Golden light surged down his arms in ragged veins, heat rippling the air as he planted his foot and twisted, carving another blazing arc through the space between them. It wasn't clean this time. The flames sputtered at the edges, shedding sparks instead of roaring sheets.
It was enough to force the entity to recoil, its remaining cloth-limbs snapping back like wounded animals. The entity regrouped across the square, its form unraveling and reweaving itself in jerky motions.
The cloth dragged along the ground now, darker where it had burned, edges frayed and smoking. It hesitated. Not out of fear, but recalculation. The way a predator pauses when prey suddenly grows its teeth.
Pheo straightened, breath coming hard. Every inhale felt too shallow, like his lungs couldn't quite keep up with the heat flooding his body. The spear wounds were gone, skin sealed as if they had never been there, but the memory of them throbbed beneath the surface.
Temporary.
He flexed his fingers. Flames licked between them, thinner now, wavering like candlelight in wind. The golden bird's presence pressed against his chest, warm but distant, like something already halfway gone.
Run.
You need to run. Now.
He took a step back despite himself, boots scraping stone. His eyes flicked past the entity, down branching streets, collapsed alleys, any escape routes. Somewhere out there was Iyu. Somewhere out there was distance.
The entity sensed the shift, and taking the opportunity, it lunged. Cloth snapped outward in a sudden burst, no longer cautious, no longer testing. The remaining limbs struck wide, trying to box him in, crush him, bury him beneath sheer mass.
Pheo reacted on instinct alone, pivoting as he brought his arm around in a wide, desperate swing. Fire answered, but only barely. The flames flared, then tore, uneven and jagged, slicing through one limb and scorching another instead of annihilating them outright.
The force sent him skidding back, boots losing traction as he slammed shoulder-first into a stone pillar. Pain flared, real pain this time, and the fire around him guttered violently.
A warning.
His knees bent as he pushed himself upright, teeth clenched. The entity loomed closer now, confidence returning, its movements quicker, sharper. It had felt the change too. Pheo laughed under his breath. Dry and bitter.
"Figures," he muttered.
He drew the flames inward, not outward. Let the coil tight around his ore, compressed instead of having it spill free. The heat burned hotter for a moment, sharper, focused enough.
Enough to leave a mark.
When the entity struck again, Pheo surged forward instead of back. He ducked beneath the snapping cloth and drove his palm into its mass, releasing most of what he had left in a single, brutal burst.
The explosion of heat tore a smoking cavity through the entity's center, sending it staggering back with a sound like fabric ripping apart under strain. Cloth-limbs flailed wildly, disorganized, slapping against walls and ground as the creature screeched.
It was an ugly, tearing noise that echoed through the ruined street, it had tried its best to back away, to create distance from Pheo. It was then that the creature's resistance had weakened.
Gathering all that was left, the golden flame surged wherever the cloth cut into him, sealing skin as fast as it tore, pain flashing and vanishing in the same breath. Each strike from the entity felt desperate now, less precise and more frantic.
The closer Pheo drew, the more violently it thrashed, its remaining strips snapping like panicked limbs trying to find purchase. He tightened his grip on the entity's head, and the cloth screamed. Not aloud, not with sound, but with a shrill vibration that crawled through his bones.
The fabric blackened under his hands, curling inward, shrinking as the fire consumed it. Whatever lay beneath resisted, convulsing, trying to reform its mask, but Pheo didn't let go.
"I see you now," he muttered, voice hoarse, unsure if he was speaking to the thing in front of him, or to himself. The entity recoiled as the last of its face burned away, revealing…
A corpse.
Not something freshly dead, not a thing killed moments ago by flame or violence, but a body that had been rotting for months, if not years. Flesh sunken tight against bone, skin gray and split in places where decay had eaten through.
One eye hung useless in its socket, clouded and collapsed. The other was gone entirely, leaving a dark hollow that stared back at him. Its mouth was frozen half-open, teeth exposed in a permanent, silent scream
And it was young.
Too young.
The proportions were wrong for something ancient. The bones hadn't finished thickening before death claimed them. The shape of the skull, the length of the limbs beneath the writing cloth, its age mirrored his own, close enough that the realization struck like a blade between his ribs.
Pheo froze. For just a fraction of a second, the flame around his hands faltered. Not extinguishing, but wavering, like a breath caught mid-inhale. The cloth screamed. Not aloud, but through him, a pressure in his skull, a sensation like grief compressed into violence.
The tendrils thrashed wildly now, no longer precise, no longer hunting, only panicking. As if the thing wearing them had been exposed, stripped of its last disguise. "What… are you?" Pheo whispered, though his voice came out hoarse, raw.
The corpse's jaw twitched. No words followed. It couldn't speak. It never had. Whatever it was, whatever it had become, it wasn't born this way. It had been hollowed out, repurposed, wrapped and puppeteered by the cloth that now burned and peeled away in smoking ribbons.
The golden flames surged again, reflexive, answering his shock with heat. His wounds sealed once more as the entity raked him desperately, dingers, or what remained of them, scratching uselessly against fire-forged skin.
Every strike landed, and every strike was undone seconds later, pain blooming only to vanish as the light reclaimed him. "You're already dead," Pheo said, teeth clenched, anger bleeding into his words. "So stop trying to take the living with you."
The corpse sagged within its burning shell, cloth sloughing off in chunks now, collapsing inward as if the structure holding it upright was failing. The fire was winning, but Pheo could feel the cost.
The flame thinned again. Not weaker, but shorter. His breath came heavier. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The warning screamed through him now, louder than before.
Run.
He loosened his grip, shoving the entity back with a final burst of heat that scorched the stone beneath its feet. The corpse stumbled, half-supported by what little cloth remained, dragging itself backward, instinct overriding whatever intelligence it once had.
Pheo didn't pursue.
He couldn't.
The flames around him flickered violently, shedding sparks that vanished before they hit the ground. His vision blurred at the edges, gold bleeding into gray. "One last time," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking to the flame, the voice, or himself. Then he turned and ran, leaving the entity wounded.
With all three of them instinctively ducking as another distant explosion thundered through the air, dust shaking loose from the nearby rooftops, Lera let out a sharp breath. Her hands flew to her ears.
"That– that wasn't thunder," she said, voice trembling. "What was that?" Hanagome straightened first, forcing calm into his posture before reaching out to steady her by the shoulder.
"Easy," he said gently, a little too quickly. "Probably a gas line. You know how packed the food stalls get. One spark and the whole thing goes up." He smiled, thin but practiced, the kind meant to keep panic from spreading. "Happens more often than people admit."
Lera didn't look convinced. Her eyes lingered in the direction of the sound, searching the skyline as if she expected to see smoke crawling upward. "It sounded… closer than that," she murmured. "And louder."
"Sound carries weird in these streets," Hanagome replied, steering her forward before she could dwell on it. "Especially with the buildings this tight." Ryu had already resumed walking, gaze fixed ahead, shoulders tense beneath his clothes.
He hadn't ducked as low as the others, just enough to avoid instinct, not fear. His jaw tightened at the echo still ringing faintly in his ears. "How long until the safehouse?" Lera asked, quickening her steps to keep pace.
"A few more minutes," Hanagome answered. "Five, maybe less if we don't stop." As they moved, Hanagome subtly fell back half a step, angling himself closer to Ryu while keeping his voice low enough that Lera wouldn't hear.
"Ryu," he said, eyes scanning the alleys as he spoke, "there's something you should know." Ryu glanced at him, just briefly. "Go on."
"Most of the villagers…" Hanagome hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "They're on edge. More than usual. Outsiders aren't exactly welcome right now with the state the village is in. People are scared, and when they're scared, they look for someone to blame."
He exhaled. "If anyone's rude, or worse, I apologize in advance. I'm asking for your understanding." Ryu nodded once, the motion small but deliberate. "I get it," he said. "Fear makes people ugly."
Hanagome studied him for a moment, then added, "You don't have to involve yourself in village matters if you don't want to. Once you're inside, you'll be safe."
"I'm not here for the village," Ryu replied evenly. His eyes lifted, distant now, as if already searching for someone who wasn't there. "I'm just here to see if my brother's there." The words hung between them, heavy and unarguable.
Hanagome gave a quiet nod. "Then let's hope we find him," he said. Ahead of them, the narrow street bent toward a reinforced door tucked between two concrete structures, unmarked and unassuming.
As they approached, Hanagome slowed his pace and raised a hand, signaling for both of them to stay close. The structure looked half-collapsed, but the closer they got, the more deliberate the ruin felt.
Reinforced beams jutted through broken sections. Thick metal braces ran along the foundation like bones beneath skin. "This place… doesn't look safe," Lera muttered.
"It's meant to look that way," Hanagome replied quietly. "Follow me. And don't touch anything unless I say so." They slipped inside through a narrow opening. The air changed immediately, cooler and steadier.
Past the outer shell of destruction, the interior revealed itself to be carefully maintained. Clean stone floors. Reinforced walls. Emergency lights humming faintly overhead. It wasn't anything for comfort, but for survival.
Hanagome stopped in front of a heavy metal door set into the far wall. He raised his knuckles and knocked. He didn't knock randomly, it was in a pattern, one clearly deliberate. With three short taps, a pause, then two longer knocks.
Silence.
Then metal slid against metal. A viewing slit opened, eyes peering out from the darkness beyond. After a moment, the door creaked open. Inside was a refugee center, crowded, but organized.
Families were huddled together, supplies stacked along the walls, a few armed villagers standing watch. The space was about half full, but it was clear it could hold many more if needed.
"Uncle!" Lera cried out. She broke from them instantly, sprinting inside. A man near the center of the shelter straightened at the sound of her voice. He was older, broad-shouldered despite his age, his face worn by the years of command and loss.
Relief flickered across his expression the moment he saw her. She collided into him, arms wrapping tight around his waist. "You're safe…" he muttered, one hand gripping her shoulder firmly, as if afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
For a brief moment, it was warm. Human.
Then his gaze lifted.
It landed on Ryu.
The warm vanished.
His eyes hardened, sharp and assessing, his posture shifting subtly. "Go on," he said to Lera after a moment, patting her head. "Greet the others. They've been worried." Reluctantly, she nodded and moved off, glancing back once before disappearing into the crowd.
The man turned fully toward Hanagome. "...Who is that?" he asked, voice low, controlled. Hanagome immediately knelt, head bowed. "Village Chief." Ryu noticed instantly. He didn't kneel, but he straightened, hands at his sides, making no move that could be mistaken for defiance.
Hanagome continued, "This is Ryu. He's a fighter. He saved Lera when the entity attacked. He stood against it… and lived." A murmur ripped through the shelter. The chief's eyes widened, just slightly.
"You've seen it?" he asked, his voice sharper now. "With your own eyes?" Hanagome nodded. "Yes. Both of us have." The chief looked back to Ryu, studying him more carefully now.
"And you survived?"
Ryu met his gaze evenly. "Barely, with both of our efforts." Hanagome nodded, his expression tightening. "If Ryu hadn't been there, Lera wouldn't be standing here now."
"You expect us to trust an outsider with the thing still roaming outside?" the chief said. "You have my thanks," he said, voice firm but measured. "Any life saved is a debt acknowledged."
Ryu gave a short nod in return, saying nothing. The elder's tone hardened again just as quickly. "But gratitude does not bend our laws. Even so, outsiders are not permitted to stay in our evacuation center."
Hanagome stiffened. "Chief–"
"The rules were written by those who led before me," the elder interrupted. "They exist so that panic does not become collapse. If we make exceptions now, we will not stop making them."
Ryu exhaled slowly, eyes drifting across the interior of the shelter. There was space. Empty mats. Supplies stacked neatly against the walls. Room enough for dozens more. "Others have asked to be let in, haven't they?" he said.
"Yes," the chief replied without hesitation. "And every one of them was refused." Ryu's jaw tightened. An image surfaced of Iyu's face, exhausted but determined, always moving forward no matter how bad things became.
The idea that he might have reached this place, a sanctuary from the chaos outside, only to be turned away sparked something bitter in Ryu's chest. With all the anger the thought made, he tried his best to swallow it down.
"I understand," Ryu said carefully, though the words tasted wrong. "Even if I don't agree." There was a brief silence. The air felt heavy, packed with unspoken judgments. Ryu looked back at the elder.
Ryu looked back at the elder. "Has anyone else come by?" he asked. "A boy. Younger than me. About her age." He gestured subtly toward Lera, who was now speaking excitedly with other villagers, unaware of the tension behind her.
The chief's brows furrowed as he searched his memory. Then he shook his head. "No. No one matching that description." The answer landed harder than Ryu expected. No nodded once. "I see."
With nothing left to say, Ryu turned away from the elder and stepped back toward the entrance. As he passed through the shelter, he felt eyes on him, wary and fearful, some openly hostile.
Whispers followed him like shadows, the word outsider hanging unspoken in the air. He didn't look back. The metal door closed behind him with a dull, final clang, cutting off the warmth, the light, and whatever safety remained inside.
Ryu remained outside the village safehouse, its entrance behind him shut close. Beyond the fractured roofs and fallen beams of the village, a thin column of smoke rises far in the distance, slow and uneven beneath the blue curve of the dome.
He locks onto it immediately.
That's recent.
Not an omen. Not a warning. Just… evidence. Someone had been there. Someone had moved, acted, survived long enough to leave a mark on the world. It could be rubble settling, it could be Iyu, or it could be the entity itself.
Ryu shifts his weight forward, already calculating the route in his head, when a voice cuts in. "Ryu, wait." Hanagome steps out from the safehouse, stopping a short distance away as if afraid to stray too far from its protection.
Dust clings to his clothes, and exhaustion lines his face, but eyes are clear and troubled, but resolute. "Can I come with you?" he asks. Ryu turns slowly. "Why." Hanagome doesn't deflect it.
"Because of my father. What the chief did, what he allowed to happen… I can't change that. But I won't stand here doing nothing either." Ryu says nothing, gaze steady, forcing Hanagome to continue.
"I know your priority is your brother," Hanagome says. "And if he's alive, then smoke like that might be the only trail left." He hesitates, then adds. "But that's not all. This situation, it feels planned. The dome, the timing, the chaos. Someone wanted us trapped."
Ryu glances upward at the faint blue shimmer sealing the sky. "One of the elders told me a story," Hanagome continues. "Old. About a blue barrier like this one. It didn't protect people, it isolated them. Turned a village into a cage. They gave me a location tied to it."
Ryu listens, but his eyes drift back to the horizon. Hanagome notices and follows, "Is that where you're going?"
"Yes," Ryu answers without hesitation. "If Iyu's still alive, that smoke is the closest thing I have to a direction." Hanagome's jaw tightens. "Are you sure?" His voice drops, urgency seeping through.
"There are many other places, and even then you remember what we fought. That entity, a small mistake could cost either of our lives. If not, then both." Ryu finally turns fully toward him. "I remember."
"When we faced it together," Hanagome presses on, "even then, we were barely surviving. Power like that doesn't leave room for confidence."
"Confidence isn't what I'm relying on," Ryu says calmly. Hanagome falters. "Then what are you relying on?" Ryu looks back toward the smoke, eyes narrowing, not with fear but with focus.
"When we fought it," he says, "did you notice how it moved?" hanagome blinks. "What do you mean?"
"It didn't move like a trained fighter. Or a predator." Ryu raises his hand slightly, fingers flexing as if replaying the memory. "It was clumsy. Overcommitted. Like it didn't fully understand its own strength."
Realization flickers across Hanagome's face. "You think it was holding back?"
"No," Ryu replies. "I think it was learning."
"It moved like a newborn," Ryu continues quietly. "Like a baby trying to figure out how its body works. Testing limits. Adjusting after every mistake." Hanagome shakes his head slowly. "Taking advantage of that with our experience would take a miracle."
Ryu exhales, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. It was resolve hardened into shape. "All miracles," he says, "start with going for the impossible." The words hang in the air, heavy but steady.
He steps forward, decision made. "That smoke doesn't tell me danger," Ryu says quietly. "It tells me someone's still out there." His fist tightens once, then relaxes. "And if there's even a chance that someone is my brother," he adds, "then standing still isn't an option."
Hanagome watches him go, torn between fear and belief, knowing that from this point on, every step Ryu takes is fueled by something stronger than certainty.
Hope for the impossible.