The grasslands of Sector Five glowed under the morning sun, bathed in gold and quiet wind. A single wooden carriage rolled swiftly across the plains, wheels cutting soft furrows into the earth.
Inside, the silence among its passengers grew thicker with every mile—like the distance from home had weight.
No one spoke.
Tension thickened with each passing second, the kind that made even small talk feel impossible.
Not until Isabella broke the quiet with a bright, bell-like clap.
"I have an idea!" she chirped, her voice slicing through the tension like sunlight through fog. "Why don't we all introduce ourselves?"
The recruits looked at her, startled.
All of them were from Artimia. But war and fire had turned familiarity into distance. Theo, seated near the back, glanced at Dawn and David beside him.
They were the only constants he had left. Everyone else—strangers, despite their shared ruins.
"I'll go first," Isabella declared, undeterred by the silence. "I'm Isabella—but everyone calls me Bella. And this grump up there is—"
A blur dropped from the roof.
Pop landed lightly on the carriage floor with a thud. "Pop," he muttered, brushing dirt from his cloak.
"Not his real name," Isabella added with a grin. "He hates it. Says it sounds too—"
"Bella," Pop warned, his voice low. "Enough."
"Sorry, sorry," she said, nudging him playfully. "You know I love you, Poppy."
He winced. "...Don't call me that."
Isabella turned back to the group. "Next!"
A hand shot up without hesitation.
"I'm Aeda Milestone," said a girl with fierce eyes and a confident tone. She motioned beside her. "And this is Aida—my sister."
Aida peeked out, identical to her twin except for her longer hair and softer expression.
"Hi," she said shyly. "Nice to meet you all…"
One by one, introductions followed.
Isabella's smile softened. "Aeda and Aida—such pretty names. Ugh, I'm officially jealous."
Next came a tall girl with a lean, athletic build and dark green hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Thin glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, catching a faint glint from the light pouring through the carriage window.
"Clarissa Edwards," she said with a polite nod, her voice calm, composed. "It's nice meeting you."
Then came the two boys seated side-by-side—Bryce Soto and Arthur Pentadraig. One looked like he punched bricks for fun. The other looked like he signed them.
Bryce had a buzz cut, thick brows, and the twitchy energy of someone always ready to throw hands.
Arthur, meanwhile, had the air of royalty who'd wandered into the wrong war—short blond hair perfectly tousled, ocean-blue eyes sharp as glass.
Both wore the same look behind their eyes—a grief they hadn't figured out how to speak aloud.
Curtis, sitting next to them, sighed and tapped Bryce on the head.
"You're up."
Bryce blinked. "Huh? Oh—uh, I'm Bryce Soto , and this guy is—"
Thwack.
The blunt end of a wooden sword smacked him squarely on the back of the head.
"OW! What the hell, man?!"
Arthur stood slowly, adjusting his shirt with all the poise of a prince brushing dust off his throne. "I can speak for myself, thank you."
He stepped forward, calm and theatrical, then reached for Isabella's hand and bent low.
With a smirk carved straight from a storybook, he pressed a kiss to her hand.
"Arthur Pentadraig," he said smoothly. "A pleasure, my lady."
Isabella giggled, a hand lifting to her mouth as if to hide the smile spreading across her face.
Arthur's gesture had clearly worked.
A few feet away, Bryce looked like he was about to combust—jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, the heat practically rising off him in waves.
If steam had started pouring from his ears, no one would've been surprised.
"Seriously?" he muttered. "What a kiss ass. She doesn't want you."
Arthur shrugged. "You're jealous."
"Jealous? I'm about to knock your teeth out for hitting me."
"Careful. That jab still needs work."
Bryce rolled his shoulders and slipped into a loose, bouncing stance—fists up, weight shifting from heel to toe in rhythm with the rattling of the carriage.
"Come on, Prince Charming," he said, smirking through gritted teeth. "Let's see if that toy sword can block these real hands."
Arthur didn't flinch. He gave his wooden blade a theatrical spin, the tip slicing the air with a soft whistle before coming to a stop—pointed dead at Bryce's nose.
"Still hiding behind that lazy left jab?" Arthur said, voice smooth as silk and twice as smug. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"
Bryce scoffed. "I slipped. You cheated, Pentadraig."
"Ah yes," Arthur mused. "How cruel of me… using gravity to my advantage."
"Keep talking, Blondie," Bryce growled. "I'll knock that noble grin off your face."
They moved at the same time—one with fists cocked, the other with wooden steel raised like a saber.
For a second, the whole carriage held its breath.
Then they collided—blunt force and bravado, fists and flair—two whirlwinds charging into each other like it was a matter of honor.
"Enough!" Curtis snapped, his voice cutting clean through the commotion like a whipcrack.
Both boys froze mid-charge, shoes scraping against the wooden floor—just as the carriage hit a jolt.
They lost their footing.
And then—
Thud. Limbs tangled. Pride bruised. A glorious pile of flailing arms and gritted teeth.
"He's the one who started it," Bryce muttered from somewhere underneath Arthur.
"Did not," Arthur replied flatly, face half-buried in Bryce's shoulder.
"You sure we didn't accidentally recruit a traveling circus?" Pop muttered, arms folded as he leaned lazily against the carriage wall.
Isabella stifled a giggle behind her hand, eyes still watching Arthur and Bryce bicker on the floor.
"You have to admit, they do keep things interesting," she whispered back, grinning.
Curtis ran a hand down his face and turned toward the rest of the recruits with the weary air of someone who'd been here far too many times.
"They're always like this," he said. "I apologize in advance."
Isabella burst out laughing, clapping her hands in delight. "Honestly? That was better than half the stage plays I've seen."
Curtis sighed again, this time with a small smile. "Name's Curtis Carpenter. Nice to meet you all."
Isabella tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "Are they your brothers?"
Curtis glanced back at the ongoing scuffle.
"More or less," he said. "We grew up in the same orphanage. Some habits… never really die."
Curtis turned toward the last trio seated near the back.
"You three haven't introduced yourselves yet."
David sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat. "David Hartwright. Nice to meet you all."
Dawn gave a soft nod beside him. "I'm Dawn Cypress."
Theo's turn came last. "...Theodore Gray, but it's Theo for short."
He glanced down for a second, then looked up.
"And… this little one here is Mimi."
As if on cue, the black-furred cat poked her head from Theo's lap, gave a single impatient meow, and leapt down.
She trotted straight toward Isabella like she owned the place.
"Aww—Mimi!" Isabella squealed, scooping her up in one smooth motion. She cradled the cat like a prized treasure, rubbing her cheek against her fur.
"You are too cute."
She turned toward Pop.
"Poppy, look! Isn't she adorable?"
Pop glanced over just long enough to be polite. "I guess."
Isabella frowned, just slightly, but let it pass. She set Mimi down gently, and the warmth in the carriage cooled by a few degrees.
Theo hesitated, then raised his hand like he was still in school.
Isabella perked up. "Yes, Theo?"
"I… just have a question."
"Perfect. I love questions. Fire away."
Theo hesitated again. The weight behind his words built before he even spoke them.
"Back in Artimia," he said slowly, "how were all of you able to fight like that?"
"Simple," Pop said, voice smooth and sharp. "We're not weak like you."
The words sliced through the air.
Theo stood immediately, fists clenched. "Why don't you come find out just how weak I really am?"
Pop yawned.
And then—
A sudden burst of wind howled through the carriage like a summoned gale.
Theo gasped as his body lifted clean off the floor. One second he was standing, the next—airborne.
"Theo!" Dawn cried out, lunging toward him.
Too late.
He crashed back down with a thud, landing hard against the wooden floor. Pain rippled up his spine.
Above him, Pop was already reclining on the carriage roof like he hadn't moved at all. One leg crossed over the other, arms folded behind his head.
"See?" he said with a lazy smirk. "Not even worth the effort. Not even worth my time."
"Pop!" Isabella snapped, eyes flashing. "That's enough!"
Theo sat up slowly, rubbing his shoulder and muttering under his breath. "Asshole..."
Isabella turned to him, softer now. "Don't let him get to you. He's very much anti-social."
Theo exhaled, still scowling. "I just wanted to understand... How the hell were you all able to fight back like that? Against the Section Commanders and his soldiers."
Isabella's expression shifted—lighter, then darker. Her cheer faded like a curtain lowering on stage lights.
"To answer your question," she said, voice steady now, "we all took the first step toward becoming free."
"You mean by fighting?" Theo asked.
She shook her head.
"No. Fighting alone doesn't lead to freedom."
She leaned forward slightly, and Theo instinctively held his breath. The mood in the carriage shifted again—quieter, heavier.
Her fingers brushed against the back of his neck, right where the KC implant was embedded.
"We started," she whispered, "by removing these."
Theo's eyes widened. "You what?"
Bryce nearly jumped out of his seat. "That's impossible!" he blurted. "Everyone knows you can't get rid of a KC. It'll fry your brain if you mess around with it."
"They're permanent," Arthur added. "That's just how it is."
Isabella tilted her head, her voice calm and almost pitying. "Only if you believe everything they tell you."
Nozomu sat at the front of the carriage, one hand loose on the reins, the other resting on his knee like stone left undisturbed.
The wheels clattered against the earth, their rhythm steady—a dull heartbeat across the open stretch of Sector Five.
But Nozomu's mind wasn't on the road.
His eyes drifted upward, narrowing beneath the brim of the shadow cast by his hood.
Far above, a flock of crows cut lazy circles through the sky—black shapes suspended in the golden light, too many to ignore, their wings slicing slow arcs across the wind.
They weren't heading anywhere. They were waiting. Drifting. Like vultures that had caught the scent of something dying long before it had fallen.
Nozomu's jaw tensed.
"Pop," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the sky.
From above the carriage, Pop leaned into view, perched casually on the roof, a toothpick shifting between his teeth.
"Yeah?"
"Trade places with me."
"Right now?"
"Now."
Nozomu didn't raise his voice. Didn't shift his posture. But the weight behind the word made it land like iron.
Pop sighed, as if this wasn't the first time he'd been asked to take over mid-gut-feeling.
He dropped from the roof in one fluid motion, boots tapping the wood beside Nozomu.
"Sure thing."
In the back of the carriage, Isabella paused mid-sentence. Her gaze lifted toward the front, where Nozomu sat motionless.
"We'll continue this later," she said softly to the group, though her attention was already drifting.
Pop, now seated at the reins, shifted slightly. His eyes followed Nozomu's, lifting to the sky where dark shapes circled in silence.
"Crows?" he muttered. "Weird time of day for them, or something?"
No answer.
Only a faint stream of wind left Nozomu's lips—nearly invisible—winding upward like breath whispered to the sky.
Pop's brow creased. "Was that a Whisper?"
"Stay on course," Nozomu said.
Then he rose—lifted effortlessly by the wind, his cloak dragging upward in a slow swirl as he left the carriage behind.
Pop watched him ascend. "You know this path doesn't lead back to base, right?"
Nozomu's voice returned from above—distant, barely loud enough to carry over the rumbling wheels.
"We're taking a detour."
The crows shifted at his approach, their circles widening. Then—they scattered.
Pop tightened his grip on the reins, gaze narrowing on the horizon.
"A detour, huh..."
Behind him, the chatter and introductions had faded. The carriage had gone quiet—as if the air itself knew something had changed.
Theo leaned forward, squinting toward the sky. "What's he looking at?"
David followed his gaze. "They're just crows, right?"
Isabella frowned faintly. "Maybe... but Nozomu doesn't do things without a reason."
Far above, Nozomu hovered like a statue, eyes sharp and locked on the retreating birds. His arms were still. His breath, steady. But his jaw—tight.
And as the carriage rolled down a road that no longer led home—
The wind began to shift.
Subtle at first. Then heavier.
Like something old had stirred awake.
Something waiting on the other side of the silence.
And the only sound left… was the low rumble of wheels beneath them, rolling steady into the unknown.