"Welcome back. You've been meditating for three whole days," Hyde said evenly.
George's head snapped toward him. "Wait. What?!" His brow furrowed in disbelief. "How's that even possible? I was in there for a few minutes."
"Yes," Hyde replied, folding his arms, "but time passes very differently inside one's inner world. What feels like minutes to you in there could be days—sometimes weeks."
George stared, processing. "That's insane."
"I know. I had the same reaction the first time I went through this process," Hyde said with a faint smirk. "Now… the others are already in the city, keeping post. Judging by those new flames you're carrying, I'd say your training was a success."
"It was," George answered simply, though the faint memory of the blue fire licking at his arm stirred a heat in his chest.
"Good. Then let's not keep them waiting. The others are in the city. We move."
The full moon hung high—a silver coin suspended in the black velvet sky—its light spilling across Mystic Town in a cold, flawless glow. Bells chimed through the streets, their sound mingling with the soft hum of gathered voices.
Townsfolk draped in flowing sea-blue cloaks formed a solemn procession, each carrying a living crane bird with care. The line wound toward the city center, where the great clock tower loomed. Beside it stood the festival's heart—a masterfully carved wooden crane, taller than two men, its wings spread in eternal flight.
The crowd gathered around it, singing songs and hymns in voices that rose and fell like the tide. The air shimmered faintly with their collective Lixar—unknowingly feeding the city's barrier, and, just as unknowingly, weakening it under the strain of so many souls gathered together. The festival would begin in earnest when the 9:00 p.m. bell tolled.
Around the city, the hunters were already in position.
Phantom Hunters ranked D to S, about thirty in total, formed an unseen web of vigilance. Some crouched on rooftops, their eyes scanning the streets. Others waited in the shadows of trees, alleys, and parked cars, or stood still within the crowd—blending seamlessly with the revelers.
"Is every hunter at their designated post? Do you all copy?" The commanding voice of S-Class Hunter Bertha Liz crackled over the comms.
"Yes, ma'am!" came the unified reply through the wrist-watch communicators.
Saya and Ryan were stationed in an abandoned building, watching the crowd through dust-smeared windows. Joana and John kept to the shadows of an alleyway, their eyes sharp.
A-Class bodyguard Griffith stood behind the broad trunk of an old elm, scanning the edges of the festival grounds. Opposite him, A-Rank Hunter Lopez Alejandro leaned casually against a wall, appearing to be nothing more than a bystander.
From the rooftop of a neighboring building, A+ Hunter Sean Bill lay prone behind the scope of his rifle, the faint gleam of his lens catching the moonlight. On another roof, A+ Hunter Raven Dark stood like a silhouette carved from night, her two jet-black crows perched silently on her shoulders.
Among the crowd, A-Rank Hunter Connor Striker and Yasmine Miller moved with calculated ease, just another pair of festival-goers—until the moment would demand otherwise.
Others were spread throughout the city, forming a living net to catch whatever horrors might break through.
"Everyone, stay sharp," Bertha's voice cut through again. "There's no telling when the phantoms will strike. But it's likely they'll move when the city's barriers are at their weakest. With this many people in one place, the barrier's Lixar distribution is unstable. Expect a swarm—even D-rank phantoms could slip through in numbers."
High above, Hyde and George landed atop a building overlooking the square. The cold air bit at their faces as they crouched to observe the crowd below.
And then—
The great bell of the city center rang. A deep, resonant toll that rolled through the streets like a pulse.
The Crane Festival had begun.
The crowd erupted in cheers and song. But in the shadows, in the cracks of walls, in the unseen corners above rooftops… something else stirred.
From the sky's black edges, from the crawl of alleyway shadows, and even from the moonlit mist over the rooftops—they emerged.
The monstrous phantoms.