The paintings of founders judged from above. Ascension had arrived. Barzo and Lovena wore the dark-purple signature uniforms, moving in step with the Marble Agents as the Kizen halls buzzed with chatter. Chandeliers burned brighter as his nerves rose, but with enough focus, the conversations drifted past his ears, fading into the background. He stayed in his head, lost in memories of his Freshgent days. It was almost over.
A hand gripped his shoulder, bringing him back.
It was Midian giving him a nod of confidence.
Barzo straightened, lifted his head, and the noise sharpened. Agents and Freshgents from the other Associations had their eyes on them, whispers rising in the air. He followed their gazes, searching for the one who commanded such attention. Yosen. His long, torn cape swept the stone, presence undeniable. The awe in their eyes was the mark of his status as the Elexant.
"Always wanted to be a celebrity," Fortune said.
"And all you do is act a fool," Bayla said, making Barzo chuckle.
Minutes stretched into eternity, or at least, that's how the walk felt to Barzo.
Ahead, Buron Geraco's statue loomed, Ninetieth President of Tophora, and the first Yonakri of the Kizen. Time had not stained his stone eyes. History lived here.
A circular doorway yawned open to the assembly within.
The Volume of Foundations.
Barzo's breath caught in his throat. The ceiling grew to infinity, and embers embedded in the walls glowed as fireflies crawled over them. Royal Guards lined the perimeter. All freshgents followed their instructions, forming five lines.
The Agents found their seats on the balconies.
As for Yosen, he walked on the stage, in front of Marble's purple banner. Only the Association Leaders stood in that formation.
Barzo tilted his head, murmuring their names and titles under his breath, testing what he'd learned from his notebook.
Berua Layna of DOSS, Agent of Splinter, dominated the blue banners. Cameo Li of Werawere, Agent of Shades, embraced the yellow. Then Siran Jaco of Tikaye, Agent of Thunder, held the black.
Beyond their names, Barzo knew little.
But his eyes fell on the final figure, standing by the white banner. Cuja Varnix of PARN, the Agent of Souls. Those who encountered her went so far as to claim she was the Elexant who should have been. Even Yosen, once, had agreed.
A bell echoed, silencing the assembly.
Barzo followed the sound to the front of the hall.
The Yonakri.
The successor of Buron. Seated on her throne, her half-mask and piercing grey eyes ruled the moment, an iron grip wrapped in ceremonial grace to which all of the Kizen and its five Associations answered.
Thousands of years of order rested in her grasp, made possible by the magic of Gulu Soup, a mysterious liquid that granted not immortality, but a lifespan far beyond the average. It was how Buron and the Association founders endured. But now, only the Yonakri holds that power within Tophora.
Beside her stood the Nameless Council, their gold masks a reflection of her title.
"Protectors of Tophora," the Yonakri said. "In the year six thousand, our founders united to save this nation."
Her voice echoed through the spine. "We honour their legacy as guardians of the Expansionals. And on this day of Ascension, a new generation of defenders will arise, ensuring the cycle of Agents remains, to live by the essence of the Kizen. Our final say."
"For the lands!" the Agents chanted.
She rose from her throne, and drums echoed off the walls, their notes striking with her footsteps. A path cleared as she moved toward the cloaked figures by the large curtain on the stage.
The Crade Masters.
Creators of the Technax and the many systems of the Kizen. These gifted craftsmen endured forty-four years of torture. The Rarnin Supreme knew no mercy. Now their creations served not the destroyers of Tophora, but its protectors. And it began with the Reja Gear.
The Yonakri halted. A Crade Master pulled a lever, and as the fabric parted, what lay behind it stole Barzo's attention.
The Aral.
The most powerful Technax.
A magical sphere spun at the centre, humming with power as sun rays touched it, sending it whirling, shifting. As it swelled with energy, lines of light pulsed, jumping across its surface. At the base, a small gate waited, calling to be opened.
The Yonakri placed her hand on it. "Come forth, Aral. Follow my voice." She drew a deep breath. "This forge sees the truth in who you are."
The Aral growled, electronic fuzz spread over it.
"Revealing what you will become. Your soul is measured. Your combat style judged. And with its blessing, your Waypnary and Secondary are gifted."
One by one, the Freshgents stepped forward, hands trembling as they touched the Aral. Lovena pressed her palm to the wall, feeling a tingle, small waves burning through, as if it fed on her. Smoke bled from the gate, light scattering within as the crafting began.
Then it faded.
The gate retracted, sliding out a metal board and revealing two creations. A black axe, its body embedded with her Secondary, four blue spheres of concentrated energy. Her eyes widened as the Yonakri spoke her Waypnary's name and title.
"Wilzder," she said. "Agent of Power."
Lovena stood beside Yosen, her eyes flicking to Barzo with a subtle smirk.
He was the only one left.
His eyes met the Yonakri's.
"State your name and style," she said.
"Barzo Vieldem," he said. "The Ronan Star."
The Yonakri's eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Barzo raised his hand and reached for the Aral. A crack of the past ran through his mind. Every failure turned to strength. Every pain, to victory. All errors dissolving as the gate's brightness surged into his eyes, forcing him to squint. His heart stopped pounding, calm settled over him. He smiled in relief as the light vanished.
It was ready.
Before him lay his Waypnary, a red blade he lifted with ease. It didn't feel new, it had been waiting for him. Beside it, a bracelet slithered up his forearm and fastened itself. Then a scroll dropped from the gate. The Yonakri caught it and opened it without a word. Barzo froze. What had the Aral foreseen.
She raised the symbol of Gold Ocean. "By the unified spirits of our founders, Barzo Vieldem, Sire of Vone, Style of Ronan Star, and the Agent of Carnage. I ascend you as a servant of this institution. May the Kizen be of your peace."
"The Kizen is of my peace," Barzo said.
"Our final say."
"For the lands!" the room chanted, followed by the rising applause of Agents as the Yonakri exited the Volume of Foundations.
Ascension was over.
Barzo moved toward Yosen, who laid his hand on Barzo's shoulder with pride.
He tightened his grip on Vone. And the title burned in his mind.
#
Yosen had returned to Londro, standing on a rooftop ledge, eyes over the city. The suns were no more, and rain drummed against his umbrella. The last time he'd played in the rain without one, Tomzius was alive. He had told Yosen the rain could wash any pain away. For one minute of pouring, all worries fell to oblivion. The sound made the weight of war lighter. Then the rooftop door slammed open, and a figure stepped out, joining him.
"Commissioner," Yosen said. "You're late."
Commissioner Jol Maxine tugged at the buttons of his coat, the fabric strained. He stared out at the people below, walking their lives, unaware of the sacrifices that had been made to allow it.
"I watch this city bleed every day," he said. "And my officers keep it from dying. You won't get better timing than this."
Yosen studied him, silently agreeing. The Federali had done its job. Without them, the absence of Agents would have torn Londro apart. The same was true across Tophora, where each land was under the protection of its own Federali headquarters, and Commissioners ensured that continuity endured.
"You've done well," Yosen tilted his head. "We owe you grace."
"I know." Maxine reached into his coat, pulled out a holo-drive, arms halfway out to hand it over, then froze. "I just told a wife of thirty years she's a widow. At least tell me what happened to Rone. For her sake."
Yosen took the holo-drive without a word and tapped the device. A hologram flared to life. Rone's face, as youthful as ever. "Is this everything?"
"Yes… you know, you ought to say thank you sometimes."
"Thank you, Commissioner."
Maxine scoffed and walked away. The rooftop door shut behind him.
Yosen tapped his ear. "Agents, new data has been sent. Good luck on your missions today."
#
Freedom had a walk, a look of confidence when met with vulnerability, or an arrogance when kissed by ego. Barzo saw it in the eyes of Londro's citizens, it was the first time he'd ever been this close to the city. Their curious faces reflected off the tinted windows of the Model 25 Driveacle he rode in, many had never seen one in such a dark blue. Barzo turned back to Midian, straightened his black tie, and listened as she briefed them on their first mission.
"He goes by Jodium," she said. "We believe he's the new craftsman, replacing Rone."
"What if he's a Vexon?" Lovena asked.
"Not possible. Craftsmen act as chief executives. Paxon needs a native to run a Raxten business on Tophoran ground. It makes him harder to catch." Midian tilted her head. "When we get there, you'll search for intel that could lead us to Jodium. Even a surname is enough data."
"Once we locate him, will Paxon be there too?" Barzo asked.
Midian squinted, not answering at once. She saw more than his need for answers; she felt his desperation for revenge. "If we manage to disrupt their operations, maybe that'll drag him out of the shadows."
"Then we destroy him," Lovena said. "And win this war."
Vidiax nodded. "Yes."
Barzo and Lovena glanced at each other. The moment they had long called to was here.
Over her shoulders, in the streets of Londro, Barzo saw a child laughing in their father's arms, and the scar behind his ear pressed deeper. He leaned back, nails pinching his skin to stay focused. He was close… close to vengeance.
The Driveacle halted. They had arrived.
Barzo stared up at the towering buildings, as though they reached the heavens. He followed the Agents into the building, and they soon stood before a grey door. The silence was deafening, but duty had brought them here, a duty that had them in disguise, posing as journalists.
Midian knocked, and moments later it creaked open, revealing a woman with long red hair. Her lips matched the colour.
"Hello, Mrs. Rone," Midian said. "I'm Oria Vain, Londro Papers. We spoke over our devices a few days ago."
Mrs. Rone paused, her eyes lingering on Barzo. The lines on her face were heavy, still shaded with faint makeup. She had been crying, the crumpled tissue in her hand made that clear. At last, she opened the door wider, and they stepped in.
Barzo scanned the walls. The paintings were snapshots of a life far from his own. Rone had a taste for style. Orange was his favourite colour, it framed every piece of furniture. And the view of the city, each new angle made it more beautiful than the last.
"May I use the restroom?" he asked.
Mrs. Rone nodded slowly. "Follow the light."
Barzo strode down a vast hallway, as if walking into another dimension. A glance over his shoulder, the Agents kept Mrs. Rone occupied. She was fully distracted. Now was his chance.
The floor creaked, too loud for the stillness. Barzo slipped into an office. Rone's life split before him. One wall white, one black, both lined with books that fed a hunger, an obsession masked as curiosity. The kind that made a man dangerous. The room mirrored a life unreconciled. White for the journalist Barzo pretended to be. Black for the executioner he became. The Agent of Carnage.
His eyes swept the room, searching. There had to be a clue, a whisper of where Jodium was. His gaze landed on the desk, a mess of documents scattered across it. It seemed Mrs. Rone had been searching for answers too, on who her husband truly was.
"D.P.," Barzo whispered. "Which one stands out?"
"The letters from Vrokin Bank may provide valuable insights," the artificial voice said.
Barzo's eyes caught the name stamped neatly on a worn envelope. He leaned in, lifted the letter from the pile, and scanned its contents. His brows rose.
Lovena and Midian spotted him. He offered Mrs. Rone a small, reassuring smile as she dabbed at her wet eyes. None of this was easy for her. He sat, pulled his notes in front of him, and slipped into the role of the journalist he was meant to be.
Midian reached out, gently laying a hand over hers. "I understand how difficult this is. But with your help, we can all learn what happened to him."
Mrs. Rone pulled her hand away, her gaze steady and cold. "You people have harassed us with your headlines and lies for years."
Midian stiffened. "I'm sorry? But you—"
"You're only here because I can't stop you." Mrs. Rone blinked slowly, memories flickering behind her eyes. "I told him once… our beautiful life was the cost of imagination."
Her lips trembled. "He asked me, 'His imagination or mine?' and walked away… I couldn't answer. That's when I knew." She paused, swallowing. "He never lied about what he did. Or who he was. I lied for him. I have a good idea on what happened to him."
A deep breath left her. "So from now on… leave me be."
Midian lifted her head in acceptance. They returned to the hallways once more, smaller now under the tension of revelation.
"I hope you have something, Vieldem," she said.
Barzo nodded faintly, reached into his pocket, and handed her the envelope.
Midian took it, opened it, and smirked at its contents.
Was this victory?
#
"Do we have to do this?" Fortune said, glancing up at the manufacturing factory.
"Yes, Fortune," Bayla said, putting away her holo-device. "This is the last one."
Their voices fell under the patter of rain. Mould clung to the walls. the faint rustle of dust settled. They began to walk, and the farther they went, the less light followed. A scatter of mice skittered around them, making Fortune's spine shiver as he flicked on his torch. It lit half of Bayla's face, just enough to catch her smirk.
"What?" Fortune said.
"You're still afraid of the dark," she teased, chuckling.
"Haha, so funny."
Tall pipes lined the walls like ancient towers, watching the Agents trespass beyond sacred bounds.
At a short turn, Fortune found a marked door. "Let's get this over with."
They stepped forward slowly, Waypnaries drawn. Breaths low. Whispers counted down from three. The door flew open with a metallic shriek, splitting the quiet. Bayla exhaled at the sight. It was empty.
"Great. It's gone," she said. "They moved it all."
#
Yosen had forgotten how long it had been since he last drank tea. The cup rose to his lips, but he paused, for what, he wasn't sure, only that waiting felt right. Then the first sip, a quiet sigh of refreshment. But desire for victory strengthened as he set the cup down, and the café's voices returned, no longer muted by thought.
"Leader Sift," Bayla said through comms. "We've completed our objective."
He leaned back, fingers lifting to his ear. "Agent Bayla. What's the report?"
"We've checked all the factories. None of them contain an armoury room. It's been moved to another location."
"As for us, I think we found something," Midian cut in. "Sending it over."
Yosen's holo-device beeped. Jaw clenched, he opened the file and scanned the screen. "Signed by a Jodium Powell… finally got your name. Operation Guild, run a scan. Tell me who he is."
Silence returned. An elderly woman glanced at Yosen with a subtle smirk, and he returned it, watching her blush. It warmed his heart. Innocence like this drove his purpose of protecting the people, guarding the flower that blossomed in their hearts.
"Scan complete," the artificial said. "Identity match on Jodium Powell amounts to zero. No public data can be found."
"What about sealed documents?"
"Amounts to zero."
Yosen scoffed, setting the device down. "He's a ghost… we have a Vexon craftsman on our hands."
"What?" Fortune said. "Am I hearing this right, a Tophoran Vexo Wielder? Isn't that forbidden?"
"Apparently not." Yosen watched the blur of citizens passing before him. Things were changing more rapidly than he'd anticipated. "Whoever Jodium is, he's important enough for Paxon to abandon his own rules. Agents… finding him is now a top priority."
"We may have a lead," Midian said. "The letter shows he transferred Rone's assets to a single account named 'G Manufacturing.' A private company. The armoury room must be there."
"That's on Vine Street," Bayla added. "We're thirty minutes out."
"An hour for us."
"Very well," Yosen said. "Be on your way. I'll be with you soon."
He cut the comms and stood. His cape swept the concrete as he stepped into an alleyway. "Operation Guild, show me a footage of Jodium." He studied it, a hint of familiarity. "Hmm."
With a flick of his hand, metal curved and hardened, forming a board beneath his feet, hovering. The rain stopped, the suns returned, and Vine Street awaited his arrival.