Sunlight streamed through the barred window, casting thin golden lines across the stone floor. Dust floated lazily in the warm air. Outside, the world seemed calm and alive.
Everyone stood, watching Teramon. His hands trembled slightly as he anchored the Veil to his soul. The loop hummed faintly, dangerous and fragile at once.
Then, from the gate, came a sound. Low. Soft. Ominous.
"Gareth."
Cassiel froze, his head snapping toward the gate. Kael's hand twitched toward his sword. Both sensed something unseen pressing on them.
The space beyond the gate was empty. Sunlight poured in, but nothing moved. Only stillness waited.
But something was there. Watching. Silent. Focused.
Cassiel felt it deep in his chest. Cold. Heavy. Invisible. He stared, searching, but found nothing.
He turned back to Teramon. The boy's focus never wavered. The Veil-loop pulsed softly in his hands.
The cell was quiet. Too quiet. Sunlight did nothing to ease the tension. Outside, the world went on, unaware.
Teramon released the Veil loop and stepped back. The faint hum faded from his hands. His chest rose with controlled, steady breaths.
"We have to move fast," he said. Eyes scanning everyone. Calm, but serious. "Even if we escape, the area outside is crawling. Monsters. Creatures. Drogens. One of them sees us, it's a massacre."
Silence fell. Everyone absorbed it. The sunlight made their shadows long, stretching like warnings across the floor.
"None of you understand the consequences," Teramon continued. "We don't know where we are. We don't know who caught us. We don't even know how many are watching. This isn't a simple breakout."
He paused. Let the weight of the words sink in. "The plan is simple. Escape fast. Reach the location we were told. Cross the wild zone without being seen. That's it."
They thought for a moment. Eyes shifting between one another, minds racing. The tension pressed on their shoulders.
Finally, they nodded. Silent agreement forming. Teramon's gaze softened slightly. "Next week. We break out. Head to the nearest mountain. Set camp there. Then we continue."
The cell stayed quiet. Sunlight still streamed in. But now it carried purpose. A plan. A fragile, deadly hope.
Cassiel's hand twitched. He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"What about Gareth… and the blue-haired girl?" he asked. His voice was low, sharp. The words cut through the silence.
Everyone turned. Eyes flicked to Teramon. A pause stretched, heavy and uncertain.
Teramon's gaze was steady, unreadable. "They're out there. Lost. We don't know where. We don't know how many are hunting them."
He let the silence linger, letting them feel the weight of the truth. "The question isn't if we want to save them. It's whether we can. One wrong move, and we all die."
Cassiel frowned, voice tight. "We can't just leave them out there… can we?"
Teramon didn't answer right away. His eyes were sharp, calculating. "We can't risk everyone for one mistake. But we also can't abandon them entirely."
He stepped closer to the group. "Here's what we do. The main party escapes first. Fast. Silent. Minimal risk."
A murmur ran through the others. Kael's hand hovered near his sword. He didn't like it, but he didn't speak.
Teramon continued, "A small team—fast, skilled, discreet—will go back after Gareth and the blue-haired girl. Only if it's safe. Only if it won't endanger the rest of us."
Cassiel nodded slowly, tension coiling in his chest. "We'd be risking ourselves for them. But we'd still have a chance."
Teramon's gaze swept the group. "We survive first. Then we save them. That's the plan. No mistakes."
The sunlight fell across the cell again. Bright, peaceful outside. But inside, the weight of their choice pressed like stone.
Sinatara walked along the sunlit alley, his cloak brushing the dusty ground. The air was warm, quiet, almost peaceful. Too peaceful for a place like the East.
Ahead, he saw a man beating a woman against a cracked wall. The blows were slow, cruel, meant to break more than bone. Her cries barely rose above the wind.
Sinatara stopped. His gaze dropped to the scene with pure disgust. No words. No sound. Just killing intent thick enough to choke.
The man froze. His hand hung mid‑strike. He looked back—and felt something cold grip his spine. Sinatara didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The woman sobbed softly on the ground. Sinatara didn't move toward her. But his eyes softened for a breath, thinking of every woman and child trapped in this brutal land. Their fate. Their suffering. Their silence.
He looked up, then down again, lost in his thoughts. Every corner of the East was rotting. Every street hid cruelty like this. His plan couldn't fail—not now.
Two new targets flashed through his mind. He had identified them earlier. Friends of the warrior. Close. Loyal. Dangerous.
They had to die before the escape.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Sinatara stepped forward, his shadow falling over the trembling man. The decision was already made. The East would burn before he let anyone interfere.
Sinatara grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him with effortless strength. One sharp strike to the face—clean, brutal, final. The man collapsed instantly.
She turned to the woman trembling on the ground. Gently, Sinatara helped her up, steadying her by the arm. Her voice softened, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
"Soon, an eclipse of day will cover the sky," she said. The woman's eyes widened, fear mixing with confusion.
"And darkness will be at its strongest. The Damned will come. The wretched will rise higher than ever."
Sinatara's gaze sharpened, but a hint of something fierce—almost hopeful—burned inside it. "But for seven minutes and thirty seconds… a hero will rise."
She stepped back, letting the words settle like prophecy. "And vengeance shall be served."
The woman whispered, "H‑How do you know?"
Sinatara tilted her head slightly, a cold smile touching her lips. "Because I'll make it happen."
She turned to leave, cloak brushing past the fallen man. "Have a good day, Miss Cleo."
The trays hit the floor with a dull clang. The food smelled worse than it looked.
Everyone picked at it anyway. Hunger was stronger than disgust. Each bite tasted like ash and rot, but they ate to survive.
Cassiel chewed slowly, frowning. "I… I heard someone say Gareth," he muttered. His eyes scanned the room, sharp. "But I saw no one at the cell door were the sound came from."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I heard it too, it came from the cell door" he said, voice low and rough. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "Someone's was here… or something ."
Teramon's fingers drummed lightly on the tray. "Suspicious," he said calmly. "But we can't lose focus. We don't know this place. Anything could be a threat."
Silence followed. Every bite felt heavier now. Shadows in the corners seemed darker, moving with the weight of unseen eyes.
They continued to eat. Slowly. Carefully. Each chew a reminder: survival came first. Always.
The Ash Prince clenched his fists, eyes blazing. He tried to mirror Teramon's Veil loop. A shimmer sparked around his hands… then shattered.
The backlash hit instantly. Corrupted energy like ice and fire fused into his bones. It sank in, gnawing, twisting, searing. Every nerve screamed. Every breath felt like a knife sliding through his lungs.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. His vision tore into fragments of black and red. His blood hissed in his veins, like molten iron crawling under his skin.
Teramon stepped forward. Calm. Methodical. He placed a hand on the Ash Prince's shoulder. Slowly, painfully, he began to absorb the corruption.
The pain deepened, stretching into eternity. It was fire that froze, ice that burned, a thousand shards drilling through marrow and muscle. The Ash Prince's screams clawed at the air, echoing in the cell, sharp and raw.
Every heartbeat felt like a drum of agony. Every inhale was a struggle against a furnace pressing from within. His bones felt like they were being rewritten. His soul screamed in resonance with the Veil's wrath.
Teramon's voice cut through the torment, steady and grave. "This… this is the consequence of rash decisions."
He absorbed the energy slowly. Each pulse of pain pulled from the Ash Prince's body like a surgeon removing poison. It was deliberate. Precise. Merciless.
The Ash Prince could only tremble, drenched in sweat, every nerve raw, every thought jagged. And still Teramon did not rush.
The lesson had to be learned, burned into him deeper than muscle or bone.
Teramon let the last thread of corruption fade from his hand. The Ash Prince gasped, trembling, sweat dripping down his face.
Teramon stood over him, eyes cold but steady. "Listen carefully," he said. "Survival isn't strength. It's discipline."
He knelt so the Ash Prince had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Rash decisions don't kill you fast. They kill you slow. First your focus. Then your control. Then your life."
He straightened, voice dropping into something sharp and heavy. "You think pain is the consequence? No. Pain is the warning."
The cell fell silent. Even Kael looked up. The weight of Teramon's words pressed through the air like a blade.
Teramon's tone darkened. "You want an example?"
He stepped forward, shadows sliding across his face as he spoke. "Imagine a door. You hear a knock. You rush to open it—because you think you're ready."
He paused. The silence deepened.
"But what if the one knocking isn't a friend?" Teramon's voice grew sharper. "What if it's a demon? A monster? An enemy who destroys you the moment you let them in?"
He pointed two fingers to his own chest. "Survival means you open nothing until you know exactly what waits on the other side."
His voice lowered to a whisper that still filled the entire room. "Because the world doesn't care about your courage. The world only cares if you make the right decision before the wrong one kills you."
The Ash Prince swallowed hard, the lesson sinking into bone. Teramon turned away, finishing with one last cold truth:
"Remember this. Doors don't kill people. The fools who open them blindly do."
Teramon let out a short, awkward laugh. It sounded strange, almost out of place in the cell.
"I know… I'm too young to be saying this to my mates," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Giving advice like I've seen centuries pass."
He shook his head, voice quieter now. "But I've lost too much. Too many people… too many chances to think about what's right."
Some would call him cold, he admitted. Some would see only the steel and the Veil.
But to others, he could be… relaxed. Easy. Calm. Even human.
He glanced at the Ash Prince, at Cassiel, at Kael. "Depends on who's watching. Depends on who you are. Depends on how many doors you've opened blindly."
The shadows stretched across the cell. The sunlight outside seemed lighter somehow, though nothing had changed.
And for a moment, Teramon let them see that even in this world of Veil and death, he was still… human.
The cell fell silent. Everyone looked at Teramon, eyes heavy but resolute.
Cassiel spoke first, voice quiet but firm. "You're our door now."
Kael nodded, slow and deliberate. "Our door. To survive, to fight, to live."
The Ash Prince added, trembling but certain. "We trust you to open the right doors."
Teramon's lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. His gaze swept across them, steady and calm.
He raised his hand, eyes bright with something fierce and warm. "To a better future… or to a better tomorrow. God of the sun to us all."
The sunlight spilled across the cell one last time, golden and forgiving. Shadows stretched long, but inside, something heavier—hope—had taken root.
Silence held for a moment. Then, together, they exhaled. Ready. Patient. Waiting.