Bruno stumbled forward as the group emerged from the crack, his lungs dragging in air that felt different—lighter, yet just as oppressive. The suffocating presence of the Abyss was gone, yet something else had taken its place. The weight in his chest wasn't fear, but an unshakable unease.
Silas dropped to one knee beside him, gripping his ribs, his breathing ragged. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his usual sharp gaze dulled from exhaustion. His fingers twitched, shadows barely clinging to his form before flickering out.
Varen leaned against a nearby stone wall, his relic sword still in his grasp but limp, the glow completely gone. His body trembled from fatigue, each breath shaky. Bruno had never seen him this drained before.
Raine coughed, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked around, her expression mirroring Bruno's thoughts—Where are we?
The air smelled old—dust, rusted metal, and something faintly medicinal. The ground beneath them was solid, uneven stone instead of the ever-shifting terrain of the Abyss. Towering buildings stretched into the distance, constructed from materials that looked ancient, their architecture unfamiliar yet eerily intact. Some had scaffolding, repairs clearly underway, yet the designs were not modern.
And then there were the people.
Bruno stiffened. He hadn't noticed them at first, but there were people watching them.
Men and women stood frozen in the streets, their conversations cut short as their gazes locked onto the group. Their clothing was strange—old-fashioned yet durable, as if they belonged to another time entirely. Some held tools, others carried crates, but all of them had stopped the moment the crack appeared.
A few of them took cautious steps back, whispering to one another.
"Who are they…?"
"Did they just come out of the breach?"
"They don't have insignias… mercenaries?"
Bruno's muscles tensed. This isn't the Abyss. But it isn't the world we came from either.
Before he could speak, Varen suddenly gasped.
Bruno turned sharply. Varen's fingers had dug into his temples, his teeth clenched, his entire body rigid. His eyes were unfocused—distant.
Then he whispered something under his breath.
"…Who… is she?"
His voice was hoarse, barely audible. His breathing quickened, his knuckles white from the pressure against his skull.
Bruno watched as Varen's pupils dilated, his hands trembling slightly.
—A memory.
A hospital room. Dim lighting. A steady beep, beep, beep filling the silence.
He was sitting beside a hospital bed.
A girl lay there, no older than nine or ten. Her small frame barely shifted beneath the blankets, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Tubes ran to an oxygen mask covering her face, her skin pale, almost translucent under the sterile light.
Varen could feel himself there. The chair beneath him. The cool air-conditioned breeze brushing against his arms.
But her face…
He couldn't see it.
No matter how hard he focused, it was blank. A smear where features should be.
Frustration burned inside him. He knew her. He had to know her. He was there for a reason, wasn't he? His hand had been resting on hers. There was warmth. Familiarity. A bond.
Yet… nothing.
The harder he tried, the more the details unraveled, slipping through his grasp like sand.
His breathing turned uneven.
Then—
A sharp voice yanked him back.
"Hands where we can see them!"
Varen's eyes snapped open, the memory vanishing in an instant.
Bruno turned just in time to see a group of armored figures approaching fast, their boots clanking against the stone.
They weren't ordinary soldiers. Their armor was reinforced, customized—each piece unique yet bearing a similar emblem. Weapons were drawn, though not aimed directly at them yet.
A man at the front stepped forward. He was tall, built like a warrior, his presence commanding instant attention. His right pauldron was marked with a symbol—an inverted triangle with an eye at the center. Unlike the rest, he wasn't holding a weapon. He didn't need to. His expression alone carried enough weight.
"You just came out of that crack," he said, his voice firm, laced with something between suspicion and calculation. "That means you're unregistered. That also means you're a problem."
Silas, despite barely standing, let out a dry chuckle. "Funny. We were just thinking the same about you."
The warrior's eyes narrowed. "This is a controlled space. A pocket dimension maintained under strict balance. Outsiders appearing out of nowhere tends to upset that balance."
Bruno frowned. "Pocket dimension…?"
The warrior ignored the question. "You have two choices. Surrender quietly, or we'll make this difficult."
The tension thickened. The people in the streets had backed away further, watching with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Bruno's mind raced. They were exhausted. If a fight broke out, they wouldn't last.
But surrendering wasn't an option either.
Varen exhaled sharply. His grip on his sword tightened, but Bruno could tell—he was at his limit.
Raine looked between them, her expression tense.
Silas, as battered as he was, smirked. "Guess we'll have to decide fast, huh?"
The warrior lifted his hand. The other soldiers shifted, ready to strike.
Bruno's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Then—
The crack behind them snapped shut.
The last connection to where they had come from—gone.
And with it, any way back.