The clock on the wall ticked with a heavy rhythmic thud that echoed through Lucidia's small dimly lit room. She sat at her desk the glowing nib of her pen hovering just millimeters above the parchment. Outside the industrial hum of the city was a low drone but inside her head it was quiet for once.
She stared at the last lines she had scribbled. Her mind drifted back to the Bolt Cafe—the flash of the blade the cold rush of the BAM and the way the world seemed to stutter.
What happened to me while fighting that criminal barista? she wondered her brow furrowing. Am i getting stronger? Or maybe am just getting used to these abilities... i dont remember using a remnant.
She paused her breath hitching as a realization hit her. She looked at the empty chair across from her then back at her journal.
"Wait" she whispered to the shadows of the room. "I have friends now."
The thought felt heavy and strange like a word in a language she was only just starting to learn. "And we fended off a criminal. That's amazing... almost like i myself am in a novel." She gave a tiny ghost of a smile at the absurdity of it.
But then her expression shifted to one of concern. She tapped her pen against the desk. "I wonder what Ash is up to. He never came back and informed anything to us after the guards took Labon. He just... disappeared."
She stood up pulling her dark cloak over her shoulders and tucking her journal safely into her satchel.
"We should probably get him" she murmured heading toward the door. "Wouldn't want to leave out a new friend. Especially not one as loud as him."
While Lucidia prepared for the meet up, the rest of the group was scattered across the city, each in their own world.
Aero sat in the cramped but cozy cockpit of his airship, the Rusty Bolt, which served as his home. He was leaning over a holographic chess board, mid-game with his grandfather. Aero was practically vibrating in his seat.
"You are happier than usual..." his grandpa noted, moving a piece with a slow, deliberate hand.
Aero grinned, nearly knocking over his king. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Gramps! I met some new friends today. They are super nice—uhhh, actually, not really... well, they're interesting!"
His grandpa scoffed, a warm glint in his eyes. "That's nice, Aero."
"And we're gonna meet up at 8 in the morning!" Aero added, his eyes bright with excitement.
"That's great, boy," his gramps replied with a nod. "I hope you guys have a nice time hanging out."
Deep in the industrial district, Eevee was tucked away in her "castle"—a massive, hollowed-out dumpster nestled behind a high-end bakery. The smell of stale cinnamon and sugar was like perfume to her. She lay on a pile of discarded silk scraps, staring at the lid of the dumpster.
Food, she thought, her stomach growling. Tomorrow, we'll find more honey cake. Or maybe muffins. With a manic giggle, she curled into a ball and fell fast asleep, dreaming of sugar coated greatness.
In a dark, narrow back alleyway, Quinna lay flat on her back on a rusted fire escape. She looked up at the thin strip of stars visible between the towering factory walls. A cigarette hung from her lips, the red cherry glowing in the dark. She didn't say a word; she just watched the smoke drift toward the sky, her mind surprisingly still.
Across town, Mugen was hunched over his workbench in a small, cluttered shed. The heavy axe was leaned against the wall, but in his massive, scarred hands, he held a delicate set of gears. He was carefully assembling a little tinker-bird toy for the local children.
His mind flickered to the shadows. The Blood Seeker is still out there, he thought, his jaw tightening. He looked at the bird, then sighed. I have friends now. Shouldn't be thinking so negative, should I?
Deep beneath the city streets, Acheron sat in the dry corner of a massive sewer junction. The green glow of his poison vats cast long, eerie shadows. He leaned his head back against the cold stone, a rare, thoughtful expression on his face.
These people are hella interesting, he mused. I've never met anyone who caught my attention like that. I am quite fond of them... is this how love feels like?
Finally, back in the gilded cage of the Sterling Palace, Ash stood by his window. He looked at the heavy iron bars and then at his sword resting on the bed.
What if I just cut them? he thought. I'll get in trouble, wouldn't I? He hesitated, then grabbed a pile of plushies and cushions, stuffing them under his silk duvet and covering them with fabric. In the dim light, it looked just like a sleeping body.
I'll still get caught, he sighed, looking at the "fake" Ash. Sigh... I don't care anymore. I'm going.
With a single, fluid motion, he drew his blade. SHING. The cold iron sliced through the bars like they were paper. Ash sheathed his sword, took a deep breath, and climbed out into the cool night air, leaving his nobility behind.