Rael stood still for a moment, his gaze locked upon the empty space ahead.
There was nothing.
No house.
No grand palace.
No twisted corridors or mocking laughter.
Where once had stood an impossible structure — alive with colors, tricks, and echoes — now stood only trees. Ancient and unbothered, as if the jungle had never known disturbance. The earth beneath his feet was cold, the silence far too natural.
"Never mind," Ethan muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "I don't care anymore. I just want to get out of here. I'm starving."
Seth sighed in agreement. "Yeah, let's leave this cursed jungle. I want to eat until I forget this."
But just as they turned away from the clearing, Seth paused, eyes lifted toward the skyline. "Wait... is it already sunset?"
Rael blinked. The light had indeed changed.
The sky above had turned to liquid gold, seeping across the treetops and flowing between the branches like molten syrup. A hush had fallen across the jungle — not silence, but reverence. Crickets began their evening symphony. Fireflies blinked into existence like slow, thoughtful stars. The air itself cooled, carrying with it the weight of exhaustion and something unspoken. The trees, once shadows in daylight, now bore the elegance of age — like old sentinels watching the sun die once again.
"But we came here in the morning," Seth added, puzzled.
Ethan didn't stop walking. "We stepped into a Black-Level domain. Time doesn't obey the same rules in there. Might've been hours… or days. Who knows."
The sound of their footsteps cracked against dried leaves and roots. Wind brushed past them, ruffling Rael's sleeves like a whisper.
"Hey," Rael asked suddenly, "that thing… that Remnant. Was it really a human before?"
Seth scratched the back of his neck. "Ah, right. I keep forgetting it's only been three days since you became a Harbringer. Mr. Old-Man back in class didn't explain that, huh? He just shouts like a broken alarm clock."
Ethan glanced back at Rael, more serious now. "Yeah. Remnants were people… once. Maybe two hundred years ago, maybe longer. When someone dies, and they don't move on — because of hate, guilt, regret, or something deeper — their soul doesn't just fade."
He looked forward again, his voice quieter.
"They decay."
"At first," he continued, "they linger as a whisper… an echo stuck to the world. That's what we call an Orange-Level Remnant. Harmless, usually. But the longer they stay, the more they devour. Emotion, memory, dreams — even other lost spirits. They become twisted. They don't want to move on. They want to become something else."
"Like that one," Seth added. "It probably used to be an architect. Or someone who wanted to build something people would admire. A palace, maybe. But it never succeeded. Never got recognition. Maybe it died with the dream still burning in its chest."
Ethan nodded. "So, it created its own world. A mansion of delight, color, and illusion. A place where anyone who entered would laugh, dance, and forget. The more joy it fed them, the more it devoured from them. Until their bodies withered, and their minds stayed behind forever."
They walked in silence after that.
The warmth of the sunset had dimmed, and darkness draped itself over the forest like a curtain being drawn. The jungle ahead looked deeper now. Colder.
Rael said nothing.
But in his heart, a quiet weight had settled.
He knew now…
Harbringers didn't just fight monsters.
They walked through the dreams and regrets of those who were once human — and bore witness to the tragedies they left behind.
The air in the forest still clung to silence and soil as they stepped through its shadowed path. The tall trees stood unmoving, as if watching their return. And just beyond the clearing… it was there again.
The green, battered taxi.
Smoke trailed from the half-open window. That same old man, with his cigarette lazily between two fingers, chuckled when he saw them.
"Oh! Still breathing, are ya?" he rasped, his voice half-mirth and half-surprise. "Thought the lot of you were ghost meat by now."
Seth walked closer, hands in his coat pockets, wearing a grin that could cut marble.
"We're not just breathing, old man," he said, cocky and proud. "We beat it. Not a scratch on us."
The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but amused nonetheless. The corner of his lips tugged upward as he flicked the ash of his cigarette.
"Cocky little thing, aren't ya."
The three climbed in, squeezing into the worn leather of the backseat. As the engine hummed to life, the world outside blurred into green streaks.
Rael, pressed between the two, was lost in thought. He glanced at his hands, remembering the weight of the battle.
"There were five of us… right?" he asked, eyes still on the window. "Back in that room. So the other two… including Zeke. That was their first mission too?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Standard age to enter active duty is fifteen. All of us were sent out around that age."
Rael tilted his head slightly. "Wait… even Zeke?"
The image of that towering figure returned to his mind—Zeke, easily over six-foot-eight, built like a walking fortress.
Ethan and Seth exchanged glances, and a strange grin crept onto both their faces. It was the look of boys about to drop a joke too good to pass up.
"Nope," Ethan said, trying hard not to snicker. "He's just like you—new. Only difference is… he just awakened his Myre later than us."
Seth leaned closer. "Guess how old you think he is, Rael."
Rael furrowed his brow, picturing Zeke's stern, mature face, the way he towered over even grown men.
"Uhh… thirty?"
For a heartbeat, silence. Then came the explosion.
Both Ethan and Seth burst into unrestrained laughter, slapping the seats and each other's backs like lunatics.
"Thirty!?" Seth repeated between wheezes.
Ethan nearly choked. "You poor thing! He just turned fifteen two months ago!"
Rael sat stunned, mouth half open. Not because he'd been pranked, but because Zeke—hulking, war-forged Zeke—was the same age as him.
"That's not even fair…" he muttered under his breath.
The cityscape returned in flashes as they neared their base. Concrete, steel, and dusk-colored lights welcomed them back. As always, they arrived at the door marked by a single, massive "H"—silent, metallic, unyielding.
They stood before it, and in unison, whispered:
"Kurorei."
A low hum answered.
With a mechanical hiss, the iron slabs pulled apart, revealing the same vast chamber. The elevator waited—ancient, slow, and deep—and brought them down again into the underbelly of the world.
Down below, life resumed like always. A city carved beneath the earth: streets, lights, stalls, homes, and voices. The cafeteria was alive again, the scent of steaming broth and grilled meats wafting through the halls.
And there he was.
Zeke, at a corner table, munching with calm, mechanical precision. Plates stacked like towers beside him. Fork in one hand, bowl in another. Unbothered. Unaware.
Ethan and Seth spotted him at once and pounced like hyenas.
"Zeke!"
"You look thirty!"
Their voices rang through the hall, echoing like kids who'd just found gold. Even the Eidolon boy looked up, half-choked with laughter. Zeke, silent, turned his gaze slowly toward Rael.
And Rael?
Gone.
He had teleported halfway across the cafeteria in a blink, now sitting stiff and awkward at a distant table, cheeks flushed.
Ethan and Seth were still howling.
"Thirty! Hahaha—Rael actually thought—!"
Zeke blinked once. Sighed. And went back to eating.