As Leon and Racheal stepped out of the manor, the air of Shantel greeted them, it was quiet, yet heavy. The city bore scars of the abomination's rampage, though most of the damage had already been repaired. Pandora's days stretched long, and with professionals lending their strength, even low-ranked ones, an entire district could be rebuilt within hours. Walls stood upright again, shattered streets patched, roofs replaced. From a distance, it almost looked as if nothing had happened.
But walking through the streets told another story.
Not everyone was happy to return home, because not everyone had a home to return to. The abomination's roar still echoed in memory, a single blast of sound that had snuffed out lives too close and fragile to withstand its force. Faces of grief lingered at doorways, children clutching to mothers, husbands supporting weeping wives.
Then, piercing the silence, came a frantic cry.
"Pascal! Pascal, where are you?! Pascal!"
