The world blurred.
Dust. Screams. Wind.
Sedgwick's eyes widened.
Charging straight toward him was a boy—a blur of pain and fury. Wild-eyed. Reckless. A child whose world had just been torn apart.
A child with nothing left to lose.
"You fools!" Sedgwick barked, stumbling backward. "Capture him!"
But Theo didn't stop.
His feet thundered across the field, grief wrapped around him like chains—but fury burned hotter. He wasn't thinking.
He wasn't planning.
He was done hiding.
Someone was going to pay.
But just as Theo closed the distance—something faster struck.
A sudden gust exploded through the area. The dirt curled into a cyclone. Dust spiraled to the sky.
A blur of forest green shot past Theo—cloak flaring, boots skimming the earth.
Sedgwick's voice broke in panic. "What now—?!"
Steel met steel.
A soldier—thrown in Sedgwick's path—was cut down before his scream could fully form.
Another gust ripped through the battlefield—violent and sudden like the world itself had drawn breath.
Through it all, the stranger advanced—slow, unflinching, unstoppable.
His hood blew back in a swirl of dust and wind.
Beneath it: sharp, storm-dark eyes that didn't blink. A thick beard. A presence like a drawn blade but humming with pressure.
Nozomu.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The battlefield already knew what was to come. The wind wrapped around him like it recognized its master. The debris at his feet refused to touch him.
And as he raised one hand—calm, deliberate—the air itself began to spin.
Then he breathed.
And the world answered.
A spiraling wall of wind crashed through the enemy line like a tidal wave, hurling armored soldiers through the air like dolls.
Some screamed. Most didn't get the chance.
"Defend me!" Sedgwick shrieked, voice cracking like glass.
But the ground beneath him quaked. His boots slipped. His balance shattered. And with all the grace of a kicked statue, he hit the dirt—hard.
Cloak tangled. Pride broken. Dignity bleeding out into the soil.
Towering above him was Evaughn Wyatt, looming like a fortress that was given flesh. Bald. Bearded. Built like the wall at the end of the world.
His forest-green cloak whipped behind him, snapping in the wind like a war banner. Thick muscles rippled beneath his sleeves.
As he stepped forward, his shadow poured over Sedgwick, swallowing the light like a curtain drawn on judgment.
"Going somewhere, Section Commander?" Evaughn asked with a grin, cracking his knuckles.
Sedgwick crawled backward—right as more enemies burst from the smoke.
From above, boots landed in a tight spin. A sharp glint of steel followed by a burst of water pierced through a soldier's chest.
His scream was swallowed in a splash.
Isabella Rain.
Small. Fast. Precise. Her eyes didn't blink. Her rope javelin made of water was already reforming—drawn from the air's moisture.
Nozomu raised his fist.
"Attack!"
The wind howled. Their cloaks—every one of them deep green—flared across the battlefield.
It marked them as a unit.
A resistance.
"Kill them!" Sedgwick roared, climbing to his feet. "Kill them all!"
His soldiers snapped into formation. They moved in sync, hands thrust forward, voices sharp and clipped as they summoned the wind into deadly form.
"Wind Manipulation...Needle Current!"
Whistling air shards burst from their hands like flechettes, slicing forward in razored lines meant to pierce flesh and bone.
But then—
The air shifted again.
From above, a figure hovered.
Still. Calm. Unreadable.
His wavy hair was pulled into a tight, deliberate bun, not a strand out of place. His sword was already in hand—silent, waiting.
Pop.
"You all really suck at this," he said quietly. "You don't even understand the wind."
A wall of wind erupted from his sword—clean, brutal, precise. It didn't just deflect the incoming projectiles… it owned them.
The needle-like flechettes reversed midair, caught in the eye of the storm, and screamed back toward their casters like judgment returned.
The impact came like thunder.
Explosions ripped across the field. Screams followed—sharp, short, and final—torn straight from the throats of soldiers as they were shredded by their own attack.
Armor shattered. Bodies flew.
From the dust cloud came a new figure, calm and unhurried. Emerald eyes flashed behind square-rimmed glasses. Herhair, red as flame and just as wild, streamed like a flag.
Tana Effie.
"You guys always try to steal all the fun," she muttered.
A flame sparked to life in her palm—playful at first, swirling like a curious ember… then wild. Hungry.
"Flame Manipulation… Prometheus Spear."
The fire obeyed her command. It twisted upward, coiling like a serpent, until it hardened into a spiraling lance of fury—red-hot and pulsing with power.
She hurled it like a lightning bolt.
It soared.
Then detonated.
The explosion rocked the field, drowning Sedgwick's front line in a sea of flame. Screams vanished under the roar.
The stench of burnt cloth, cooked metal, and charred flesh coated the air like a second skin.
Theo flinched—stumbling as heat rolled over him. Fire bloomed across the battlefield. The front line of Sedgwick's forces was gone—scorched to bone.
Theo could barely speak.
Dawn dropped beside him. Dirt smeared her cheeks, and panic trembled in her voice.
"Theo. We have to go—now!"
But Theo didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
His eyes were locked on the bodies crumpled in the dirt just ahead—motionless, silent, and too far away.
Everything else had gone quiet.
The screams. The fire. Even her voice.
All of it drowned beneath the weight of two people who would never get back up.
The only thing that still mattered.
He wanted to run to them. To scream their names until the world answered back. To shake them, to beg them to wake up.
But his legs wouldn't move.
And deep down, he already knew—
They were gone.
And no amount of running would bring them back.
Across the battlefield, Sedgwick stumbled upright, blood trickling from a split lip. Fuming. Wild. Fury clawed up his throat.
Then, a voice shouted from the edge of the battlefield.
"Sir! This way!"
A frail man on horseback burst through the smoke, waving frantically as he weaved between burning wreckage and fallen bodies.
His armor shimmered in the sunlight—sleek and well-crafted, though less ornate than Sedgwick's.
Where the Section Commander's cloak gleamed with celestial thread and polished sigils, this man's mantle bore only a single silver band across the chestplate—subdued, functional, but unmistakably high-ranking.
Branch Corvust.
Section Lieutenant of Sector Five.
Loyal shadow to Sedgwick's authority.
Sweat clung to his shaggy black hair, plastering it to his forehead as his horse kicked up dirt behind him.
Behind him, dozens of mounted soldiers thundered across the field—what was left of them.
Sedgwick pushed past his men, sprinting toward the reinforcement, boots pounding over blood-soaked soil.
"Retreat! All units—fall back!"
Scattered, battered, and bleeding, his soldiers obeyed the order, pulling back toward the horses.
But Nozomu wasn't quite finished.
He stepped forward, the wind swerving around his fingers like it was alive—eager. Waiting.
A sphere of pure pressure spun in his palm. Small at first. Then tighter. Sharper. Hissing like a predator too hungry to wait.
He pitched it like a ball, and the sphere screeched through the air like a bullet.
Sedgwick turned—just in time to see it coming.
His eyes flared wide.
Without thinking, he grabbed a soldier by the collar and yanked him forward.
The man barely had time to scream before the sphere engulfed him. Violent and precise, it tore him apart, launching his body skyward like shredded paper.
The distraction worked.
Sedgwick mounted a horse, and it kicked into a gallop. Then he was gone, he and his men racing off into the Wastelands.
Isabella watched Sedgwick vanish into the grassland, a trail of dust twirling in his wake.
"Should we go after them?" she asked.
Evaughn cracked his knuckles. "We can still catch up."
"No. Let them go," Nozomu said, sharp. Final.
"You sure? They won't get too far," Evaughn replied, but Nozomu didn't respond.
His eyes weren't on Sedgwick anymore.
They were on Theo.
Down in the dirt, where the fire still smoldered and ash drifted like snow, sat a boy.
Arms wrapped around two lifeless bodies. A son who hadn't moved in minutes. He didn't tremble. Didn't scream.
Just stared.
His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his tears cutting clean lines through the grime like rivers carving stone.
Nozomu stepped forward, standing alongside Theo.
"I'm sorry. We got here too late."
Theo didn't look up.
But the sound that followed—
It tore from his throat like a rumbling. A scream—not of rage, but of grief. Raw. Splintered. The kind that didn't echo—because it buried itself in you.
Dawn dropped to her knees beside him, arms folding around his back.
David hovered close behind, unsure if there was anything left to say that wouldn't break them all further.
And for a long moment…
None of them moved.
The battlefield was silent.
But nothing had ever been louder.
Nozomu turned without another word. His cloak caught the wind as he strode through the wreckage—glass crunching beneath his boots.
"Isabella, Tana—tend to the wounded... Evaughn, Pop—check for survivors."
"What about the ones who've been… you know?" Pop motioned toward Theo, holding his parents.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a slow breath, he closed his eyes.
"We'll collect the dead, but if they've been mind-wiped," he said, "they'll be dead before the hour's up."
A pause.
Flat and heavy.
"There's nothing we can do."
Then, firmer: "Move out."
No one argued.
"Yes, sir," they answered as one.
And the resistance disappeared into the smoke—toward the wounded, toward the ruins, toward whatever still needed saving.
But far from the burning town of Artimia, hooves rumbled against compacted soil. Dust spiraled in the wake of retreat.
Sedgwick rode at the front, flanked by what remained of his personal guard. Blood crusted his lip, but his eyes still burned.
Ahead, his stronghold loomed like a scar on the earth.
A black-iron fortress carved into the bones of Sector Five. Its spires stabbed the sky like rusted blades. Energy pulsed faintly across its towers—silent arcs of violet light crawling along the walls like veins.
The gates opened with a mechanical groan.
Soldiers stood at attention along the corridor walls—silent, stiff, eyes forward—as Sedgwick and his entourage galloped through the threshold.
The moment they crossed into the fortress, the outside wind vanished—replaced by a cold, automated stillness that swallowed every echo.
Inside, it was colder.
And quieter.
As if the building itself was listening.
Sedgwick dismounted before the steps of the central tower and tossed the reins to a trembling soldier.
"Welcome back, sir!"
"Out of my way, imbecile!"
Then he climbed the steps two at a time before vanishing into the fortress depths—toward the command chamber, slamming the door behind him.
His jaw clenched. Not because he lost. But because he'd run. Someone had seen him run. That was unacceptable.
But the consequences of his retreat were soon to be heard.
He exhaled, pressing two fingers to his temple. The world around him shimmered. His consciousness drifted, and when Sedgwick opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the fortress.
He stood in an endless room—not made of marble or gold. But made of stars.
Cosmic light stretched across the walls into infinite galaxies—planets hung suspended like ornaments, nebulae curled like banners poised in the void like chandeliers.
At the center, a throne of obsidian crackled with divine power. Seated upon it—an indescribable silhouette. More concept than figure.
The God-King.
Sedgwick dropped to a knee.
"Your Grace."
A voice echoed into the unknown. "Speak."
"I believe I've found him," Sedgwick said, head low. Sweat ran down his face.
The God-King's aura rippled through the space as the room shook.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes," Sedgwick nodded. "We were ambushed… but the man leading them… fits the description."
"Then the Core is in your possession, right?"
Sedgwick flinched. "Regrettably… no, Your Grace. He escaped. And others who were aiding him. They were also Dyna users, but the reports from six months ago only stated o—"
The chamber trembled. Stars dimmed above his head. Cosmic rubble fell like meteors.
"Did I ask for your excuses?"
Sedgwick's voice cracked. "N-no, Your Grace!"
There was silence. Then the God-King spoke—calm, cold.
"Section Commander Sedgwick Fullerman."
His voice tolled like a blade being unsheathed.
"You will retrieve the Iritheum Core. No matter the cost. By any means necessary..."
Sedgwick fell flat to the floor. "Yes, Your Grace."
The stars blinked once.
Then vanished.
Sedgwick gasped awake in his quarters, breath short, knuckles white against the desk.
Outside, the sun glowed brightly over the horizon.
His orders were clear.
Retrieve the Iritheum Core.
No matter the cost.
Sedgwick walked to the window and stared back toward the smoke still rising in the distance.
Toward Artimia.
Toward Nozomu.
"You scum," he whispered. "I saw it in your eyes…"
His reflection in the window shifted. Warped into a sinister smile. He no longer looked like a prideful man but more so something old and inhuman.
"You're the one who stole it... You'll come to me eventually…"
His smile faded.
"…but I won't wait."
Sedgwick spun on his heel and stormed to the door. He flung it open with a crash that echoed down the corridor. The startled soldiers flinched as he bellowed into the hallway:
"Branch! ...Branch!"
Footsteps pounded from around the corner. A moment later, Branch appeared—sweaty, breathless, still dirt-streaked from the battlefield.
"Yes, sir?"
"Prep a Devil Unit," he barked. "Mobilize the men. I want eyes everywhere—across the entire sector. No blind spots."
"Across the entire sector, sir…?"
Sedgwick's gaze turned ice-cold.
"Did I stutter? Yes! Across all of Sector Five!"
Without another word, Sedgwick stepped back into the room and slammed the door behind him.
The corridor trembled with silence.
The orders had been given.
And the hunt had begun.