The iron gates of Belobog groaned open, revealing the last bastion of a dying world. For the Trailblazers, it was a cinematic marvel: cobblestone streets dusted with powdered snow, rows of sturdy, Victorian-industrial housing, and the towering Eternal Winter Monument—a massive shard of ice that fractured the pale sunlight into a thousand shimmering needles. Heat-radiating vents hummed in the squares, fighting a desperate, losing battle against the encroaching frost.
"Welcome," Gepard said, his voice echoing with a soldier's pride, "to the isolated city in the snow—Belobog."
March 7th immediately began snapping photos, her camera clicking rhythmically, while Dan Heng offered a respectful nod. Kenta, however, trailed behind, his gaze drifting toward the dark, shadowed grates in the street.
"The Upper District always did know how to dress up its misery," he whispered, a bitter edge to his voice that only he could hear.
"Everyone, follow me," Gepard commanded, gesturing toward the grand, sweeping staircase that led to Qlipoth Fort. "The Supreme Guardian is expecting us."
High above, within the vaulted silence of the Supreme Guardian's office, the air was thick with a different kind of frost.
"It's madness, Mother! Sending more soldiers into the front lines of the Fragmentum is a death sentence without purpose!"
Bronya Rand stood before the massive desk, her silver-gray drills of hair trembling with indignation. Her face, usually a mask of stoic discipline, was flushed with a rare, desperate heat.
"Enough, Bronya!" Cocolia Rand's voice was like a glacier cracking. "Do not question the Preservation. I am the Supreme Guardian. You will execute my orders."
"But—"
"I said enough!" Cocolia slammed her fist onto the mahogany surface, the impact rattling the inkwells. Her chest heaved, her golden hair slightly disheveled. For a fleeting second, the terrifyingly poised ruler looked fragile, as if a single nerve had been plucked too hard.
Bronya bit her lip, her gray eyes shining with unshed frustration. "It's exactly because you are like this... that he left. That Kenta—"
The air in the room turned lethal. Cocolia's gaze sharpened into a blade, but before the argument could shatter the room, a rhythmic knock saved them both.
"Madam Cocolia, the travelers have arrived. And... we have located the runaway."
Cocolia smoothed her robes, her expression snapping back into a mask of regal indifference. "Enter." She glanced at her daughter, her voice stiff. "We have guests, Bronya. You are dismissed."
Bronya turned to leave, her heels clicking sharply against the marble, but she froze the moment the doors swung open. Her eyes bypassed the pink-haired girl and the stoic spearman entirely, locking onto the dark-haired man trying to blend into the shadows at the very back of the group.
Kenta felt the weight of her gaze like a physical blow. Abort mission. Shut it down. This is officially a disaster. He suddenly found the intricate patterns of the floor tiles fascinating, refusing to look up.
Xing, observing from the side, noticed Kenta's sudden, catatonic interest in the rug. Her "trash-can-seeking" intuition flared. He's nervous. He needs support. What did that romance novel March mentioned say? Oh, right. 'Physical contact builds an unbreakable bond.'
"Kenta? Are you feeling sick?" Xing asked with a voice of pure, deadpan concern.
Before he could react, she reached out and firmly grasped his hand.
Danger! High Voltage! Kenta's brain screamed. He stared at Xing, wide-eyed, but she just offered him a look of blank, "helpful" innocence.
Through her thin gloves, he could feel the warmth of her palm. It was soft—infuriatingly soft—and his panicked brain momentarily betrayed him. Is she made of marshmallows? He subconsciously squeezed back once, twice, before the sheer terror of his surroundings returned.
Bronya's gaze dropped to their joined hands. Her expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to plummet ten degrees. Without a word, she brushed past them and vanished into the hallway.
Kenta practically threw Xing's hand away the second the door clicked shut. Beside him, the gray-haired "raccoon" looked immensely pleased with herself. Affection points: Acquired, she thought.
Cocolia, who had watched the entire silent drama from her throne, merely arched a thin, golden eyebrow. "The Silvermane Guards reported that you brought guests from beyond the stars," she said, her eyes lingering on Kenta with a softness that felt like a trap. "Initially, I thought my ears were failing me."
"I'm just the tour guide," Kenta mumbled, leaning against a pillar. "Ask the ones with the train."
As the Express crew began their formal negotiations, Kenta slipped out of the office. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere else. But the universe—and his own messy history—had other plans.
Bronya was waiting for him at the end of the hall.
She stood like a statue of ice, blocking the path. She had a thousand questions: Why did you leave? Where have you been sleeping? Why didn't you send word?
But when she opened her mouth, the gravity of her "past self" took over, twisting her words into a sharp, jealous edge.
"Who was that girl? The one holding your hand?"
Kenta blinked, his throat going dry. "Bronya, look, she's a Trailblazer, she's just... weird."
"And the girl from the Lower District?" Bronya stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Is her name Seele?"
Kenta felt a cold sweat break out across his neck. The air in the hallway felt like a black hole, crushing the breath out of his lungs.
Busted. Absolute, total, catastrophic failure. "How... how do you know that name?" he managed to wheeze. He felt like a man caught between two high-speed trains, with no track left to run on.