With every step, the noise of the festival softened. Music blurred into distant rhythm, laughter thinning into something gentler as stone gave way to grass beneath their feet. Lantern light still reached this far, glowing faintly across the paths below, but up here the air felt cooler—still.

  They sat together at the top, the lights of Havencrest spread out beneath them like a second sky.

  From here, the singing sounded softer. Gentler.

  For a while, none of them spoke.

  Then Yukito broke the silence.

  “You remember the tryouts?”

  Takumi huffed. “Hard to forget.”

  Ojiro smiled faintly. “Thirteen years old. Parents lining us up like we were being signed into the army.”

  Yukito let out a quiet laugh. “I still don’t know how I even ended up there.”

  “You weren’t supposed to,” Ojiro said gently.

  Yukito leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. “Wasn’t supposed to be anywhere.”

  “That day was chaos,” Takumi said. “Nobody knew what was happening.”

  “I didn’t mean to ruin it,” Yukito said quickly. “It was a drone I was working on; it wasn’t finished.”

  “And it took off,” Ojiro added, smiling at the memory.

  Takumi shook his head. “I’m still surprised you stopped it—that device you made out of scraps.”

  Yukito shrugged. “I panicked.”

  “And then,” Ojiro said, “you checked on the people it almost hit.”

  Yukito smiled faintly. “Someone had to.”

  They fell quiet, the memory settling between them.

  “I remember when my dad announced the results,” Ojiro said softly. “While they were dragging Yuki away—” he let out a small laugh. “Ha-ha.”

  Takumi smiled at that. “No one knew what he was going to say.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Yukito said. “I didn’t even know where they were gonna take me.”

  “They thought you were just a runaway,” Ojiro said.

  “I was,” Yukito replied. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Takumi chuckled quietly. “I remember when you tried to run away from them.”

  Yukito laughed under his breath. “Didn’t get far.”

  “No,” Ojiro said. “You didn’t.”

  Silence returned, comfortable this time.

  Above them, the stars sharpened as night settled fully in.

  Ojiro tilted his head back, eyes tracing the sky.

  “You see those three stars?” he asked. “The ones lined up right there?”

  Yukito followed his gaze. “Yeah.”

  “That’s Orion’s belt,” Ojiro said. “Part of Orion—the Great Hunter.”

  Takumi glanced up, arms crossed. “Of course you’d know that.”

  Ojiro smiled softly, still looking skyward.

  “It’s nice to think about,” he said. “That we’re being looked after.”

  Takumi snorted. “Haha, that’s so cringy.”

  Ojiro laughed. “Yeah… maybe. But I like it.”

  They sat with that for a moment—the vast sky above them, the living village below.

  Then Ojiro spoke again, quieter at first.

  “We didn’t start in the same place,” he said. “Different lives. Different reasons for being here.”

  Takumi nodded. “But we ended up together.”

  Yukito swallowed, heart tight. “best of friends; brothers.”

  Ojiro stood slightly, the starlight catching in his eyes.

  “Together,” he said, voice steady, “we’re going to be the greatest hunters the world has ever seen.”

  Not just Havencrest.

  Not just tonight.

  “We’ll protect everyone,” Ojiro continued. “No matter where they are.”

  His gaze didn’t waver.

  “No one will ever be afraid. Not if we’re there.”

  Takumi stood up first, extending a fist. “Together.”

  Ojiro didn’t hesitate, standing and bumping it without breaking eye contact. “Together.”

  Yukito smiled, rose, and added his own fist to the middle. “Together.”

  Above them, Orion burned bright and unchanging.

  Below them, Havencrest danced—

  unaware, unafraid.

  For a few seconds after the fist bump, nothing changed.

  The festival below them kept moving—lanterns swaying, music carried on the breeze, laughter threading through the streets like it always had. Havencrest glowed warm and alive, unaware of how fragile that moment was.

  Then Yukito felt it.

  Not fear.

  Not pain.

  A wrongness.

  He frowned and looked down at the village again. The lights were still there. The music still played. But something tugged at the back of his mind, like a thread pulled just tight enough to be noticed.

  “…Do you hear that?” Yukito asked.

  Takumi glanced at him. “Hear what?”

  Yukito focused.

  At first, it blended in—just another sound layered into the festival. But the longer he listened, the more it stood out. Not music. Not laughter.

  A scream.

  Short. Sharp. Cut off too quickly.

  Yukito’s heart skipped.

  He stood up. “That wasn’t—”

  Another sound followed.

  Metal grinding against stone.

  A deep, resonant crack that rolled across the village like thunder, echoing up from the eastern side of Havencrest.

  Takumi was on his feet instantly, eyes locked on the horizon.

  “That came from the Eastside.”

  Yukito didn’t wait.

  He broke into a run, boots tearing through the grass as he flew down the hill. Behind him, Takumi and Ojiro followed without hesitation.

  The sounds below were changing now.

  Music fractured. Laughter dissolved into shouting. The rhythm of the festival collapsed into chaos as people began to move—not dancing, not celebrating, but running.

  Then it sounded.

  A shrill, repeating alarm tore through the air—piercing, mechanical, unmistakable.

  GET INDOORS.

  THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

  GET INDOORS.

  The voice echoed through the streets, overlapping itself, urgent and unrelenting.

  By the time the boys reached the edge of the square, panic had already taken hold.

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  Lanterns swung wildly as people shoved past one another. Vendors abandoned their stalls. Children cried as they were pulled by the hand. Somewhere, glass shattered.

  And then—

  The temple doors exploded open.

  Mr. Renshō burst out onto the steps, moving with terrifying speed. A red aura crawled beneath his skin, rising along his arms and neck like heat made visible, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The air around him pressed outward, forcing space where there had been none.

  His eyes found them instantly.

  For a split second, their gazes locked.

  Then his expression hardened.

  “Inside,” he commanded, voice cutting through the noise like steel. “Now.”

  The boys skidded to a stop.

  “Sir—” Yukito started.

  “You are not ready,” Mr. Renshō snapped. “That is not a debate.”

  Takumi clenched his fists. “We can help—”

  “No,” Mr. Renshō said, already turning. “You will not.”

  The boys stood frozen for half a heartbeat.

  Takumi was the first to speak. “We follow orders.”

  Ojiro turned sharply. “People are screaming.”

  “And my dad is with the Guild,” Takumi shot back. “He’s our teacher. If he says we’re not ready, then we’re not ready.”

  Yukito’s chest felt tight. The alarms screamed overhead. People ran past them, faces pale, hands shaking.

  “We can’t just do nothing,” Ojiro said.

  “It’s not nothing,” Takumi said. “It’s trusting the hunters to do their jobs.”

  Silence fell between them.

  No one had a good answer.

  Yukito took a slow breath. “No.”

  Both of them turned to him.

  “I won’t,” Yukito said again, steady now. “I’m not gonna just stand here. But I can help people. Get them out of harm's way. As long as I don't fight any archon, I won't be breaking any orders.”

  Takumi hesitated. “Yuki—”

  “I’m sorry,” Yukito said quietly.

  The ground shuddered.

  A heavy impact rolled through the streets nearby—stone cracking, dust rising, lanterns swinging violently.

  Not east.

  The opposite direction.

  “That’s not where the Guild went,” Ojiro said.

  Yukito nodded. “I know.”

  Takumi clenched his fists. “You don’t go alone.”

  “I won’t,” Yukito said. “I just need to help.”

  Ojiro didn’t hesitate. “Then I’m coming.”

  Takumi looked between them—fear, frustration, and trust colliding in his chest.

  “…Damn it,” he muttered.

  But Yukito was already running.

  He cut through side streets and narrow alleys, smoke thickening the air, heat pressing down on his skin. Screams echoed off stone walls. Somewhere close, something moved—too heavy, too large.

  Then the shadow passed overhead.

  A massive winged lizard archon burst into view above the rooftops, wings tearing through the air as it descended. It didn’t roar. It landed—a brutal impact that shattered stone and sent a shockwave through the street.

  Yukito skidded to a stop.

  Pain detonated behind his eyes—sharp and blinding, like a bullet tearing straight through his skull. He cried out as his legs gave way, crashing to his knees on the stone.

  “Ah—!” he screamed, clutching his head.

  Light spilled through his fingers.

  Blue—brilliant and burning—beaming so bright it reflected off his trembling hands and the shattered ground beneath him. His vision drowned in it.

  Then the flashes came.

  A building collapsing inward—stone and timber ripping apart as the massive archon’s weight crashed through it.

  Gone.

  The massive Archon surging back into the sky, wings beating hard enough to send debris raining down like shrapnel.

  Gone.

  People screaming—faces twisted in terror—as they fled from the ruins, smoke and dust swallowing the street whole.

  Gone.

  The images slammed into him one after another, fast and merciless, offering no context—only certainty.

  Yukito gasped, breath hitching, the blue glow still blazing from his eyes.

  And just as suddenly as it began—

  Silence.

  Yukito sucked in a sharp breath and blinked hard, the blue light fading from his vision like an afterimage burned into his eyes. His head throbbed. The world swayed as sensation rushed back all at once—sound, heat, pain.

  Stone pressed cold against his palms.

  He looked up.

  And his stomach dropped.

  The building in front of him stood exactly where the vision had been.

  Same narrow frontage.

  Same cracked stone supports.

  Same hanging lantern, swaying just a little too hard in the wind.

  His breath caught.

  “No…” he whispered.

  People were still inside.

  He could hear them now—muffled voices, panicked and confused, calling out from behind the walls. Dust drifted lazily from the upper floors as something heavy shifted nearby, just out of sight.

  Yukito scrambled to his feet, heart slamming against his ribs.

  This wasn’t a warning anymore.

  This was now.

  The ground trembled.

  Somewhere above, something massive moved—and Yukito realized with sickening clarity that what he’d seen hadn’t been a possibility.

  It was a countdown.

  And it had already started.

  Yukito froze.

  His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused. Every muscle locked tight, fear and certainty tangling together until he couldn’t tell which was holding him in place. The vision still burned behind his eyes—the collapse, the screams, the dust—and now it was all here, right in front of him.

  The building groaned.

  Stone cracked somewhere above, a deep, warning sound that vibrated through the street. Dust rained down in thin streams from the walls.

  “Move,” Yukito whispered to himself.

  He didn’t.

  People were shouting inside now. Louder. Closer. A child cried out, sharp and terrified.

  Yukito’s hands trembled at his sides.

  He knew what was about to happen.

  And he couldn’t stop it.

  “Yukito!”

  Ojiro burst into the street at a full sprint, silver aura flaring as he ran. He took in the scene in a heartbeat—the building, the dust, Yukito frozen in place.

  “Ojiro—don’t—!” Yukito tried to shout, but the words caught in his throat.

  Ojiro didn’t slow.

  He glanced at Yukito, then at the building, jaw setting with quiet resolve.

  “I’ve got this,” he said, already moving past him.

  And then—

  “OJIRO—STAND DOWN!”

  Takumi’s voice ripped through the street, raw and desperate.

  “Listen to orders!” Takumi yelled, skidding into view. “Listen to my dad—listen to me!”

  Ojiro didn’t turn back.

  He ran straight toward the building that was already beginning to fail.

  And Yukito stood there, frozen, as the future he’d seen finally began to move.

  Ojiro hit the building like a comet.

  Silver light detonated from his body as he drove his shoulder into the stone, the impact cracking the wall outward in a violent burst of dust and shattered brick. The structure screamed in protest, old supports splintering as he tore a hole straight through the lower level.

  “GO—!” Ojiro shouted, voice ringing with exhilaration. “MOVE—NOW!”

  Inside, the air was thick with smoke and falling debris. A woman clutched her two sons against her chest, frozen in terror as the ceiling groaned above them.

  “I’ve got you!” Ojiro yelled, laughing even as blood trickled down his temple. “I promise—I’ve got you!”

  Above him, the ceiling groaned.

  Stone shifted. Beams screeched as the weight began to slide, inch by inch, dust spilling down in choking clouds.

  Ojiro didn’t retreat.

  He planted his feet and pushed.

  Silver light surged through him like a rising tide—hot, electric, limitless. It flooded his veins, wrapped around his bones, filled his chest until his heartbeat matched its rhythm. Strength stopped being something he used and became something he was.

  Stone buckled beneath his grip.

  Timber snapped and screamed.

  The weight of the building slammed down on him like the hand of a god—

  —and Ojiro held it.

  Muscles burned white-hot. Bones creaked under impossible strain. The silver flared brighter still, spilling through cracks in the stone, bleeding from his eyes and veins like liquid starlight. Every breath dragged the power deeper into him; every exhale sent it roaring back into the world.

  And Ojiro grinned.

  This was what it felt like to matter.

  “Come on!” he laughed, breath ragged but joyful. “You’re gonna be fine—just run!”

  The mother stared at him, tears carving clean paths through soot on her face.

  “Go!” Ojiro shouted again, veins blazing silver beneath his skin. “I said GO!”

  She didn’t argue.

  She grabbed her sons and ran—bare feet pounding against broken stone as they burst through the opening Ojiro had carved. One of the boys looked back, eyes wide.

  Ojiro smirked, both hands still braced high above him, arms trembling violently as the ceiling pressed down with merciless weight—yet his grin only widened, fierce and radiant, like he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

  Inside, Ojiro felt alive.

  Not afraid.

  Not hesitating.

  The power howled through him, unrestrained and exultant, screaming that this—this was exactly why he existed. To stand between terror and hope. To refuse to yield.

  This was it.

  This was why he was chosen.

  This was why power existed.

  The massive archon shrieked.

  Not in pain—but in fury.

  The sound tore through the street, rattling windows and bones alike. The creature thrashed, wings slamming into nearby structures, dark navy energy exploding outward in wild, panicked waves.

  The building shuddered violently.

  “Ojiro—!” Yukito screamed.

  Ojiro looked up just as the archon’s rage rippled through the ground.

  The ceiling gave way.

  Stone collapsed in a thunderous cascade. Support beams snapped like matchsticks. The weight he’d been holding multiplied in an instant—far beyond what any human body should bear.

  Silver light flared one last time.

  Ojiro laughed.

  “I did it!” he shouted, voice full of wonder. “Did you see that?!”

  Then…

  at that very moment,

  The building came down.

  Stone crushed silver.

  Light vanished beneath rubble.

  And the street fell silent.