"I have a question," Ludwig said, his tone calm but edged with an underlying tension. He and Rin sat in a small café in the 4th capital, the brief moment of respite was refreshing, but the atmosphere between them was heavy with unspoken concern.
Ludwig took a sip from his steaming cup of tea, his gaze narrowing slightly. "As you know, every time a disaster begins, there's always an aurora borealis."
"Yes, the odd borealis," Rin replied, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his glass of water. The café around them was quiet, but the city outside was anything but—alive with activity, the hum of life all around. This city, being home to the most efficient hospital, was where they waited for Satoya and the others to recover. "But the VHC keeps covering up the reason behind the borealis. They call it a 'phenomenon' that happens every 100 years, but... we both know better."
Ludwig sighed, bitterness lacing his voice. "Cadres are scum. But still, it's a fact. We're in a disaster. That much is guaranteed. The question is... who's the cataclysm this time?"
Rin remained silent, his expression unreadable. Ludwig's words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them settling heavily on both of them.
"There hasn't been a single sighting of the borealis," Rin said, his voice low and grim. "No sign of the void's power leaking. The physical manifestation that always accompanies a new disaster." He took a slow breath, his tone calm but tinged with worry. "It's like the chosen candidate has already been marked."
Ludwig exhaled sharply, clearly unsettled. "That means it's already decided. The thread has been cast."
Rin nodded, the tension between them palpable. "I've lived through four disasters... well, five, technically." He paused, his gaze distant as if replaying each disaster in his mind. "But... I've lied to Satoya and the others. About everything. And I don't know how to fix that."
Ludwig's expression softened, but he didn't speak for a moment. The sound of a couple chatting nearby and the soft music from the café's speaker felt distant in comparison to the weight of their conversation.
"You'll know when the disaster truly starts," Rin continued, his voice almost a whisper. "It's that oppressive borealis, like a weight pressing down on everything. It condenses into a bright thread, and when it pierces the heart of its chosen candidate..." He trailed off, the meaning unspoken, but clear.
Ludwig's sigh was heavy, as if he'd heard this too many times before. "I know. Every other candidate dies the moment the thread finds its vessel. But this time... something's different. The usual pattern has shifted."
Meanwhile, in the aftermath of the detonated explosive, the island where the former laboratory of Roland Saeonius, cataclysm of the 8th disaster, the ground barren of life, with smoke and ashes lingering in the air. Silence, except for a single, pathetic individual, screaming in agony.
"I can reconstruct my body if there's any living thing nearby... If I can convert their biological components into my own," Roland cursed, his voice raw and strained. His eyes darted around, but there was no sign of life. His power, to reconstruct himself from the living, was useless in this empty wasteland. Roland had always relied on his ability to rewrite cells and molecules—turning anything alive into parts of himself. But there was nothing here. Nothing but charred remains.
Roland's breath came in short, ragged gasps, each exhale a reminder of how powerless he was. He should have known. He always knew the day would come when his own twisted existence would catch up with him. But here, in the ashes of his own failure, it was different. There was no one to save him. No one to rebuild.
The emptiness of the island felt like a weight pressing down on him, suffocating. His body—his very existence—was a mere mockery now, a hollow shell. The familiar hum of his power, that ability to twist the living into parts of himself, was silent. The void in him gnawed at his insides, a ravenous beast he couldn't quell.
Roland had only one simple solution to his problem–Give up entirely, lie there, in a constant state of agony, and hoping for any life to come..but the explosive destroyed everything on the island, any animal, even the test subjects he worked on (despite him injecting them with an immortality serum, they have to be fully incinerated for them to completely die).
But then, a voice cut through the air, cold and detached, carrying with it a terrifying authority.
"You were always the most pathetic of them all."
Roland froze, fear and anger surging through him. His eyes widened, but his body refused to respond. He could only lie there, powerless, yet somehow still able to speak.
Roland's body stiffened, as though a chill had seized him from the inside out. His heart pounded in his chest—faster, harder—until it seemed to echo in the silence. A presence, heavy and malevolent, loomed over him, suffocating him. His mind screamed at him to look away, to deny it, but he couldn't. He knew that voice. Knew that aura. He had felt it before, in the darkest corners of his mind.
"Valtilean?" The word slipped from his lips like a prayer—a desperate whisper filled with dread.
He slowly looked up, and saw a man, simply looking down on him. His eyes were glaring at him in disgust. This man had black hair and black eyes, but a very distinct, light blue scar glowing ominously on his neck. The air around them felt suffocating, the smoke and ash lingering in the air seemed to have stopped, in deference to his oppressive and otherworldly presence.
Valtilean rested his gaze coldly at Roland with terrifying calmness. He then asked a question, a question that would pierce through the air like a spear.
"Now tell me, Saeonius, how is the progress on them?"