Two years had passed since the devastating clash between BCB and Meteosity, a conflict that had left scars not only on the world but deep within its leaders. In a dimly lit office overlooking the capital, the Governor sat silently, his gaze fixed on a report detailing yet another failed expedition. His voice broke the silence, heavy with frustration and resignation.
"They all failed," he muttered. "Everyone who attempted to research that entity, anyone who even dared to approach the Bermuda Triangle… they never came back."
His assistant, standing a few feet away, hesitated before responding. "I might be able to recommend someone—someone who could do it."
The Governor turned to him, a flicker of curiosity in his tired eyes. "Who?"
"Reilherd Rees," the assistant said with quiet confidence. "He's not just any researcher or investigator. He's a man who has solved mysteries no one else dared to touch. The Solitary Room? The one everyone feared because no one who entered ever returned—he solved that. And others like it. Paranormal phenomena, scientific anomalies… he's faced them all and lived to tell the tale. He's extremely skilled, fearless, and methodical. If anyone can uncover the truth behind the entity in the Triangle, it's him."
The Governor leaned back in his chair, processing the name. He'd heard whispers of Reilherd before—legendary cases, impossible odds, and a man who always found the answer.
"Fine," he said at last. "Call him. I want to speak to him myself."
The assistant shifted uncomfortably. "Sir… Reilherd isn't easy to get hold of. He's constantly traveling, and he's highly selective about the missions he takes. And there's another thing—he's very expensive."
The Governor's eyes narrowed, a determined fire replacing his earlier weariness. "I don't care how much it costs," he said. "This isn't just another mission. This entity—whatever it is—lurking in the Bermuda Triangle… it's a threat. We've lost too many people. Too many lives. I need answers. And if Reilherd Rees is the only one who can get them, then we will pay whatever price it takes."
The assistant gave a brief nod and turned to leave, already reaching for his communicator. Behind him, the Governor stood and walked to the window, staring out into the darkening sky. Somewhere out there, past the borders of maps and reason, something watched and waited—something unknown, and possibly unstoppable. And now, at last, they would send someone not to fight it, but to understand it.
Reilherd Rees was their last hope.
Rain poured from a grey, weeping sky as a man in a black suit walked slowly through the cemetery. Each step was heavy, his polished shoes soaking through as the mud clung to him like grief refusing to let go. In his trembling hands, he held a small bouquet of white lilies—her favorite.
He stopped before a headstone etched with the name Kasime Olivia. The stone was cold, but the name burned in his heart. Kneeling down, he gently placed the flowers at its base, brushing away a few stray leaves with quiet care.
"It's been one year," he whispered, his voice breaking. "One year since you left… and I still can't forget. Every memory we shared, every smile, every word... they haunt me in the best and worst ways."
His fingers grazed the edge of the headstone as if trying to feel her warmth again.
"I cared for you as much as you did for me. Maybe more than I ever said out loud. I still talk to you sometimes… hoping you might hear me."
A silence followed, broken only by the sound of rain pattering against stone and grass.
"I miss you, Mom," he said, his voice soft and cracked. "And I'll never forget you. Never."
He stood slowly, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of love and loss. As he walked away, the rain mixed with the tears streaming down his face, indistinguishable from one another—but both just as real.
The man walked slowly, his footsteps echoing on the wet pavement as the rain continued to fall around him. His black suit clung to his frame, soaked through, but he didn't care. His mind was far away—lost in memories of his mother, Kasime Olivia, whose absence had left an unfillable void in his heart. The world around him blurred, not just from the rain, but from the tears that refused to stop.
Suddenly, a hand rested gently on his shoulder. A familiar voice broke through the silence.
"I know your mom was precious to you," the voice said softly. "But you need to let her go. She wouldn't want you to keep living in this pain. She'd want you to be happy."
The man froze. For a moment, he didn't breathe. Then, slowly, he lifted the hand from his shoulder—firmly, but without anger—and let it fall away. He didn't say a word. He simply continued walking, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, the sorrow in his heart too deep for conversation.
"Hey! Listen to me!" the voice behind him called, more desperate now. "Don't go! Just stop for a minute!"
But he didn't stop. He didn't turn around.
The friend sighed, watching him disappear into the rain. "Eh… he never changes," he muttered sadly and turned back the way he came.
When he arrived home, a girl—his sister—looked up from the couch, concern written all over her face. "Where is he?" she asked quickly.
"He didn't come," her brother replied, shaking his head. "He didn't even listen. He's… really broken. I don't think he's spoken to anyone in months."
Their father stepped into the room, a frown deepening the lines on his aging face. "I think you both should go to his place," he said. "Don't let him stay alone like this."
The girl nodded without hesitation. "Alright. Let's go together," she said, her voice laced with resolve.
They didn't know if they could break through the walls he'd built around himself—but they weren't going to give up. Not on someone they loved.
Izaki and Hellesa walked together through the quiet streets, the sky still gray with lingering clouds. The rain had stopped, but the air remained heavy, as though the world itself mourned alongside their friend. They reached Kazen's home—a small, silent place that seemed to have shrunk in the absence of life—and stood before his door.
Izaki knocked firmly, the sound sharp in the stillness. "Kazen! Open the door! We're here to see you!" he shouted, trying to sound both strong and reassuring.
Hellesa stepped forward, her voice softer but more insistent. "Kazen, it's us. Please, open the door. We just want to talk."
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, from within, footsteps slowly approached. The door creaked open, revealing Kazen—eyes sunken, face pale, his expression empty. He didn't say a word. Without a glance, he turned and walked back into the house, collapsing onto the worn-out couch like a man carrying the weight of the world.
Izaki and Hellesa exchanged a brief, worried glance before following him inside.
Izaki sat down beside him, leaning forward. "Kazen, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm. "Talk to me. Please. Just say something."
But Kazen's expression remained frozen. His eyes were distant, staring past them into some place only he could see. A place filled with memories, pain, and silence.
Trying to lighten the mood, Hellesa began telling little jokes—things that used to make him laugh. Her voice was bright, hopeful, but Kazen didn't even blink. Her words fell into the void like pebbles into an endless well.
Izaki's face tightened with frustration and sorrow. "Come with us," he said quietly. "Let's go back home. You don't need to stay here alone."
Still, Kazen didn't move.
"Come on, bro," Izaki added, his voice cracking just slightly. "At least say something. We're right here."
Then Hellesa moved closer and gently took Kazen's hand in hers. "Kazen," she said softly, "come with me. Or I'll pull you out myself."
At that, something shifted. Slowly—almost reluctantly—Kazen stood up, his hand still in Hellesa's. He didn't speak, but he didn't resist either.
Izaki blinked in surprise, then gave a small, weary smile. "I swear… wonder why you always listen to her."
Hellesa smiled faintly, not letting go of Kazen's hand for even a second. She guided him toward the door, and he followed silently, like a ghost returning to life, one small step at a time.
They didn't speak much as they walked, but Kazen's presence was enough. It wasn't healing, not yet—but it was a beginning. And sometimes, that was all that mattered.
Their mansion stood tall and grand, its elegance reflected in the shining marble floors and golden chandeliers. But to Kazen, it all felt hollow. No matter how lavish the place was, it couldn't fill the emptiness inside him. His expression remained unchanged—distant, numb—as they led him inside and gently sat him down on the couch.
He didn't look around. He didn't care. The silence in his heart was louder than anything around him.
Raphael approached him, his footsteps quiet with care. Sitting across from Kazen, he looked at him with quiet sympathy.
"I know," Raphael began gently, "you loved your mother deeply. Anyone could see that. And I'm not here to tell you to forget her… because you never truly can."
Before he could continue, Kazen's face crumpled, and the tears he'd been holding back finally broke free. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling under the weight of grief he had tried so hard to carry alone.
Raphael placed a firm, comforting hand on Kazen's shoulder. "It's okay," he said quietly. "Let it out. But don't stay in that sorrow forever. I remember who you were. You were strong, full of life. That person is still in there."
He gave Kazen a small smile. "Besides… you look like you haven't eaten in days. You're starving, aren't you? The kitchen's full—eat anything you want."
Izaki stepped forward, kneeling beside his friend. He gently wiped away Kazen's tears with the sleeve of his own shirt, his voice soft but steady.
"I know you're strong enough to resist a lot of things… even hunger. But you don't have to. Not now. You're not alone anymore."
For the first time, Kazen's eyes lifted—flickering with pain, but also with the faintest glimmer of recognition. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to feel again.
Hellesa quietly slipped into the kitchen, her heart full of hope. She carefully prepared Kazen's favorite dish—one he hadn't had in a long time, not since before the grief had consumed him. When it was ready, she carried the plate back to the living room with a soft smile.
She placed it in front of him and gently said, "This is your favorite, isn't it? Go on… eat."
Kazen looked at the food for a moment, then slowly reached out and took the plate. Without a word, he began to eat. His hands trembled slightly, but there was something peaceful in the motion—like a small piece of the past had returned to him.
Izaki watched with a grin and nudged him playfully. "You still eat like a kid, you know. Just as messy and just as funny."
Hellesa and Raphael burst into laughter, their joy lightening the room. For a moment, the weight of sorrow lifted, replaced by warmth and familiarity. Kazen didn't say anything, but a faint, almost invisible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
It wasn't much—but in that moment, surrounded by those who cared, it was everything.
As Kazen finished the last bite of his meal, he looked down at the empty plate for a moment, then said softly, "This… tastes exactly the same as when my mom used to make it."
Izaki's eyes lit up with relief. "Finally, he speaks!" he said with a grin.
Hellesa laughed, her voice warm. "Well, your mom was the one who taught me how to make it, remember? I just followed her steps."
Kazen stood up slowly, setting the plate down with care. "Thanks for the meal," he said, his voice a little steadier now. "I'll head back home."
Before he could take a step, Raphael stepped forward. "No," he said firmly. "You're staying here. With us."
Kazen blinked. "What? No, it's fine. Really, I'll go. You've done enough."
Izaki quickly moved in front of him. "We can't let you go," he said, serious now. "You haven't healed yet, Kazen. You might do something reckless. And we're not taking that chance."
Hellesa stepped beside him, arms crossed. "You're staying," she said, no room for argument in her tone.
Kazen looked at them—at their concern, their stubborn love—and finally gave a small nod. "Okay… thank you for letting me stay."
Raphael smiled gently. "No need to thank us. You're part of our family now."
Kazen looked surprised. "What?"
"Yes," Hellesa added with a smile. "You always were."
Isan and his sons, Merin and Senzuko, were on a long-awaited trip to Europe—a journey they had dreamed about for years. After everything they had been through, the weight of their past seemed to lift, if only for a while, as they settled into the cozy warmth of their hotel room in Paris.
The city buzzed outside with the life and charm that only Paris could offer, but inside the room, it was laughter and comfort that filled the air.
Isan leaned back against the plush headboard, looking at his sons with a smile. "Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together with excitement, "first things first—where do we go?"
Before he could even finish the sentence, Merin jumped up, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Eiffel Tower! Eiffel Tower!" he exclaimed, his voice full of childlike wonder.
Senzuko, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a guidebook in his hand, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that sounds like a great place to start. It's iconic, and the view from the top is amazing."
Isan chuckled at their excitement. It had been so long since he'd seen this kind of light in their eyes. "Then the Eiffel Tower it is," he said, his voice warm.
Merin threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Yeah!" before falling back on the bed with a wide grin.
The room echoed with laughter. For the first time in a long while, they weren't burdened by grief or guilt. They weren't thinking about the past, about the things they'd lost or the wounds that had taken so long to heal. They were simply a father and his sons—planning their day in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Isan looked at both of them with pride, his heart quietly full. They had come so far. They had survived. And now, they were beginning to live again—together.
In that hotel room, surrounded by love and the promise of new memories, they were just a family—happy, whole, and healing.
After the devastating clash between BCB and Meteosity, the aftermath brought an unexpected peace. Both powerful organizations, once locked in conflict and ambition, had disbanded. The battle had taken too much—lives, cities, futures. In the end, there was no victor, only silence and the echo of loss.
Akin, once a formidable figure in the war, quietly returned to his hometown of Kagarashi. The city, nestled between quiet hills and whispering rivers, welcomed him like an old friend. The scars of battle still haunted him, but in Kagarashi, time seemed to move more gently.
There, he reunited with his sister. They embraced without words—none were needed. Together, they returned to the simplicity of life, tending to their family's farm. The rhythm of the land brought healing. In the quiet rustle of crops and the warmth of sunlit soil, Akin began to rediscover himself. The earth didn't care who he once was. It only asked for patience and care.
He wasn't the only one who chose a quiet life. The remaining council members of both BCB and Meteosity also drifted back to their roots. Some returned to coastal villages, others to mountain towns or bustling cities that had long missed them. They, too, chose family over power, peace over purpose. Their homes became their sanctuaries, their futures rebuilt one ordinary day at a time.
What remained of the vast fortunes and resources of both companies was not hoarded or lost. In an unprecedented act of unity and atonement, the surviving leaders agreed to redirect all remaining funds. The wealth, once used to fuel ambition and war, was now given to the families who had suffered most—those who had lost loved ones in the clash, those whose homes were destroyed, whose lives were upended.
Reparations flowed across the continent, helping rebuild cities and heal wounds. Monuments were erected in remembrance, not to glorify the war, but to remind the world of its cost—and to ensure that such a tragedy would never happen again.
And so, as seasons passed, life began anew. There were no more factions, no more rivalries. Only people, trying to find peace in the ruins of yesterday.
And for Akin, working under the soft golden light of Kagarashi's dawn, peace didn't seem like a dream anymore.
It was finally real.
In the cold, silent halls of Zenix's abandoned base, Maria stood alone.
Once filled with the voices and laughter of her comrades, the base now echoed with only the hum of machines and the distant howl of wind. Everyone she had fought beside—every friend she had trusted—was gone, taken by the brutal clash that had ended it all. She was the only one left.
Maria wandered through the dim corridors, her footsteps slow and heavy. Every corner she passed stirred a memory. There, by the control panel, was where Jalen used to crack his jokes during missions. The mess hall, now dark and empty, still echoed faintly with the laughter of late-night talks and shared meals. Even the training rooms felt haunted—not by ghosts, but by memories too vivid to forget.
She paused by the wall where a photo still hung, dusty but untouched. It was the entire squad, smiling—full of hope, unaware of how short their time together would be.
Maria sat down on the floor, her back against the wall, clutching that photo close. Tears filled her eyes, but she made no sound. Grief had no words left in her.
She wasn't just mourning their deaths. She was mourning the life they could've had.
And now, she was all that remained.