The halls of the Human Government 2.b Department stretched long and silent behind them. The faint echo of their footsteps dwindled into nothing, replaced only by the distant hum of ceiling vents and the hush of artificial wind. Outside, daylight pressed against the glass walls as if eager to swallow them whole. With that fading echo, their uncle's world—the shielded certainty of Noren rules—fell away behind a closing metal door.
The trio walked toward the transit platform without speaking. The still air around them carried a faint trace of ozone from moving lifts and circuits humming under the polished floor. Reinhard kept his hands in his pockets, Kael's gaze flicked casually between the corridor mirrors, and Elizabeth, quiet as always, clutched the small data tablet against her ribs.
The procedure for boarding their uncle's private jet was deceptively simple: return home, wait. The aircraft would come to them. Malric's orders rarely included more steps than necessary.
When they stepped into their village district, the silence of bureaucracy gave way to a sky that smelled faintly of rain. They reached the HayGram residence, a modest structure tucked into the roots of a hill overrun by vines. Within thirty minutes, the faint hum of engines touched the air—the kind of sound that starts as a vibration before thought catches up to it.
Reinhard was the first to notice. He lifted his head, eyes narrowing at the pale blue horizon. The sound deepened, layered by a metallic undertone like wind scraping against wings. Elizabeth moved beside him, and Kael followed, his grin forming even before the vehicle appeared.
" There it is," Reinhard said under his breath.
Breaking through the haze above the treeline came a streak of polished motion—Malric's private jet. Half black, half white, its hull gleamed beneath the sunlight like opposing halves fused into one reluctant whole. They had seen this craft before, rarely, and only from afar when their uncle departed on official visits. Reinhard remembered once begging for a ten-minute flight in it—a mercy Malric had granted only to silence his curiosity. Today would be different. Today the sky was theirs for long enough to matter.
The jet descended effortlessly, disturbing only the dust of the courtyard. Reinhard felt the tremor pass through the soles of his shoes as the craft settled into place. The door unfolded, a clean hiss of hydraulics, and the pilot stepped out.
He was tall—a presence defined more by stillness than motion—and his posture carried that same mechanical precision as the engine noise. His stare was vacant, cold, and somehow not unkind but unreadable. He greeted them with the minimal civility expected of function, and they returned it in kind.
No chatter followed. No introductions. Duty rarely asked for warmth.
They boarded quietly. Inside, the cabin temperature was set to an assertive calm. The air was cool, scented faintly of synthetic citrus and metal polish.
Four people in total occupied the aircraft: the pilot, and the three passengers seated behind the anti-sound screen separating cockpit from cabin. Beyond that partition, silence reigned absolute. The world of machinery and control stayed locked in its own sphere, and theirs drifted in the muffled hum of travel.
The engines roared once, steadying into rhythm, and the ground beneath them rolled away. Cloudlight flooded the small rectangular windows in a white that almost burned.
For Reinhard, the ascent felt less like flight and more like release. The island shrank below them, each familiar landmark dissolving into abstraction—their village, reduced to shapes and color.
He breathed a wordless exhale.
Elizabeth broke the silence first, her tone routine but sincere. "Have you done your manifestation today?"
Reinhard stretched his fingers, eyes still on the window. "Going to do it right here, right now."
Kael turned his head slightly, curious. The manifestation ritual—an affirmation exercise developed in YangPass—was meant to fortify will. To Reinhard, however, it was closer to conviction sharpened into obsession.
He spoke evenly, voice carrying every ounce of belief. "Four hundred and thirty-eight days remain before the first step of unification begins. And it will be done by me—Reinhard HayGram. I, the King of YangPass, will bring peace and unification to all species."
Kael chuckled. "Corny, ah."
"Shut up," Reinhard snapped, not looking away.
Kael leaned back, crossing his arms. "Since you never ask anything—because you don't have the ability to, apparently—at least keep asking yourself how you plan to do that." His tone switched, halfway playful but threaded with thought. "The answer, obviously, is that it's impossible. There are dozens of species out there stronger than humans. None can cooperate, thanks to evolution shaping each differently. You're lucky, in a twisted sense, that the powerful ones can't even work with themselves. Beyond YangPass, there are humans branded criminals, subspecies almost apart from us."
He paused, voice flattening into logic. "Our own evolution divides us. Your millionth predecessor could be another creature entirely. We cherry-picked similarities and called that unity, pretending the differences don't count. But they do. And they're growing. There are continents upon continents—humans only truly occupy two, and even those, halfway."
Kael's eyes reflected the faint blue glow from the control lights. "With every passing second, some civilization teeters on elimination, and you dream of uniting them all? Tell me how that ends well."
Reinhard didn't respond. His focus drifted outward—to the endless stretch of blue below. The ocean—his first ocean.
He had seen pictures, distorted by statistics and maps, but the living thing beneath him was beyond diagram. Sunlight shimmered across its body in fractured bands. The sense of scale hollowed him out. Entire feelings vanished into that distance.
Kael tilted his head. "Are you even listening?"
Reinhard registered the sound of the question but let it slip through him, absorbed by the rhythm of the engines. Somewhere deep inside, Kael's words might take root, waiting to surface in another time. For now, the ocean mattered more.
Elizabeth sat by the adjacent window, eyes wide. The reflection of light off waves mottled her face like glass shards. She felt it too—that smallness before vastness. Her breath slowed. Even her heartbeat seemed to hesitate against it. The world, she realized, extended indefinitely beyond her island, beyond her life's measured routines. For the first time, insignificance felt beautiful.
Outside, clouds thinned, and the darker hue of the horizon began shifting—a border between water and land forming in sight. The Continent of Hawkins unfolded beneath them.
The descent was smooth. Below, thick forests sprawled out like veins of green shadow. Trees reached obscene heights, their tops piercing low fog, each trunk broader than any structure Reinhard had known. Between that dense wilderness, flattened clearings appeared—landing zones, checkpoints, bureaucratic teeth biting into chaos.
At the entrance point, a building stood constructed entirely from seamless gray alloy. Near its threshold sat a being neither fully human nor bestial—a gorilla-like creature, wide-shouldered and clothed in formal wear, tapping on a data console. He looked up when the trio approached.
Behind him, the forest loomed. Leaves glistened from unseen moisture. Fruit hung in vivid reds and golds. The air was alive with scent—sweet, overripe—but strangely empty of sound. No insects. No bird calls. Only the occasional breath of wind brushing grass that grew to their waists.
They handed over their travel papers. The creature inspected them without expression. After the procedure ended, he looked up, eyes a deep obsidian ringed faintly in blue.
"Good luck on your tour," he said. His voice carried weight, deliberate and monotone. "If you encounter any ruling species of this continent, don't stay close to them. Despite our agreements, sometimes the instincts are too strong to manage… like a distraction when studying—you know you should resist, but impulse wins. Hunger works the same way." He blinked once. "I hope you have a great time."
Elizabeth exhaled a quiet laugh edged with discomfort. "That sure wasn't nice to hear."
The gorilla barely twitched an ear. "Am I supposed to say pleasant things just for your comfort?"
"What?" she asked, startled.
Before the exchange could sharpen, the pilot—until then silent behind them—stepped closer. His cold stare fixed on the official, impassive yet commanding. The creature hesitated, shoulders rolling back. "I apologize," he said quickly, and returned his gaze to the console.
They moved on, their footsteps scraping faintly over the landing platform.
The official, left behind, let out a long breath, thoughts spilling behind his eyes. What kind of humans are these? Their morals, their restraint—unnatural. Either their society is pure order or pure ruin. To live so tightly wound around power and obedience... how is that permitted? Interesting. He leaned back, watching their silhouettes vanish into the greenery. Custom-bred, surely. But for what purpose?
The path ahead bent toward wilderness. Reinhard looked once more over his shoulder before speaking quietly. "We don't see a world like this back home."
Kael's device buzzed in his hand, small holographic lines flickering above the screen. "Coordinates confirm it," he said. "Four kilometers to the Oryn. At this pace, we'll reach him fast. We'll combine our aura when we strike—the YangPass specialized formation will prove itself in Hawkins today."
Reinhard smirked faintly. "You bet."
Elizabeth echoed the phrase beside him, nodding once.
The air thickened as they advanced. Vegetation grew denser, roots curling like serpents across the soil. Soon, the hum on Kael's screen narrowed: distance shrinking.
Five hundred meters.
Even before the creature came into view, they could feel it—the pressure of presence. Aura, wild and unrefined, pulsated through the atmosphere like low thunder. Elizabeth's shoulders stiffened. Her eyebrows rose, and her focus sharpened, eyes darting through the bushes.
"That aura…" she whispered. "It's massive. Too much. This isn't good—it's stronger than I expected."
Kael's reply came fast, half reassurance, half argument. "Don't panic. He's just a bomb of energy, nothing else. That kind never channels it into anything useful. A display, not a weapon. Oryns are dumb; their brains can't shape aura into technique. Think animal instincts, not strategy."
Branches cracked ahead. A tremor moved through the tree line.
Before they could finalize an ambush, the Oryn found them first.
It crashed into sight, erupting from behind a slope—a brown, six-eyed beast standing nearly twelve feet tall, its body segmented with thick chitin reflecting dull light. Six rear legs supported it like pillars, while the forward two ended in sharpened appendages—nails curved like hooked blades. Reinhard barely had time to react before one arm swung toward him.
He jumped, twisting midair. Claws sliced past beneath, missing him by inches. Dust burst against his boots as he landed, heart racing.
"Are you all right?" Elizabeth cried.
"Yeah," he shouted back, panting.
In synchrony, the three moved into position: arms extended outward, bodies forming a loose triangle. Energy swirled, faintly visible, drawn from air and motion. The radiance converged—a lattice of translucent lines connecting them into a single network. Their combined aura solidified around the Oryn, enclosing it like a cage of frozen light.
The creature thrashed, slamming limbs against the barrier. Small fissures rippled through the aura lines, quickly sealed again by their focus. Reinhard's gaze locked onto its lower legs, and he forced his will downward, extending his aura to bind its joints. The Oryn's movement halted abruptly as etheral strands wrapped around its limbs.
"Kael!" Reinhard shouted through clenched teeth. "Now! Do it quick, I can't hold this forever!"
Kael raised his palm, channeling energy forward. A beam of light burst outward—thick, roughly half a meter across. Within its core, shaped by compression, a sharp metallic cylinder formed—the injection. It drove straight through the air, impaling the Oryn's hide before dissolving.
The reaction was instant. The creature roared once, violent and deep enough to shake branches loose, before the strength drained from its limbs. Muscles rigid, then limp. The massive body slumped, motionless except for residual tremors.
Elizabeth exhaled, relief soaking her voice. "We did it!" She smiled, radiant even against the pallid glow surrounding them. "YangPass Specialised Trio—success!"
Reinhard dropped to a low branch of a nearby tree, sitting heavily. Exhaustion crept through his arms, leaving a dull ache beneath the skin.
Elizabeth shot him a sharp look. "Are you up there so you can stare down the gap between my chest?"
Reinhard answered flatly. "Who'd want to look at his sister's—" He stopped, expression unmoved. "Hardly worth the effort."
Kael, sighing, stepped between them. "Save the jokes. We're done here. Let's go."
They both responded in half-sync, lazy amusement stitched into fatigue. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. No breaks, huh? Let's go."
Kael turned serious again. "Before we move, Reinhard, listen—since you never ask questions anyway." He adjusted his wrist strap, checking coordinates once more before continuing in a slower voice. "This continent we stand on, Hawkins, is ruled by the Hawken species. Their name turned into the name of this land. You remember I said the world divides by aura levels? Still true."
He gestured toward the forest canopy above them. "There are three main categories. The first—Azytes. That's us, species with the weakest aura, like the ones on our Noren Island. The second—Vertibes. Medium level aura users. Humans beyond Noren belong partly here; the Hawkins rulers are Vertibes too. Then come Catyns—the species of highest aura density, the ones no one survives meeting. Strength follows aura; it's law."
Kael paused, eyes distant. "Each category can't survive in the land of another. Azytes die in Vertibe territory, crushed by atmosphere. Vertibes can't descend to Catyn realms for the same reason. It's mutual separation by nature. If they could cross freely, stronger species would erase the weaker without thought."
He looked back at Reinhard. "Yet here we are—Azytes walking Hawkins land, still breathing. Why? Because there are two exceptions. Two families."
Elizabeth turned to him quietly, already knowing the answer.
Kael continued, "One is ours. You, me, Uncle Malric—born from mutations that let us control aura levels at will. It's rare. Only four of us alive possess it now. That's why we can step on any soil and survive." He nodded toward the unconscious Oryn. "The other exception is that one—the Oryn family. They too adapt to any aura level. That's why we're taking him back—to Noren, where he won't die."
Wind whispered through the branches. The creature's breathing was shallow, steady.
The horizon ahead darkened in the distance where the sea met the sky. That was the path home—back to their cage, carrying proof of difference and possibility alike. None of them spoke. The jet awaited, patient, silent.
And so they left Hawkins: three figures and their captive cargo, fading into cloud shadow, bound again toward the place that had birthed both their limits and their future.