Lyra flicked a finger across the tip of her cigarette, a small flame sparking to life at her fingertip before catching on the paper. She took a slow drag, the ember glowing against the cold night. Reid sat on a bench beside her, arms crossed, while she leaned lazily against a wrought-iron streetlamp.
The streets of Arden stretched empty before them, coated in thick snow that muffled all sound. Towering buildings of brass and stone loomed on either side, their intricate gears and pipes hissing softly with the pulse of the city. Gas lamps flickered behind frosted glass, casting long shadows that wavered in the misty air. The only steady light came from the streetlamp above, painting Lyra and Reid in a dim, golden glow.
"You smoke any more, and you'll turn into Commander Quinn. He's always got one in hand," Reid said, smirking as he shifted his weight on the bench.
Lyra exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Hey, Reid."
"Yeah?"
"How do you think we're supposed to get out of Astoria?"
Reid let out a short breath, watching it curl into the winter air. "Why're you asking me? You really losing hope? Maybe they'll come for us. You never know."
"They don't even know where we are." Lyra flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under her heel, her voice flat. Another breath—this time just air—left her lips in a thin cloud.
Reid sighed. "I guess you're right. Maybe they're hoping we'll figure it out on our own."
"Or they've given up and believe we're dead."
A long silence stretched between them, the distant hum of the city their only company.
"…What do you think about Gabriel?" Lyra finally asked.
Reid blinked. "Huh? Why do you ask?"
"Just answer the question."
He hesitated, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "I don't know. Never really thought about it. He seems trustworthy—considering he's the reason we've made it this far at all." He tilted his head up to look at her. "What about you?"
Lyra's expression didn't change. "I don't trust him. Feels like we're being used. Like tools."
"…I didn't think about it that way." Reid's gaze stayed fixed on the dirty snow at his feet, boots half-buried in the slush. "He's never really spoken to me—like he doesn't like me." His fingers tightened into his coat sleeves. "Apparently, even he was surprised about my mana level."
"Huh… that's weird," Lyra muttered. "Do you think he has some ult—"
"Hey, you guys, we got dinner."
Milo's voice cut through the cold, drawing their attention to the wooden porch behind him. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the dim glow from inside casting a warm contrast against the frozen streets. The house itself was small and weathered, its beams warped from age, the shutters barely hanging on their hinges. A thin line of smoke curled from the chimney, vanishing into the night.
"I'm not interrupting anything, right?"
Lyra glanced at Reid, then back to Milo. "Nothing important."
They stepped inside, shutting out the chill. The scent of cooked meat and stale wood filled the cramped space. Stripping off their thick coats, they walked into the dining room, where a small table barely fit all of them. The air was heavy with body heat and flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across the walls.
"Was Lyra out smoking again?" Rin asked, raising an eyebrow at Reid.
Reid hesitated. He could feel Lyra's stare digging into the side of his face. "Uh, no. She's done for good."
Rin hummed, unconvinced. "Anyway, I was just telling Ren about how we've been making it through these past months." She gestured toward Ren, who sat beside her. His posture was slouched, his skin paler than usual, exhaustion still clinging to him like a weight he hadn't shaken off.
"Who had the idea to explore dungeons and sell crystals?" Ren asked, his voice quieter than normal.
"I did," Lyra said flatly.
Ren exhaled through his nose. "That was… pretty smart." He rubbed his temple. "I probably would've thought of it eventually, though."
Lyra rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat. It wasn't playful—she was annoyed.
"How much are we going to need to make it out of here safely?" Ren asked.
"We're not too far off," Arthur said, adjusting his seat next to Reid. "We can afford proper transport back to Westoria and make it home. All we have to do is avoid raising suspicion about who we are."
On a quiet Thursday morning, the Arden police received an anonymous note, scrawled hastily on a torn piece of paper:
"Dear Arden Police Department, I have reason to believe Westorian soldiers are taking refuge in our city."
At exactly 11:39 a.m., over eighty officers surrounded a small house in a sparsely populated district of Arden. Two approached the front door while the rest waited, their breaths visible in the cold air.
Inside, the group remained unaware.
"Who's getting the door?" Rin asked, not bothering to look up.
"Why don't you? You're closest," Arthur said.
"I'm already comfortable as I am," Rin replied, stretching her legs across the floor.
"I'll get it," Reid sighed, stepping off the creaky wooden stairs. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he made his way to the front door.
"I told you to stop sleeping so late," Lyra said from behind him.
"Whatever," he muttered, reaching for the handle.
The door swung open to reveal two police officers. The one in front, a middle-aged man with graying hair, removed his cap before speaking. His uniform was crisp, but his eyes carried suspicion. Behind him, his partner—taller, broader—stood with his back turned, surveying the area.
"Is there something wrong, officer?" Reid asked, forcing his voice to stay even. He felt Lyra's presence close behind him.
"Just a routine check. Can I see your ID?"
"Uh… yeah, sure. I just left it… upstairs…"
The officer's gaze narrowed. "You don't sound too sure of yourself."
"I have mine," Lyra interjected smoothly, stepping forward and presenting an ID.
The officer examined it. "Lyra? Unusual name. Don't hear many of those around here."
"Really? Doesn't sound strange to me." She kept her tone casual but glanced at the second officer. He still had his back turned. Something about it unsettled her.
She leaned toward Reid and whispered, "Go."
"Sorry, officer, could I use the bathroom real quick?" Reid asked awkwardly.
The officer gave a slow nod, eyes still on Lyra. Reid took the chance to slip away.
"You know what I find strange?" the officer mused.
"What's that?" Lyra asked, forcing a polite smile.
"You're lying about your last name, Ms. Valcrest."
Lyra's stomach dropped. Her eyes widened slightly as she took a step back.
The officer smirked, pulling a weapon from his holster. "You like it? Newly invented. First in the world even. Fires off concentrated mana pulses so we can deal with your kind." He lifted the pistol to her head.
"You realize I could take you out before you pull that trigger?" Lyra said, hands slightly raised.
"I doubt it. If you could, you would've done it already."
"I've never killed a human before, officer." Her voice was cold.
"Now I know you're lying." He leaned in, eyes filled with hate. "You Westorians are murderous scum. Sitting in your mansions while Astorians starve."
Lyra scoffed. "Blaming me for that? You're pathetic. But none of that matters."
She moved before he could react, gripping the firearm and crushing it in her palm. Then she drove a kick into his ribs, sending him sprawling onto the icy ground.
"I went easy on that one," she muttered, already turning.
She sprinted toward the back of the house, where the others were waiting. They burst through the back door and into the snow-covered streets, their breaths sharp in the freezing air.
Lyra had planned for this day, but not this soon.
"It's impossible they found us this fast," she said as they slowed their pace, her mind racing for answers.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes.
Lyra hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "…Forget it." She turned, adjusting her coat. "Let's just get to Newmann Port. It's gonna be a long ride home."