Zay looked around the empty bar and turned back to Zeke. "Do you have any clothes we could borrow?"
Zeke took a moment, closed his eyes, then placed his hands behind his back as he walked over to a window. He opened his eyes, moved his left hand to the latch, and pulled it toward him carefully and slowly.
The window creaked open as wind blew in. He exhaled, then turned around. Rain cascaded outside, dripping from the roof onto the dirt-covered ground. His hazel eyes swept over all ten of them. He gave a small nod before turning and walking down a hallway.
Zay finished the last sip of the alcohol Zeke had poured, set the glass gently on the counter, and stood. He glanced down at his bare chest, sighed, then followed after Zeke.
Renzo and the rest of the prisoners followed behind Zay—all except Nova, who remained seated, sipping quietly as she watched them disappear down the hallway.
When the prisoners entered the room Zeke led them to, clothes were laid out across three beds. Four closet doors stood open, revealing more outfits inside. In the corner, at least twenty pairs of boots were stacked neatly.
The larger prisoners were the first to move. One pulled on a black robe, another chose red. The two largest men walked over to the boots, found pairs that fit, then sat down beside the door, waiting for the rest.
Each person moved at their own pace—trying on robes, suits, long-sleeved leather, or short-sleeved gear, matching each with boots.
Renzo glanced around before cracking his neck. He picked up a long white leather shirt etched with black around the collar. A serpent symbol, embroidered in grey silk, curled along the back.
Zay trailed his fingers across the edges of the clothing—cotton, silk, leather, stitched battle-wear worn thin by time or untouched entirely. He wasn't searching for flash. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for.
Then he saw it.
Folded neatly atop a crate near the far wall—unlike the others—midnight black and subtle, but glinting faintly under candlelight.
He stepped toward it. No one noticed. Not even Zeke, who was busy adjusting the cuffs on a spare jacket.
Zay lifted the garment with both hands.
It was a coat, long enough to reach just above the knees—made from a material he couldn't name. It felt like leather, moved like silk, yet had a strange resistance to his touch. Inside the lining, faint threads of violet and red formed intricate runes and sigils he recognized.
'What the hell is this doing here?'
Beneath the coat was a pair of matching black pants made from the same fabric. Resting beside them—fingerless gloves, reinforced with obsidian-colored metal curved over the knuckles like blades.
Zay raised an eyebrow and saw the mask. It was sculpted like the lower half of a jaw, jet black with faint violet slits along the sides.
Zay held it up—and for a single second, the runes inside the coat pulsed with a soft crimson glow.
"That," Zeke said from across the room, now noticing him, "isn't ordinary."
Zay looked at him.
"It's called Kurai Skin. Old world stitching. It adapts to aura—light enough to move in silence, strong enough to withstand... if I may, a lot of shit. The coat stores kinetic energy through motion—dodging, sprinting, twisting. The more you move, the harder it hits when you strike."
Zay ran a thumb along the inside of the coat and felt a faint hum beneath the fabric.
Zeke nodded at the mask. "That channels breath and aura. The longer you wear it during combat, the more focused you become. But be warned—your emotions will dull the longer it stays on. It was meant for a group called Ghostwalkers that had a natural resistance to emotions.."
He slid the mask into place, wrapped the coat around him, and tightened the gloves.
Renzo let out a low whistle. "Okay. That's unfair."
Zay smirked beneath the mask, violet eyes sharp and unreadable.
"This... feels nice."
Zay cracked his knuckles and followed Zeke out of the room. Renzo trailed behind him, and the others fell in step as they made their way back to the bar.
The commander, Silva, and Nova saw them return. Nova looked past everyone—straight at Zay. A smirk crossed her face as she downed the last sip of her drink and set the glass carefully onto the counter.
Zeke stepped behind the bar and smiled. Then, a grin spread across his face.
…
No one knew why he grinned, but the moment he did, the bar vanished.
Gone. Just like that.
They looked around—no bar, no port. Nothing.
Zay turned, realizing he was alone. A voice called out. The commander.
Zay shouted back.
They both ran toward the sound, eventually meeting in a clearing. Their eyes scanned the area, trying to make sense of their surroundings.
"Where the hell are we?" the commander asked, exhaling sharply.
Rain began to fall harder. Zay pulled up the hood of his coat, shielding himself. The commander, still in full armor, let the rain slide off his helmet.
Clouds churned overhead, blotting out the stars. Then—A low, guttural growl echoed behind them.
They turned. A forest had materialized around them. Footsteps thundered in the distance, subtle tremors pulsing through the earth with every step. Trees snapped and fell as something moved beyond the veil of rain.
The two exchanged a glance.
"Best way to avoid a bastard..." the commander began.
"...is to kill a bastard," Zay finished.
Violet aura surged around him in a thin veil as he sprinted toward the sound.
Emerald-green aura flared around the commander as he took off behind him.
—
Renzo's eyes opened and saw nothing but water around him. He stood on a patch of circle land made of grass and dirt. The two large prisoners were beside him, watching. Beneath the surface, something moved.
A massive shape slithered, breaking the stillness of the lake. A serpentine form, slow and deliberate, circling them like it was waiting for one of them to move first.
Their eyes glanced around the small piece of land they were on, and saw a small hut. Crude and old. Too real to be a dream, that was confirmed.
They crouched low and made their way across slick ground, never taking their eyes off the water. The thing below continued circling.
They reached the hut and slipped inside. Renzo looked around and saw a lamp nearby and turned it on.
Five stone chairs arranged in a ring. In the center, a stone table. One chair cradled old bones and leather rags. Something had once sat there. Maybe it still did.
A journal rested on the table and the three of them gathered around.
"Before we open that," one of the larger man muttered, "let's introduce ourselves to whatever nightmare we've stumbled into."
"Renzo."
"Malik."
"Pren."
Pren leaned forward, closest to the journal. Its pages were pale and thin, like pressed fish skin. He dragged the candle closer. Wax dripped onto the stone.
He opened the book. And began to read.
—
Mist bled into existence as Nova moved. It clung to her skin, pooled around her feet, coalesced into a curved katana in her hand.
Across from her, Silva turned, hearing the footsteps. Bright blue eyes glowing faintly. Her spear resting over her shoulder. The heat of her aura dimming, fading like the end of a breath.
"What's your name?" Silva asked.
"Nova. You?"
"Silva."
A few seconds of silence passed as wind picked up. "Where are we?" Silva asked, voice low, uncertain.
Nova however didn't answer but her eyes narrowed. Her head tilted slightly to the west, catching the scent of something. "There's something running."
She squinted for a moment, and then blinked. "Never mind," she dded.
"There's a dragon flying at us."
Blazing through the sky, white scales like frost. Wings of gold, veins etched with glowing red. Its roar cracked the sky like thunder. Eyes bright green, unblinking. Watching them.
Silva glanced at Nova. No words. Just a single nod and both women tightened their grips.
Mist clung to Nova's katana, the blade humming with quiet pressure. Silva's spear gleamed white faintly under the moonlight, steady in her hands.
Above them, the dragon halted mid-flight. Its wings stilled. A massive, suspended shape of pale white scales—except for its tail. The tail didn't match. It was black, deep, polished obsidian, like it had been carved from another creature entirely. It writhed, coiling in violent spirals as wind screamed around it. The air twisted.
A tornado formed from the dragon's tail, spinning fast, drawing in leaves and debris like a beast sucking in breath. Then its jaws parted and frost poured out.
Ice, not of this world. The kind that humans can forget warmth ever existed. Grass withered in seconds, cracking with frost. The ground hissed, curling into itself beneath the sudden freeze.
The air between them and the dragon shimmered with ghost-white mist. Every breath stung.
A jagged chunk of frost burst forth, hurtling through the air like a falling star. It tore through the sky with a thunderous shriek, trailing shards in its wake. The ground split beneath its pressure, the air itself pushed aside by sheer speed.
Mist burst outward from Nova in all directions. Her katana carved upward, dragging a curved wall of fog along its arc.
The chunk of ice struck.
It crashed into the barrier of mist Nova created—and exploded.
Shards flew in every direction. The shockwave hit like a warhammer. Trees groaned. The earth trembled.
Silva spun, her spear a blur of motion. She deflected a shard nearly the size of her torso, redirecting it into the ground with a metallic clang.
"So... Nova, have you ever killed a dragon?" Silva asked, keeping her eyes on the sky.
Nova glanced over and let out a short chuckle. "Never even thought they existed."
She raised her katana, mist swirling tighter around her arm. "But hell—guess we're killing this bitch right here."
"I'll draw its attention. Strike it as hard as you can... whenever you get the chance," Silva said, her voice steady.
Her body flared with a radiant white light, aura surging as she launched forward. The ground cracked and splintered beneath her from the force. In an instant, she was beneath the dragon, leaping high into the air. Her spear flashed upward, aiming for any opening she could find.
The dragon roared—a deafening, guttural sound—and the shockwave blasted through the air, knocking Silva out of her arc. She crashed back down, slamming her spear into the ground to steady herself as the force swept past.
The dragon's head snapped toward Nova.
It charged.
Nova's eyes widened as the air shifted. Her body dissolved into mist just as the beast reached her. The mist scattered upward, flung high into the sky. She reformed beside Silva, chest heaving.
The dragon twisted midair, spinning with impossible grace for its size. Its massive form hovered, facing them. Another roar tore through the night, louder, angrier.
Its wings glowed gold.
Light pierced through the dark sky as spears of golden energy formed high above, all of them pointing down—aimed straight at Nova and Silva.