Silent Rebellion

Eventually, they reached the edge of the market square, where a rugged-looking tavern leaned against the hillside. Music and chatter poured from its windows. Tsuki paused at the door, eyes narrowing.

Just before they entered, a hooded man stepped out from the shadow of the alley beside the building. A gray half-mask covered the lower half of his face—different from Memento's sleek design.

His eyes locked onto Reji.

"You," he said in a gruff voice. "You're Reji."

Reji blinked. "What—how do you know that?"

The man turned to the others, his gaze stopping on Tsuki's mask.

"And you... the ones in the cloaks. That's Memento's mark, isn't it?"

Tsuki gave a small nod, keeping her focused eyes on the figure.

The man lowered his hood just slightly. "Good. Then come with me. Someone's been waiting a long time to meet you."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and pushed open the tavern doors.

The squad exchanged a glance, then followed.

Inside, the tavern was packed—laughter, clinking mugs, and a bard tuning a dusty lute filled the air. But the hooded man wasted no time weaving through the crowd toward a hallway in the back. At the end was a door, nearly hidden behind barrels and torn APC posters.

He looked both ways, then reached for a torch bracket on the wall.

With a click, the torch holder shifted, and the wall creaked open—revealing a narrow passage swallowed in darkness.

Tsuki's hand tightened around her mask.

"Well," Geo muttered, "this doesn't feel ominous at all."

Reji took a step forward.

The hooded man turned. "Your father's waiting."

The secret passage groaned open, revealing a tight stairwell descending into pitch black.

Ringo peered over Reji's shoulder. "Your father must love sketchy rooms, Reji. You sure this ain't where they store the corpses?"

The hooded man didn't respond. He stepped inside first, torch in hand, and began descending.

Reji hesitated, eyes flicking to Tsuki. "You think this is real? My dad… might actually be down there?"

Tsuki gave a soft nod. "It's possible. And if it's a trap…" She glanced at Geo, who cracked his knuckles. "We're not exactly easy to ambush."

"Fair enough," Reji muttered. He took a deep breath and began to follow the man before Hatori stepped in front.

"I'll go first."

The squad nodded before they descended behind him. The air grew colder with each step, the stone walls sweating moisture, the narrow tunnel lit only by the flickering flame ahead. A low hum vibrated faintly beneath their feet—machinery, maybe, or distant mining equipment.

Geo ran his fingers along the wall. "We must be under the old mining district. These tunnels were built during the early expansion of Jon—back when Alden relied on Jon's ore for everything from weapons to transport rails."

"Wait, Jon used to be important?" Ringo asked.

Geo gave a sideways grin. "Very. Until Zimala took over the gemstone monopoly and Riche started cornering sea trade. Jon became more... disposable."

Tsuki ran a hand across the wall, the claw marks of tools from years ago still visible. The place had been stripped of everything.

Azumi added, "The APC doesn't want self-sufficient places like this rising up. Easier to control when people are desperate."

They reached a reinforced iron door at the bottom of the steps. The hooded man knocked four times—then twice more.

A metal slit slid open, and a pair of cautious eyes peered through. A voice rang out from behind the iron door.

"Identify."

The hooded man turned slightly. "It's me. I found the boy. And Memento."

The slit closed. A series of locks clicked from within, gears turning. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a spacious underground room—stone walls reinforced with old steel braces, crates stacked high with supplies, and maps of Jon and the surrounding trade routes pinned to corkboards. Lanterns lit the chamber in a warm gold glow.

A man stood at the center table, a rough beard across his face, his coat dusted with minerals and earth. He looked up—his eyes wide.

"Reji?"

"Dad?" Reji breathed.

They ran to each other, the father kneeling to catch his son in a tight hug.

"Are you okay?" he asked, checking Reji's arms, face, everything.

"I'm fine," Reji smiled. "They helped me. These people… they're from Memento."

The man stood slowly, gaze settling on Tsuki and the others. "So the rumors were true. The resistance reached Jon." He rubbed his hands together.

"Sorry for the confusion, I'm Durango, Reji's father. Also the reason the APC has doubled patrols here within the last month."

Tsuki stepped forward. "You've been fighting in the dark, we're here to bring it to the light."

Geo crossed his arms. "But we need your help. And Jon's. The APC still has firm roots here. Fear, too."

The man gave a grim nod. "The people are ready. But scared. Some still trust the Council, others think rebellion will just lead to more bloodshed. I've been using trade routes and shipping logs to destabilize their grip. Minerals meant for Zimala have been getting… lost. Riche's deliveries delayed. But it's not enough."

"It will be," Reji said suddenly. "You always said people need something to believe in. Memento's here. Isn't that the sign?"

The man looked at his son—then at the squad.

"Maybe it is," he said softly. "Maybe it's time to show them the Ghost isn't just a legend."

The father turned back to the table and gestured at a large map pinned with red and black markers. "Let me show you where the APC moves their convoys. You help us strike there, and we'll have the whole district's attention."

Tsuki stepped forward. "Lead the way."

The dim lanternlight flickered as everyone gathered around the massive table. The map of Jon District was sprawling—roads etched in black ink, with red circles drawn over key intersections. Little flags marked known APC strongholds, trade routes, and outposts.

Reji stood just beside his father, still wide-eyed as he took it all in.

"These," the man said, pointing to three red marks near the southern ridge, "are APC mineral convoys. They move ore and precious stones out of Jon and into the hands of the Council. Most go west to Central or north through the mountain pass to Riche."

Azumi leaned in. "How heavily are they guarded?"

"Very," he answered. "Especially since the council's gotten wind of smuggling attempts. Lately they've been adding Stalkers to the escort crews. The one moving out tomorrow morning—just before sunrise—is our best shot."

He jabbed a finger at a winding road snaking out of the lower mines. "This route here leads into the forest trail—narrow, rocky, and hard to maneuver. If you're going to hit them, that's where."

"Ambush position," Knoxx murmured. "Natural choke point."

Tsuki studied the terrain. "What's the cargo?"

"Uncut gemstones and solenite deposits—used for weapon crafting, ability reinforcement, council infrastructure… and, rumor has it, Aldenias. Enough coin to finance a small city."

Geo grinned. "Steal from the empire, fund the rebellion. I like it."

The man nodded. "We hit them hard, take the shipment, and make it public. We'll distribute some to the people, some to Memento, and leave a message for Jon's councilman Gogi: Jon isn't his anymore."

Reji stepped forward. "I want to help."

His father looked at him, expression hard to read. "You've already helped more than you know."

"But I'm not scared," Reji insisted. "Not anymore."

Ringo rested an elbow on the boy's shoulder. "Kid's got more guts than half the recruits we get in Persetta."

His father sighed. "Fine. You stay close to me. We'll go together and retrieve the other elders tomorrow."

Reji nodded quickly.

The squad continued plotting—rendezvous times, escape routes, signals. Hatori took note of every detail with his usual quiet precision. Azumi and Knoxx discussed possible flanking patterns while Ringo cheekily suggested bait tactics involving himself being "fake captured" in a wagon.

As the room buzzed with preparations, Tsuki drifted slightly from the group, eyes scanning the stone walls. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off—like the air itself had tensed.

She stepped over to the map pinned on the back wall—a detailed web of council presence across Jon and nearby territories.

That's when she noticed it.

A second map—half-buried under old ledgers and crates. It was the same one. But the council routes were highlighted… in ink not used by the man or anyone present. The marks were fresh.

She turned back toward the group. "Someone's been feeding information to the APC."

Geo looked up, suddenly alert. "Here?"

"Here," Tsuki confirmed, her voice low but sharp.

"How do you figure?" Geo asked.

Tsuki gripped the map and returned to the table with the others. They gazed at the marked routes and plans as she spoke.

"Found this. Purposefully hidden."

The father's face darkened. "That map was locked in the supply crate. Who else had access?" He sat in thought for a minute before speaking again.

"Just me… and two other runners." He paused. "Wait. No—one of them, Kerdin—he's been gone since yesterday. Claimed he was heading to the outer camps, haven't seen him since."

Knoxx swore under his breath. "If he warned the convoy, they'll be waiting for us."

"No," Tsuki said. "That makes this more important."

Azumi nodded. "We can't back out now. If they're reinforcing, it means they're afraid."

"We move," Hatori agreed. "Dawn. Silent and surgical."

Reji's voice was quiet, but firm. "We'll make them regret ever stepping foot in Jon."

His father looked at him with a small, proud smile.

"Yeah," he said. "We will."

That night, deep beneath the dim lanterns of the Jon hideout, Judgement and Viper squads gathered in a quiet corner of the lower barracks. Makeshift benches surrounded a low table scattered with crumpled maps and half-eaten rations. Steam rose from tin mugs of bitter blackroot tea—Jon's only real export besides minerals.

Hatori stood with arms crossed, posture firm as ever, his voice low but clear.

"Viper Squad," he began, "you'll be rolling with us tomorrow. We're ambushing a convoy just past the tree line in northern Jon. About the only lush thing in this stone-cracked district."

Naru let out a short laugh, adjusting his fingerless gloves. "Surprised you guys found anything up here besides dust and hobbit holes."

Neko leaned back against the stone wall, boots crossed. "Perfect soil for worms. Otherwise? I'd take literally any other district over this dump."

The squads chuckled softly—then grew quiet.

Ringo, arms tucked around his knees, glanced around the group. "I think we can pull this off."

Tsuki looked up from her gloves, still idly adjusting the laces. "We can," she said—then corrected herself, her voice firming. "We will."

Silence settled again, this time warmer.

Then Geo turned slightly, eyes settling on Ringo.

"Hey, Ringo," he asked casually. "Where are you from?"

Ringo blinked, caught mid-sip of tea. His cheeks flushed as every gaze turned toward him.

"M-Me?"

"Yeah," Geo said with a nod. "You."

Ringo let out a soft sigh, setting his mug aside. "Persetta," he said, followed by a slightly awkward silence.

Knoxx kept the spotlight on him. "Persetta, eh? So, how'd you end up with Memento?"

Ringo's fingers fidgeted for a moment before he began.

"Well… as you know, I'm kind of shy. Not great at talking to people..."

Knoxx ripped off a piece of jerky with a loud snap of his teeth. His eyes were among one of eight pairs that remained on the boy. The exception, Makoro of course, who had already fallen asleep.

"We just want to know more about you," Knoxx said between chews. "Simple as that. If you're gonna be with us in a fight, then you're nothing less than family."

Ringo exhaled slowly. His voice dropped, almost as if he were telling the story to the ground.

"Well... I grew up in the Persetta's slums," he said. "One of the worst spots. Homes falling apart, people disappearing in the night. I had both parents… for a while. My mom left when I was nine. She told me she'd come back soon. I waited… but she never did."

His voice cracked for the first time. Tsuki sat forward, listening closely. Oddly, Neko had stopped tapping his foot. His eyes didn't move, but his ears listened.

"After that, it was just me and my dad. He got sick. Bad sick. Couldn't keep food down, could barely stand some days. And still—he gave me everything. Every bite, every scrap. I was grateful then. I thought he was strong. But now… sometimes I feel selfish."

He stopped, swallowing hard.

Ringo looked up, eyes glassy. "He died not long after. Malnutrition. I didn't know what to do. I spent weeks just… rotting in an alley. Too weak to beg. Too tired to move."

The room was completely still.

"And then… he found me. Tona. And a girl named Yuki. They were just passing through, I think, but they stopped when they saw me. Picked me up. Didn't even ask if I was worth saving. They brought me to Memento. Gave me food. A blanket. Introduced me to Maro."

He smiled faintly through the tears that had formed at the edge of his eyes.

"I followed Tona around every chance I got after that. Him and Yuki… they were like older siblings I never had. They taught me things. Real things. Stuff that made the world feel like it could be kind. And I promised myself that day—I would give Memento everything I had. Every bit of me. Because they gave me hope."

Tsuki didn't hesitate. She wrapped an arm around Ringo's shoulders and gave him a firm, comforting squeeze.

"That's incredible," she said softly.

She couldn't help but think: Tona… even in silence, you save lives. Your heart is bigger than anyone knows.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Geo added quietly.

Ringo wiped his eyes. "It's okay. I think… I think my dad would be proud now."

Geo leaned back, arms behind his head, gazing up at the cave ceiling.

"I know what that's like," he said, voice quieter now. "I lost my parents too. But I wasn't abandoned. I was the reason they died."

Everyone turned toward him.

Geo's gaze didn't shift. "I had just awakened my ability. Earthbending. It was unstable—untouched, raw Solena. I had a nightmare one night. I thought it was just a dream… but when I woke up, the house was rubble. I had collapsed the entire foundation. My parents were gone before I even opened my eyes."

No one dared speak. Ringo's eyes widened.

"I ran," Geo continued. "Wandered for days. I was broken—more scared of myself than anything else. And then Maro found me. Gave me a place. Taught me how to breathe again. How to control Solena. He told me: 'Power doesn't make you dangerous. What you do with it does.'"

Geo looked down at Ringo and smiled gently.

"I've served Memento ever since. Not for revenge. Not for guilt. But for the people who still need saving. For the chance to protect instead of destroy."

He paused for a brief moment. "Funny thing is… my family was from here," Geo added. "Jon blood runs deep. My skin—my dad's eyes—I got all of that from this district. They left Jon before I was born, but they never stopped talking about it. About the mines. The cliffs. The people who worked until their hands bled but still sang old songs anyway."
A small, bittersweet smile touched his lips.
"I always thought I'd come here one day. Not like this… but maybe to make something better. For them. For the family that never got the chance."

He reached over and ruffled Ringo's hair.

"Your past doesn't define you, kid. But your future? That's the mark you carve into the world. And if that path breaks, you don't give up. You find a new one."

Ringo wiped his face on his sleeve, trembling.

"Thank you," he said, voice small but sincere. "Really."

Geo held up a thumb. "Don't mention it, kiddo."

Hearing about Geo's life, Tsuki sat forward, and her thoughts wandered.

They've all been through something. Everyone here. Yet, we're here. We're similar... caring. Family.

Around them, the squads slowly leaned back—sobered, reflective. No one said it aloud, but the bond between them had grown.

The forest trail grew denser the farther they moved, branches arching overhead like grasping fingers, casting crooked shadows across the stone-laced path. Judgement squad pressed on in silence, the wind cool but sharp. Their breath misted in front of them—the air in northern Jon always held the cold of buried mountain water.

It had taken nearly two hours on foot to reach the coordinates. The terrain was rough and uneven, but no one complained. Their boots dragged over the final hill and their eyes were sharp. The scent of battle always had a way of waking the spirit.

Tsuki motioned for the group to stop beneath a cluster of cedar trees. She crouched low, eyes scanning the narrow gulch ahead.

“We’re about fifty meters out,” she said in a hushed voice. “Quiet and slow from here. If we can get visual first, we set the pace.”

“Roger,” Geo whispered, crouching beside her.

The squad crept forward like a single unit, every step deliberate. Branches cracked faintly underfoot, but the forest soon fell quiet again. The wind stilled, and even the chirps of birds had silenced. Tsuki raised a hand for another halt. Her eyes swept across the ridge.

Still nothing.

“No flare signals from Viper,” she muttered.

They kept moving, weaving through rock formations and thick underbrush, hearts beating faster—not from exhaustion, but expectation.

When they reached the coordinates, a chill ran through Tsuki’s spine.

The chokepoint was empty.

“Geo?” she asked quietly, almost as if afraid to break the silence.

He looked around, jaw tight. “This is the spot. No doubt.”

Hatori stepped forward, gaze steady as he studied the surrounding boulders and treeline.

“Matches the topography on the map,” he confirmed. “This is Point Delta.”

Knoxx scoffed, spinning one of his knives between his fingers. “Then where the hell are the bad guys? I was ready to throw down, not play hide-and-seek in a pine garden.”

Just as the words left his mouth, a voice rang through the trees.

Smooth and mocking.

“Well, well… the ambushers get ambushed.”

The squad snapped into position, weapons drawn, eyes shifting in all directions.

From a high branch above them, a man descended effortlessly—like a predator leaping from its perch. His coat shimmered unnaturally bright, a pristine white trimmed with regal gold. His APC insignia glinted in the low light, and the air around him crackled with a strange stillness.

He landed with a soft thud, straightening with a cruel smile.

“I am Feranir,” he announced, bowing slightly. “High ranking officer of the APC Stalker Core.”

His white hair fluttered as he raised his head. Eyes pitch black—empty, unreadable. And something far worse than hate lived behind them.

“I’ll be taking Lord Chaze’s place for today’s execution,” he continued, licking his lips. “He sends his regards, by the way. Sadly, he couldn’t make it. Reports of the Ghost’s return have him tied up in Central.”

Tsuki narrowed her eyes. “Bastard.”

Geo stepped forward, voice low and firm. “We’ll take you on here and now. Cut the speeches and come at us.”

But Feranir only chuckled. “I don’t think you want that.” His smile was wicked. His eyes remained half open, almost bored'

“Come now, you didn’t actually believe you’d outsmart the APC... Did you?”

He raised one gloved hand and snapped his fingers. From the treetops, hillsides, and forest shadows—they emerged.

APC forces poured into view, white armor glinting like beetle shells, faces hidden behind sleek masks. Dozens of them. More than they'd anticipated.

And among them: stalkers.

Some walked calmly, others snarled and twitched, their Solena already crackling in their hands. A tall one dragged a blade of condensed plasma. Another levitated slightly off the ground, eyes glowing blue.

Feranir gave a satisfied nod. “Get them.”

The forest erupted.

A Stalker surged forward, electricity snapping between his fingers. He lunged at Geo, a thunderous crack erupting from his palms.

Geo raised both arms, slamming them into the ground. A wall of stone exploded upward in an instant, catching the electric burst and splitting it across the ridge. He retaliated immediately, launching a boulder with a powerful thrust.

The Stalker flipped over it with inhuman agility, landing behind Geo with a palm aimed at his spine.

Geo twisted just in time, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and throwing him over his shoulder.

They clashed again in a flurry of fists and power—Geo’s grounded style clashing against the lightning dancer’s speed.

Across the battlefield, more Stalkers engaged.

Tsuki ducked under a volley of glass shards hurled by a masked enemy and countered with a low sweep, disarming them before launching a blinding crescent slash of raw Solena energy. Knoxx had already vanished into the trees, his blades had flashed like mirrors in sunlight as he took out two lower APC officers in a blur.

Azumi gritted her teeth as she blocked a flame barrage, spinning and pinning her attacker with a well-aimed strike to the thigh.

Ringo ducked low, mind racing as he reached out telepathically.

Where are you, Viper? Where are you?

But the line was static. No answer.

Feranir, meanwhile, simply watched from atop a boulder—arms crossed, grinning. “A shame,” he murmured. “I expected more from Memento.”

Amid the chaos, Azumi crouched beside a fallen pine, breath sharp, blood trickling down her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her glove and glanced to her left.

“Knoxx, you good?”

“Alive. Slightly annoyed,” he muttered, one knife clenched between his teeth, the other spinning between his fingers. “And very ready to stab something.”

The battlefield around them cracked and hissed with Solena warfare—flames lighting trees, stone walls erupting, and bursts of kinetic force ripping branches from above. But through the noise, a cold, synchronized voice echoed from the mist beyond.

“Target acquired.”

Two figures stepped forward in perfect unison.

Identical, down to the last detail—short black coats with white trim, gloves lined with embedded crystal, pale faces, violet eyes. Their movements mirrored each other unnervingly, every step falling at the same rhythm.

“Samurai,” said the one on the left.

“Dual-Threat,” said the one on the right.

Azumi said, “Odd. Did they classify us using our masks? Samurai—that’s because of my katana, huh? And Knoxx…”

Knoxx’s eyes narrowed. “Stalkers.”

“Correct,” the twins said in eerie sync. “We are Riuki and Ikuir. You face not one—”

“—but two minds, one consciousness.”

Knoxx scoffed. “Great. That isn’t creepy at all.”

Azumi stood tall, spinning her katana in each hand. “Connected brainwaves,” she murmured. “Like mirror clones… but real.”

“Precisely,” Riuki said.

“We share thoughts, reactions—perception,” Ikuir added.

“In other words,” they said together, “we fight as one.”

In a blink, both twins vanished.

Azumi’s instincts flared. “Knoxx, move—!”

A kick struck her from behind. She spun mid-fall, blade out, only to hit air.

Switched places?

Knoxx deflected a strike aimed at his throat, only for Ikuir to appear in front of him and jab with a stiffened palm.

They weren’t just fast. They were teleporting—or more precisely, swapping positions in the blink of a thought. No flash, no noise. Just a sudden, glitch-like shift.

Knoxx ducked low, tossing a knife that grazed Riuki’s shoulder—only for him to vanish and reappear as Ikuir, the knife continuing past harmlessly.

“This is going to be a problem,” Knoxx growled. “Can’t land a hit if they keep trading.”

“Then we stop thinking one-on-one,” Azumi replied, narrowing her stance. “You and me—opposite rhythm. Desync them.”

“Like music?”

“Exactly.”

Knoxx grinned. “Worth a shot.”

They launched forward together—Azumi straight into Riuki’s path with a flurry of blade strikes, each move designed to box him in. Riuki blocked and parried, eerily calm, and vanished mid-combo—only for Ikuir to appear behind her.

Before he could strike, Knoxx hurled a blade—not at Ikuir, but to the left of him, where Riuki was sure to swap in.

The knife clinked off crystal-gloved fingers. Riuki appeared and stumbled back, surprised. He was bleeding.

Azumi didn’t wait. She spun, slammed her boot into Riuki’s side, and caught the returning knife in midair. She lunged, pressing the assault.

But the twins weren’t done.

“You adapt well,” Riuki muttered, face now tight with irritation.

“But we learn faster,” Ikuir said, swapping mid-sentence.

Their speed intensified. Now they swapped between every strike. A punch from one became a kick from the other. A feint became a real attack—but from a different body. It was like fighting a shifting mirage.

Knoxx ducked low, sliding under a twin’s leg sweep and kicked upward into the gut—but hit nothing.

“Damn it,” he spat, rising.

Azumi growled, arms cut in several places. “They’re accelerating…”

Knoxx glanced at her, then nodded. “Then let’s cheat.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out two smoke bombs.

Azumi immediately understood.

“Now.”

He tossed one to her and they simultaneously slammed them against the ground. A burst of dense smoke engulfed the clearing.

The twins paused, momentarily blinded.

For the first time—they hesitated.

“Vision obscured—”

“Unacceptable variable—”

Azumi’s whisper slid through the fog. “This one might hurt.”

Azumi’s katana clipped Ikuir’s shoulder—thrown just wide enough to look like a miss.

But this time, it was a distraction.

Knoxx burst from the smoke behind Riuki, both daggers aimed for vital points.

He tried to swap—but so did Ikuir.

The sync failed. They both jerked in opposite directions—too late.

Knoxx’s blades found their mark—one in the side, the other in the thigh. Riuki gasped, collapsing.

Azumi emerged behind Ikuir and elbowed him hard in the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious.

The smoke cleared slowly, revealing the two twins sprawled on the forest floor—separated at last.

Azumi stood above them, catching her breath, blade still drawn.

“Guess two minds…” she said between gasps, “can still make one big mistake.”

Knoxx chuckled, wiping blood from his jaw. “Damn right. That’s why it only takes one idiot like me to ruin your whole system.”

They bumped fists.

The forest roared with Solena. Trees snapped, leaves burned, and the earth itself trembled as the battlefield shattered into violent pockets of combat. Smoke drifted between the evergreens like slow-moving ghosts.

A sharp whistle cut through the chaos.

Hatori stepped into the clearing—calm, centered, unarmed.

His opponent stepped forward with measured reverence.

The Stalker wore flowing crimson robes threaded with black scripture. Thin slips of inked paper fluttered from his sleeves, and six floating orbs hovered behind him in a perfect circle, each humming with quiet energy. A long veil obscured his face, but not the unsettling weight of his presence.

“You are the one they call Reverb,” the man said. “I have long desired to measure myself against your rhythm.”

Hatori tilted his head slightly. “Then stop talking.”

The Stalker bowed his head. “I am Seirak. Master of Echo Tether.”

The orbs chimed softly—like glass struck underwater. Then they split. Six blurs shot in different directions, positioning themselves around Hatori at impossible angles. A pulse rolled through the air. The ground vibrated.

He’s setting a field, Hatori realized instantly.

Seirak vanished in the blink of an eye.

Hatori slid to the side—narrowly avoiding a palm strike behind his jaw. But before he could exhale—

Another orb chimed. A strike hammered his ribs from the left. Not Seirak. A projection—no, a tethered strike echoing from the orb’s position.

Hatori’s feet skidded across the dirt.

He’s bouncing his hits across points in space.

Another ring. This time, an echo of Seirak’s knee smashed into Hatori’s shoulder. He staggered, rolling with the momentum to keep from collapsing.

Seirak reappeared only long enough to whisper:

“Echoes linger… even when the source is gone.”

Then he vanished again.

The orbs pulsed—one, then two, then all six.

A storm of invisible blows erupted around Hatori. Echo strikes from all directions, each ricocheting unpredictably between orbiting points. Every hit sounded delayed, as if time itself hiccuped. Hatori blocked three—but four more slipped through, rattling his bones.

He exhaled sharply.

This technique… it’s not just fast. It’s layered.

A rare flicker of annoyance crossed Hatori’s brow.

Seirak’s voice emanated from everywhere at once.

“You are drowning, Reverb.”

Hatori nodded once.

“Then I’ll listen deeper.”

He closed his eyes. The forest fell away. Everything around him seemed distant. Every thought was silenced.

All he focused on was—pulse.

Each orb emitted a faint vibration, barely audible. A frequency, almost like a note.

Hatori inhaled slowly. His ability—Resonant Flow—shivered beneath his skin. Each vibration formed a pattern.

Left orb: sharp tremor.
Right orb: low hum.
Upper orb: delayed echo—
Lower orb—

There.

He stepped back an inch—and Seirak materialized, fist passing where Hatori’s throat had been.

Seirak jolted. “He dodged—?!”

Hatori didn’t respond. He only angled his body, redirecting the incoming momentum with a gentle palm parry. The strike dissipated into the air, cracking like a snapped violin string.

Seirak retreated, flicking his fingers. All six orbs flared bright. Echoes stacked—three layers deep.

A hurricane of delayed strikes unleashed, each blow punching holes into the earth, shattering branches and ripping bark off trees. Hatori moved like he was weaving through raindrops—barely missing hits that tore grooves into the ground beside him.

Still, one caught him. A crack exploded across his cheek. Blood ran.

Hatori touched it with two fingers. “…Not bad.”

Seirak’s veil fluttered in satisfaction.

“You bleed. That is enough.”

The orbs pulsed again, prepared for a final collapse. But Hatori stepped forward—slow, steady.

“Your rhythm is loud,” he said quietly. “Predictable when understood.”

Seirak’s voice cracked with anger. “Impossible! My echoes are flawless!”

“Not flawless,” Hatori corrected. “Just noisy.”

Hatori launched forward. Not fast or flashy. Just perfectly timed. He flowed between the pulses, matching the delays, stepping into the gaps between echoes. Each movement dissolved the attack before it existed.

Seirak panicked. “No—stop—!”

Hatori’s eyes opened. His expression was calm and focused. He struck once—a palm to Seirak’s chest.

But the strike didn’t hit Seirak’s body.
It hit the rhythm inside him.

A devastating shockwave erupted, firing upward into the sky, scattering all six orbs like shattered bells.

Seirak crashed into a tree, the veil slipping from his face. He coughed blood, body trembling from internal disruption.

“But… how…?” he whispered.

Hatori wiped the blood from his cheek.

“I didn’t read your moves,” he said. “I read the silence between them.”

Seirak’s breath caught—half awe, half despair. “…Beautiful,” he murmured weakly. “Your rhythm… is beautiful.”

Hatori stepped past him. “Appreciate it.”

Seirak slumped unconscious as the last orb flickered and died like a candle in the wind.

Elsewhere, deeper into the brush where sunlight barely pierced the trees, Tsuki stood alone—facing two Stalkers, circling like wolves.

One floated slightly off the ground, her feet never touching earth. A cloak of mirrored glass plates shimmered around her like scales.

The other cracked his knuckles, fire curling between his fingers. His arms were layered with blackened iron—his skin burned and reformed constantly as if in a state of volcanic eruption.

“You’re a fast one,” the floating woman said. “But can you dance while watching two flames?”

“You’ll crack eventually,” the fire-wielder grinned. “Everyone does.”

Tsuki didn’t respond. Her mask was on—split black and white. Her eyes burned with focus.

The woman struck first—glass panels shooting forward like knives, each one redirecting midair in impossible angles.

Tsuki darted between them, feet light, each movement precise. She flipped, ducked, and used a tree trunk to push off into a spin-kick that launched one shard back at its owner.

But the fire-user was already charging—his punch a molten comet.

She blocked with her forearms—barely—and skidded backward from the force.

They’re coordinated, she thought. She zones me, he closes in.

But Tsuki had changed.

She had grown. With every fight, she learned and adapted.

Her eyes flicked left—then right. She ran toward the fire user.

“Bold,” he barked.

She ducked his swing, stepped inside his reach, and slammed her palm into his chest—charging Solena directly into his core.

He staggered, coughing steam, and reeled back.

The floating woman responded with a swirl of glass—creating a cyclone around Tsuki.

She channeled her Shadow Manipulation, launching herself upward.

Glass twirled beneath her like a storm. But Tsuki landed on a tree branch above the battle, flipped, and hurled twin Solena shadow discs from above.

They shattered the cyclone, sending glass into the trees.

The floating Stalker stumbled, trying to recalibrate.

That’s when Tsuki dropped in behind her, low and fast, slamming her heel into the back of her head with a thud.

The fire-user roared and charged again.

But Tsuki rolled beneath his wild swing, grabbed a stray glass shard, and stabbed it into the molten seams between his armor.

He screamed—Solena surging outward in an uncontrolled burst—and collapsed.

Tsuki stood over the two of them, breathing heavily, steam rising from her gloves.

Her arms trembled but she stood tall.