Jarathia

Jarathia | Near The Volcano | At The Same Time

The forest here is unlike any other—towering black trees with bark scorched smooth, roots coiling through soil hot as embers. The air shimmers with heat, and in the shadow of the volcano stands a lone wooden cabin, stubbornly weathered.

Leaning against its wall is a tall man. His cobalt-blue eyes are sharp, his long hair falling over a thin black jacket. A simple tanktop, black-and-white pants—worn clothes that somehow suit him.

A woman crashes through the trees, breath ragged. Her black hair clings to her face, red eyes burning with desperation. She’s dressed in faded blue and white, her boots tattered from use.

“Nine!” She gasps.

The man tilts his head lazily, as if her urgency barely stirs him.

“Yes, Sunthia?”

“They took him!” she cries, stumbling closer. “My little brother—they took him because he made a joke! They say he REVOLTED!”

Nine studies her quietly. “And what do you want me to do with that information?”

Her voice cracks. “I… I don’t know. Please. Save him.”

Nine’s gaze lowers to her trembling hands. He notices how tightly she holds her stomach, the pain behind her eyes. His voice sharpens, just slightly.

“Tell me no more. Did the guards touch you?”

Sunthia shakes her head quickly, biting her lip.

He looks at her ears and sees bloody tears where ear rings used to be…

Nine steps closer, his shadow falling over her. “Was it Jerome? Or Chisa?”

“N-neither… it was just… bandits.”

“I see.” He exhales slowly. “Sit down.”

He gives her a light pat on the shoulder—strangely gentle for such a rough looking man. Then, without another word, he turns and strides into the black forest near the volcano.

Sunthia walks to the cabin, trembling. Her fingers rise to her ear. Two crystal earrings glimmer faintly at the lobe, next to the tears, small but unyielding this time.

She watches his back fade in the smoke and steam.
“…Nine.”

Jarathia | Outlands | Beach

The beach is eerily empty of civilians and guards, save for ten bandits loitering around a half-collapsed shack. Their mismatched coats and ragged pants make them look like cutthroats from the same gutter.

Nine approaches—hands in his pockets, stride unhurried.

One bandit narrows his eyes and sneers.

“Oh, look. The Crystal Grave has co—”

Before the words finish leaving his mouth, pain erupts across his arm. Blue crystal bursts from his skin, jagged and spreading fast. The weight drags him down to the sand.

Nine doesn’t even glance at him. He keeps walking.

The others draw their blades, but the ground betrays them—sand hardens beneath their feet, glittering with crystals, then swallows them whole. One by one, they drop with screams, pinned within the earth itself.

Nine’s voice is calm. Deadly.

“Where is he?”

The nearest bandit pants. “Wh-who—?”

“You took her earrings.” His cobalt eyes flare. “Never mind.”

From the shack, a bandit staggers out, clutching a small boy tightly against him.

“Don’t move, or the brat dies!”

Nine’s gaze sharpens, but his voice remains steady.

“He can’t move. Run.”

The boy blinks in confusion—then bolts free of the bandit’s grip.

Nine snaps his fingers.

A crystal vein erupts, racing across the ground, climbing the shack’s walls. The wood cracks, then shatters as blue shards burst outward.

The bandit stumbles back, knife in hand, eyes wide. “Y-your ability… it’s horrific!”

Nine ignores him. Through the ruined walls he sees children huddled inside, blindfolded, wrists chained.

He raises one hand, slicing it through the air. Instantly, crystal edges shear the cloth and metal apart. Blindfolds fall. Shackles break.

Nine jerks his thumb toward the door. “Out.”

The children scatter, running past him into freedom.

The bandits, trapped and bleeding in the crystal-laced sand, begin to laugh bitterly.

“You’ve got no balls! Won’t even finish us! That girl—we had—”

Nine’s eyes turn cold. He drags his thumb across his throat in silence.

The crystals tighten. The laughter twists into shrieks.

He turns away. “I showed mercy. And you spat on it.”

Screams of agony pierce the air, then silence.

Nine keeps walking, the sea wind carrying his muttered words. “You made me angry. And so you’ll pay the price.”