A few days had passed since the Pyre family received their mission from Liek, and now their home stood hollow, every belonging packed and ready for departure. Their luggage was considerable, for they were uncertain when, if ever, they would return. Such was the life of mercenaries—filled with constant demands and burdens that weighed heavily upon their spirits.
The toil of their labor was more than mere physical exertion; it was the incessant mental strain that gnawed at them, the consequence of a world where kingdoms and regions seldom cooperated. Forced to journey from city to county, they pursued quests for rewards claimed only in the guilds that issued them, perpetually on the move.
One might imagine it wiser for mercenaries to tend to the needs of their own regions, yet the reality was far more complex. Many areas lacked the facilities to train their own, and the dangers that lurked there required greater skills than their native mercenaries possessed.
Thus, cities with greater wealth and standing often beckoned mercenaries from afar, hiring them to brave perils beyond their borders.
In the midst of these preparations, Rigar called out from the other room, his voice echoing with mild frustration.
"Christa, are you done over there? I could use some help rewriting the code for the ring," he grumbled, fiddling with a device in his hands.
"Damn it, what's with these technicians today? Always half-assing their jobs"
From upstairs, Christa's voice drifted down, steady and calm despite the chaotic household.
"I'll be down in a minute, Rigar, once I help Radix with his clothes."
Radix, their son, tugged at his mother's sleeve. His wide eyes brimmed with innocence, though a small pout had formed on his lips.
"Mama… Mama," he whined softly, his arm outstretched, still struggling with his sleeve. "My arm…"
Christa smiled gently as she knelt to assist him, carefully threading his arm through the fabric. The boy squirmed, and she laughed, her fingers brushing back his dark curls. The journey ahead would likely take more than a week, and though they were no strangers to long travel, the thought of her young son enduring it made her heart heavy.
Each city they passed through spanned vast lands, some covering over 40,000 square kilometers—just a small reflection of the vastness of the world they lived in, and the demands of their perilous work.
…
Once the final preparations were made, the family loaded their belongings into the vehicle that would carry them to their next destination. They exchanged quiet farewells with the few neighbors they had come to know during their brief stay.
It was never easy, these partings, forming bonds only to sever them with every new journey. But in the life of a mercenary, there was no room for sentimentality. It was the only way they knew to earn a living, and so they accepted the burden without complaint, though the weight of it never quite lifted from their hearts.
They had started moving already, and the clear skies were already a good sign of a smooth journey, the couple had hired a private carrier to take them to their destination, as to avoid meeting other mercenaries or people and get wound up in their own issues, they couldn't afford to be sidetracked.
The carrier was an advanced gyroscopic vehicle, designed to hover effortlessly using cutting-edge technology. that was a common means of transportation used by most well-to-do persons. Not only was it safe due to its aerial nature, it could reach speeds of tens of times the speed of sound for fast travels.
In this world paying attention to your business is one of the best tips you could take to live longer and happier. Yet, as the vehicle hovered along in the air and the journey began in earnest, Rigar's brow furrowed in thought. His gaze wandered back toward the house they had left behind, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest. A shadow of unease passed over his features.
Christa glanced at him with a quizzical smile. "Huh, what's wrong? Did you leave something behind? Need to pee? Or do you just want me to keep guessing until you feel more important and a little more loved?"
Rigar sighed, shaking his head.
"No, nothing like that. No, and—wait, why would you ask that?" He looked at her, feigning hurt. "That stings, you know…"
She chuckled softly, but her gaze lingered on him, more serious now. "So, what is it then? It's not like you to wear such a disturbed expression."
Rigar leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair, eyes distant with thought.
"Do you remember what Liek said that last time? 'I suppose he wants to see his nephew since his runaway brother won't come home. And that we should be together while we can.'"
Christa tilted her head slightly, pondering his words.
"And what of it? He's right, isn't he? You're still technically under the 'runaway brother' category."
"I guess," Rigar muttered, frowning.
"But the way he said it—'while you can'—it could mean anything. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but something about that just feels… off."
Christa waved a hand dismissively.
"I think you're reading too much into a simple—"
Suddenly, a thunderous thud reverberated from the roof of the carrier, cutting her off mid-sentence. Another heavy impact followed, this time with enough force to distort the metal above them. Whatever had landed on the roof was unquestionably substantial. The entire vehicle shook violently but continued its course.
Radix, startled from his sleep, let out a cry, clutching his mother's arms in fear. His small hands gripped her tightly, his wide eyes searching hers for reassurance.
"Mama…?" his voice trembled, filled with confusion.
Christa's own heart raced, though her face betrayed no sign of panic. Until moments ago, she had been resting in the calm of the journey, unaware of the danger that had descended upon them. Her mind raced. Could it be an attack from a human? No, unlikely. A trained power-type mercenary's weight would be considerable, but not enough to deform the steel of the roof so drastically. Perhaps some monstrous creature? Or an attack? The odds of such a thing happening, while slim, could not be ignored.
But she couldn't say this—not to her child. She pulled him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his head and whispered, "Don't worry, my love. Everything's fine. It's probably just the storm."
Rigar, meanwhile, was far from convinced. His gaze remained fixed on the roof above them, his expression hard.
"What in the world was that?" His voice was a low growl of unease. "Carrier, switch to motion settings: hyper-speed. I don't know what or who's out there, but we need to move—now."
The carrier's automated voice responded with mechanical efficiency, and the vehicle's systems whirred in preparation for sonic travel. To flee was the only logical choice—insert as much distance as possible between themselves and the unknown threat. Hyper-speed travel, nearly twice the velocity of sound, would ensure a swift escape.
Yet, the carrier's voice chimed in immediately, calm but firm.
"Unable to comply with the command. The administrator has restricted all incoming instructions from unauthorized users."
Rigar stiffened, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"What? What do you mean, 'the administrator'? We hired this carrier—we had the administrative controls changed! How could you refuse instructions that aren't from the administrator?"
Things were no longer adding up. The tension in the air thickened. Christa, now fully alert, instinctively reached for the hilt of her sword. But her hand hesitated. How could she fight with Radix in her arms? Combined with the fact that her power was exponentially weakened due to her ether being shared and unusually absorbed at an alarming rate by Radix during infancy.
The weight of her responsibility as a mother, coupled with the looming threat, gnawed at her resolve.
"Of all the times," she muttered under her breath, her grip tightening on Radix. "When I'm with my child…"
The carrier's automated voice droned coldly:
"Due to a recent update, the administrator has been changed from user Pyre568 to DECK. Please contact technical support for further inquiries."
Rigar's heart sank. "What?"
He stared at the automaton, his eyes wide and bloodshot with disbelief. How could this be happening? They had hired this carrier—how had the administrative command been altered? And who in the blazes was DECK? Were they connected to the heavy thuds on the roof just moments ago?
His mind raced, each question more urgent than the last. But there was no time for reflection.
With a deep breath, Rigar rose to his feet, his muscles tense as he instinctively adopted a battle stance. He scanned the interior of the carrier, eyes darting around the space, searching for a way to the roof.
If he could reach the enemy first, perhaps he could gain the upper hand. The vehicle was sizable, the passenger room and the back compartment offering enough space to move, but he would need to reach the rear section quickly.
Without hesitation, he edged toward the back, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His eyes caught sight of a small opening—a window near the rear edge. He steeled himself for what came next.
But before he could act, a voice echoed through the air, strange and unfamiliar. "."
In an instant, streams of glowing symbols—white and blue letters, numbers, and runes—materialized inside the carrier. They swirled and wrapped around Rigar, Christa, and Radix, tightening like chains. Rigar felt his limbs stiffen, his body frozen in place. It was as though he had been paused mid-motion, rendered completely immobile. His mind raced in panic, though his eyes remained locked forward, unable to even turn and check on them.