|Ayano Poirot|
"Now, which one of you bastards thought it was a good idea to pull off this lousy prank?" Vincent growled, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tense atmosphere. His face was a mask of irritation, his narrowed eyes scanning the group as if daring someone to own up to the mess. No one said a word. The bonds they once shared—friendships forged in battle and camaraderie—felt like distant memories. The group that had stood united was now fragmented, their gazes darting from one another in a silent dance of distrust.
And then, it happened.
A sudden burst of laughter echoed through the room, light and melodic, as if carried on the breeze of a sunny day. It was so unexpected that everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the sound.
"Well, isn't this hilarious!" The voice was unmistakably female, and moments later, its owner materialized out of seemingly thin air. She was petite, her golden-brown hair shimmering in the dim light as it bounced with her every movement. Her mischievous smile was as bright as the sun, contrasting sharply with the tension in the room.
Cecilia Sain.
Logan's face twisted into a scowl as he folded his arms across his broad chest. "So it was you," he spat, his voice laced with irritation. "You sent the letter."
Cecilia's lips curled into a playful grin as she raised a hand to her mouth, giggling like a child who'd just pulled a harmless prank. "Yup! Isn't it fun? A reunion, just like the old days!" Her voice was sing-song, her tone teasing, but there was something off about her cheerfulness.
Lillian stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowing as she tried to pierce through Cecilia's carefree façade. "Why us specifically? And how did you even find us?" Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—an unspoken warning.
Cecilia didn't seem to notice. She flipped herself upside down mid-air, lounging as though gravity was nothing more than a suggestion. "Oh, I sent the letter to everyone who wasn't in complete hiding! How sad, only four of you showed up." She tilted her head, her gaze settling on Ayano for a moment. Her expression shifted, confusion flickering across her features. "Oh? And you're here too?"
Ayano felt a chill run down his spine, a feeling like ice settling in his veins. Something about her words gnawed at him, a quiet alarm ringing in his mind. Four?
Doisume, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. His towering frame and sharp features gave him an air of authority, his presence commanding attention even in the midst of chaos. He stopped inches from Cecilia, his piercing gaze locked onto hers. "Listen here, chipmunk," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Sending a letter with a dead person's name? That's not funny."
For the first time, Cecilia's smile faltered. She tilted her head to the side, genuine confusion spreading across her face. "What are you talking about? I didn't do that."
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the tension eased. But Ayano's mind was racing, fragments of past conversations and memories piecing themselves together. He remembered Shin's words—how impossible it was to locate everyone, the arrow, Eleanor's magic. And now, Cecilia's claim.
Something wasn't adding up.
The beeping sound was faint at first, barely noticeable amidst the uneasy silence. Ayano's ears caught it before his brain processed it—a rapid, rhythmic beeping, growing louder and faster. His heart sank.
Almost like… a bomb.
"Fuck," Ayano cursed under his breath. His body tensed, every nerve on high alert.
Doisume's sharp eyes caught a faint pink mist lingering near the entrances, barely visible but undeniably there. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, but then it froze.
No glow. My magic isn't activating.
His voice cut through the rising dread. "It's a fucking trap!"
The words barely left his mouth when the beeping hit its crescendo. And then it came—a deafening explosion that ripped through the center of the structure. The shockwave was immediate, slamming into them with the force of a hurricane. The blinding light was overwhelming, consuming everything in its path.
Ayano braced himself, expecting pain—the searing heat of fire, the sharp sting of debris tearing into his skin. But instead, he felt something else entirely.
It was as though invisible hands wrapped in silk had seized him, dragging him downward into an abyss. The world around him dissolved into darkness, thick and suffocating. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. The sound of collapsing rubble and distant screams echoed faintly, distorted and muffled as if they were coming from another world.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Ayano gasped as he was thrust back into reality, his knees buckling beneath him. He stumbled, his vision swimming as he tried to orient himself. The dome they had been standing in was unrecognizable, reduced to ruins. The walls were shattered, the ground cracked and littered with debris.
He wasn't alone. The others were there too, scattered around him, their faces pale and their eyes wide with disbelief. None of them bore a single scratch.
None, except Lillian.
She was kneeling on the ground, her body trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. Dark smoke curled from her charred soles, and her hands shook as she clutched at the ground. It didn't take long for them to realize—Lillian had used her magic to shield them.
Ayano felt a pang of gratitude, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else. Unease. Doubt. He could see it in the others too, the flickers of suspicion and fear in their eyes.
They should have been dead. The explosion should have obliterated them. And yet, here they were, unscathed save for Lillian's injuries.
Who had set the trap? Why? And how had they survived something they shouldn't have?
As these questions lingered, Ayano's gaze drifted back to Lillian. Her trembling form was a stark reminder of what they'd just escaped. But even as he looked at her, his mind churned with unease.
Something wasn't right.
And he had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.