Bakundar welcomed them with open arms.
Flowers lined cracked stone roads. Lanterns swayed from broken rooftops, glowing warmly despite the scars of war carved into every wall. The people smiled—wide, genuine smiles that didn't belong to a kingdom this ruined.
Scarlet's gaze lingered on the crowd.
"For a kingdom this broken," she murmured, "to be this positive… it's kind of concerning."
Abraham exhaled a quiet laugh. "Talk about weird."
Zain shrugged, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Don't think too deep about it. We sent word to every shattered kingdom. We told them we'd help."
Before anyone could respond, the air shifted.
A presence pressed down on them—familiar, sharp, unmistakable.
"Well," a voice said smoothly, "if it isn't Zain."
Zain stiffened. He turned slowly.
"Ryak."
The man stood ahead, relaxed, arms folded, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Heh," Ryak continued. "Last time I saw you was at war."
Zain scoffed. "You mean the last war Elizabeth was on?"
Ryak chuckled. "Let's be honest. Without her, you'd be dead."
Zain tilted his head. "Can't argue with that."
Chaku, Zain's Damik, crossed his arms. "Hate to admit it, but yeah. That day wasn't about power. It was about intelligence. Elizabeth carried us."
Ryak nodded. "She always did."
Silence stretched.
"So," Ryak said, "what brings you to Bakundar?"
"I should be asking you that," Zain replied.
Before he could continue—
"Hey."
Ryo stepped forward.
The air felt heavier around him.
"Do you know where the masked figure is?" Ryo asked. "Or who it is."
Ryak glanced sideways. "Kiri," he said calmly. "Do you know of any masked figure?"
His Damik materialized beside him, eyes dull and obedient.
"No, sir."
Zain felt it then—a strange echo.
Ryak's Damik… and Ryo's.
They felt disturbingly alike.
Ryo took a slow step back.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"…Liar."
Ryak's smile faded. "Enough chit-chat. Do what you came to do."
They stayed for days.
Aid was given. Wounds were treated. Walls were reinforced.
Yet something felt wrong.
During those days, Ryo learned more about Damik than ever before.
Each Damik possessed a unique ability—bound to the human they chose.
Their power could be drawn out in six stages.
Each stage demanded a price.
Pain. Memory. Emotion. Sanity.
No human had ever surpassed the sixth stage.
When it was time to leave, the unease only grew heavier.
Why is a Rolencian here?
Bakundar wasn't their territory.
Then a small voice cut through Ryo's thoughts.
"Um… mister?"
A boy stood there, holding a worn leather ball.
"Wanna play catch?"
Ryo hesitated. Pressure closed around his chest.
"…Sure."
The boy's name was Lurama.
Days passed. Then weeks.
A month went by.
Ryo grew attached—more than he realized.
Until Scarlet overheard something she wasn't meant to.
Lurama was an only child.
For now.
Water for breakfast.
Water for lunch.
Water for dinner.
Crying himself to sleep.
Abraham's quiet questioning revealed the rest.
Lurama's favorite thing to do had been playing catch—with his mother.
Until she was taken.
Ryak had ordered it.
His rule had been classified as necessary.
Ryo felt something snap.
Rage surged—deep, violent, suffocating.
And then—
For the first time—
His Damik responded.
A low, curious voice echoed in his mind.
Interesting…
Around Ryo's hand—dense, silent, consuming.
Dark matter.
The air bent. Light distorted.
Ryo didn't smile.
He clenched his fist.
And Bakundar's warmth finally began to crack.