At that moment, Mr. Alden and Kael stepped onto the rooftop, their boots scraping softly against the weathered stone. The wind up there carried the faint scent of ash and damp ruin, brushing past Ronan's face like a warning that refused to fade.
"Whose wish?" Alden asked, his tone casual—but his eyes were not. They lingered on Ronan a moment longer than necessary. "Anyway, you owe Lady Ishulane an apology."
Kael folded his arms, posture rigid, gaze sharp. "Your behaviour this time was especially… problematic."
Ronan blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"You were rude to Lady Ishulane," Kael said evenly, "and unnecessarily harsh with Selena."
Ronan frowned, irritation flickering through him. "Sir told you not to touch me or Sir while Keen Eye is active. She touched my clone anyway. That's why I scolded her."
The words came out faster than he intended, defensive, tight. Even as he spoke, the echo of that moment—Selena's hand brushing the clone, the sudden surge of fractured visions—pressed against the back of his mind like a bruise.
Samantha exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head as if she'd heard this argument before it was even spoken. "You really are a troublesome little brother."
Ronan's head snapped toward her. "Don't call me little!"
She didn't even bother replying. A smirk tugged at her lips as she bent down, picking up two empty bowls. The ceramic clicked faintly in her hands as she straightened.
"Alright, alright. I'm going." She waved lazily over her shoulder as she walked away. "I'll leave you boys to sort this out."
Her footsteps faded down the stairwell, leaving behind a quieter space—one that felt heavier in her absence.
Ronan shifted, the earlier irritation draining just enough for something else to surface. He turned back to Mr. Alden, hesitation slipping into his voice.
"Sir… is it really a good idea to rest now?" His fingers curled slightly at his sides. "Shouldn't we keep moving?"
Alden didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop, looking out over the broken skyline—the jagged silhouettes of collapsed buildings, the dim glow of scattered fires in the distance.
"We've been moving all day," he said at last. "Everyone needs a break."
Ronan glanced down at his hands. They looked steady—but they didn't feel it.
"I don't know how long I can keep this up," he admitted quietly. "Keen Eye is always active. It's… draining my Aether slowly." His jaw tightened. "The visions… they don't stop. I don't even know when I'll collapse."
The wind stirred again, colder this time. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kael's voice, quieter now—less sharp. "You should have said something earlier."
Ronan let out a faint, humourless breath. "Would it have changed anything?"
Kael didn't answer.
Time slipped by after that, the conversation drifting—tactics, positioning, the strange unease hanging over the day. Words came and went, but the tension never fully left. It settled instead, low and persistent, like the distant rumble of a coming storm.
Nearly an hour passed.
"Ronan."
The voice was soft, but it cut cleanly through the stillness.
He turned.
Lady Ishulane stood at the rooftop entrance. Her eyes were puffy, the faint redness around them not yet faded. Her cheeks still carried the warmth of recent tears, though she held herself composed—deliberately so.
"Hello, Alden. Hi, Kael," she said gently, her voice steadier than her appearance suggested. Then her gaze settled on Ronan. "Ronan… can we talk? Alone?"
Ronan nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
Alden and Kael exchanged a brief look—something unspoken passing between them—before they turned and descended the stairs, leaving the two behind.
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then Ishulane stepped closer.
She lifted a hand to her forehead, her fingers pausing there for a brief moment—as if steadying herself—before the air shimmered.
The azure-blue orb emerged once more.
Its light was soft, but it pulsed with quiet intensity, casting faint reflections across her skin. She held it out, and it drifted toward Ronan, slow and deliberate.
The moment it touched him, it passed through—phasing into his body like a ripple vanishing beneath still water.
Ronan inhaled sharply.
Inside him, within that vast inner expanse, the orb reformed—its glow clearer now, more defined. And then, a voice.
"I am… Fulgurion. A thunder Beast. I think." It paused, uncertain. "At least, I was. Until I became sentient… and took human form."
Ronan's jaw slackened. "Wait—wait. You're really Fulgurion the Skybreaker?"
"I believe so," the voice replied quietly. "I do not remember my past as a beast. When I became sentient, those memories… disappeared. I only know my name. My abilities." A faint dimming flickered through the light. "And I do not have much time left."
The weight of those words settled heavily.
"I want to pass on my legacy," Fulgurion continued. "But you… You are flame-elemental. I am thunder. I cannot give you everything. But I can still elevate your strength. Your tier."
Ronan didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stood there—still, listening not just to the words, but to the spaces between them.
"Will I receive your memories?" he asked finally. "Your emotions?"
"No," Fulgurion said. "Only power."
Ronan closed his eyes.
For a moment, the world outside dimmed—the rooftop, the wind, Ishulane's quiet presence. In that brief darkness, something steadied inside him.
When he opened them again, there was a calm clarity there.
"Then I know someone better suited for it."
The orb flickered, hesitating. "Are you certain? Even without my full abilities, what I can grant is… considerable."
Ronan smiled—small, but genuine.
"I'm sure. I don't want it." His eyes brightened slightly. "But I know who does."
Recognition came quickly.
"Darius," Ronan said, a spark of excitement breaking through. "He has the thunder element—just like you. And you already know why I chose him."
A soft laugh echoed through his mind, warmer this time.
"You truly are a unique boy, Ronan."
Then, quieter—unspoken, yet somehow heard—
"If I cannot strengthen you directly… then I will give you something that allows you to grow on your own."
Ronan's eyes widened. "Wait a second!"
The thought hit him all at once.
He spun, sprinted, and leapt off the rooftop without another word—his body moving before doubt could catch up. He landed lightly below, knees bending to absorb the impact, then took off toward the campfire.
The flickering flames painted the group in shifting gold and shadow—Kael, Darius, Eryk, Leon, Roderick, Dorian, Orin, Oliver—faces turned mid-conversation as Ronan approached.
"Darius!" Ronan called, breath quick but grin wide. "Come with me for a moment."
Every head turned.
Darius pushed himself to his feet, brows knitting together. "What's going on?"
"Just come," Ronan said, already backing away. "Quickly. You're going to be shocked."
There was something in that tone—too bright, too certain—that made Darius hesitate for half a second.
Then curiosity won.
He followed.
They climbed again, scaling broken walls and fractured rooftops, loose debris shifting underfoot. The city stretched around them, silent and watching.
"Lady Ishulane," Ronan said once they reached her again, slightly out of breath but unwavering. "I want to give it to Darius. Do you object?"
Ishulane studied them both.
Her gaze lingered on Ronan first—searching, perhaps measuring something unspoken—before shifting to Darius.
Then she inclined her head.
"I trust your judgment, Ronan. I will respect your decision."
Relief flickered across his face, quick but real.
"Then we'll take our leave."
Without waiting, he turned, already moving. "Follow me, Darius."
They leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the wind rushing past, carrying the faint crackle of distant flames.
Darius kept pace, though his thoughts churned.
"What is going on?" His eyes flicked back once. "I thought Lady Ishulane would be furious… but she looked… relieved?"
"Ronan," he called out, landing beside him on a crumbling ledge. "What's happening?"
Ronan glanced back, grin sharp with anticipation. "You're about to get a massive power-up."
That did not help.
Not even slightly.
Elsewhere, near another firelit circle, Samantha sat with Aria, Selena, Lyra, and Sophia. The flames crackled softly, sending up thin streams of smoke that carried the scent of burning wood.
Samantha glanced toward Selena. "I heard Ronan was harsh with you."
Lyra scoffed immediately, her fingers curling into fists. "Don't even mention him. It just pisses me off. I swear, I want to beat him senseless."
Selena didn't respond right away.
She stared into the fire, watching the flames twist and fold into themselves. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.
"He did scold me… but he wasn't wrong." Her fingers tightened slightly around the small polished stone in her palm. "I was careless."
She lifted it just enough for the firelight to catch its smooth surface.
"Sir Alden warned us. If someone's Keen Eye is active, touching them might show us what they see." A faint tremor passed through her breath. "Ronan's clone—Rai—was trying to protect us."
Her thumb brushed over the stone.
"He even gave me this afterwards."
The memory lingered—unspoken, but heavy.
Lyra's expression shifted, just slightly.
Before anyone could respond, footsteps approached.
Lady Ishulane stepped into the circle's edge, her presence gentle but noticeable. "May I join you? I hope I'm not intruding."
"Oh, not at all!" Samantha said quickly, shifting aside to make space.
Ishulane sat, her posture composed—but her eyes, still faintly swollen, did not go unnoticed.
"By the way," Lyra said after a moment, turning back to Selena, "what did you actually see when you touched his clone?"
"Lyra—" Aria started.
Selena gave a small, brittle laugh. "It's fine."
She inhaled slowly.
Then spoke.
"Everything was burning."
The fire before them seemed to dim as her voice took shape.
"Blood covered the streets. People—" she swallowed, her fingers tightening unconsciously— "people were being slaughtered. Screams everywhere."
The crackling of the campfire filled the brief pause.
"A child was shaking their mother, trying to wake her. She didn't move." Her voice thinned, just slightly. "Another was begging their father to stand up."
No one interrupted.
"Teenagers tried to protect the younger ones," she continued, staring somewhere beyond the flames now. "They were cut down. Impaled." Her breath hitched once, barely contained. "Others just… stopped. Like they knew there was no point. They held each other and waited."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"It felt like this town," she finished quietly.
Ishulane's expression tightened. "You're saying Ronan sees this… regularly?"
Selena shook her head faintly. "No. It started after we entered the Dimension Rift."
"Is he using Keen Eye Perception?" Ishulane asked.
Samantha nodded. "Yes. Why?"
Ishulane's gaze hardened, something colder settling beneath her calm. "Because that skill has a fatal flaw."
Lyra straightened. "What kind of flaw?"
"If exposed to too many of those visions," Ishulane said, each word deliberate, "it can go berserk."
The fire cracked loudly, a sudden, sharp sound in the quiet.
Lyra pushed to her feet immediately. "Then we don't have time to sit here. I'll inform the others—"
She stopped mid-step.
Ishulane's head snapped up.
"…Something is coming."
The air shifted.
Fast.
Footsteps—multiple, urgent.
Mr. Alden, Mr. Alaric, and Mr. Felix emerged from the darkness, weapons already drawn, their movements sharp and purposeful.
A figure stumbled into the firelight.
A Ronan clone.
Its breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving, movements unsteady as if barely holding itself together.
"Another clone," Ishulane murmured.
The clone staggered forward, voice strained.
"Sir… we need to move." It coughed, forcing the words out. "A herd of Hollowed Spirits—over thirty—heading this way."
A ripple of tension tore through the group.
"Also…" The clone's gaze flickered, unfocused for a split second. "Someone's trying to control my Keen Eye. They're… filled with rage."
A cold weight dropped into the pit of Samantha's stomach.
"Break the seal behind you," the clone continued, forcing itself upright. "Get into the mansion. I'll contact the boss."
Every eye turned toward the ancient structure looming behind them—dark, silent, waiting.
The wind picked up again, carrying with it something distant.
Something wrong.
There was no more time to hesitate.