Vector and Trace remained still, their gazes fixed on the abyss below their feet. The wind blew fiercely, kicking up dust and causing their suits to flutter like worn-out banners. The silence between them was heavy, laden with uncertainty.
"Can he survive that?" Trace asked, his arm now fully healed. His trembling voice broke the stillness. His usually composed face showed a mixture of astonishment and doubt as he stared at the spot where Lucid had fallen.
Vector, ever steadfast, crossed his arms over his chest.
"Absolutely," he replied with unshakable certainty. "But his mental state is gravely affected. If he were the Lucid of before… he wouldn't have fled at the first sign of danger. He was far too cautious for this."
Trace raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Cautious? That's not the word I'd use to describe someone like him." While he'd read Lucid's psychological profile before the confrontation, his experience in the field had painted a completely different picture.
Vector let out a barely perceptible sigh, revealing a trace of weariness. "That's what happens when a Luminar loses control of their emotions. You wouldn't know because—"
A soft, almost musical voice interrupted Vector from the shadows. "He wouldn't know because there's only ever been one case of a Reaper Luminar rebelling."
Both men turned instantly, alarmed. The metallic footsteps they had faintly heard moments earlier came to a halt, and before them appeared a figure that seemed out of place, as if belonging to another time.
The young woman before them radiated an imposing yet serene presence. Her short, soft chestnut-colored hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, with strands gracefully framing her perfectly sculpted face. Her icy blue eyes, as bright as sunlight on frozen water, seemed to pierce through them, analyzing every thought without the need for words. Her fair skin had a natural glow, and her lips, a delicate shade of pink, curved with a mix of gentleness and determination.
She wore an ancient white tunic decorated with intricate golden patterns that glowed faintly, creating a sharp contrast with the modern world around her. Beneath it, black onyx armor with sharp edges covered her arms and legs. While the armor didn't appear entirely functional, looking more ceremonial than practical, it only added to her aura of authority. Resting on her back were her gauntlets, secured with fine leather straps and etched with intricate, hand-carved details.
Trace was the first to react, making a small gesture of respect, followed by Vector.
"Lady Seren," Trace said, inclining his head slightly, finally understanding why central command had given no further instructions.
"Commander of Calm," Vector added, his tone less formal but equally respectful.
She nodded with the faintest of smiles as she passed between them, stopping at the edge of the precipice. Her gaze lifted to the bright sky, where the clouds drifted slowly, moving with an indifferent rhythm. The wind tugged at her tunic, but she didn't move. There was a solemn calm in her stance, as if the weight of the moment was just another of the many burdens she carried.
Trace broke the silence. "Lady Seren, has there really only been one case?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of fear.
Seren didn't answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the firmament, but the expression on her face shifted slightly. There was something in her gaze—an echo of deep sadness, but also a determination that spoke of old wounds.
"There has," she said finally. Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to it that made every word feel absolute. "Only one case in all of Aetheris. And while the details remain buried in the records, the scars linger."
Trace wanted to ask more, but Seren's tone made it clear there was no room for further discussion. Vector, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes as if trying to unravel the hidden meaning behind her words.
"The target?" Vector asked at last, steering the conversation toward more practical matters.
Seren lowered her gaze from the sky and fixed it on the precipice.
"Resolved," she replied simply, her eyes never leaving the abyss.
Trace frowned in confusion. "He… died from the fall?"
The woman turned her head slightly toward him, and while she didn't smile, there was a glimmer of something akin to compassion in her eyes.
"He will handle it," was all she said.
The silence that followed those words was almost deafening. Trace and Vector asked no further questions, but their expressions revealed that they fully understood who she was referring to. Vector, typically stoic, allowed a faint shadow of sadness to cross his face as he thought of that individual.
Finally, Seren took a step back and turned to face them. "Your work has been impeccable this time. If it weren't for your proximity, the situation could have been far worse. Return to central command. There is still much to do," she said, nodding slightly as she regained her authoritative air. Yet, she didn't move, her gaze once again fixed on the sky.
Trace and Vector exchanged a glance. There was something in her words, in the way she'd spoken them, that left them with more questions than answers. Still, both knew that questioning her was a luxury they couldn't afford.
And so, without another word, they bowed slightly and departed.
***
Lucid walked slowly through a narrow alleyway, his footsteps echoing against the metallic surfaces of exhaust pipes and the constant hum of a city that never slept. The air reeked of metal and dust, with a faint acidic tang of chemical residue that burned slightly in his nostrils.
"Lumen…" he reflected, flexing the fingers of his right hand, gravely injured and numb. He had used every last drop of In he had left to infuse the dagger and his arm as he fell. His arm had regenerated repeatedly, brutally tearing against the surface of a building to slow his descent. He had expected to die, had even accepted that this would be his final battle. Yet in the end… he had survived.
The pain still coursed through his body, but it was nothing compared to what he felt inside. His heart beat in a slow, heavy rhythm, as if each pulse carried an unbearable weight. He had escaped Solaris, but he knew this was no victory—merely a prolonging of the inevitable. Staying there, in that place marked by an oppressive and terrifying aura, would have undoubtedly meant the end of his story.
At that moment, a shadow fell over him. His pupils contracted to pinpoints as he recognized the shape of a mask in the dim light—but then his entire body relaxed when he realized the truth.
Standing before him was a Reaper.
The figure wore the characteristic mask, but this one bore no symbol—it didn't need one. The mask left only space for his left eye, visible through the opening. He was a young man with jet-black hair and a cold, calculating gaze. A prominent scar ran down the right side of his face, stretching from his cheekbone to the area beyond where his right eye should have been, now covered by a black bandage beneath the mask. His left eye, in contrast, shone with a sapphire-blue intensity, serene and deep like a calm sea before a storm. The classic Reaper uniform fit him perfectly, its black lines and silver edges exuding authority. He carried himself with an elegance that required no embellishment; his mere presence was enough.
He was known as Cyclone.
Lucid swallowed hard. This man wasn't just any Reaper. Lucid knew him all too well. He was his commander.
"Good afternoon, Commander of Concordia Unit," Lucid greeted with a tone that tried to be neutral, though a hint of resignation slipped through.
The Commander gave a slight nod, his expression as unmoving as stone. That simple gesture caused Lucid to falter for a moment, but he found a semblance of resolve within himself.
"It's useless," the Commander said finally, his voice resonating with a cold calm that seemed to freeze the air itself.
Lucid lowered his head slightly, as if acknowledging the truth of those words. When he raised his gaze again, his eyes reflected something different. The spark of joy and vitality that had once defined him was gone. All that remained was sadness—deep, searing sadness—but with an odd sense of peace.
"I know," Lucid replied with serenity. Taking a step forward, he clenched his fists, his voice growing firmer. "But… if it's you, Commander… at least I won't be forgotten."
A shadow crossed the Commander's face, but only for the briefest of moments. There were no further words exchanged. Lucid, knowing his end was near, drew Lumen. The blade glimmered faintly in the dim light, its edge reflecting the sparse rays that filtered into the alleyway.
His attack was swift, desperate, infused with all the energy he could muster.
But the Commander didn't move.
Lucid barely had time to process what was happening. The Commander's right arm rose with unnatural calm, as if time itself had slowed. From nowhere, a long-barreled revolver began to materialize in his hand, silver and adorned with intricate engravings of wings. The weapon shone as though it had its own light, reflecting Lucid's figure on its polished surface.
There were no final words. Just a sound that tore through the silence:
Bang!
Lucid fell to the ground, his body motionless as Lumen slipped from his hand and clattered faintly against the pavement. The alleyway returned to silence, except for the distant echo of the gunshot that still seemed to reverberate in the air.
The Commander stood watching Lucid's body for a moment, his eyes reflecting something no observer could decipher. Slowly, he holstered his revolver, which disappeared the instant it touched his belt. With an almost ceremonial movement, he picked up Lumen and the shattered metallic glove, conjured a dark blanket large enough to cover Lucid's body, and wrapped him carefully, as if bidding farewell to an old friend.
Just as he turned around, a faint buzz vibrated in his mask, followed by a clear, soft voice.
"You are certainly kind, Eibell."
For a moment, Eibell paused. Seren's voice carried a peculiar weight: it was neither reproach nor praise. It was something in between—a recognition of what he himself could not admit.
Memories flooded Eibell's mind, and for an instant, the chill of the alley gave way to the warmth of a gentler scene.
Claude Hayes and his wife walked down a quiet avenue, the evening lights reflected in their smiles. Eibell watched them from afar, like a casual observer. There was something about the way Claude looked at her—a devotion that was almost palpable, as if she were his only reason to endure.
Another memory surfaced, a more vivid one: Claude, a cheerful young man joking during training, toying with a dagger that would later become Lumen.
"Commander? Look at this! If I can manipulate this in the air, wouldn't it be amazing? I mean, it's the most unreal thing I can think of!"
Eibell hadn't responded at the time, but he remembered the spark in Claude's eyes—a spark now extinguished.
Seren's voice brought him back to the present.
"Cyclone, what do you see?"
Eibell sighed softly, his eyes fixed on the alley's exit.
"I'm just following orders."
The communication ended, and the Commander of Concordia Unit began walking toward the alley's exit, his steps resonating with the certainty of someone who knew that difficult decisions always came at a price. But even as he moved away, his gaze remained fixed ahead, as if avoiding looking back was his only refuge from the inner storm his actions had unleashed.
From her position in Solaris, Seren observed the horizon, her thoughts divided between duty and empathy. The city lights seemed to dance in the distance, reflecting an illusory calm that contrasted with the storm that had just unfolded in the alley.
"You understand, don't you?" she thought, recalling Eibell's actions. Seren didn't need further explanations. Through his deeds, she had seen what truly motivated Commander Cyclone.
Eibell hadn't ended Lucid out of cruelty or indifference. He could have easily neutralized him, leaving him alive but defeated. But he didn't. He rushed to that place, despite the risk and the distance, to ensure it ended as quickly and as painlessly as possible.
He had made that choice not because he wanted to but because he understood the weight of the suffering Lucid carried. And Seren knew it. Because she understood that weight too.
As the wind stirred her hair, Seren closed her eyes and whispered to herself:
"You are kind, Eibell. Kinder than you believe."
With that reflection, she refocused her attention on the city, on the heart of Solaris, where new decisions and responsibilities awaited her. Yet, for a brief moment, she allowed compassion to soften the harshness of her thoughts. Because even though she knew Eibell's path was filled with shadows, she could also see the light that still fought to shine within him.