Chapter 8: Discarded Warning

“Vice-Captain! I hear you loud and clear!” Shinpei barked, snapping to attention even though he was alone on the floor.

“Are you still in the fortress?” Solfin’s voice was clipped and muffled, as if driving against the wind, background noise of distant sirens bleeding through.

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Anything weird going on?”

Shinpei held the phone to his ear, navigating through his self-made obstacle course of flipped chairs toward the nearest window. The pulsating glow of police lights painted the street below in urgent streaks of red and blue. “The police are making a fuss next to the fortress. Other than that, everythin—” Oh. Should I tell him about the strange man?

“I’m currently occupied with… something,” Solfin cut in. “Could you deal with that while I’m gone?”

“Roger!” PZST. The call died.

The police? What was their deal now? Maybe the noise… He sighed. The elevator was across the hall, its call button a taunting eye.

He calculated the wait, the grinding descent, the slow painful journey with nothing but him and his mind in a taunting, claustrophobic box.

Hell nah!

A profound and deeply intellectual conclusion dawned on him.

Screw it.

He shouldered the stairwell door open and began a clattering, breathless descent down nine flights of concrete stairs.

I f*cking hate cardio.

Chapter 8: Discarded Warning

Breathless and regretting every life choice that led away from a desk job, Shinpei emerged into the crisp morning air. The scene was a standard police cordon, but the energy was all wrong, tense, confused. None of which he tolerated.

“Hey! What’s with all this commotion?” he called out, smoothing his rumpled uniform.

A young officer spun, recognition flashing.

“Light-Child Shinpei! Some man is claiming he’s responsible for the… incident. He demands to meet with Saint Nahara.”

Incident? Explosion? The pieces clicked with a cold dread. “Clear. Describe the perpetrator.”

“Blue hair, sir. Around 20 years of age. Winter clothing, even in this weather.”

“Report this to Captain Shiro immediately. I will take care of the situation.”

“Roger!”

‘That’ troublemaker was still traversing down in the elevator, same building as me when the screech hit. Something is deeply fishy.

A two-minute walk brought the suspect into view. Light-Fortress Mage Tetsuo Shinpei, whose shift had technically just ended, sized him up.

The man stood calmly within a loose ring of officers, hands in the pockets of a jacket too heavy for the season, a green scarf obscuring the lower half of his face.

Shinpei palmed the familiar copper of his staff, hiding it in his sleeve, and approached the nearest officer with a tap on the shoulder.

Tap. Tap.

The officer jumped. “Sir! This man de–”

“I have the details. Tell your men to fall back at least twelve meters. And don't forget to watch for accomplices,

"This could very well be a trap.”

“Roger!” The officer keyed his radio:

Tchh “From LR5 to all units. Fall back twelve meters. Maintain perimeter watch for potential accomplices.” Tchh

Shinpei exhaled. I’d already guessed, but now I’m sure...

What a stubborn pain in the back.

He stepped past the retreating line, his voice cutting through the morning chill.

“Hey! We meet again. What’s your problem this time?”

The blue-haired man raised his brow, a slow turn put the two face to face..

“Hi,” He then said, his voice muffled by the scarf. “Will you help me out over here?”

“I thought you were late for your Chinese plane.”

“Slight change of plans. Grant me a meeting with Saint Nahara…” He paused, as if searching for a credible threat. “…or else I’ll… ummm… blow the fortress up.”

“Woah, woah there!” Shinpei held up his hands, a theatrical display of caution. “Threats like that’ll get you a one-way ticket to a concrete cell, you know?”

“I’m aware.”

Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant warble of sirens. Shinpei broke it, his tone shifting to a childish, deliberate smugness. “It’s impossible. Saint Nahara doesn’t have time to teach part-time terrorists how to behave.”

He began a slow, oscillating advance, a predator eying its prey. His free hand drifted to his waist, fingers itching to deploy his staff. A western standoff in the heart of Tokyo.

“Identify yourself!” he commanded. Blue hair, winter gear. Likely an ice specialist. No way he’s confident against any rank above Devis.

“To you,” the man said calmly, “I’m Ayatsuri.

"And nothing else."

“Unfortunate.” Shinpei tilted his head.

“It is,” Ayatsuri agreed, his tone almost conversational. “I was hoping to start saving up some energy for the winter.”

His hand slipped into a tan leather bag at his side. This time, instead of crumbled paper, it emerged holding an object that made Shinpei’s blood run cold: a piece of metal shaped like a snow globe, pulsing with a faint, internal cyan light.

An artifact?

Shinpei stopped dead in his tracks. Protocol for unknown artifacts scrambled in his mind

containment procedure? mana-dispersion tactic?

But Ayatsuri offered no time for recall.

He channeled mana into the artifact, the blue glow within intensifying, boiling with power.

Then, he simply let it go.

Instead of falling though, the artifact in fact drifted upwards.

Defying gravity to the audible gasp of the watching officers.

Keep calm, Shinpei. You’ve fought scarier Denvelts in Melbourne. Keep calm.

“Quite unfortunate,” Ayatsuri hissed, his eyes locking with Shinpei’s. He looked up at the sky.

A faint, silent flash.

The artifact vanished.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a wave of unnatural energy rippled through the atmosphere,

A sudden, profound chill that sucked the warmth from the very air.

Pit.

Pit. Pot.

Pit. Pot.

Put.

A single, fat droplet hit Shinpei’s nose. Then another on his cheek.

Rain. Not a natural drizzle, a cold deliberate shower beginning to fall from a clear, brightening sky.

Pit pit pot put pit pit

Oh, crap,

Fighting an ice mage in the rain regardless of his rank is nothing short of a death wish.

I have to end it now.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, his copper staff slid fully into his grip, sparking erratically.

He lunged forward, a streak of yellow against the grey concrete, just as the rain began to fall in earnest…

Ayatsuri smiled.

Blades of ice solidified behind him, looming above his head like a malicious crown.

***

Back in the hollow silence of the Light Fortress, on Level 9, the world was perfectly still. Under a table, surrounded by the ghosts of overturned chairs, Shinpei’s phone finally ceased its vibration. The screen went dark, the unanswered call from SOLFIN now just another piece of noise.

The only thing sharing the same soft carpets was a single, crumpled piece of paper, a discarded warning, waiting patiently in the dim light for someone, anyone, to finally read it.

***

"Just what's so bad about quitting?"