The night stretched wide and quiet over the desert, the stars scattered like shattered glass across a dark ocean. Where Tom, Arlong, and Rosario sat together in a room around a small, flickering lantern.
The room smelled faintly of sand and iron The was air dry, their flow came slow. Each of them had stripped off their outer gear, trying to relax for what little time they had left before the next storm of chaos.
Rosario sat with one leg propped on a chair, running a whetstone along his blade with a rhythmic shhhk, shhhk. Arlong leaned against the wall, eyes half closed but listening. Tom sat on a crate, hands folded, his gaze fixed on the flame.
Outside, a metallic sound spread. Vera was sitting on the chair, sharpening his trident in silence.
"Feels like we're living between calm and doom," Rosario muttered finally, breaking the silence. "Every time things quiet down, I feel like something worse is waiting behind the next door."
Tom smirked a little. "You're not wrong."
Arlong opened one eye. "That is the world's algorithm. If it's calm, it's only because it's catching its beat before it screams again."
Rosario looked over. "You ever get tired of your own poetic depression?"
Arlong gave a lazy grin. "You love it?"
Tom chuckled under his breath. "You two never change." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. " I get what Arlong means. We're always preparing for something that might kill us. It's exhausting, but.… it's also the only way we stay alive."
Rosario stopped coughing for a second, watching the reflection of the fire on his blade. "We have been through too much to stop now. I don't even know what peace looks like anymore."
"Peace is overrated," Arlong said with a shrug. "The quiet makes me nervous. Give me chaos at least I know what to expect from it."
Tom looked up at the ceiling, the firelight casting moving shadows on his face. "Chaos doesn't scare me," he said quietly.
The room fell silent. The wind outside pressed faintly against the door, carrying grains of sand that hissed softly against the metal.
Rosario broke the tension with a low whistle. "Alright, philosopher, don't go dark on us now." He grinned faintly. "You'll make me cry, and I'm too hard for tears."
Arlong rolled his eyes. "You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time," Rosario shot back.
Tom smirked. "You two sound like an old couple."
"Then you can be our kid," Rosario said, pointing his blade jokingly toward him.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "If I'm the kid, you two are the bad influence parents."
"That's the only kind worth having," Arlong muttered, closing his eyes again.
After a few moments, the tone changed again. Tom reached for his coat and began adjusting the straps. "We should be ready for whatever's coming next," he said. "If The Overseer really descends as I heard, we won't get another chance to regroup neither to see another sunrise."
Rosario nodded, serious now. "Keep your gear close, your energy steady. The next wave's not going to be small."
Arlong opened his eyes again, expression sober. "The Rampage might be more than just a battle. It could be something that might change the whole history, even our bonds."
Tom tightened the strap on his left wrist. "Then we'll move with it."
The three fell quiet again, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing softly between them. Vera's trident made one last sharp ring as he tested its edge. A perfect, cold sound cutting through the air.
Rosario stood, stretching his back. "Well," he said, "if we die tonight, at least we'll die looking good."
Tom gave a faint laugh. "Speak for yourself."
Arlong smiled. "for real, pretty man. I'm dragging you with me if I go."
"Then at least I'll look fabulous doing it," Rosario said, smirking as he sheathed his blade.
....
The corridor there was quiet. That strange, heavy kind of silence that only came deep into the night. The dim yellow bulbs hanging from the bunker's ceiling buzzed faintly, struggling to stay alive.
Elior's boots made no sound against the concrete floor as he walked, holding a small red-wrapped box carefully in his hands.
He stopped at Grace's door. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. Inside, the faint moonlight spilling through the narrow window washed the room in soft silver.
Grace lay asleep under a light quilt, her face turned toward the faint glow. Her hair shimmered faintly against the pillow, a quiet rhythm in her breathing. She looked peaceful, cute and bright far more than Elior had seen her in months.
He stepped in slowly, his shadow barely brushing across the floor. On the small wooden table beside her bed, he set down the red-wrapped box. The wrapping was simple and clean. A thin brown string tied neatly across it.
The scarf inside, woven from Rhov, still carried a faint warmth. It shimmered faintly, green like spring leaves under sunlight. Elior stared at it for a moment before letting out a quiet breath.
He knelt slightly beside the table, placing one hand over his chest and whispering in a low tone.
"By the will of Sukarna, keeper of gentle lights.… bless her rest. May her breath stay steady, and her path stay bright."
A small breeze moved through the open window, brushing Grace's hair softly, like a blessing accepted.
Elior smiled faintly, a tired one, the kind that carried too much weight behind it. He looked at her one last time as if memorizing that peaceful expression then he quietly turned and walked out, closing the door without a sound.
The moonlight fell on the red box again, its soft glow resting on the untouched gift waiting for unwrapping.
The Orange flicker from a single oil lamp on the wall broke it apart. Shadows stretched across the floor, long and restless.
Elior stood in the center, his hand hovering just above the rough wooden table. The others — Tom, Vera, Rosario, and Arlong watched him silently.
When Elior finally moved, the sound of his glove brushing against his coat echoed louder than it should have. He reached into his inventory. A faint ripple in the air as the system interface shimmered for a moment and pulled out something that caught even the dull light like a knife.
It was a chest.
Gold trims curved elegantly around its surface, ornate with ancient marks scarred by time and war. Embedded along the edges were emeralds, dull but deep, their faint green glow pulsing slowly like eyes.
The lock was old, black iron, but small golden ornaments dangled from it, swaying gently, whispering against the silence.
Rosario's eyes narrowed. "That's the Lea Infra, isn't it?"
Elior gave a slow nod. "Yes. The one sealed with seven layers of divine binding."
Tom stepped closer, his curiosity pushing past the unease. "So this.… this is what everyone's after?"
Elior's gaze stayed on the chest. "This isn't just a relic, Tom. This is an ancient correctional mechanism. A rope to the soul of the world. Lea Infra was made to reflect cause and consequence, to reflect any action into reaction. It feels everything that exists around it in a radius."
Rosario swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You make it sound like it's watching us right now."
Elior looked up briefly and in that dim glow, his eyes almost looked hollow. "It is."
He unlatched the lock.
The sound it made was soft but deep like bones shifting places. A faint pulse rippled through the air, cold enough to make the lamp's flame waver. The chest opened slowly.
Inside was.… a doll.
It looked almost human. Porcelain skin faintly cracked, eyes of clear glass reflecting everything yet nothing at once. Its hair was white, made of thin silk threads. It wore a small blue dress, faded by time. But there was something attracting their attention. An aura, invisible yet impactful.
A quiet pressure rolled through the room. The lamp flame bent sideways.
Tom took a step back unconsciously. "What the hell.…?"
Elior's voice came low. "The Lea Infra. A reflection-type relic. It mirrors any action around it. That includes energy, emotion, intent.… even time. It creates a spiritual field that defuses all kinds of magic but that's not its real danger."
He looked at each of them slowly.
"It suppresses luck. Two beings within its range will share fate equally divided, equally doomed. When it mirrors you, your destiny becomes a fraction of someone else's."
Rosario's face twisted. "So it's basically cursed?"
"Cursed," Elior said softly, "or holy. Depends on who holds it."
No one said anything after that. Only the faint sound of the wind outside scraping against the walls.
Tom finally broke the silence. "You said this once belonged to Saint Garland?"
Elior nodded again. "Yes. Saint Garland used it during manipulating different other Sects. While he was in a deep slumber, it was stolen. He was killed soon after. Nobody ever recovered the doll until it was seized by the Apollo's Twilight Sect."
Rosario glanced toward the doll, his voice rough. "You're planning to use that against the Overseer?"
Elior closed the chest halfway. "We'll have to. The Overseer needs this relic to complete its descent. Without it, it can't stabilize its presence in the material plane. Each Overseers has their own Divine Relics and Mechanics."
A chill swept through the room.
Tom folded his arms. "So we hold the key to stopping it."
Elior's eyes flicked to him. "That makes us the biggest targets alive."
Arlong clenched his jaw, his single arm trembling slightly. "Then I'll fight too."
Elior turned sharply. "No."
Arlong glared back. "I can still use my other hand! I'm not staying behind while everyone else—"
Elior's tone hardened. "You've already lost one hand. You think losing another will help us? I need you alive, Arlong. Not as a symbol, as my potential man."
Arlong lowered his head. His lips moved like he wanted to argue again, but he didn't.
Rosario looked between them, then muttered under his breath, "Never thought I'd see a day where survival sounded like a burden."
Tom let out a slow sigh. "We've had worse."
Elior shut the chest fully. The air seemed to calm a little, but the heaviness remained. "This doll, relic.... is both salvation and ruin. If it falls into Azmaik's hands, the Overseer will descend without resistance. If we use it wisely, we might stop him. Or we might all vanish trying."
The lamp flickered again. The Lea Infra's emerald eyes seemed to glow from within the cracks of the chest.
Elior placed a hand on the chest. "Whatever happens," he said softly, "this world will remember who stood against the dark."
Outside, the wind howled like a dying voice as if the desert itself had overheard their fate.