Content Warning: The following chapter contains depictions of mature themes and very distressing situations. Reader discretion is advised.
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"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
- Ernest Hemingway
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The world shattered.
Cocolia felt the impact reverberate through her transformed body, a shockwave of destruction radiating outward from the Engine of Creation's devastating blow. The ground beneath her feet—no, she was floating now, wasn't she?—split and cracked, spider-webbing fissures racing across the frozen landscape of Everwinter Hill.
For a moment, time seemed to slow. Cocolia watched, detached, as chunks of earth and ice plummeted into the newly formed chasm. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of grinding rock and shattering ice that drowned out even the howling wind. Yet beneath it all, she heard something else—something that chilled her to her very core.
Screams.
Distant, muffled, but unmistakable. The cries of her people, her citizens, as their world quite literally crumbled beneath them.
What have I done?
The thought pierced through the haze of the Stellaron's influence like a shaft of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. For one crystalline moment, Cocolia saw herself with perfect clarity—and recoiled in horror.
Memories flooded her mind, unbidden and relentless. Long nights spent poring over ancient texts, learning the intricacies of Belobog's history and governance. Her mother's stern but loving voice, guiding her through the responsibilities that would one day be hers.
"A Supreme Guardian's duty is to her people, Cocolia. Always."
She remembered the weight of the mantle when it was first placed upon her shoulders. The pride, yes, but also the crushing responsibility. The vows she had taken, sworn before the Architects and her predecessors.
To protect. To preserve. To guide.
And now...
Cocolia looked down at her hands—alien appendages, crystalline and monstrous. What had she become? What had she done?
The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her in shame and regret. She had failed. Failed her people, failed her city, failed the very ideals she had sworn to uphold.
A sound escaped her transformed throat—a keening wail of anguish that was at once both terrifyingly inhuman and achingly, heartbreakingly herself. It echoed across the shattered landscape, a lament for all that had been lost, all that she had destroyed.[1]
"Shhhh," the Stellaron's voice whispered in her mind, soothing and insidious. "You have done well, Supreme Guardian. This pain, this destruction—it is but the labor pains of a new world being born."
Cocolia wanted to scream, to rage against the entity that had led her down this path of ruin. But she felt so tired. So very, very tired.
"Let go of your sorrow," the Stellaron coaxed. "Lay it upon me. I will bear this burden, as I have borne the hopes and dreams of the Rand line for centuries."
Centuries. How many of her predecessors had heard this same honeyed poison? How many had resisted, only to fall in the end?
"Bronya," Cocolia whispered, her transformed voice barely recognizable. "My daughter... I'm so sorry."
The image of Bronya's lifeless body, broken and bloodied, flashed before her eyes. Another lie? Another manipulation? Cocolia no longer knew what to believe.
"You will see her again," the Stellaron promised. "In the new world we shall forge together. A world without pain, without loss. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Cocolia felt herself begin to float higher, pulled away from the devastation she had wrought. Below, the shattered landscape stretched out like a gaping wound, but Gepard was nowhere to be seen. The realization hit her with a fresh wave of horror—he must have been caught in the blast, thrown who knows where by the Engine's devastating power. She wanted to reach out to him, to explain, to beg forgiveness—
But the moment passed. The Stellaron's influence surged within her once more, drowning out the last vestiges of doubt and remorse.
"Be strong, Cocolia," it urged. "Our work is not yet finished. The old world must fall completely before the new can rise. You are so close to achieving what generations of your family could only dream of."
Cocolia closed her eyes, surrendering to the Stellaron's will. What choice did she have now? She had crossed a line from which there was no return. The only path left was forward, into the uncertain future she had set in motion.
As she ascended into the storm-wracked sky, Cocolia Rand—Supreme Guardian of Belobog, protector turned destroyer—allowed herself one final, silent apology to the city she had loved and betrayed.
Forgive me.
The wind carried her words away, lost amid the chaos of a world torn asunder.
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A deafening blast reverberated through the cavernous expanse of Belobog's Underworld, cutting through the air like a knife. In that moment, everything seemed to freeze, the sound suspended in time. Natasha felt it in her bones, a deep, primal fear that gripped her heart.[2]
Then, the world erupted into chaos.
She watched, horrified, as massive chunks of rock plummeted from the ceiling, obliterating everything in their path. The ground quaked beneath her feet, throwing her off balance. Screams in the distance tore through the air, mingling with the thunderous roar of collapsing stone.
Suddenly, Seele was beside her, gripping her arm. Her eyes were wide, panicked. "We have to go!" she shouted over the din. "Now!"
"The beams are reinforced with geomarrow! This shouldn't be possible!" Bronya shouted over the chaos, her urgent tone blending with confusion.
"Possible or not, we need to move!" Seele yelled back, adrenaline making her voice sharp. "Speculate later!"
She yanked Natasha forward, and the doctor stumbled, her legs like lead. Bronya was on her other side, her face pale but determined. Together, they were dragged by Seele through the raining debris, dodging falling rocks and leaping over widening cracks in the earth.
The pain hit her first, a searing agony that ripped through her right shoulder. She heard Bronya scream beside her, and she knew the commander felt it too. But they couldn't stop, couldn't even slow down. The world was collapsing around them, and to hesitate was to die.
Then, as quickly as it began, the worst of it is over. The ground still trembles, and rocks continue to fall in the distance, but they're alive. Alive, and...
Natasha blinked, her vision swimming as the world around her came into focus. The air was thick with dust, making it difficult to breathe. She coughed, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her right shoulder.
As the ringing in her ears subsided, she became acutely aware of the chaos surrounding them. The ground still trembled beneath her feet, and distant screams echoed through the cavernous space. Natasha's medical training kicked in, her eyes darting around to assess the situation.
She saw Seele first, the young woman's face contorted in pain as she favored her left leg. Natasha's keen eye quickly identified the issue – a swollen ankle, likely sprained from the intense strain of their quantum leap escape. The girl had pushed herself to the limit, and her body was paying the price.
Turning her attention to Bronya, Natasha noticed the commander clutching her left arm, her face pale with shock. The doctor recognized the telltale signs of a dislocated shoulder – the same injury she herself was experiencing on her right side. The realization dawned on her: Seele's desperate grab and subsequent leap had been so forceful, so abrupt, that it had wrenched both their arms from their sockets.
Natasha tried to move her right arm, only to be met with a wave of nausea-inducing pain. The joint was definitely out of place, rendering her dominant hand useless. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. They were alive, yes, but far from safe.
As a doctor, Natasha knew they needed to address their injuries quickly. But as she looked at her companions – Seele limping, Bronya pale and shaking – she also recognized the shock setting in.
They had escaped death by mere seconds, and the reality of their situation was only beginning to sink in.
As she took in her surroundings, she realizes that the once-bustling outskirts of the Robot Settlement lay in ruins before them. Twisted metal and shattered concrete created an apocalyptic landscape, with jagged pieces of rebar jutting out like skeletal fingers reaching for help.
The makeshift vagrant camp, a collection of rickety structures where Natasha had treated patients many years ago, had been reduced to splinters and torn cardboard. A child's stuffed bear lay in the debris, its fabric stained with dirt and grime.
Her stomach churned at the thought of how many bodies might be buried beneath the wreckage.
In the distance, another section of ceiling crashed down, the sound echoing through the cavern like rolling thunder. The vibrations traveled through the ground, causing loose rocks to skitter across the uneven surface. Screams pierced through the constant rumble - some distant, others horrifyingly close.
The air was also thick with rock dust and the acrid smell of crushed geomarrow, making it difficult to breathe. Natasha pulled her sleeve over her nose, remembering all too well how many miners she had treated for dust inhalation. Through the haze, she could make out the silhouettes of collapsed structures and broken machinery. The proud automated sentinels that once patrolled these parts now lay in pieces, their metallic bodies crushed under tons of rock.
A nearby wooden shack groaned and collapsed, sending another cloud of dust into the air. Natasha's mind raced with calculations - how many lived in these temporary shelters? Two hundred? Three? The mortality rate in such collapses typically exceeded sixty percent without immediate medical intervention. Her fingers twitched toward her medical bag.
"Hold still." Natasha reached out with her left hand toward Bronya's shoulder, her medical instincts overriding the chaos around them. "This will hurt."
"Just do it." Bronya's jaw clenched.
A quick, practiced motion popped the joint back into place. Bronya bit back a cry.
"Your turn." Bronya straightens, her commander's composure returning despite her pallor.
"No time." Natasha turned to Seele, who leaned against a broken pillar. "That ankle needs—"
"I—I didn't know where else to go," Seele's words came through gritted teeth as she shifted her weight. "Had to get us clear of the collapse."
The ground shuddered beneath them. Another distant crash echoed through the cavern, followed by more screams.
"Seele, you saved our lives." Natasha's own dislocated shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat. "I know you're in shock, but we need to move. Find the others."
The words caught in her throat. How many others were still alive under all that rock? How many could they even reach in time?
"That sound..." Bronya muttered, her eyes unfocused. "It came from above. Like an impact."
"Bronya?" Seele's voice cut through the haze of dust and screams.
"What could have—" Bronya's words trailed off, her brow furrowing deeper. "A meteorite? No, that's—"
"Hey." Seele gripped Bronya's arm. "You're not making sense."
Bronya's gaze snapped to Seele, then to Natasha. "The Engine of Creation. It's the only thing with that kind of power. But that would mean—" She shook her head violently. "No. Mother wouldn't. She couldn't."
"Bronya, focus," Natasha urged. "We need to move."
"Right." Bronya straightened, but her eyes betrayed her turmoil. "You're right. We need to... to..."
"To find the others and then get somewhere safe," Seele finished, her hand still on Bronya's arm. She turned to Natasha. "Doc, can we move?"
Natasha glanced at Seele's swollen ankle, then at her own dislocated shoulder. "With that ankle and our injuries? Not far. Let me—"
As if in answer to her worries, Dan Heng stumbled into view, his face streaked with grime and blood. He looked half-feral, his eyes wild and desperate.
"There you are." Dan Heng's eyes swept over their injuries. "Are you—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "No time. Clara needs help. It's bad."
"How bad?" Natasha pushed forward.
"Critical." Blood dripped from Dan Heng's sleeve as he turned. "This way."
"Dan, you're bleeding—" Natasha reached for his arm.
He jerked away. "Not mine. We need to move. Now."
He broke into a run. Natasha followed, ignoring the fire in her shoulder. The terse response and the haunted look in Dan's eyes sent a chill down her spine. Whose blood? And how bad was it for him to look so shaken?
Behind her, Bronya's voice carried over the distant rumble of falling rock. "Lean on me."
"I can manage," Seele protested.
"Shut up and take my arm."
Natasha pushed ahead, Dan Heng's figure leading her through the wreckage. Her medical training screamed at her to slow down, to properly assess her own injury first. But something in his voice, that raw edge of desperation...
The sight that greeted them was like something out of a fever dream.
Xander lay crumpled on the ground, unconscious, his right arm missing. Blood slowly pooled beneath him.
Beyond him, Svarog lay half-buried under massive slabs of rock, yet the robot strained upward, its massive frame protecting something beneath. Static crackled through its damaged speakers.
"Impact... too strong. Crushed Clara... Suspect internal damage... hemorrhage."
Dan Heng backtracked to Natasha, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. Together they rushed forward. He knelt beside Svarog, carefully extracting Clara's broken form from beneath the robot's protective shell. Her small body spasmed, blood staining her lips as consciousness flickered in and out of her eyes.
He laid her gently beside Xander. March 7th knelt frozen nearby, her hands hovering uselessly over them both.
"Clara," Natasha breathed, her blood running cold.
She was almost unrecognizable, her small body broken and bleeding. Her breath came in wet, ragged gasps, and even from where Natasha stood, she could see the life draining from her.
Natasha moved before she realized it, her body acting on instinct. She fell to her knees beside Clara, her good hand already glowing green. She poured everything she had into the girl, desperately trying to knit her shattered body back together. The girl's coughs grew more violent, blood spattering the ground. Too much damage. Too much blood.
Behind her, Bronya and Seele's footsteps approached. A sharp intake of breath. The scrape of Seele's injured foot against debris.
"No..." Bronya's whisper carried the weight of command stripped raw.
March cradled Xander's head, her fingers leaving frost where they touched his skin.
"Xander." March's voice cracked. "We need you. Clara needs you. Natasha's here. Please, wake up!"
Frost crept from March's fingers across Xander's face. His eyes fluttered, consciousness returning under her ethereal blue glow.
"He's awake!" March's relief cut through the heavy air.
Bronya and Seele drew closer, their whispers falling silent as they stared at the void where Xander's arm should have been.
Natasha's hands trembled as she maintained the healing flow. Clara's internal damage was catastrophic - crushed organs, massive internal bleeding, bones splintered beyond recognition. Ten years of treating children in the underworld had taught her every possible way a small body could break. She'd lost count of how many had died under her care, victims of collapse, abuse, malnutrition.
Another whimper escaped Clara's lips. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, each breath more shallow than the last. The green glow from Natasha's palm cast everything in an otherworldly light, but couldn't mask the truth — the girl was slipping away.
Svarog's mechanical voice crackled above them. "PLEASE. SAVE CLARA."
That raw desperation in his voice - she knew it too well. The same tone she'd heard from countless parents watching their children slip away. And like all those times before, her powers weren't enough.
A robot.
Natasha's mind reeled at the realization. This machine, this collection of metal and wires, pleaded with the anguish of a father. In all her years treating the broken and desperate in the Underworld, she'd never heard such naked emotion from something not flesh and blood. But that knowledge made her failure no less bitter.
Robot or human, the pain of losing a child remained a universal constant.
March and Dan Heng moved to help Xander stand. He stumbled forward, collapsing beside Natasha. His face contorted with pain as he took in Clara's broken form.
"Ma'am." His voice came raw, barely above a whisper. "We can't do this alone. But together... we might have a chance."
Natasha nodded, sweat beading on her forehead from the strain of maintaining her healing powers. Whatever he had in mind, she'd try it. She had to.
He met her gaze, and something passed between them, an understanding. Then, he turned to Dan Heng, his voice hoarse but steady.
"Cut my palm," he said. "Deep."
Dan Heng hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He took Xander's hand, his knife flashing in the dim light, and made a deep, cruel cut across Xander's palm.
Crimson and gold blood welled up, bright against Xander's skin. It was mesmerizing, a shimmering, pulsing light that seemed to dance in the air. Natasha couldn't tear her eyes away.
"Holy shit," Seele breathed, her eyes wide. "What is that?"
The golden threads in Xander's blood twisted and writhed, as if alive. Seele leaned closer, transfixed.
"I've never seen anything like—"
Then, Xander pressed his hand to Clara's chest, and the world exploded into light.
It was like nothing Natasha had ever witnessed, a blinding, searing radiance that engulfed everything. She felt it in her bones, thrumming through her like a living thing. It was terrifying, awe-inspiring, and impossibly beautiful, all at once.
And Clara...
She arched off the ground, her back bowing, her eyes flying open. The scream never came - her mouth frozen in a silent 'o'. Natasha watched, transfixed, as golden light threaded through flesh and bone. Wounds sealed themselves shut, one by one, like watching months of healing compressed into heartbeats.
Blood drew back into veins. Shattered bones realigned. Life itself seemed to pour back into her small frame. With each pulse of that impossible light, color bloomed across her skin - death's pallor giving way to rosy warmth.
Natasha's medical mind tried to catalog every impossible change, even as her heart thundered in her chest. This defied everything she knew about healing, about life and death itself. The golden radiance thrummed through her own bones, somehow both gentle and overwhelming, like standing at the edge of creation.
Clara's breaths deepened, strengthened. Each one stronger than the last, until they fell into a steady rhythm that spoke of life rather than death's doorstep.
The light dimmed gradually, like a sunset fading to dusk. As the last golden threads dissipated into the air, Clara settled back to the ground, her face peaceful. Her eyes fluttered closed, but this time in sleep rather than unconsciousness.
But she was breathing. She was alive.
Natasha stared at her in disbelief, her mind reeling. Around her, the others were equally stunned, their faces slack with shock.
"I... I don't understand," Bronya whispered, her voice shaking. "What just happened?"
March 7th's eyes darted between Clara and Xander, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Dan Heng stood frozen, his usual stoic demeanor cracked wide open, revealing raw disbelief.
"That's not... It can't be possible," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
March nodded, her eyes wide. "I've seen a lot of strange things, but this..."
Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She had no words, no explanation for what they had just witnessed. It was beyond anything she had ever seen, beyond anything she had ever imagined possible.
Xander had saved her. With his blood, he had brought her back from the brink of death.
She looked at him, really looked at him, and her breath caught. He was slumped on the ground, his skin ashen, his breathing shallow. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his remaining hand trembled where it rested on his thigh.
He looked like a man who had been to hell and back. A man who had seen too much, done too much, and didn't know how to find his way back.
"Dan, Natasha," Xander's words came between labored breaths. "Help me get her to her father."
Natasha moved forward with Dan Heng, her medical training taking over as they lifted Clara's small form. The girl's body temperature had normalized, her breathing steady - a stark contrast to the death rattle of minutes before. They carried her to Svarog's pinned form, where Xander took her hand with trembling fingers and placed it in the robot's massive palm.
"She's alive," Xander whispered. "She's going to be okay."
Natasha watched Svarog's optical sensor flicker as it scanned Clara. The sight was both familiar and alien - she'd seen countless parents examine their recovered children, but never like this. Svarog's mechanical precision contrasted sharply with the raw—dare she even think—emotion she sensed beneath. His massive fingers closed around Clara's hand with a gentleness that defied his imposing size, a tenderness she'd only ever associated with flesh and blood.
But then, the whir of his internal systems grew fainter. Even without diagnostic tools, Natasha recognized the signs of cascading system failure.
Like watching a patient's vitals drop, one by one.
Svarog's movements became jerky, labored, as he reached behind his head. A soft click cut through the silence. He withdrew something - a chip, small enough to fit in a palm - and extended it toward Xander.
"PROTECT HER," his voice crackled, each word degrading further. ". . . PROTECT THEM."
The light in his eye dimmed, flickered.
"Svarog?" Xander's voice cracked.
No response came. The red glow faded to nothing. His frame slumped, servos whining one final time before falling silent.
Natasha's throat tightened as Xander reached out to touch Svarog's arm, his fingers tracing patterns in the metal.
Then, he began to pray. The words were foreign to Natasha - not a plea to Aeons like Qlipoth, but to something else. An invocation to a single father-god she'd never heard of. Yet as his voice filled the space among broken stone and dying machines, the unfamiliar prayer carried something profound - a recognition of loss that transcended flesh and blood, that reached past the boundaries of their known world.
Natasha watched as he lifted Clara from Svarog's slack grip, cradling her against his chest with his remaining arm. Her doctor's eye noted the strain in his movements, the way his muscles trembled with exhaustion. But he held Clara as if she weighed nothing at all.
Tears fell from his eyes onto Clara's cheek. The girl stirred slightly, peaceful in the sleep of the newly healed. Natasha had seen thousands of tears shed over children - of grief, of joy, of relief. These were something else entirely.
The prayer faded. In the distance, screams and rumbles reminded them that their world was still collapsing. Natasha felt the others shift behind her, the weight of what came next pressing down on them all.
"I'm so sorry," Xander whispered to Clara. "I'm so, so sorry."
Another scream pierced the air, closer now. But Natasha couldn't look away from the tableau before her - a man holding a saved child, facing the shell of the one who'd given everything to protect her.
March 7th stepped forward, her voice hesitant. "Xander... what do we do now? What's our next step?"
Even Dan Heng's face betrayed a hint of expectation as he looked to the man in question.
Xander lifted his gaze, his eyes hollow with exhaustion and defeat. "I don't know, March," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For once... I genuinely don't know."
Natasha shook herself from her daze, her medical instincts kicking in. "First things first. Let me take a look at that arm, Xander. We need to make sure you don't bleed out." She turned to the others. "Then I'll see to Seele's ankle. After that, we should try to make our way back to Boulder Town. We'll help any survivors we find along the way."
Bronya's face paled even further. "Boulder Town? Is there even..." She couldn't finish the thought, horror etched across her features.
"Don't." Seele's voice was sharp. "Don't even think about that possibility. We need to focus."
Natasha nodded, pushing down her own fears. "Seele's right. We focus on what we can do right now." Her thoughts strayed to Oleg, to children like Hook. She sent up a silent prayer for their safety, even as her hands moved to tend to Xander's injury.
"Alright," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. "Let's get to work. We have a long way to go."
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Lev Landau leans back in his armchair, the leather creaking softly as he shifts his weight. The living room of the Landau residence's second floor is bathed in the warm glow of evening light, filtering through the large windows that overlook the city of Belobog. He can hear Felina bustling in the kitchen, the familiar clink of dishes and the aromatic waft of something sweet drifting through the air.
His youngest daughter, Lynx, sits across from him, her eyes alight with excitement as she recounts her latest expedition. Lev finds himself torn between pride in her adventurous spirit and a gnawing worry that twists in his gut.
"...and then, Father, I saw them! Three fragmentum beasts I've never encountered before," Lynx says, her hands gesticulating wildly. "They were magnificent, almost crystalline in structure, but with an otherworldly fluidity to their movements."
Lev nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And you observed them from a safe distance, I hope?"
Lynx rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Of course, Father. I used my scopes. I'm not completely reckless, you know."
"That's debatable," Lev mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind his words.
"Oh! And I found some ancient equipment too," Lynx continues, undeterred. "It was too damaged to be of any use, but it must have belonged to the people of Belobog from before the city closed off. Can you imagine? Seven hundred years of history, just lying there in the snow!"
Lev feels a swell of pride at his daughter's enthusiasm, but it's quickly tempered by concern. He clears his throat, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Lynx, while I appreciate your dedication to your work, I must caution you against venturing out so frequently. The Architects and Silvermane Guard have reported an increase in fragmentum monster sightings beyond the outer walls."
The girl opens her mouth to protest, but Felina chooses that moment to enter the room, a tray of desserts balanced in her hands. "Your father's right, dear," she says, setting the tray on the coffee table. "We just want you to be safe."
Lynx's shoulders slump slightly. "You're turning into a nagging old man again, Father," she grumbles, but there's a hint of affection in her voice.
Felina laughs, the sound light and musical. "Oh, trust me, he's always been a nagging old man. You should have seen him when we were younger!"
"That's a blatant lie," Lev huffs, crossing his arms. "If anything, Lynx, you've had it easy. You got the least of my nagging."
As he says this, Lev can't help but reflect on the truth behind his words. He had learned, painfully and slowly, from the mistakes he'd made with Serval and later with Gepard. By the time Lynx came along, he had tempered his expectations, loosened his grip on the reins of the Landau legacy. As a result, Lynx had grown up with more freedom than her siblings, and their relationship was... healthier. Less strained. The thought brings a mixture of relief and regret.
"Father?" Lynx's voice pulls him from his reverie. "Have you... have you spoken to Serval since, well, you know..."
The question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Lev feels his throat constrict, words failing him as memories of that disastrous dinner flood his mind.
"Lynx!" Felina interjects sharply. "What have I told you about bringing up family drama at the dinner table?"
Lynx bristles. "It's not drama, Mother! It's a legitimate question. We can't just pretend nothing happened!"
"We're not pretending anything," Felina retorts, her voice rising. "But there's a time and place for these discussions, and it's not while we're trying to enjoy a nice family meal!"
"When is the right time then?" Lynx challenges. "When we're all too busy avoiding each other? When the rift in our family grows so wide we can't even see the other side?"
"That's enough," Lev says quietly, but with enough authority to silence both his wife and daughter. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Lynx, your question is valid, and you deserve an answer."
He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Serval is... a very headstrong woman. Much like myself, I'm afraid. And when you've been hurt by someone you love, someone you should have been able to trust implicitly, it's... it's not an easy thing to reconsider your opinion of them."
Lev's voice grows softer, tinged with regret. "I hurt your sister, Lynx. Deeply and repeatedly. And while I hope for forgiveness, I cannot and will not demand it. That's not how this works."
He leans forward, meeting Lynx's eyes. "I'm asking you not to pressure Serval on this matter. Respect her decisions, whatever they may be. She needs to come to terms with this in her own time, in her own way."
Lynx nods slowly, her earlier defiance melting away. "I understand, Father. I just... I want our family to be whole again. All of us, together."
Lev feels a lump form in his throat. "I want that too, Lynx," he says softly. "More than you can imagine."
A heavy silence falls over the room as they all turn their attention to their desserts. Lev takes a bite, barely tasting the sweetness as his mind wanders. He thinks of Serval, of the pain in her eyes that last time they spoke. Of Gepard, shouldering the weight of duty and family expectations. Of the mistakes he's made, the wounds he's inflicted in the name of upholding the Landau legacy.
He glances at Lynx, seeing the worry etched in the furrow of her brow despite her attempt to hide it. Felina catches his eye across the table, a silent understanding passing between them. They've weathered storms before, he and Felina. They'll weather this one too, somehow.
Perhaps now is the time, he thinks to himself. I should tell them about the lymphoma. They deserve to know. It might even bring us closer together, facing this as a family.
Lev opens his mouth, not quite sure what he's going to say, but feeling the need to break the oppressive silence that has settled over them. But before he can utter a word, the world around them suddenly lurches.
The earth shakes.
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Sampo Koski perches atop the crumbling edifice, his legs dangling over the edge as he surveys the chaos below. Plumes of smoke billow from various points across Jepella's skyline, a testament to the Stellaron Hunters' devastating assault on the Brotherhood's strongholds. The acrid scent of burning rubber and melted metal wafts up, tickling his nostrils.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "What a mess, eh? Didn't quite expect things to go this far." His gaze shifts to the figure beside him - Alexander, clad in tactical gear, that eerie skeleton-mechanical mask concealing his features. "You lot certainly know how to leave an impression."
Alexander's modulated voice crackles through his mask as he speaks into his comm unit. "Silver Wolf, status report."
Sampo leans in, straining to catch the muffled response. He can't make out the words, but Alexander's posture relaxes slightly.
"Copy that. En route in three minutes? Understood." Alexander's hand moves to that golden cross pendant of his, fingers idly tracing its contours.
Sampo clears his throat. "So... am I to be your hostage now?"
The mask turns towards him, head tilting quizzically. "Why would you think that?"
Sampo barks out a laugh, gesturing expansively. "Are you serious? You're Nemesis! The most wanted Stellaron Hunter, with a bounty of 15.92 billion credits - and that's just the last disclosed amount! Who knows what the IPC would actually pay to get their hands on you?" He taps his temple. "And now I know your identity, your face, even your real name. Alexander, was it?"
A low chuckle emanates from the mask. "You're assuming this is my real face. Ever consider I might be using shape-shifting tech?"
Sampo scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Please. I'm a Masked Fool. I know all about masks, and you're not wearing one right now. Well, aside from that," he gestures at the skull-like visage, "but you know what I mean."
"Alright," Alexander says, his tone maddeningly neutral. "You know."
"So...?" Sampo leans forward, anticipation building. "Am I right?"
Alexander shrugs, the motion oddly fluid beneath his tactical gear. His fingers continue to absently trace the contours of the cross pendant. "And? What of it? You knowing doesn't change anything, Sampo."
Sampo blinks, nonplussed. "What?"
"What do you expect me to do about it?" Alexander's modulated voice carries a hint of amusement. "Chain you? Kill you? I'm not that type of person, Sampo Koski. Be sure to remember that much about me, at least."
Sampo's mind whirls, trying to make sense of Alexander's nonchalance. "You're not worried at all? This is critical information I now possess." A mischievous grin spreads across his face. "I'm a Masked Fool, remember? We leave a trail of chaos wherever we go. Our goal is to stir up stagnant waters, bring about change to things for the sake of amusement." He leans in conspiratorially. "It would be so delightfully fun to leak what I know about you to the net. Just imagine the pandemonium that would ensue!"
Alexander hums softly, seemingly unperturbed. "Yes, you could do that. But you won't."
Sampo's grin widens, anticipation building. "Ah, here it comes. The extortion, the threats..."
But nothing comes. Alexander continues toying with his pendant, silent.
"Any moment now."
"…"
Sampo's brow furrows. "Uh, wait. This isn't making sense. Where's the part where you warn me to keep my mouth shut?"
"There's no need for that," Alexander replies simply.
"Why not?"
"I just know you won't say anything."
Sampo leans back, studying the masked figure beside him. Curiosity mingles with a touch of frustration. "Alright, I'll bite. How can you be so sure?"
The mask retracts with a soft hiss, revealing Alexander's face once more. A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth as those striking golden eyes meet Sampo's gaze.
And then... something shifts.
Sampo's breath catches in his throat as he watches Alexander's pupils begin to glow with an otherworldly purple light, a stark contrast against the gold of his irises. It's mesmerizing, alluring, and for a fleeting moment, Sampo feels drawn in.
But then the feeling vanishes, replaced by an overwhelming sense of... presence.
Sampo's shoulders slump as if bearing an immense weight. The very air around them seems to thicken, pressing down upon him. Sweat beads on his brow as he struggles to draw breath, his knees suddenly weak.
With monumental effort through invoking the Path of The Elation, Sampo manages to lift his gaze back to Alexander's face. The other man appears utterly relaxed, that same small smile still in place. There's no malice in his expression, no hint of ill intent. If anything, the look in Alexander's eyes is one of warmth, understanding... perhaps even fondness.
And yet, a chilling thought creeps into the back of Sampo's mind:
What could Alexander have possibly done to draw the gaze of Terminus the Finality itself?[3]
As quickly as it began, the moment passes. The purple glow fades from Alexander's eyes, and Sampo gasps, sucking in a desperate lungful of air. A breathless chuckle escapes him. "Well," he wheezes, "that was certainly... exciting!"
The man's smile widens slightly. He moves with deliberate slowness, each step measured and calm as he approaches the Masked Fool. When he reaches him, Alexander lowers himself onto one knee, his movement fluid and controlled, bringing himself to eye level with the seated man.
His voice drops low, urgent but not frantic. "Listen, Sampo. My future self will need you. More than you can imagine."
Sampo's brow furrows. "What are you-"
"A catastrophe's coming, and you'll be crucial in overcoming it."
"Me? But—"
"I can't offer exact details, unfortunately. Just do one thing for me. No matter what happens."
Sampo swallows hard. "What's that?"
Alexander pauses, his golden eyes searching Sampo's face. "You're strong, so help people. It doesn't have to be everyone, just whomever you can. You'll feel lost. Don't expect thanks. Just... help. And I promise you, that you will have won me as your friend."
Before he can fully recover from the request, the whir of engines cuts through the air. Sampo's head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight approaching them.
A massive tactical assault mech - unmistakably a remnant of Glamoth's Iron Cavalry - soars towards their perch. Ethereal green wings shimmer on its back as it carries a silver-haired girl. Two figures dangle from its arms: one with long dark blue hair, the other red wine-colored.
The metallic faceplate clicks back into place, Alexander's synthesized words ringing with unmistakable resolve.
"It seems our time together has come to an end for now."
Sampo's mind races, processing everything that's transpired in these last few hours. He can't help but feel a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. This enigmatic figure has utterly upended his expectations at every turn.
"You're a fascinating one, you know that?" Sampo muses, his trademark grin returning. "The way you just... know things. Things you shouldn't possibly know. It's as if you've got some kind of future sight, and sometimes to an unnervingly precise degree."
The mask's empty eye sockets somehow manage to convey amusement. "Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. A man's got to keep some mysteries, doesn't he?"
Sampo barks out a laugh. "Oh, I'd say you've got mysteries in spades, my friend. I've taken quite a liking to you, I must admit."
"The feeling's mutual," Alexander replies, his modulated voice carrying a hint of warmth. "You're not at all what I expected either."
The mech draws nearer, the wind from its approach whipping Sampo's hair about his face. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the din. "So what happens now? You fly off into the sunset with your merry band of Hunters, leaving me to pick up the pieces of this delightful chaos?"
Alexander stands, offering Sampo a hand up. "Something like that."
Sampo takes the proffered hand, allowing Alexander to pull him to his feet.
He then reaches into a pocket, producing a small, intricately carved wooden box. "Here. A parting gift."
Sampo accepts the box, turning it over in his hands. It's surprisingly heavy for its size, and he can feel a faint vibration emanating from within. "What is it?"
"Insurance," Alexander says cryptically. "And a reminder. When the time comes - and you'll know when that is - open it."
Before Sampo can press for more details, the mech touches down on the rooftop. The silver-haired girl - Silver Wolf, Sampo presumes - hops down from her perch.
"Cutting it a bit close, weren't you?" she quips, eyeing Alexander. Her gaze flicks to Sampo, curiosity evident in her expression. "And who's your new friend?"
"Sampo Koski," Alexander replies, "a most intriguing individual. Sampo, meet Silver Wolf. I'd introduce you to the others, but we're on a rather tight schedule."
Sampo sketches an exaggerated bow. "Charmed, I'm sure. Your reputation precedes you, Silver Wolf."
She arches an eyebrow. "All good things, I hope?"
"Oh, the very worst," Sampo grins. "It's quite impressive, really."
Silver Wolf snorts, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "I like this one, Nemesis. Sure we can't keep him?"
"Afraid not," Alexander says, moving towards the mech. "He needs to do something very important for me in the near future."
Sampo Koski watches the crew with keen interest, his eyes darting from one figure to the next. Recognition flashes through his mind as he takes in the ragtag group of Stellaron Hunters. It's like a twisted version of a celebrity meet-and-greet, except these are the galaxy's most wanted.
The red-eyed one catches his attention first. Blade, if memory serves. Sampo's mind automatically supplies the bounty: 8.13 billion credits. A hefty sum, but not the highest of the bunch. There's a coldness to his demeanor that makes Sampo want to poke at him, just to see what might happen.
His gaze shifts to the hulking form of SAM, the Glamoth's Iron Cavalry super-soldier. Even from a distance, the sheer presence of the armored figure is intimidating. 9.72 billion credits, Sampo recalls. He wonders idly what that kind of money could buy. Probably a small moon, at least.
And then there's Kafka. Enigmatic doesn't begin to cover it. 10.89 billion credits on her head, and she looks like she couldn't care less. Sampo feels a grudging respect for that level of nonchalance in the face of galactic infamy.
As Alexander approaches Blade, Sampo can't help but lean in slightly, straining to catch their exchange. There's something fascinating about watching these larger-than-life figures interact. It's almost... humanizing.
"I heard about your performance in the field from Silver Wolf," Alexander says, his modulated voice carrying a note of genuine appreciation. "Minimal casualties. I know it's not to your liking, but I genuinely appreciate you keeping to your orders. Thank you."
Blade's response is a study in understated disdain. "What are your thanks even worth?" he chuckles, the sound devoid of any real mirth.
Sampo expects tension, maybe even a flare of anger from Alexander. But the masked man simply places a hand on Blade's shoulder, his body language relaxed. "I cannot tell you that," he says softly. "It is whatever it's worth to you."
Something in that exchange makes the Hunter's red eyes widen, just for a fraction of a second. It's gone so quickly that Sampo almost thinks he imagined it. But then Blade looks away, suddenly unable to meet Alexander's gaze.
"Do you need me to do something about him?" Blade asks, jerking his chin in Sampo's direction.
Sampo tenses, his hand instinctively tightening around the wooden box Alexander gave him. But the man's response is as calm as ever.
"He's fine. He won't be sharing details anytime soon."
As Alexander moves on to SAM, Sampo finds himself mulling over that statement. It's not a threat, not really. But there's a certainty to it that sends a shiver down his spine.
Sampo's musings are interrupted by the sound of Alexander's voice, warm with gratitude as he addresses the soldier. "Thanks for all the backup you've provided. Whatever you want to do this afternoon, it's on me."
SAM's armored face turns towards Sampo for a moment, the figure inside seeming to hesitate. Then the massive suit simply nods. "Affirmative."
Silver Wolf pipes up, her voice light and teasing. "Whatever they're in for, I'm in too!" She leans in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Can't let our little tin soldier have all the fun, can we? I'll crash your private party."
The sudden shift in SAM's posture is almost comical - all bristling armor and barely contained frustration. A muffled, distinctly feminine voice from within suddenly mixes in with the intimidating modulated one from the armor. "You always—"
Alexander's sharp "Behave, both of you" cuts through the brewing argument like a knife. His tone carries the weary patience of someone long accustomed to mediating such squabbles.
After they both settle down, the man approaches the final remaining Hunter, Kafka. There's something different in the way he moves now, a hint of... concern?
"Checking me out in front of the others?" Kafka quips, her smirk audible. "What will they think? You'll make me blush."
Alexander ignores the jab, his focus entirely on searching for signs of injury. "Silver Wolf," he calls out, "did she do anything she shouldn't have?"
"Didn't see anything like that," Silver Wolf replies, but there's a mischievous lilt to her voice that makes Sampo narrow his eyes.
Kafka's triumphant "See? I behaved" is cut short by Silver Wolf's casual bombshell: "Well, except for when she exploded one of the bases with herself still inside."
The change in Alexander's demeanor is immediate. His shoulders slump, head bowing as if under a great weight. "Christ save me, Kafka," he mutters, and Sampo can practically feel the disappointment radiating off him.
"Oh, come on," Kafka protests, her voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. "It was a calculated risk. I knew what I was doing."
"You can't just—"
"I had it under control, Alex. Give me some credit—"
Alexander's sharp "Zip it" cuts through Kafka's justifications. "Your lack of fear doesn't excuse those actions. We'll have words. Later."
As the group prepares to depart, Sampo finds himself caught in a strange moment of clarity. He's witnessed something here, something beyond the chaos and destruction that typically follows in the wake of the Stellaron Hunters. There are layers to these people, complexities he hadn't expected.
"Alexander," he calls out, surprising himself with the use of the man's true name. "One last thing."
The masked figure turns, and Sampo finds himself pinned by that unseen gaze. He hesitates, uncharacteristically serious. "Whatever game you're playing, whatever grand design you're a part of... be careful. I've seen what happens when people try to outmaneuver the Aeons. It rarely ends well."
The silence that follows is heavy, pregnant with unspoken truths. When Alexander finally speaks, his voice is soft, barely audible over the mech's engines.
"I appreciate the concern, Sampo. But I'm not playing a game. I'm trying to save us all."
As Sampo watches the strange group take to the sky, becoming little more than a speck on the horizon, he can't shake the feeling that he's just become entangled in something far bigger than himself.
——————————————————————
"Is this the catastrophe you spoke of, dear friend?"
Sampo Koski's ears ring as he staggers to his feet, dust and debris raining down around him. The ground beneath him trembles, an aftershock of the cataclysmic event that just tore through Boulder Town. His eyes struggle to focus in the dim, dust-choked air, but the devastation is unmistakable.
Just moments ago, he'd been working on the Space Anchor with Luka and Oleg, following Alexander's meticulous instructions. They were so close to activating it when the world shook apart.
Now, the plaza is unrecognizable, a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered stone.
Sampo's gaze sweeps across the ruined landscape. By some miracle, only about a quarter of Boulder Town lies buried beneath the rubble. It's a cold comfort, knowing other areas likely fared far worse. But even this - a quarter of the Underworld's most populous settlement - represents an unfathomable loss of life.
Nearby, Luka and Oleg stand frozen, their eyes wide with shock. Sampo can't blame them; he feels the same paralyzing disbelief. Yet their bodies move of their own accord, stumbling towards the nearest pile of debris where faint cries can be heard.
You're strong, so help people. It doesn't have to be everyone, just whomever you can. You'll feel lost. Don't expect thanks. Just... help.
Sampo takes a deep breath, centering himself. He reaches out, calling upon the power of the wind that courses through his veins. A gentle breeze stirs, growing stronger as he focuses his will. With a grunt of effort, he lifts a massive slab of concrete, revealing a small family huddled beneath.
"Come on," he urges, his voice hoarse from the dust. "It's not safe here. We need to move."
The family stumbles out, dazed and bloodied. They don't thank him - they can barely speak at all. Sampo doesn't mind. He guides them towards a clearer area before turning back to the rubble.
Luka's voice cuts through the chaos, raw with anguish. "First they lock down the Underworld, and now this catastrophe - what's the breaking point? How much more can we take?!"
Oleg places a hand on Luka's shoulder, his own expression a mask of grim determination. "Don't think about that now. Focus on who we can save."
Sampo nods, grateful for Oleg's steadying presence. He turns his attention to a collapsed storefront, where an elderly woman is pinned beneath a fallen beam. With careful application of his wind powers, he lifts the beam just enough for Luka to pull her free.
As the hours drag on, Sampo loses count of the people he's helped. For every life saved, there are bodies pulled from the rubble - men, women, children. The weight of it threatens to crush him, but he pushes on.
This isn't the chaos he once reveled in as a Masked Fool. There's no joy here, no thrill in twisting fate. He knows there are others in the organization who would view this destruction with glee, but the thought turns his stomach.
Instead, Sampo focuses on the living. He listens for heartbeats, for ragged breaths in the darkness. He doesn't need their thanks - the simple fact of their survival is enough.
As he works to free a group of children trapped in a partially collapsed school, Sampo's thoughts drift to the wooden box Alexander gave him in Jepella. He can almost feel its weight in his pocket, the faint vibration that hints at something powerful within.
"Insurance," Alexander had called it.
When the time comes - and you'll know when that is - open it.
For a moment, Sampo's hand twitches towards his pocket. But no—this isn't the time. Whatever is in that box, it's not meant for this moment. He can't explain it, but he knows this fact with utmost, blinding certainty. Call it faith.
So, instead, he redoubles his efforts, calling upon the Path of Elation to grant him strength.
"Please," he whispers, not sure if he's addressing Aha or some other cosmic force. "Let me save just one more."
The wind responds, swirling around him with renewed vigor. Sampo lifts a fallen wall, revealing a young girl curled protectively around her even younger brother. They blink up at him, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on their faces.
"It's okay," Sampo says softly, reaching out to help them. "You're safe now."
As he guides them to safety, Sampo reflects on Alexander's words once more. He may not have sought this particular twist of fate, but in helping these people live, he's changing destinies all the same. It's not the chaotic fun he once craved, but there's a profound satisfaction in it nonetheless.
The ground trembles again, a reminder that the danger is far from over. Sampo squares his shoulders, ready to dive back into the fray. He may not be able to save everyone, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try to save as many as he can.
"Luka! Oleg!" he calls out. "I think I hear something over here!"
With renewed determination, the Masked Fool plunges his hands into the rubble, the wind swirling around him like a promise.
The path of Elation may be twisted and strange, but in this moment, he finds an unexpected joy in the simple act of helping others survive.[4]
——————————————————————
Serval's heart pounds in her chest as she races through the chaos-filled streets of Belobog's Overworld. The acrid smell of smoke and dust fills her nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of fear that permeates the air. Her legs burn with exertion, but she pushes on, driven by a desperate need to reach her family.
Just minutes ago, she had been in her workshop, lovingly applying the final touches to her new electric guitar. The strings hummed beneath her fingers, promising power and destruction in equal measure. Then, without warning, the world had shaken violently. A deafening bang had torn through the air, and Serval's instincts had screamed at her to run.
She'd barely made it out of the building before it collapsed behind her, a cloud of dust and debris billowing out to engulf the main plaza. The memory of that narrow escape sends a shiver down her spine, even as she weaves through the panicked crowds.
"Mama! Papa!" A child's terrified cry cuts through the din, and Serval skids to a halt. A little girl, no more than five or six, stands alone in the middle of the street, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face. Without hesitation, Serval scoops the child into her arms.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice hoarse from the dust.
"Masha," the girl whimpers.
Serval's eyes scan the crowd frantically. "Masha!" she shouts, her voice joining the cacophony of screams and sirens. "I have Masha here! Is anyone looking for Masha?"
For a heart-stopping moment, there's no response. Then, a man's voice cuts through the chaos. "Masha! Oh, thank the Preservation!"
A couple pushes through the crowd, their faces etched with relief and fear in equal measure. Serval hands the child over, her heart clenching as the family embraces. She wants to linger, to ensure they're safe, but the urgency of her own mission propels her forward once more.
As she runs, Serval's mind whirls with confusion and fear. Earthquakes were practically unheard of in Belobog. The city had been built on stable ground, a blessing that had allowed them to focus their fortifications on other threats. Only Qlipoth Fort, the History and Culture Museum, and the city walls themselves had been constructed to withstand such forces.
The consequences of this oversight are devastatingly clear. All around her, buildings groan and crumble. The air is thick with dust and the cries of the injured. Serval's throat tightens as she sees people carrying limp forms in their arms, blood staining the pristine snow.
A thunderous crack splits the air, and Serval's head whips around just in time to see a nearby building begin to collapse. People scream and scatter, but she can see figures still trapped inside.
For a moment, she hesitates. Every second she delays could mean life or death for her family. But the sight of those terrified faces in the windows galvanizes her. She can't just leave them.
With a practiced motion, Serval swings her guitar from her back. The instrument hums to life in her hands, electricity crackling along its strings. She takes a deep breath, channels her power, and strikes a chord.
A bolt of lightning arcs from the guitar, striking the collapsing building. The energy courses through the structure, temporarily stabilizing it. "Run!" Serval shouts to the trapped civilians. "Get out now!"
As people stream from the building, Serval maintains her focus, sweat beading on her brow. She holds the lightning in place until the last person stumbles clear, then releases her power with a gasp. The building crumbles behind her, but the lives inside have been saved.
Silvermane Guards pour into the area, their voices rising above the chaos as they direct rescue efforts. Serval's eyes scan their faces, searching for her brother's familiar features. Where is Gepard? she wonders, fear clenching her heart. She hopes desperately that he's safe within the sturdy walls of Qlipoth Fort, which still stands tall and unshaken amidst the devastation.
But she can't linger to search for him. Her family needs her. With a final glance at the fort, Serval turns and sprints towards the Landau residence.
The journey feels endless. Her lungs burn, her muscles scream in protest, but Serval pushes on. She leaps over fallen debris, dodges panicked civilians, and forces her way through the chaos-filled streets. Finally, mercifully, she rounds a corner and sees her home.
Her heart plummets.
The Landau residence, once a symbol of elegance and stability, now lies partially crushed beneath the weight of a neighboring building. Half of the structure has been obliterated, reduced to a pile of rubble and twisted metal.
"No," Serval whispers, her voice breaking. "No, no, no!"
She charges forward, her exhaustion forgotten in a surge of desperate energy. As she reaches the entrance, she calls out, her voice raw with fear and hope. "Lynx! Mother! Father!"
The silence that greets her is deafening.
Serval pushes her way inside, her eyes widening at the destruction that greets her. The once-immaculate entrance hall is unrecognizable. Priceless artworks lie shattered on the floor, furniture overturned and splintered. Dust hangs thick in the air, making it difficult to breathe.
"Anyone?" she calls again, desperation creeping into her voice. "Please, answer me!"
She moves deeper into the house, her heart pounding so hard she can feel it in her throat. The stairs creak ominously beneath her feet as she ascends to the second floor. It's there, in the eerie quiet, that she hears it – a faint whimper coming from one of the living rooms.
"I'm here!" Serval shouts, hope surging through her. "I'm coming! Hold on!"
But as she reaches the door, her heart sinks. A mass of debris blocks the entrance, a tangle of wooden beams and chunks of plaster. For a moment, despair threatens to overwhelm her. Then, her eyes fall on the guitar still clutched in her hand.
A grim smile touches her lips. "Stand back!" she calls to whoever is trapped inside. "I'm going to clear the way!"
Serval takes a deep breath, centering herself. She can feel the power humming through her veins, responding to her need. With a practiced motion, she swings the guitar around and strikes a thunderous chord.
Lightning erupts from the instrument, a blinding flash that illuminates the darkened hallway. The bolt strikes the debris with devastating force, blasting it apart in a shower of splinters and dust.
Coughing and waving away the thick cloud, Serval stumbles forward. Her hand finds the doorknob, and with a grunt of effort, she shoves the door open.
What she sees inside stops her heart cold.
——————————————————————
Gepard's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry and unfocused. Pain radiated through every fiber of his being, a testament to the cataclysmic event that had just unfolded. He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his mind, his fingers instinctively curling around the familiar grip of Earthwork. The shield, once a symbol of his unwavering duty, now lay in tatters beside him.
As consciousness fully returned, the memories crashed over him like a tidal wave. The Engine of Creation. Cocolia's madness. The devastating strike that should have ended his life. Gepard's breath caught in his throat as he realized the gravity of what had transpired.
"Supreme Guardian!" he called out, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Cocolia!"
Silence answered him, broken only by the distant rumble of shifting earth and the faint cries of those caught in the aftermath. Gepard struggled to his feet, every movement sending shockwaves of agony through his body. Broken ribs, most likely. Perhaps worse. But he couldn't afford to dwell on his injuries now.
The landscape before him was unrecognizable. Where Everwinter Hill once stood, a gaping maw now yawned open, swallowing debris and spewing destruction into the Underworld below. Gepard's mind reeled, unable to fully comprehend the scale of devastation wrought by a single, misguided act.
"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. "This can't be happening."
But it was. The reality of the situation crashed down upon him with merciless force. People were dying. His people. The very ones he had sworn to protect. And he had failed them in the most catastrophic way imaginable.
Gepard's breath came in short, ragged gasps as panic clawed at his chest. The world seemed to spin around him, the ground beneath his feet no longer solid or trustworthy. He had always prided himself on his composure, on being a pillar of strength for others to lean on. Yet in this moment, confronted with the aftermath of his foolish faith, that self-control shattered like the devastation surrounding him.
A tremor shook the ground, snapping Gepard out of his spiraling thoughts. The earth was giving way, threatening to drag him down into the abyss. Adrenaline surged through his veins, overriding the pain and fatigue that threatened to consume him.
"Qlipoth," he prayed, his words a desperate plea as he began to run. "Grant me strength. Please, I beg you."
Each step was agony, but Gepard pushed on, driven by a primal need to survive. He could hear the earth cracking behind him, feel the vibrations as massive chunks of rock and ice plummeted into the depths below. But he didn't dare look back. To do so would mean certain death.
As he ran, memories of his training as a Silvermane Guard flashed through his mind. The solemn oaths he had taken, the promises to protect Belobog and its people at all costs. How hollow those words seemed now, in the face of such overwhelming destruction.
"Preserve the flame of hope," his instructors had drilled into him. "Fight against the Eternal Freeze. Support the Supreme Guardian in her tireless work for our future."
Gepard had taken those lessons to heart, had built his entire life around them. He had poured every ounce of his being into serving Cocolia, into upholding the ideals of the Silvermane Guards. And for what? To watch as the very person he had sworn to protect tore their world apart?
The irony of it all threatened to overwhelm him, but Gepard pushed it aside. He couldn't afford to lose focus now, not when his life hung by a thread. With one final burst of energy, he cleared the collapsing ground, stumbling to safety on more stable terrain.
Exhausted and battered, Gepard began the long trek back to Belobog. Each step was a reminder of his failure, of the trust he had misplaced. As he walked, his mind drifted to Serval, his sister who had been cast out of the Architects by Cocolia herself. He remembered the shame that had fallen upon the Landau name, the disappointment in their father's eyes.
How foolish he had been, throwing himself into his work with even greater fervor, determined to restore honor to their family. All those years of dedication, of unquestioning loyalty, now seemed like a cruel joke.
As Gepard finally reached the outskirts of Belobog, the true extent of the catastrophe became apparent. The once-proud city lay in ruins, its streets choked with debris and filled with the cries of the injured and bereaved. Silvermane Guards rushed about, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of order amidst the chaos.
Several of them approached Gepard, their faces a mix of relief and desperation. "Captain!" one called out. "Thank the Preservation you're alive. We need orders, sir. What should we do?"
But Gepard couldn't bring himself to respond. The words stuck in his throat, his mind unable to formulate a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming sense of failure that consumed him. He pushed past them, ignoring their pleas and confused looks. He was their captain, their leader, but in this moment, he felt utterly lost.
His feet carried him through the devastated streets, past scenes of heartbreak and destruction that would haunt him for years to come. Yet Gepard barely registered any of it. His mind was focused on a single destination: the Landau residence.
As he rounded the corner, his heart sank. The once-proud family home now lay partially crushed beneath the weight of a neighboring building.
Gepard entered the ruined structure, his movements mechanical and devoid of emotion. He could hear whimpers coming from the second floor, a sound that should have spurred him into action. Instead, he climbed the stairs with a sense of detached numbness, as if he were watching someone else move through this nightmare.
When he reached the source of the sounds, the sight that greeted him shattered what remained of his spirit. His mother, Felina, knelt on the floor, her hands glowing with healing energy as she desperately tried to save Lynx. His youngest sister lay motionless, blood pooling beneath her head, her eyes vacant and unseeing.
Serval sat nearby, her new electric guitar discarded at her side. Her face was a mask of anguish, tears streaming down her cheeks and smearing her makeup. But it was the eerie silence that struck Gepard the most. No sobs, no words of comfort or despair. Just a crushing, oppressive silence that spoke volumes about the depth of their shared pain.[5]
And there, beneath a pile of rubble, lay their father. Lev Landau's lifeless eyes stared at nothing, his outstretched hand cold and grey. The sight of him, the man who had driven Gepard to strive for perfection, now reduced to this, was the final nail in the coffin.
At that moment, as Gepard stood amidst the ruins of his family home and the shattered remnants of his beliefs, a single thought crystallized in his mind:
This is the price of my blind faith.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. All those years of unquestioning loyalty, of putting duty above all else, had led to this. He had failed not just his city, but his family. The very people he had sworn to protect were now paying the ultimate price for his misplaced trust.
Gepard's knees buckled, and he sank to the floor beside his sisters. The weight of his guilt, his shame, and his overwhelming sense of failure threatened to crush him entirely. He wanted to speak, to offer some words of comfort or leadership, but what could he possibly say in the face of such devastation?
Instead, he reached out with trembling hands, grasping Serval's fingers in one hand while gently placing the other on Felina's shoulder. His mother continued her healing efforts, her hands glowing with a soft light as she tended to Lynx. It was a small gesture, inadequate in the face of their loss, but it was all he could manage.
Right then and there, Captain Gepard Landau of the Silvermane Guards ceased to exist.[6]
There was only Gepard, a brother and son, sharing in the grief of his broken family.
[1] Belobog's Stellaron truly drove Cocolia mad. My goal here isn't to justify her actions, but to humanize her. She's essentially a Bronya who let herself be lost to the whispers of a devil behind her shoulder. In this moment of clarity, brought on by her most recent act, she cries out in despair, finally realizing she's betrayed everything she once stood for. While this moment of lucidity won't last long, she, more than anyone, understands exactly what she's done. Like someone driven to the breaking point, she chooses not to rely on her own resilience but instead turns to something else that offers reassurance and comfort, even though she fears these consolations might be false.
[2] While this scene rehashes the final moment from the previous chapter, I felt it was necessary to fill in the gaps that weren't previously discussed or mentioned. The last chapter focused primarily on Xander's and Clara's perspectives, and I didn't want to divert readers' attention from their emotional journey, given how much was already happening.
[3] There are many mysteries surrounding Alexander - his presence in this world, his time spent in Honkai: Star Rail, and the true depth of his actions before this story began. While he doesn't have a Stellaron inside him at this point, how did he become such a force that he could lead the Hunters himself? After much consideration while outlining the story, I came to this: given that he knows at least part of the original story's future (up until the moment he seemingly stopped playing, which remains deliberately open-ended), doesn't it make sense that he'd have an affinity with The Finality, the Aeon who brings prophecies of the future?
[4] Many mysteries surround Sampo's character, as with all Masked Fools. However, I wanted to emphasize how profoundly his meeting with Alexander affected him, transforming his interpretation of the path of Elation into something opposite to what's morally wrong. While he remains chaotic and retains his joker nature, in this moment, he chooses to fulfill his dear friend's request.
[5] Many characters have suffered greatly throughout this arc, but Serval ranks among the top five in terms of what she's endured in just one week. When planning her character arc, I built it around the themes of forgiveness and letting go. She's held onto tremendous resentment and past demons due to her differences with her father and becoming an outcast after Cocolia fired her from the Architects. After Xander's betrayal especially, she couldn't fathom having the power or will to forgive. This tragic moment, however painful, drives home that she's been robbed of the choice with her father. She'll never have the chance to forgive him while he's alive or potentially rebuild their relationship. This realization should lead her to question whether her views on forgiveness are serving her, and if holding onto past hurts is truly healthy.
[6] Gepard's character carries deep tragic undertones throughout this story. He dedicated himself to becoming the perfect Silvermane Guard to meet his father's expectations and to erase the supposed stain on the Landau legacy after Cocolia fired his sister from the Architects. Now, he believes his blind faith led him down a path where he failed to stop Cocolia's actions, and as a result, the world he strove daily to protect lies in shambles, his father is dead, and his little sister stands at death's door. The weight of these consequences has stripped away his identity as Captain - at least for now.