New Babel feels different now — heavier, like the air itself knows a god fell today.
The enormous steel gates shut behind the squad with a seismic groan. Barricades slide into place. Ward runes along the walls glow faint cobalt, reinforcing defenses as though expecting Ares to rise again and knock.
Civilians crowd the barricades, held back by guards.
A little girl holds a cracked stuffed fox, clutching her mother's sleeve.
"Mom… did they win?"
Her mother doesn't answer at first. She looks at Ren, slumped unconscious across Akira's back. Looks at the empty spaces where warriors should be walking. Looks at Kenta, bloodied and half-metal.
She forces a smile she doesn't believe in.
"They came home. That's what matters."
But grief lingers in her eyes — the kind only survivors wear.
The healing chamber feels sacred — hushed, warm, incense thick in the air. Beds line the walls, each one holding bodies wrapped in bandages, connected to glowing MSE-lines like spiritual IVs.
Ren is placed gently upon a reinforced bed. Crystal sutras flicker over him, stabilizing spirit flow. His chest rises and falls unevenly, sweat soaking the pillow beneath his head.
Mei stands beside him, arms wrapped tight around herself, jaw trembling. Sakura leans against the wall, eyes red but dry, the exhaustion past tears.
A medic whispers over Ren:
"MSE output is… unstable. Like… two sources. One overwhelming the other."
Akira's voice is flat, but his eyes are burning:
"He fought a god. And won."
The medic swallows hard and doesn't reply.
Akira places a hand on the metal bedframe, looking down at Ren — not pitying, not soft, but something fierce and loyal burning beneath the stoicism.
"Rest, idiot. You don't get to die before I beat your rank."
Kenta sits with back straight and jaw locked as technicians finish sealing the last data-nerve interface into his shoulder. Sparks flash. The new arm hums — sleek black plating with etched inscriptions to stabilize MSE flow.
The surgeon steps back.
"It will feel foreign at first. The pain will be… considerable."
Kenta rolls his new fingers, metal clicking.
A mechanical whirr accompanies every flex.
"Pain means I'm alive."
Akira snorts. "Most people say 'thank you'."
Kenta smirks. "Most people aren't interesting."
Both men chuckle — tired, broken humor, but real.
Then Kenta's expression shifts, lower, quiet:
"…We lost good people."
Akira's brows tighten. He nods once.
"We'll remember them. All of them."
A long silence hangs — one heavy with ghosts.
Back in the Grand Hall Politics in Motion
Councilor Hyura watches through a crystal mirror, hands clasped behind his back.
Other council members murmur among themselves.
"We cannot allow uncontrolled divine influence"
"He may be the key to survival!"
"He may doom us all!"
"He killed Ares. Even the gods still fear Paradai."
Hyura raises a hand silence falls like a blade.
"Emotion clouds reason. We will learn who this boy is… and what he is. Until then observation. No worship. No trust."
Elder Shun steps forward, voice weary but resolute:
"He is still Ren Ito. A boy who chose to stand against impossible odds."
Hyura's gaze sharpens.
"Or a god wearing a boy's skin."
Darkness.
Then embers.
A shattered temple beneath a red sky. War banners flapping in burning wind.
Voices chanting in a forgotten tongue.
Armored warriors kneeling as a tall figure Paradai stands in gold armor, spear pointed toward rebellious gods.
Beside him children with burning eyes. The Naraka Bloodline.
Ren sees one boy young, brave, terrified who looks like him.
A hand grips his shoulder.
Paradai's voice whispers:
"You were born for war. But you will choose whether you fight for vengeance… or for people."
Ren Awakens
His eyes snap open.
Light floods his vision.
He gasps — the first breath not stolen by battle or fear, but given freely.
He's alive.
His body aches like it remembers death, but his heart beats stronger than it ever has. A quiet fire smolders beneath his ribs — steady, waiting.
Mei jolts awake from the chair beside him, relief washing across her features before she scowls.
"You idiot. You absolute idiot. Don't ever do that again."
Ren smiles weakly.
"Good morning to you too."
Akira rests beside the door, eyes closed, sword by his leg. He mutters without looking up:
"If you try that stunt again, let me go first. It looked fun."
Kenta steps in, metal arm gleaming.
He raises it, flexes, smirks:
"Welcome back. Looks like we both got upgrades."
Ren laughs — painful, raw, real.
Then his expression hardens.
"…We killed a god."
Akira nods.
"Yeah. And now the rest know your name."
A shiver runs through Ren — not fear, but understanding.
This was only the first gate.
Night falls on New Babel. Lanterns flicker along rooftops; prayers and mourning chants echo through streets.
Ren sits by the window in his room, wrapped in bandages, staring out at the defensive walls glowing faint blue from runes.
…it feels distant for one fragile heartbeat.
Lantern-light flickers against his face, painting him in gold and shadow — a warrior in pause, a child in mourning, a survivor trying to understand why he still draws breath.
A cold breeze slips through the window seam, stirring his hair.
He doesn't shiver.
Pain sits inside him like a quiet fire.
Not consuming.
Forming.
A knock — soft. Hesitant.
Ren doesn't turn.
"…door's open," he murmurs.
Mei steps in, still wearing her scholar robes, but softer now — sleeves rolled, hair in a messy bun. She carries tea. The steam curls like incense.
She sets a cup near his elbow, then sits beside him in silence.
No forced comfort.
No platitudes.
Just presence.
Her voice comes eventually, low, fragile.
"You scared me, Ren."
He huffs a weak laugh.
"Scared myself too."
Silence again. But it isn't uncomfortable — just heavy, real, breathing like the night beyond the window.
Mei's fingers tighten on her cup.
"…I thought you wouldn't wake up."
Ren finally looks at her — tired eyes meeting tired eyes.
"Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I wasn't apologizing for scaring you."
He breathes.
"I was apologizing for… almost leaving you all to finish this without me."
Mei's breath catches.
"You're not allowed to talk like that. Not now. Not after what we've just been through."
Ren turns back to the night.
"Yeah. I know."
There's a tremor in his voice — raw truth, not weakness.
"Still working on the whole… 'want to be alive' thing sometimes."
A pause.
"…but I'm getting there."
The admission hangs between them like a fragile glass.
Mei doesn't break it. Instead, she gently leans her shoulder against his.
"You can rely on us too," she whispers.
"Just because you can carry the weight doesn't mean you should carry it alone."
Ren swallows — the motion slow, heavy.
"Thanks, Mei."
After a long moment, she pushes herself up.
"Drink before it gets cold."
She leaves quietly, closing the door with a soft click.
Ren sits there a beat longer, the cup warm against his palms. The herbal scent rises — calming, grounding.
He takes a sip.
The warmth spreads — not enough to heal, but enough to remind him he's alive.
⸻
Outside, guards switch shifts on the walls.
A lone horn sounds — the low tone that marks midnight prayer.
Voices whisper ancient blessings for peace they don't believe in but still cling to.
Ren watches their silhouettes move across battlements — people smaller than the nightmares outside, standing anyway.
His chest aches.
They're fighting too. Everyone is.
He presses a palm over his bandaged ribs, breath steadying.
Not because he's healed.
But because breaking now would insult every soul who didn't make it back.
⸻
Footsteps in the hall. Two voices.
Akira's steady, low.
"…he's awake?"
Kenta's gruff reply, metal arm faintly whirring as he moves.
"Yeah. Looks like he's thinking again. That's dangerous."
Akira snorts.
"He'll need strength. Training starts up again tomorrow ."
Kenta's tone turns excited with fire in it.
"Hahaha perfect this old body needs a tune up."
They stop at the door. But they don't enter. They don't need to. This is their version of checking in — giving him space, but guarding the perimeter like loyal wolves.
Ren allows himself the smallest smile.
"…idiots," he whispers fondly.
He looks at his hands again — scarred knuckles, faint golden residue still sleeping under the skin like a star beneath ice.
Not glowing now.
But waiting.
Paradai…
He doesn't speak the name out loud.
He doesn't have to.
Something ancient hums in the marrow of his bones, not as a voice, but a presence. Like a temple bell still ringing minutes after the strike.
Not intrusive.
Not commanding.
Just there — like a storm sitting quietly above the clouds.
I don't know what you want, Ren thinks.
And I don't know if I can trust you.
But beneath that thought, another forms — honest, trembling, stubborn:
…but I'll use your power if it means protecting them.
A vow.
Simple.
Unpolished.
Unbreakable.
He stands slowly, body screaming in protest but heart firm. Moves to the window again, palms resting against cool stone.
The city lies beneath him a patchwork of scars and hope, firelight glowing in windows where families cling to each other, terrified but living.
He breathes once. Twice. A slow storm rising.
Then quietly, to no one and everyone:
"I'm going to save them."
A whisper.
A promise to the night.
A threat to the gods.
Outside the walls, clouds churn pale lightning flickering in silent rage, as if Duwendo itself senses the shift.
Ren watches it without fear.
Bring your storms.
Bring your seals.
Bring your anger.
"I'm not the same."
Another breath.
"And I'm not done."
a boy becoming a blade,
a survivor becoming a challenger,