In a deserted street, tightly embraced by the mist, the wind began to stir. In the center of the cobblestone road, a white crack appeared in the air. It vanished as quickly as it had come, only to reappear again, pulsing like a heartbeat. This continued for a moment, each crack larger than the last, until one finally stretched to the height of a single-story building, flickering rhythmically. The wind swirled, and the mist grew thicker. Suddenly, the light from the crack expanded and vanished, leaving an eerie calm over the street.
However, lying on the ground where the crack had been were four figures.
Aurelian opened his eyes.
He felt the cold mist brushing against his hair, bringing back memories of long nights spent on guard duty before he became a Legionnaire. He groaned, pressing his hand against the sticky cobblestones to push himself up. The street was quiet, almost unnervingly so, but not frightening. Fear wasn't something that could shake him—if it did, what right did he have to call himself a legionnaire?
He looked around, taking in the sight of both familiar and unfamiliar faces. The red-haired vixen lay beside him, her hair spread out like wild grass. He remembered how she had taken him and vanished. Why did she do that? He clenched his fist, frustration bubbling. She took my chance to make putray confess from me! Now Putray is still alive, likely building defenses. He thought back to the sandstorm. Even if I was doomed to die, I should've faced it like how my comrades did theirs. But now...
His gaze shifted past the vixen to the other two figures. One was drenched in blood, missing an arm, and the other looked young—probably 15 or 16 years old. Who are they? Are they with her? He looked at the vixen again. No, I don't think so. Is this just a coincidence? Did we end up together by chance? He recalled seeing the boy doing something before they crossed over. Did I interrupt it?
Kneeling, Aurelian placed two fingers near the boy's nose and felt a faint warm breath. He's alive. Thank the Pure. But where are we?
He scanned his surroundings. The street was flanked by two-story buildings, their stone facades worn and stained by red dust. The peaked and flat wooden roofs gave the structures a squat, cramped look, reminiscent of the hive cities. Even in the faint red and white glow of the night, Aurelian recognized the color of the buildings—white.
Canen.
Though the buildings were streaked with dust, their original white was unmistakable. There was only one place in the empire with such distinct architecture: Canen. Other cities that worshiped the Pure White might have similar designs, but Aurelian knew this place well. He had served here as a guardsman before joining the Black Sand Regiment. This is Canen!
How did I end up here? He glanced at the vixen. Was it her? I know the Pleasure Pavilion has a branch here, but why bring us here?
Suddenly, an old saying he'd heard during his time in Canen echoed in his mind: "The world of black is a path to the mutant."
That place... He recalled the space they had crossed. Was that the Astra? Did I enter the Astra? His heartbeat quickened. The Astra is the realm of mutation! It's what creates mutants! How could I—a believer in the Pure White—be tainted like this? Am I... a mutant now?
Panic surged within him. He quickly stretched out his hands, pressing them against his chest. By the Pure! By the Pure! By the Pure! He forced himself to breathe, calming his racing thoughts. No, I'm not a mutant. I can still seek purification. Yes, severe penance will cleanse me.
His heartbeat slowed as he regained his composure. But if that was the Astra, what about this boy? He was at the center of it all. Is he the source? Aurelian recalled the spiraling white light that had emanated from the boy. Or maybe not. That light... it was white. Could he be pure? Like the Pure White? His mind raced. Maybe he's a saint!
In the holy books of the ministry, saints were said to radiate auras of purity without any evolution. He's too young to have evolved... could this be my penance? Is my mission to protect him? His thoughts spiraled as he tried to piece together the situation.
If they had truly crossed the Astra, the invigilators would soon come to investigate. They couldn't be found standing in the middle of the street, even if the boy might be a saint. The invigilators wouldn't wait for such a revelation.
We need to move! His gaze fell on the bleeding woman. She might be important to him.
Aurelian stood, his body alert. Which of these buildings might be empty? Suddenly, he felt a familiar sensation. His components—they had recharged.
The cooldown is over! He didn't know how, but his mind abilities had returned much sooner than expected. Was it the Astra? He glanced at the boy once more.
Without wasting time, Aurelian closed his eyes and delved into the darkness of his mind. Millions of tendrils pulsed in the void. Narrowing his search, he scanned the street, looking for a building devoid of mind tendrils; since those without are those with no humans. It didn't take long. He opened his eyes.
A basement-like structure caught his attention. Built deep into the ground, its roof barely rose above his head—a common sight in Canen, especially for the poor. But more importantly, it was empty.
Aurelian approached the round doorknob and summoned his mist blade. The mist curled around him, taking shape, but just as he was about to strike the lock, he stopped. Breaking the lock would attract the invigilators.
Instead, he covered one finger in a metal casing and directed mist into the keyhole. The mist hardened, extending like a key, and with a twist, the lock clicked open. The door creaked as it parted.
Ignoring the pain of mana usage, he tapped his chest, activating his armor. His body turned partially into mist, and he moved swiftly. First, he carried the boy inside, then the vixen, and finally the bloodied woman.
Once inside, Aurelian paused. Blood still stained the cobblestones outside, faintly visible even in the red dust. Should I use more mist? No, too much mist could attract attention. It has to look natural.
He looked around, unhurried, as he never feared the mist. To him, it sometimes felt like an extension of himself. Then, as if in answer to his thoughts, a wave of mist flowed into the street, thicker than before. Is this the Pure White? A miracle to protect the saint?
Aurelian stretched out his hands, bowing slightly before placing them over his chest. Then, he extended his mist, blending it into the natural fog. When he was sure the blood was properly covered—at least until the morning when the dust rained—he entered the building and shut the door.
_____
Vin floated above the street where the light had appeared. The mist was thick, but there were no signs of life—not even a stray gang member. Wasn't there supposed to be a battle here? Vin narrowed her gaze, but after a moment, sighed. Nothing interesting tonight, I guess. She glanced over the city once more before shooting back through the sky, heading toward her room. That strange dream she had still needed some thought.
______
Karl's mind spun, his thoughts swirling like a storm. Groaning, he weakly opened his eyes. The world blurred into focus, the faint glow of red squares illuminating the space. Rubbing his eyes to steady himself, the room became clearer.
It was a small, square room, dimly lit, with a glass-encased lamp nestled where the wall met the floor. He felt a soft cushion beneath him—not too soft, but softer than anything he had known in this world. Oddly, the comfort was somewhat irritating. He glanced down at his legs, which were covered by red silk sheets. Touching them sent an unfamiliar sensation through his body. A bed?
At the foot of the bed was a desk, empty, with a chair beside it. No one's here? His unease deepened. He had no idea where he was, and it was disorienting to wake up in an unknown place. Did that woman prepare this room? The thought crossed his mind, almost convincing him.
His gaze shifted to his right, and his eyes widened. Lying beside him was a red-haired woman, her features elegant and flawless even in the dim light. Despite his young body, his mind froze at the thought of her beauty. Dangerous, he quickly decided, averting his gaze. Any woman who could exert this much influence on him was dangerous. Karl valued control over his thoughts.
Looking down at himself, Karl wondered, Did we...? He hesitated before pulling the sheets back. His tattered trousers were still in place, although he wished for something less worn. Sighing in relief, he leaped off the bed. His small frame belied his strength, but the power from the scenes had not increased his height. He walked barefoot across the smooth, clean floor—a stark contrast to the dust-filled rooms back at the shed.
Memories flooded back: the shed blown to bits, Astrid's face, the beastmen. So they died, he thought with an icy chill. I knew that would happen, and they knew it too. Crying won't change anything. The first thing I need to do is make use of what I have now. Does this mean I'm free from the manor? The thought of freedom crossed his mind, but it only deepened his frown.
A trail of dried blood led to one corner of the room, barely visible in the dim light. Curious, Karl followed it, his unease growing with each step. Reaching out, he felt for whatever was there. His hand touched something warm and wet—liquid. Sniffing his fingers, the familiar scent of blood filled his senses. His frown deepened as he moved closer. The dim light gradually revealed what he had touched.
A woman lay crumpled on the floor, dressed in black robes, her face pale, and one arm missing, blood still dripping from the wound. The strange woman! Karl realized. Upon closer inspection, he saw that someone had wrapped a white cloth around her shoulder, likely to stop the bleeding. Was it the red-haired woman? He glanced back at the bed. She seems fine, though her breathing... He hesitated.
Karl knew nothing about medicine. Even back on Earth, he had been a shut-in, driven by lazy ambition that rarely amounted to anything. People like him didn't bother with learning things they didn't think were necessary. He pulled back, unsure of what to do.
Should I leave now? The thought flickered in his mind. I don't know these people, and if the farm is really gone, this might be my chance—my chance at freedom. Leaving seemed like the safest option for his survival. But...
He paused, focusing his thoughts. Isn't knowledge what I lack? If I'm going to build a utopia for the beastmen, I need to be stronger, smarter, and more resourceful. His gaze shifted back to the pale woman. She risked her life to save me, which means I must be important. That importance might come with advantages.
Karl glanced around the room again, suppressing the urge to frown. How long does he plan to stand there?
In the dim light, a man dressed in white kefna stood by the wall. His clothes were slightly torn, and Karl had noticed him earlier when he'd scanned the room, but the man stood so still that it seemed like he didn't want to be seen. Why does he want to hide? Karl wondered. What kind of person wants to be seen but stands like a shadow? Should I ask him?
After a few moments of silence, Karl turned toward the figure. "How long do you plan to watch me?" His voice was cold, carrying a passivity that sent a chill through the room. It had been a long time since Karl had needed to use such a tone. Even back on Earth, he had been a fan of anime shows, inspired by the way characters used their voices to command attention. At one point, he had even dreamed of becoming a voice actor, but like many of his ambitions, his laziness had crushed it.
His cold gaze didn't waver as he stared at the shadowy figure. The man stepped forward into the light, his face solemn, his eyes filled with experience. Or so it seemed—half of his face was hidden by his hair, revealing only one eye. His left shoulder bore a gash, blood staining the fabric, but the wound appeared to have stopped bleeding, likely coated.
Neither spoke, their gazes locked. Is he trying to intimidate me? Or assess me somehow? Karl's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't back down. In any situation, it was important to appear as the strongest in the room. Even if he wasn't, the impression of strength was vital. He didn't know these people, nor did he know their strengths or weaknesses. And just as they didn't know him, he intended to keep it that way.
Karl wasn't someone who believed in fairness, but this was a fair strategy.