Hhhhhh... Hhk—!
"It hurts... it hurts... please make it stop..."
Grey eyes, clouded with pain and misery, cracked open beneath a ceiling wrapped in dull white cloth. Her breath came shallow, uneven, as she tried to focus on the dimly lit room around her. Shadows moved—people in their own beds, some silent, others groaning, a few screaming. This clinic reeked of death, a place where the weak came to die, and if she wasn't careful, it could become her own grave.
A dull ache gnawed at her body, sharp flashes of pain lancing through her every time she so much as twitched. She felt it, the throb in her bones, the weight pressing down on her chest.
She tried to lift her arm.
A sharp, unbearable sting tore through her nerves. Her vision blurred again, but through the haze, she saw her hands.
They were always red.
Nothing was wrong with them, though. At least, that's what the doc'tah said. But she knew better. Knew better than to trust people in this section, the one she called home. Every day was a battle, a slow war against the thing eating away at her from the inside. Óhrin. A disease that, like her, had no place in this world.
The strangers who looked after her told her it meant dirty.
She didn't know what translated meant or why her sickness had anything to do with being dirty. But she had stopped asking. Every time she did, their faces would twist in ways she didn't like. And besides, the answers only made her head spin.
Hahhh... no more painful rock...
Her small fingers curled around the rough stone on her wrist. A dirty little rock, the only thing in this world that had never left her side. Almost black, tinged with brown, it pulsed in her grasp, as though it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she was in pain, she could feel it drinking from her, pulling at something deep inside.
The doc'tah said it was because her blood was saturated with Collapse Fluid.
That was bad, apparently.
Didn't mean much to her.
The stranger-woman once said everyone had Collapse Fluid in them, but being in—
"Siv-luh... uh... the big city thing!"
Her eyes lit up for a moment as the thought escaped her mind. Every Nomadic City ran on Óhreinn, and being inside one made people like her even sicker.
But it was fine for now.
Because the melody was still playing.
"...Where...where's that cute...um... melody coming from...?"
Her eyes widened as they cleared, the haziness in her vision sharpening for just a moment. Pure white circles flickered in her irises—circles that were missing a piece. But just as quickly as they appeared, they dimmed, fizzled, then went out entirely.
"Ack—!"
Pain lanced through her neck.
The dirty rock, lodged beneath her skin once more.
The quiet didn't last.
Two figures burst into the room, their movements frantic, their panic bleeding into the air. The woman scooped her up in one fluid motion, and the man moved between them and a third figure—one masked in black.
A fist then slammed into the masked mans flesh.
The girl's vision bounced as she was carried away, her small frame jostled in the woman's arms. Even through the haze, she stared up at the one holding her.
They weren't like her.
Their hands were like hers but not quite—black, but only at the fingers. Their eyes, though... their eyes were just like hers. White circles, incomplete, flickering like dying embers.
Every time she asked what they were, they avoided the question.
Their eyes always got sadder than her own.
Black Rain crowned their heads, halos slanted ever so slightly, never quite level, never quite touching.
She reached for it.
It slipped through her fingers like water.
Hissshhh—
A thud.
The girl winced as her back hit a door, her breath knocked from her lungs. The impact rattled through her small frame, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. The moment they had taken too many turns, too many frantic steps, she knew they were running out of space.
Then—light.
The door burst open.
The world outside swallowed them whole, the heavy rain slamming against their bodies, soaking them in cold and despair.
"RUN! NOW! I'll be there—"
The stranger-man had caught up, his voice strained, urgent. But as the girl's wide, unfocused eyes darted toward him, she saw it—
A red stain blooming. A spot growing, and expanding.
Her arm lifted on instinct, reaching for something she could never grasp. But before she could even try, the stranger-woman gripped her tighter while turning, and sprinting away.
The girl twisted her head, the city around her slowing to a crawl.
She saw him.
The stranger-man stood frozen mid-motion, something long driven straight through his back. His body tensed, his breath escaping in ragged gasps as blood spilled from his lips.
A metal stick pressed against his skull.
Her tiny hands clenched—
No, no, no, no—
She felt it.
Felt the way the air shifted around him, the quiet finality in the way his shoulders eased.
Time stood still for just a second longer.
His eyes met hers.
And then—
A flicker. A flash. A bang.
His body collapsed to the cold, wet ground, one more forgotten soul lost to the streets of Barrio de Porte Fiesta—a place where dreams came to die before they ever had the chance to live.
The girl couldn't scream. Couldn't cry.
Her throat locked, her mind spinning as rain mixed with the blood on the pavement.
The stranger-woman did not stop.
She held the girl closer, tighter, shielding her, running as though their survival depended on it—because it did.
But she knew.
She knew.
Her time was running out too.
She wouldn't—couldn't—burden this child with Candidate. Wouldn't let her carry the weight of something so cruel.
Even if the girl never saw her as a mother.
Even if this was selfish, twisted, something closer to love than she had any right to claim.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Because her time was slipping away, and the girl still had a future to hold onto.
And that was enough.
She burst from the alley, feet slamming against the rain-slicked pavement as she tore into the streets of Section 01—the heart of Brewster Heights, the city where heaven and hell played out in the same breath.
It didn't matter if you were rich or poor, infected or not.
If you were born in this country—
You died in this country.
A place where everything ran on drugs and suffering. "Listen, Sera! You may not understand this now—"
The stranger-woman never finished. Figures emerged from the rain, closing in fast. Perros as well.
A few unsavory words were the only appropriate response.
"¡Malditos perros! ¿¡No puedes joderte alguna perra en lugar de ponerte en mi camino!?"
The little girl blinked, then smiled softly—full of innocence. She reached up and placed a delicate hand over the woman's mouth.
"Ma...l...dito'? Is that like... a special word?"
"OI! I may have the head of a dog and be a K9, but I'm still a person, you fucking puta!"
K9s—across all of Terra II—had only been around for a few hundred years, but they were the standard guard. Crisis Control de Fiesta maintained what little order Brewster Heights had left, but in a country where everyone worked for someone, even they had a price.
And they weren't alone.
The clinic's little shits had their rear covered. A long, exhausted sigh cut through the downpour.
"Hand over the girl, Linde. You know she's sick. You can't afford the treatment to save her life. So do yourself a favor and hand. Her. Over. Now."
A pause.
Then—
"Really, Eduardo!? You know fuck well what I am!"
The woman—Linde—twisted her expression into something ugly.
"¡Maldita sea, es porque sé quién eres! I know what you are, Linde! You think I want to do this?! I know because you are me!"
Eduardo's voice cracked under the weight of something unspoken.
The truth of the both of them.
What they once were. What they once stood for—before this country had swallowed them whole.
The rain pounded down harder, soaking through to their bones. The tension pressed in—thick, and suffocating.
Weapons drawn.
A mix of Arms, Drivers, Melee—all trained on Linde and the girl.
One spark. One twitch. One—
"Bang. Hehe."
Seraniti pointed a finger like a gun.
And that was all it took. In an instant, the streets lit up like First Year.
Linde moved first.
She threw Seraniti skyward,higher and higher—
The little girl gasped as her tired eyes snapped wide, hands clawing for something—anything—until her fingers caught.
A light post. She dangled in the cold air, feet pointing straight toward the eye in the sky.
"Pretty..."
Seraniti's gaze lingered on the sky, her breath catching at the swirling, rain-slicked glow of the city's eye.
Then, something shifted. She lowered her eyes—
Linde was about to snap her fingers.
A strange, uncomfortable feeling crawled up her spine. Instinctively, she clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
A muffled—
Snk!
Just as quickly, she peeled her eyes open, lowering her hands to steady herself against the post.
And—
She floated. Dangling upside down, her feet pointed toward the storm, she saw the bad people below—clutching their ears, their mouths moving but their words lost in incoherent noise.
For them, it was an opening.
For Seraniti—
It was a magic trick.
"Whoa! What was that, Linde?! Can you teach me? Please? Pretty please?!"
"Not now, Niti. Later, yeah?"
With a simple pulling motion, Linde tugged her back into her arms, effortless, weightless.
Seraniti giggled, her damp hair sticking to her face as Linde blew on it like a mother trying to chase away the cold. The weather shifted, as if mirroring the little girl's mood, the rain softening for just a moment.
But who are we kidding?
She's the star of this story.
Linde ran again, one arm wrapped around Seraniti, the other reaching for something—a rectangular, opaque device, cloudy like a fogged-up mirror.
For convenience, let's just call it a phone.
She pressed it into Seraniti's small hands.
"Call the first person, okay?"
Now, you might be wondering—why was Seraniti floating?
What?
Did you think only modern magic existed?
Don't be foolish.
And as for Linde—wouldn't she need some kind of help to cast magic? A device? A ΜΙСΛ? Some fancy tool from the modern age?
No.
Linde's kind didn't need that.
Some people were born with it. She just was. Like many of her kind.
They kept running as a call connected.
A face popped onto the screen, unimpressed and exasperated.
"What? Can't ya see I'm busy running a business?"
Linde didn't break stride, slipping into a small shop—a brief pit stop before the next sprint. Rain dripped from her coat as she caught her breath.
"Fu— cough —it's Eduardo again. And that thing we talked about before."
That was all it took. No further explanation needed.
A sigh crackled through the call.
"Mmm—you're lucky you reached her on time. Another few hours and they would've gutted her, harvested her organs for who knows what."
Linde exhaled, long and deep, like she'd been holding the weight of that truth in her chest for too long.
Across the table, Seraniti sipped from a bowl of warm soup, small hands wrapped tightly around it. Steam curled in the dim light.
The cloth around her head, damp and heavy, was finally removed.
"So—could ya pick us up?" Linde ran a hand through her hair. "And I guess we have to explain things to little Sera here, too."
The conversation continued in hushed tones.
Outside, the rain was finally giving way to the first traces of morning. The number of guards searching for them had dwindled, the hunt fading with the night.
By the time the car rolled up outside, Seraniti was already fast asleep, curled up in the warmth of her seat.
They drove through streets that never slept.
Highrises stretched toward the heavens, their towering forms lined with color and flickering advertisements that polluted the sky above. Life pulsed through the city, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the engine—the only sound filling the space between them.
Linde stared out of the window, unreadable. Her fingers fidgeted slightly against the seat, a small tell of something stirring beneath the surface.
Seraniti shifted in her sleep, her head resting lightly against Linde's arm.
The driver was the first to break the silence.
"You still running from ghosts, Linde?"
Linde glanced at him, lips tightening.
"Aren't we all? The only difference is how fast they catch up."
The driver chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.
"Still. Can't imagine you thought things would get this bad."
"I didn't." Linde's voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the hum of the engine.
She looked down at Seraniti's sleeping face, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath. With a careful touch, she brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
"But it's not about me anymore."
A glance in the rearview mirror. The driver's hardened eyes softened, just a fraction.
"Kid's lucky to have you. Not many would stick their neck out like this."
"Lucky?" Linde let out a bitter laugh. There was nothing lucky about this.
"If she's lucky, she'll live long enough to hate me for it."
Silence followed, thick and suffocating, pressing against the car's interior as they rolled over uneven streets.
Eventually, the driver sighed.
"You want advice, Linde?"
She didn't respond, but he went on anyway.
"You're doing what you can. That's all anyone can do in this hellhole. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Linde gave a slow nod, her gaze slipping back to the window.
"Appreciate it. But advice won't stop the clock."
The driver grunted in agreement, tightening his grip on the wheel. The city loomed around them—towering high-rises, neon-stained streets, gutters filled with ghosts and the forgotten. Every crack in the road, every flickering ad, every shadowed alley was a reminder of the world they were trying to survive.
"Will he make it to the other side?"
Linde's voice was barely more than a whisper.
The driver didn't answer right away. Then—
"No."
She exhaled sharply, her throat tightening.
"His spirit body is damaged beyond any help—not even putting him in an IDOL will save his consciousness. Even the Priests from Yamatai can't help..."
"After all… we're all Monsta."
Outside, the cold floor of Barrio de Porte Fiesta drank up the blood of another forgotten spirit, one of many who had fallen before, one of many who would fall again.
They were already scraping what was left of Eduardo off the pavement. His brain matter stuck in the cracks of the road, a permanent stain among the thousands before him.
And all Linde could do—
Was let the tears slip down her face, hot against her cold skin, rolling past her clenched jaw and falling to the floor.
Her fists tightened, nails digging into her palms, her expression twisting into something ugly, something desperate.
But she didn't let herself break. Not yet.
Not here.
It took a while, but they finally reached Section 02.
A quiet residential district sat before them, bathed in the dim glow of street lamps. The rain had softened to a light drizzle, but the streets still glistened, slick with the remnants of the downpour.
A lone guard stood at the checkpoint, barely paying attention as he waved lazily for the car to stop. His poncho clung to his frame, rainwater dripping from its edges as he stepped forward, boots sloshing against the pavement.
He tapped lightly on the driver-side window.
"Evening. Bit late for a visit, isn't it?"
His eyes flicked toward the passenger seat, then to the backseat in one fluid motion.
"Mind telling me where you're headed?"
The driver wordlessly handed over a small ID card.
The guard examined it under the pale glow of his flashlight, his brow furrowing as he scrutinized the details.
"Everything checks out, but I'll need to take a quick look in the trunk. Regulations, you know."
He stepped back, signaling to a second guard to assist.
Linde sighed, rubbing her temple before leaning forward.
"Oi. Tell Eik we're here, yeah?"
Both guards froze. A glance of hesitation.
Then, without another word, one of them turned and headed toward the post. It didn't take long before the gate slid open with a low hiss.
Not that security mattered much here. Not to these people.
They drove through, taking the ramp downward into the underground layer.
Even in the Common Era, most cities had residential parts designed to let natural light cascade down into the depths. Open-air shafts punctuated the landscape, scattering beams of sunlight through the subterranean levels. The effect was almost surreal—irregular patches of golden light slanting through the urban sprawl, illuminating the damp streets below in uneven but striking patterns.
The city gleamed in its own strange way.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks, reflecting the sky above in fractured, shimmering fragments. Fleeting rainbows arced across the metallic surfaces of the underground district, momentary bursts of color against the dull steel and concrete.
Children played along the narrow walkways, their laughter echoing faintly between the buildings. Some dragged carts behind them, filled with scraps and discarded trinkets scavenged from the upper layers. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices rising over the distant hum of machinery, haggling, bartering, shouting over the weight of the city's perpetual noise.
The air smelled of damp metal and rust, but every so often, a breeze carried the faint, unexpected fragrance of the living—small pockets of greenery hidden away in the recesses of the underground, cultivated by those who refused to let nature be swallowed whole.
Minutes passed in silence.
Only the steady hum of the engine filled the car.
Then—
They turned onto the road leading toward Eik's residency.
People moved about their day, carrying bags of food, heading to work, vanishing into alleyways. Some unlucky few were caught in the process of being searched by K9 units, pressed against walls as their belongings were rifled through.
A normal day in this city.
This country that ate its own.
And its people knew. It was only a matter of time before it swallowed them whole.