Location: Inside the Mirage Veil, Astral Spirit Night Market – Night
The timer blinked softly in his vision. Three minutes—a fragile pocket of safety carved from the chaos outside.
Akira's body screamed with every breath, his chest rising and falling in jagged rhythm. About six minutes of unbroken running had wrung him dry—muscles heavy, lungs burning, clothes plastered to him with sweat that dripped steadily down his temple and into the corner of his mouth. A wild thrum pounded in his ears, and his arms trembled from holding on so tightly, from refusing to stop even when his legs had begged him to collapse.
But now… now something shifted.
The air in the warded pocket felt different—cooler, gentler, like a faint current flowing beneath his skin. At first he thought it was only relief playing tricks on him, but then he felt it: a slow, steady rhythm, almost like invisible hands stitching back the frayed edges of his strength. The exhaustion did not vanish, but softened—dulled at the edges. His heartbeat steadied, his breath grew less ragged, and the fire in his muscles dulled to a faint throb.
It was subtle, he can feel that his health bar is ticking upward by single points. +1… +1… +1… Not enough to restore him fully, but enough to feel his body knitting back together second by second. Sweat still clung to his skin, but the weight of it no longer crushed him; the ache in his legs was still there, but no longer unbearable.
He swallowed hard, blinking at the faint glow surrounding them. If he could feel this recovery, then… Tsukiko must be too.
He tilted his head slightly, catching the quiet rhythm of her breathing against his chest. It was shallow, fragile, but no longer fading. He imagined her wounds responding to the same unseen current, her spirit drawing from the fragile sanctuary just as his was. Slower—yes, much slower than him—but he believed, no, he knew she was recovering. The glow wasn't just for him. It was for both of them.
The warmth of her presence nuzzled closer, grounding him in ways the system could not measure. His fatigue was still real, his body still heavy, but hope began to stir beneath it all, syncing with the faint pulse in the air.
Three minutes. Just three minutes, carved out like a miracle. Three minutes to breathe, to heal, to prepare before the storm returned.
She stayed close, her small hands gripping his arm, the faint tremor in her fingers betraying both fear and weakness. Her skin was cool against his, almost fragile, as if even her touch might fade if he pulled away.
Her eyes—wide, searching—caught the shifting glow of the lattice walls. The arcane light filtered through in ribbons of blue and violet, painting across her face like stained glass. Every contour seemed to sharpen in that moment: the faint line of her jaw, the delicate slope of her collarbone where her torn robe had slipped, revealing more than she probably realized.
Akira's mind stuttered—just for a breath. Heat surged unbidden to his face, a guilty flush that spread quicker than he could control. His gaze skated lower before he forced it away, pulse hammering with the same rhythm as the wards around them. Damn it—focus! She's injured, this isn't… He grit his teeth, mentally scolding himself. But the afterimage of that curve, the warmth of her pressed so close, lingered in his thoughts like a flame behind closed eyes.
Dropping to one knee, he set her down gently, cradling her as though she were made of glass. Even that simple act felt precarious—her body light, yet weighted by exhaustion. She let out a soft sigh, the sound slipping past her lips like a feather carried by the wind. Beneath the exhaustion, a faint spark of reassurance flared—Akira's steady grip made her feel, if only briefly, that she could be safe here. His arms tingled where her warmth had been, and when he pulled back, he almost missed the faint pressure.
For a moment, he simply breathed with her—his chest rising in rough, ragged heaves, hers in shallow, trembling rhythm. The small silence between heartbeats, between breaths, wrapped them like a fragile cocoon. The storm outside could not pierce this stillness.
"…Will… they find us?" Her voice was barely a whisper, as if the question itself might shatter the fragile peace.
Akira's hand closed around hers instinctively. Her fingers were cool, softer than he expected, and fit awkwardly yet perfectly between his own. He felt her pulse—weak, fluttering—yet undeniably there. The contact grounded him, though it also sent another ripple of heat through his chest.
"Not here. Not now…" he said, forcing steadiness into his tone. "I think."
The lie quivered between them, but he held her gaze. The wards flickered faintly across her pale skin, the violet light catching in her lashes as her eyes half-closed, trusting him even when his words barely held weight. And in that trust—raw, fragile, undeserved—Akira felt something stir deeper than fear, deeper than the heat that still lingered from that fleeting vision.
He squeezed her hand a little tighter, as if to promise her—and himself—that no matter how shaken he was, he wouldn't let go.
A knot of unease settled in his stomach, but duty pulled him forward. He fumbled for his water bottle, awkwardly holding it up. "Here—uh, drink. Slowly," he said, trying to sound confident.
She obeyed, lips brushing the rim. But his shaky hands tilted the angle too far. Water spilled—sliding down her chin, trailing over her neck, soaking into the fabric at her collar.
Akira's breath caught. The dark cloth dampened quickly, clinging faintly to her skin and revealing a glimpse of pale fabric beneath.
"…C-Careful!" he blurted, jerking the bottle back, face burning crimson. His heart thudded like a drum. Idiot! You spilled it all over her—!
Tsukiko only gave the smallest flinch, then swallowed a little, eyelids heavy. A flicker of warmth passed through her—blinking at him, cheeks tinged pink, though the sting of the spill barely registered. "…Mm… thank you…" Her whisper was soft, fragile, and somehow grounding.
Akira froze, torn between wanting to apologize and not daring to move. His face was on fire. She's injured… she doesn't even realize… calm down, Akira, calm down!
Desperate to ground himself, he took a hurried sip of water. But her damp hair brushed his neck as she shifted closer, faint warmth seeping through, tethering him to the stolen moment of calm—and making him painfully aware of every inch between them.
He shifted her slightly, pressing a hand gently to her back to steady her. "There… that's better," he muttered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. Each breath, each shiver from her, each small, unintentional contact sent his thoughts spiraling into panic-comedy territory. This is ridiculous… first meeting… and I'm… He swallowed hard, glaring at the ceiling. "Focus. You can do this. It's fine. Totally fine."
She let him steady her, leaning weakly into his arms as he crouched. Two minutes plus remained. Every second pulsed like a drum. Arms and chest ached. Muscles screamed. And yet, somehow, the comedic tension of trying to keep her upright, hydrated, and alive while not losing his mind made the scene feel both suspenseful and absurd.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 2:35]…
Akira drew a harsh breath, forcing his thoughts into a single thread. "…We'll make it. Just… hold on a little longer…" A soft, inaudible whimper answered him.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile, eyelids fluttering. So small against him, she anchored him more than any illusion, interface, or mission objective could.
With a sharp inhale, Akira let his eyes flick to the SigilBound Interface hovering faintly in his vision.
Maybe there's something here that can help…
Even though the Veil was slowly knitting their wounds together, he knew he couldn't rely on three minutes of partial healing. It was a fragile buffer at best. His eyes darted to the Inventory tab, scanning for potions, stamina boosts, or even a hidden hint tucked somewhere in the holograms—but there was nothing. Empty. No consumables, no lifelines, not even a scrap of water or food.
He let his vision glide over the other menus, mentally "hovering" over each tab. Skills locked, abilities greyed out, prompts vague and teasing, leaving him to improvise.
Knowing there was little direct help from the system, Akira's gaze flicked outside the Veil to the chaos of the Astral Spirit Market. Three creatures leapt across rooftops, their attention sweeping the street, searching for them. They were fast, unpredictable—but grounded for now. That was his edge.
He surveyed the environment: crates stacked along walls, crimson lanterns hanging crookedly, and several cross-junctions where paths twisted and turned. Timing, placement, and clever use of obstacles would be key.
Keeper Stride—his only ability with no cooldown—was the ace up his sleeve. But even it required precision.
"Keeper Stride… timing is everything," he muttered under his breath, scanning the nearest cross-junction. If he could manipulate line-of-sight with obstacles, create temporary blinding flashes, or force the creatures into a misstep, he could slip past. Crate here, table there… maybe a lantern to momentarily dazzle or obstruct them.
He adjusted Tsukiko in his arms, feeling her faint tremor against his chest. Every second counted. No mistakes. No hesitation.
His mind mapped it out:
Wooden crates: Run toward them and trigger Keeper Stride as his foot landed, using the dash to smash through or push the crate—blocking vision, hitting the creatures, or forcing them off balance.
Crimson lanterns: Kick them toward the creatures to blind them or set the area aflame, creating a momentary distraction.
Cross-junctions: Position maneuvers near a junction, turning to another route while using debris or lanterns to buy precious seconds while running.
Beyond the shimmer of the Veil, he glimpsed the hunters' movements through the lattice of shadows. For now, he could see them—but they didn't see him. That had to be enough.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 1:45]…
Time ticked down. Her head rested against his shoulder.
"…Just… a little longer," he murmured, fingers curling around her waist.
She shifted slightly, hand brushing his chest—a spark of warmth threading through him.
He glimpsed her stats briefly, though numbers barely registered amid the rush:
{{{ ASTRALKIN – PROFILE }}}
[Name: Tsukiko Kamimine]
[Title: Azure Dragon Princess]
[Species: Astralkin – Dragon Heritage]
[Abilities: Unknown]
[Status: Injured / Weak]
[Bond Level: ☆☆☆☆☆]
[Sync Rate: 5%]
[Current Location: Astral Spirit Night Market]
Numbers, percentages—they were meaningless in the immediate surge of adrenaline and fear. Yet he could feel the pulse of their connection, growing even amid danger.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 0:50]
The blue shimmer flickered. Fifty seconds. Akira's pulse pounded in his ears. Every heartbeat a drum, every breath borrowed from chaos.
Tsukiko pressed closer, small hands clutching his arm. Fragile, trusting—her warmth a tether pulling him back from the edge.
"…Just… a little longer," he murmured, tightening his grip around her waist.
Hunters prowled beyond the illusion. Shadows skittered at the edges, restless, searching. Not yet. Not for now. He glimpsed them, but they didn't see him.
Akira's eyes darted to the alley ahead. Crates stacked haphazardly. Lanterns swaying. Paper charms twisting in the draft like spectral dancers. Timing… placement… speed. Keeper Stride—his only ace right now.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 0:10]
10 seconds. The world narrowed. One step, one breath, one decision at a time. He bent his knees, drew Tsukiko closer, feeling her weight as both burden and anchor.
A spark of warmth pressed against his chest as her hand brushed him.
Her hair brushed his cheek, silver strands catching the fractured light. He felt her shiver faintly, not from cold, but from the fear and trust mingled in that tiny gesture. In that instant, everything else—the twisting alleys, the hunters, the collapsing crates—blurred into background noise. All that mattered was the fragile weight in his arms, the steady press of her hand, and the quiet certainty that he would not let her fall.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 0:05]
5 seconds. A heartbeat left. Veil flickering. He pressed his palms to the crates, gauging distance, plotting escape. Every sense screamed—movement, shadow, sound, chance.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 0:03]
3 seconds. Breath sharp. Fingers tightening—not to hurt, but to hold. Her trust pressed softly, like warmth threading through him.
[Mirage Veil Effect: 0:01]
One second. The world suspended. Then—he lunged.
Muscles coiled, feet striking the ground. Keeper Stride ignited, a surge of speed threading through him. The Veil shattered like mist under the sun. Chaos crashed back in—incense, ozone, shouts, and shadows—but Tsukiko stayed pressed to him.
Each beat surged through him, every breath a lifeline. Step after step, crate after crate, lanterns swaying, illusions breaking, he ran. Together. Against the night.
=============== End of Chapter 4 ===============