After her encounter with Zeice, Dr Bella returned home and sought refuge in the quiet embrace of the night.
She settled herself on the veranda, where an old wooden chair creaked softly beneath her, a familiar sound, worn with the memory of countless evenings spent in solitude.
In her hands lay a book with a plain, unassuming cover.
It was no polished publication, but a private edition she had printed herself, a labour of quiet devotion.
The edges of the pages had grown yellowed with time, bearing the faint scars of countless readings.
Each fold, each crease, was a testament to the nights she had turned to these words, searching for solace.
She had read it more times than she could recall, yet the meaning never dulled.
It lingered, fresh, raw, like ink that refused to fade.
The Last Ink.
The name was not merely a title. It was a whisper in the dark, a voice that had once saved her.
When the sterile chill of the operating theatre became too heavy to bear, when the relentless weight of duty threatened to break her spirit, it was The Last Ink who held her steady.
His words were not idle musings. They were fragments of a soul unwilling to surrender, each line a quiet defiance against the cold, unyielding world.
And now, that voice belonged to Zeice. A truth so unexpected, it left her breathless.
And yet, that beauty was now tarnished, soiled by the stain of slander.
They had branded the writer a plagiarist, weaving falsehoods that the words, so achingly honest, were never truly his own.
Bella closed the book with deliberate care, her gaze lost in the fading light beyond the veranda.
They would never know. And they would never understand.
Truth, once poured onto a page, cannot be forged. A soul, once bared, cannot be imitated.
And the cruelest irony of all? It was those who hurled the accusations that had stolen from him.
Like thieves cloaked in shadow, they had taken what did not belong to them, snatching at words while failing to grasp their soul.
They had stolen the form, but lost the heartbeat within.
And now, the truth lay before her, undeniable, inescapable. Zeice was The Last Ink.
The revelation struck with a quiet finality, as if a long-forgotten question had at last found its answer.
Her fingers curled into a fist, trembling slightly as they pressed against the worn cover, the very book that had been her refuge in the loneliest of nights.
Let the world accuse. Let it cast its stones and sneer with cruel indifference.
But Bella knew, some truths could not be silenced.
Ink, when drawn from the depths of a soul, never fades.
Like a river carving its path through stone, like a whisper that lingers long after the speaker is gone, the words of The Last Ink would endure.
For no lie, however loud, could ever extinguish the light of truth.
*****
Night, heavy with sorrow, hung between feeling, fantasy, and reality.
He walked on, alone in the silence, his steps pressing against earth still damp with the tears of the sky.
He moved forward, draining the last remnants of his strength, yet his soul… his soul remained with Daniella.
He wrestled against the will of God, searching for answers in the bitter foam of farewell.
And he, Zeice, emptied his universe, if only for a while.
The distant chime of a small device, an unseen thread binding one soul to another, was left unanswered, its sound fading into the night.
He heard it. He knew. Somewhere, his angel was drowning in quiet, desperate worry.
Yet his mind, heavy and unyielding, refused to stir the nerves that might deliver his emptiness to her… to his Fleurine.
Still, he pressed on, parting the air with each step, carving his path through the shroud of rain in the darkness of Zonner's earth.
He crawled forward, toward the heart of his universe, clinging to the hope that somewhere ahead, there might be a shoulder… to bear the weight of his tears.
Fleurine gazed at him anxiously, "What brings such a shadow upon your face?"
"A greeting…" Zeice replied softly.
Fleurine pressed on, "Has fate already greeted her?"
"Yes… and taken her soul with it," he answered.
Without another word, Fleurine drew Zeice into her arms, "Peace is a kinder gift for her, greater than the hope of a love that could never be hers."
"Fleu…" Zeice murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fleurine released him from her embrace, her eyes searching his, eyes reddened by too many hours adrift in an ocean of sorrow.
"I am far from regret," she said quietly, her words heavy with certainty.
At last, a faint smile touched Zeice's lips, a fragile echo of strength.
"Hold fast…"
For a moment, Fleurine bit her lip, then tightened her grip on his fingers, pulling him away from the lingering edge of his grief.
One truth remained above all else, the drumbeats of war would soon begin to sound…
*****
(The following morning, 8:40 a.m.)
Ring… Ring…
"Yes, Rod?"
"It's time, Zeice."
"Where?"
"Zeanna's house."
"Are you certain?"
"Beyond any doubt."
"Send me the address."
"Consider it done… 107, Bellonford Broadway, Zonner."
Zeice quelled the restless urgency gnawing at him in the quiet of the morning.
His plan, their plan, was set to unfold, and there would be no turning back.
Fleurine held him close, her embrace lingering longer than necessary, "Be careful," she murmured. "Don't push yourself too far…"
A faint smile ghosted his lips as he inclined his head, "I'll return soon…"
Zeice wheeled out his motorbike, a machine he had rarely touched until now.
He let the engine hum for a moment before twisting the throttle, and in a heartbeat, the bike surged forward, slicing through the smooth asphalt beneath him.
For ten minutes, he rode through the streets, a fleeting figure in the crisp morning air, until he came to a stop before a house with a closed red iron gate.
It was a classic structure, its once-bright white walls now dulled with time, featuring large windows on the upper floor and a small veranda framing the entrance.
The morning air still clung to its coolness, yet something else stirred, a tension lingering unseen, heavy as an unspoken threat.
Removing his helmet, Zeice stepped towards the door and knocked three times.
The wait was brief. When the door swung open, Rodney stood there, his black jacket as familiar as the terse expression on his face.
"Come in," he said curtly.
Zeice entered, his gaze immediately falling on Zeanna, who was seated on the sofa.
Her laptop lay open before her, fingers dancing swiftly over the keyboard.
Near the window stood Nicko, idly sipping coffee from a plain white mug.
"We can't wait any longer," Zeanna declared without lifting her eyes. "I've uploaded some of the documents we retrieved last night. If they see it, they'll panic."
Rodney dragged a chair closer, settling in beside her, "How have they reacted so far?"
Nicko placed his mug on the table with deliberate care, "Not much. No movement yet. It's still early."
Zeice's eyes traced the lines of text on Zeanna's screen, a neat assembly of names, evidence, and documents, meticulously edited.
"We make them talk first," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "If they remain silent, we push harder."
Zeanna shut the laptop with a muted click, her gaze sweeping across the room, "So… what's our next move?"
Rodney's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, "We drag them out of the shadows."
Zeice drew a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
"And if they fight back?"
Nicko's grin sharpened, a gleam of untamed resolve flickering in his eyes, "Then we make sure they fall first."
Zeanna nodded, "Very well. Let's begin."
Zeice closed his eyes briefly, drawing the morning air deep into his lungs, an anchor against the storm brewing within.
In the silence that enveloped them, there was a strange resonance, louder than words, heavier than fear, a pause before the inevitable tempest.
Beyond the window, dawn crept in hesitantly.
Golden shafts of sunlight pierced through half-drawn curtains, casting shifting silhouettes that swayed softly in the breeze.
The skies above Zonner remained shrouded in mist, as if guarding secrets too perilous to unveil.
Rodney leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering as it settled on Zeice.
"What's on your mind?" he asked quietly.
Zeice opened his eyes, their dark depths shadowed with thought, "I'm thinking of the truth… and the price we must pay to reveal it."
Zeanna tilted her chin slightly, her expression fierce with conviction, "Truth doesn't ask permission to be heard, Zeice. It only needs the courage to be spoken."
Nicko drained the last of his coffee, setting the cup down with a soft thud, "They've hidden behind their lies for too long. It's time the light pulls them out."
Zeice studied each of them in turn. In Zeanna's eyes, he saw fire, a fierce, unyielding light.
In Rodney, an immovable resolve. And in Nicko, a wild defiance that refused to be tamed.
They were not merely allies. They were architects of fate, reweaving the broken threads of justice that others sought to unravel.
His voice, when it came, was steady. Each word fell like the first ripple before a tidal wave.
"Very well," he said. "We start at the roots. We tear down the doors they've bolted shut. We rip apart the veil of lies they wear so proudly."
Zeanna tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her expression carved in steel, "I've arranged everything, names, transactions, their private conversations. Once this is uploaded, there's no turning back."
Rodney tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, a quiet pulse, a promise of reckoning.
"The question isn't whether they'll fight back. It's how far they'll be willing to fall."
Zeice fixed his gaze on the laptop screen, a digital tapestry of secrets long buried.
A cruel irony twisted through him, those who stole words that were not theirs would soon be undone by the very truth they sought to silence.
Once again, the hush settled over them. But this was no longer the silence of uncertainty.
It was the stillness before battle. The quiet edge of a storm preparing to strike.
Zeice inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the tempest they were about to unleash.
And when he spoke again, his words were an order, a declaration of war.
"Upload it."
And as Zeanna's finger pressed Enter, the world began to collapse for those who had built their empire on lies.