chests, refusing to loosen their grip. Others fell tired and hungry onto the roadside the moment their feet touched solid ground. Bodies finally surrendered to fatigue they had ignored for hours.
A few simply stood still, staring upward at the open sky as if they were seeing it for the first time in years.
Police units spread outward in disciplined formations establishing barricades. Guiding the endless streams of survivors away from unstable zones.
Emergency vehicles lined the streets in dense rows. Ambulances flashing red and white against the broken skyline.
Medics moved rapidly through the masses, checking pulses, applying bandages, lifting stretchers.
Above it all, helicopters circled like watchful sentinels. Searchlights sweeping across rooftops and debris fields. Their rotors churned the lingering smoke into drifting spirals that slowly thinned into the night.
....
Steam curled upward from two cups of tea, drifting lazily into the quiet air.
The clink of porcelain against saucer echoed faintly as Edmond Dantes set his cup down with theatrical care.
"Well then." he sighed contentedly,
"My work here is concluded. Time to let the curtains fall."
Cagaro stared into his cup for a moment before glancing up. His voice had lost the violent edge from before.
"…How does this summoning system actually work?"
Edmond's golden eyes brightened, as if pleased by the curiosity. He tapped the side of his cup lightly.
"Simple in theory. When a Summoner calls forth a being, they don't create life from nothing. They shape Data... a recorded existence, a legend, a memory of someone who once carried weight in history or myth."
He lifted a finger drawing a small circle in the air.
"To give that Data a body… the Summoner channels Runic Flow into it. That flow acts like scaffolding. Forming muscles, bones, senses, even presence. Without it, we remain nothing more than ideas without shape."
Cagaro nodded slowly observing the explanation.
"But there's a price. Runic Flow is not endless, if you have the basic knowledge. The longer a Summon remains, the more it drains the Summoner.
However, not all Summons are equal in every summon attempt. The greater the Legend or Divinity tied to that Data, the heavier the burden becomes. A minor historical figure might require little energy… while a being tied to divine myths or world-changing feats demands enormous amounts of Runic Flow just to stand upright.
As I mentioned, all Summonerd may not pull the full potential of their summon. Most only achieve fragments. Partial strength, reduced abilities or diluted presence."
Cagaro exhaled slowly, processing it all.
"So… you cost less?"
"Compared to many others, yes. I am efficient but versatile. You can say a practical investment. Excellent for support, illusions, tactical disruption… and occasional philosophical lectures."
He picked up his cup again, finishing the last sip.
"We will likely meet again." Edmond added calmly. "Your friend Henry has a habit of calling upon me whenever situations grow… delightfully inconvenient."
A faint grin lingered on his face. He said with amusement,
"And frankly, I suspect he prefers someone who talks too much but spends less Runic Flow."
Edmond stared quietly into the empty cup. The usual playful sharpness in his eyes softened just a little.
"You know… that poor kid carries more weight than he lets anyone see. If he had someone to truly care for him… someone who stayed, not just fought beside him… perhaps he would not look at the world like it's something he must constantly repair."
A faint sigh escaped from him like it was nothing new. He rose his feet.
"Well then. Until the next troublesome summoning, take care of yourself."
His form began to thin into drifting fragments of golden dust. Then he dissolved completely into the smooth air.
Cagaro looked at the tea cup of his. He saw his reflection. Then he looked up at the heaven.
....
The night had grown colder after the flame faded.
She pulled the cloak tighter around herself, wrapping it across her shoulders until only her face remained visible.
The fabric did little against the cold but it gave her something to hold onto.
She walked from one group to another, steps uneven but persistent.
"…Excuse me." her voice came out softly, "Did you see him?"
A medic glanced at her, tired eyes scanning her face.
"…Who?"
"Blyke." she replied quickly. "Tall… he wears red waistcoat… brown hair..."
The medic hesitated. "…I am sorry."
She nodded slightly as if that answer meant nothing and moved on.
Another responder passed.
"Did you see him?"
A police officer shook his head slowly. "Ask the medics."
Those words felt easier to carry than the truth already forming inside her chest.
She walked farther,
"…Have you seen Blyke?"
Another shake of the head.
She kept asking. Just steadily like repeating a ritual that delayed reality.
"…Did you see him?"
"…Is he with the injured?"
"…Did he leave the place already?"
Each answer came back the same, shaped differently but ending in the same silence.
After many repetitions, a police officer finally stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. His tone was gentle, careful like speaking to someone standing at the edge of something fragile.
"Hey… what's wrong?"
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. For the first time, her voice failed her completely.
Silence settled heavily in her throat. She lowered herself slowly onto the roadside. The cloak folded around her like a shell.
Her hands rested loosely in her lap.
She already knew it but... she couldn't accept...
That was the cruelest part—knowing… yet still searching for a different answer, one that would undo what had already happened.
Her thoughts circled the same quiet question, again and again,
If he is gone… why does the world still look the same?