Aerin jogged toward her at an easy pace, waving once as he closed the distance.
Elira stood waiting near the edge of the underground concourse, hands folded neatly in front of her. She was slightly smaller than him, barely reaching his shoulder—around five foot three. There was something effortlessly gentle about her presence. Her features were soft, calm in a way that made the surrounding noise feel distant rather than loud.
Her long, dark blue hair was pulled into a loose bun atop her head, a few strands escaping to frame her pearl white face. She wasn't striking in a way people turned their heads the second time with saliva dripping from their mouth, no sharp allure or bold beauty, but something quieter. Serene. Angelic. The kind of beauty that lingered, commands respects, rather than demanded attention. The face that becomes more and more mouth gaping lovely the longer one stares.
Elira smiled when she saw him approach. Her tiny but full shape mouth stretch a little to the side.
She was everything Erin wasn't meant to be close to. But they've known each other since five, and it seems fate dictates it for them to be together until now.
Elira's an heiress to one of the largest military development corporations partnered directly with the World Government. Wealth, protection, influence—her life was already secured beyond worry. Even if she never lifted a finger again, her future would remain untouched by scarcity or fear.
And yet, here she was.
Walking into danger.
Again.
And her mother could not stop her to do so.
Erin never understood why she insisted on joining him on missions. He told himself it was boredom, that someone like her, insulated from consequence, might seek thrill in places others feared. That explanation was easier. Safer.
What he didn't notice was how she always adjusted her pace to match his.
How she waited when he slowed.
How she never once complained when assigned to low-priority operations that barely warranted her presence.
Nearly all of Elira's missions were with him.
A fact others noticed.
When they passed through the Marked dispatch area, conversations softened. A few glances lingered longer than necessary. Some of the higher-ranked Marked exchanged looks—curious, faintly incredulous.
A three-star support… with a half-star auxiliary?
Support-types like Elira were rare—healing, barrier generation, instant recovery. The kind of asset teams competed over, negotiated for, argued about.
Yet whenever someone approached her with an offer, she declined politely.
"I'm already assigned," she would say in her quiet and gentle voice.
Assigned… to him.
Erin valued her more than he knew how to express. And despite knowing, logically, that she was far stronger than him, there was a quiet, stubborn part of him that still wanted to protect her. As if standing between her and danger could somehow make sense of the imbalance between them.
Elira walked beside him now, matching his stride without effort.
Others noticed that too.
How close she stayed.
How her attention always returned to him.
How her abilities were always a heartbeat faster when he was hurt.
No one said anything out loud.
But the pattern was impossible to miss.
Elira chose him.
And whatever the reason was—it wasn't of boredom.
~~~
"Are we all here?"
The voice belonged to a woman in her early thirties, sharp and commanding. Her hair was shaved close on one side, the remaining yellow-blonde locks pulled back tightly. Her frame was broad, powerful—built like someone who broke obstacles rather than went around them.
Maris the Barbarian.
A four-star Marked. A frontline brute. The kind of woman who survived by charging straight through hell.
"I think so, Captain!" someone called from the back.
Maris scanned the group with a practiced eye, her gaze lingering briefly on Erin—then Elira. She didn't comment. She never did.
That was one of the reasons Erin liked working with her.
She didn't care about rankings beyond whether someone could do their job. Didn't sneer at half-stars. Didn't fawn over power.
And she didn't question why a rare support kept choosing the same low-tier partner.
Her small team was tight-knit, loyal, efficient.
Erin wasn't officially part of it.
But he was always welcome.
"We'll make this quick," Maris said. "Clean and quiet."
She tapped the holo-display projected between them, a pulsing green distortion beneath the mall's foundation.
"There are civilians directly above us. If this rift destabilizes, it'll spill into populated zones."
A low murmur rippled through the group.
"Classification is two-star, green," she continued. "Low threat. No confirmed link to the floating red anomaly."
She paused.
"That doesn't mean we relax."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Stick to your assignments. No heroics. No freelancing. We close the rift and get out."
A beat.
"Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," the group answered in unison.
Maris nodded once.
As the team moved into position, someone glanced at Erin, then at Elira's angelic face.
Lucky bastard, the look seemed to say.
Elira stepped closer to him, just enough that her sleeve brushed his.
"Same as always?" she asked softly.
Erin nodded.
"Yeah."
Neither of them said what everyone else was already wondering.
~~~
The rift did not behave like a two-star green.
Of course it did not. Erin thought.
At first, everything went according to plan.
The basement level of the mall had been evacuated hours earlier, its bright advertisements darkened, escalators frozen mid-motion. Emergency lights cast long red shadows across cracked tiles as Maris led the team forward, axe resting easily on her shoulder.
"Formation," she ordered calmly. "In and out."
The rift hovered at the far end of the parking structure, a vertical tear in the air, no wider than a doorway. Pale green light pulsed from within, its edges trembling like stretched skin.
Erin felt the itch immediately.
The Mark on his hand burned—not sharply, but insistently. Like pressure. Like warning.
Elira noticed.
Her gaze flicked to him, just briefly. A crease formed between her brows, subtle enough that no one else caught it.
"You alright?" she asked softly. Concern dripping so slightly on her voice.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just… nerves."
She smiled faintly. Moved closer to him than necessary.
Maris raised a fist.
"Move."
They crossed the threshold. And the world folded.
Inside the rift, gravity tilted sideways. The ground was uneven, organic, pulsing faintly beneath their shoes as if breathing. Green light bled from everywhere and nowhere, illuminating twisted pillars that resembled bone more than stone.
"Scan's clean," someone muttered. "Low hostile density."
Too clean.
After half an hour of exploration and walking, the first scream came without warning. A sharp, wet sound and then silence.
Erin turned just in time to see one of the backliners gets lifted off the ground, his body bent at an angle no spine should allow. Something unseen tightened, and he was pulled screaming into the walls themselves.
Blood sprayed. Then nothing.
"CONTACT!" Maris roared in response. "Defensive—!"
But the rift shifted.The exit twisted, stretched, then snapped shut like a closing eye.
Someone gasped. "The door—!"
Gone. Disappears like it did not exist.
The green light deepened, darkening toward something sickly, almost turning into burgundy.
Creatures emerged, not charging, not roaring, but unfolding from the environment. Limbs separated from walls. Faces peeled out of surfaces. Too many joints. Too many mouths. It was horrifying.
Weapons fired without warning. Steel cleaved. Magic flared around. Erin was lost on what to do. Elira was confused on who to aid first.
One by one, the team fell.
Maris fought like a storm,four-star power tearing monsters apart, her axe carving space itself, but every kill birthed two more. When something pierced her chest from behind, she laughed once in disbelief before being dragged screaming into the dark.
"Elira!" Erin shouted as the floor collapsed beneath them, his hand trying to reach her.
They fell. Both of them and the rest of team, both those still surviving and dead.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Dust and glowing spores filled the air. He scrambled upright, panic clawing at his chest.
"Elira—!"
"I'm here."
She was kneeling beside him already, hands glowing gold as she sealed a deep gash along his side he hadn't even noticed.
Around them…
Silence. Eerie silence.
No gunfire. No voices. Nothing. Only distant, wet sounds echoing through the rift.
Schulp
Schulp
Schulp
They were alone.
Elira's hands trembled but she close them together trying to control it.
"Erin, " she whispered, eyes darting around. "This isn't the one we entered…"
"No," he said hoarsely. "It's not."
Something moved beyond the light.
Something vast.
The Mark on Erin's hand burned hotter than ever, veins of heat crawling up his arm. His vision blurred—green bleeding into gold, gold into black.
Elira felt it too. She turned to him slowly. Her eyes were wide, not with fear of the monsters, but with understanding of what may happen.
"Erin…" she said. "If things get worse—"
A sound like the world inhaling cut her off. The rift contracted. Walls rushed inward.
Elira grabbed Eris hand.
"Don't let go, no matter what." she said.
He didn't. He never would.
The last thing Erin heard before everything went dark was Elira's voice, steady, almost gentle speaking words that did not belong to this world.
And somewhere far, far beyond the rift, Something ancient noticed.