He reached up to the metallic contraption clamped tightly over the lower half of his face—a mask that buzzed faintly with mechanical life. With a precise click, he released a hidden lock along its edge. A hiss of steam escaped as the internal mechanisms powered down, releasing a burst of heat into the cold, still air. The mask slackened and his voice changed, shedding its synthetic distortion and morphing into something unmistakably organic—something human.

  "Do you recognize this voice, Vellin?"

  It had been a long time, but I did. That voice, smooth and controlled with a subtle lilt of condescension, belonged to Zero's only ally—Kaguya. I had never seen his face clearly back then. Zero always kept me confined inside the shack whenever Kaguya visited, insisting it was for my own good. But Kaguya had taken a particular interest in me, checking in on my progress, always asking questions about whether their plan was bearing fruit.

  My body—blessed and sharpened through relentless training—had developed rapidly, almost unnaturally so. A prodigy, they said. A tool.

  I said, "Yes, I do. It's you, Kaguya."

  At my words, Kaguya’s stance eased. He withdrew the knife he had so casually brandished—a sleek, curved blade glinting with menace—and slid it smoothly into a leather holster strapped around his waist. His jet-black eye shimmered under the dim lighting, reflecting the low glow of the overhead bulb like polished obsidian.

  "You've grown immensely these last few months. You would beat me in a fight, but I specialize in assassinations."

  I narrowed my gaze, the tension between us crackling. "What do you want, Kaguya?"

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he swept his gaze across the grandiose red paint coated room, scanning each shadow and crevice. His tone dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Right to the point. I like that. I'm here to tell you the date of the planned rebellion."

  The date? That was supposed to be my call—my decision, once I had assembled my allies. The rebellion wasn't meant to move until I was ready.

  Kaguya, ever two steps ahead, seemed to read my thoughts. "In four months, on February sixth, is when we strike. You already have Zhen by your side."

  My breath caught. What? How does he know that? Zhen’s involvement was just between me, him, and Emma.

  Behind me, Jane shifted slightly, her movement barely audible, but enough to stir the air. Kaguya’s eye twitched toward her instinctively. His voice dropped to a whisper, low and urgent.

  "Gather at least three more transcended. Zero and I will help as well."

  Without another word, he stepped backward toward the exit—his movement so silent, it was as if the shadows themselves parted for him. The door behind him, which should have been flanked by two guards, stood inexplicably unprotected. Not a soul in sight.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He paused in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the frame as he looked back one last time.

  "Justice will come."

  Jane opened her eyes slowly, the glow of the dim ceiling lamp reflecting faintly in her pupils. "Is he gone?"

  So she had sensed him—not just his presence, but the danger he carried. Her instincts were sharpening, her awareness catching up to her natural combat skill. Her battle intelligence had skyrocketed. This wasn't the same girl I’d seen in Het months ago.

  I asked, "Did you hear what he said?"

  Jane shifted slightly, the bedsheets rustling beneath her. She adjusted her position, curling in closer like she had finally allowed herself to feel safe again. "I heard everything."

  She rested her head gently on my shoulder. Her voice came softer now, more distant, as if her thoughts were far away. "I've met some decent people. Yumi, Caleb, even my bodyguards."

  I exhaled slowly, my breath stirring a loose strand of her hair. "I know. This isn't a black and white matter. I plan to take down the other Flames and Leo, maybe convince Caleb to switch sides. The underlings will be spared, but most will be jailed."

  The weight of it pressed down on me—not just the rebellion, but the decisions we’d have to live with after. I laid back down.

  "Let's get back to bed."

  Fourteen hours later..

  I placed my hands behind my head, sinking into the plush cushioning of the chair. It was surprisingly comfortable—soft leather, well-worn from years of our use. The kind of chair you didn’t sit in unless you were important.

  But what does good ol' Leo want with me?

  I’d been out there, knee-deep in blood and smoke, pushing the line forward with every breath and blade swing. It's been what? A month? The frontlines had already become my second home. So it was strange when I suddenly received an urgent message to return to HQ. Stranger still, Leo had told me yesterday to take it easy for once—an order that never came without a reason. He said we’d talk today.

  And now here I was, waiting in our pristine white meeting room that reeked of sterility and order. The door creaked open.

  Leo walked in from one of the sleek white doors, his footsteps smooth and measured, like he had all the time in the world. That same ever-present smile was stretched across his face, unnervingly calm. "Ah, good to see you Finn."

  I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. "What do you want from me, Leo? The battlefield was fun."

  Leo’s smile didn’t waver. It never did. "Where you're going next is even more fun."

  Oh? I reached toward the small glass bowl of complimentary onions sitting on the side table. No one else ever touched them. I liked to eat them whole—sharp, pungent, and stimulating. They shocked the taste buds and reminded me I was alive.

  I took a bite, crunching into it like an apple. "What could be more fun than mass murder?"

  Leo stepped toward the war table, fingers interlinking as he leaned over it with the gravity of someone delivering fate. "Remember Elia?"

  My heart stilled for a fraction of a second.

  Then I let the killing intent rise, slow and thick, like smoke. It coiled outward from my body, and soon the entire space was drenched in it—oppressive, suffocating. The air warped with my rage.

  Is he trying to remind me of her death... to use it?

  The name of my murdered wife, Elia. The mention of her chilled my blood for a second. She was my fire, my everything. She died screaming, bloodied and broken in that first war. Toda killed her, and I’ve never forgotten it. Never forgave it.

  My whole body tensed, fists clenching around the armrests. "Toda killed her."

  Leo didn’t flinch. Instead, he unsheathed his sword in a fluid, deliberate motion. The blade gleamed under the overhead light as he pointed toward the top edge of the map pinned beside him. "You're going to head to Hasfra with Vellin and Caleb. Right now, Zion, Geralt, and Toda are there with the goal of freeing the Grillir warriors to make up for our number difference. I want you to kill the Grillir and them."

  He sheathed the sword without another word. That settled it. "Will you do it?"

  I didn’t blink.

  "I'll do it."