All the soldiers waited silently by the doorway, strictly instructed not to enter until Joe Bonamassa arrived.
A massive man, clad in dark soldier's attire, pushed the door open. One by one, they followed him into the room. Inside, chairs were arranged neatly, each facing a glowing blue monitor. On the screen, a single word burned bright: "GOR", encircled by flames.
The monitors flickered to life, displaying a video. On the screen, it was unmistakably clear: the victim had arrived at the location specified by the secret organization—a place arranged for clandestine negotiations.
Two unidentified figures approached the victim. Both were dressed in the GOR soldier uniform, but their identities remained hidden, seen only from behind. One wore a brown coat, the other the standard soldier's attire.
Suddenly, from above, a massive block of GPR-73 crystal—a pale, rose-tinted material commonly used for sculpting—plummeted onto the victim. The GOR soldiers retreated immediately. The immense weight of the crystal caused the victim to crash through the floor, falling to the first level of the unfinished High-rise building structure.
As the video ended, Joe Bonamassa spoke, his voice sharp and measured. "If anyone finds these two traitors from GOR, a reward awaits. But… this is the only clue."
Felix, who was sitting and waiting, was lost in thought.
Leaving the building, he breathes deeply, trying to collect his thoughts, but there is silence in his head.
Felix sat down on a bench and tried to collect his thoughts again, but it was all lost.
Kayav approaches him. She hands him a drink. The smell of invigorating coffee made Felix smile for the first time that morning.
"Thank you," he said
In response, Kayav just nodded.
Kayav holds his drink in his hand but doesn't say anything. I just sat down next to my friend.
"Jayara's-" Kayav started the conversation, but Felix interrupts him.
"I don't care if he made his choice with him or his kind. Not a little one will figure it out on his own," Felix said cruelly, finishing his coffee
"Jayar's sister told me that she couldn't contact him." Kayav said, ignoring his friend's words.
"Hmf..." The guy just said "it doesn't concern us. It definitely doesn't concern me."
...
Jayar was in the forest again. He saw strange golden threads leading somewhere. He followed these threads. It seemed to be Nexus threads, but only golden ones. As if these threads belong to K. L.
The forest seemed to get darker and darker. His head was pounding with pain, and the ringing in his ears hadn't stopped. The closer he gets to the goal, the more pain and desire there is to return, but no.
Jayar collapsed beneath the weight of the pain, clutching his head as though his skull might split apart. He writhed on the ground, rolling through the underbrush like a wounded animal, until the forest around him began to blur, its shapes dissolving into shadows.
When the haze lifted, he found himself sprawled on the cold floor of a training hall. His breath came ragged, and the echo of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears.
A figure approached — Dunakai. His voice was calm, but edged with something close to curiosity.
"Don't touch your face. It won't help. I only wish I understood why my threads affect you like this. Normally, for my threads to cause pain, I have to… act. Yet with you, it is different. With you, they behave like a curse. Even though you bear the mark of Fulchiva."
Jayar forced himself upright, his limbs trembling, his balance unsteady. He swayed but did not fall. His voice was hoarse, his body shaking, but he managed a faint smile.
"Better than yesterday," he said, breathless. "Yesterday, I blacked out completely."
"Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I'm Pumping it up my FB," Jayar muttered, still catching his breath. "But I can't fulfill the entire checklist of requirements Kiwooin set for me."
Dunakai had already stepped far back, as though the very conversation required distance. He clasped his hands neatly behind his back, lifted his chin, and spoke with measured gravity.
"This Kiwooin… who is he, truly? And how did Gor punish him?"
Jayar gave a hollow laugh, though his voice carried more bitterness than mirth.
"No punishment," he answered at last. "Gor decided he was merely a victim of circumstance—and let him go."
His tone dripped with scorn, but even as he spoke, the trembling in Jayar's body slowly began to fade.
"What list?" Dunakai asked in a sharp but controlled voice.
"Oh, it's... a long story," Jayar replied, collapsing facedown on the floor with a thud.
Dunakai froze in place. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched so tightly he ground his teeth. His entire body trembled—not from any external force, but from the effort of self-control. It was a storm of anger turned inward, held in check only by willpower.
...
Morning
The Jayar House
Jair woke up again the next day in his own house. And again, there's a doctor in the guest room.
The next morning, Jayar awoke in his own bed. The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt almost unreal after the chaos of the previous night. Yet, as he rose, he noticed the familiar figure waiting in the guest room—the doctor once again.
The moment the man saw his patient awake, he spoke with clinical urgency.
"You need a full examination," he insisted.
Jayar waved him off with a weary hand. He had no desire to be prodded and tested, not now. Ignoring the doctor's persistence, he wandered into the kitchen.
He pulled open the refrigerator door—and froze. It was stocked to the brim, far more than he remembered leaving it. For a moment, he simply stared at the neat rows of containers and fresh ingredients. Then he shut the door again, and only then did he notice a small note taped to its surface, one he had overlooked at first glance.
Don't forget to eat real food. There's soup and chudu with three different fillings prepared for you.
Jayar allowed himself a faint smile, glancing at the clock on his data feed.
April 4. Year 83
Then his expression changed—a missed notification from his sister.
He hesitated only a moment before opening the refrigerator again. From one of the containers, he pulled out a piece of chudu. Holding it in one hand, he pressed the missed call button, activating the voice playback.
The cheerful ringing of the system was replaced by her voice.
Jayar froze for a moment. Then the words reached him.
His grip loosened. The container slipped from his hands and fell to the floor with a dull thud. The food spilled out, forgotten.
What he had just heard was impossible.
And yet, it was real.