Six years later. Present day.
Lauran had been attending Zandora Academy for a few months now — quietly blending in, keeping her head down. At least on the surface.
Her classmates probably thought she was just another quiet transfer student with excellent grades and no real social life. Which suited her perfectly.
One late afternoon, she walked home alone, bag slung casually over her shoulder, her shoes clicking against the stone path.
Her phone buzzed.
"Okay, Dad," she answered, forcing her voice to stay light, casual.
"Yeah, I'll be careful. I was just… planning to stop by the national library this weekend."
Her mother's voice chimed faintly in the background — sharp and worried, as always.
Lauran pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Yes, I promise. No, you don't need to cut patrol short. I've got this. Really."
The call ended with her sighing as she shoved the phone back into her pocket.
That was close…
Preparation
Back in her small apartment room, she shut the curtains and peeled out of her school uniform, replacing it with soft pastel clothes — deliberately innocent.
Part of the disguise.
From under her bed, she pulled out a weathered go-bag, the latches clicking open like the start of a ritual.
Inside lay everything she needed:
Snacks. First aid kit. Suppressants. Extra ammo. Two knives. A compact pistol. A bundle of modified tech devices.
She checked each item carefully, hands steady. Then she slipped the bag over her shoulder, adjusted the strap of her pendant, and whispered to herself:
"Time to go home."
Ostasia
The old hideout hadn't changed. Dust still covered the rune-sealed floor.
Lauran stood in the middle of the stone circle and let a drop of her mana fall into the carved grooves. The runes flared softly, humming under her feet as her pendant began to glow faintly.
The portal opened with a low thrummmm.
The scent of flowers hit her first — pale purple blossoms stretching to the horizon, their fragrance a delicate mix of jasmine and frost. Around her neck, the jade pendant of the Ostasian royal family gleamed faintly against her chest. The gold crest of Euratisia lay beside it — a quiet declaration of who she was and what she carried.
Ahead rose the fortress — vast, solemn, draped in shadows.
Two guards materialized at the gate, weapons ready. But the moment they spotted her pendants, they stiffened, exchanged a look, and stepped aside.
One of them spoke, voice hesitant.
"Do you… require an escort?"
Lauran shook her head, offering the faintest polite smile.
"No, thank you. I can manage."
The City
The streets swallowed her in silence — a city she'd only ever seen in history books. Ancient buildings rose all around her, their stones carved with foreign sigils and faded gold.
Her expression stayed cold, detached, as she walked — the perfect picture of someone on a mission.
But inside?
Full fangirl mode.
So this is what the night streets of Ostasia look like… she thought, fighting the giddy smile threatening to escape.
I always imagined walking them with someone special…
Her thoughts scattered as she noticed faint movement behind her — two, maybe three shadows tracking her at a careful distance.
She quickened her pace, planning to duck into an alley and double back for a sneak attack.
But just as she passed a narrow alley, a hand shot out, clamped around her wrist, and yanked her into the shadows.
"Wha—?!" she started, but a thick cloak dropped over her shoulders, its hood pulled up over her head before she could react.
Lauran shoved the hood back, ready to punch whoever it was — but froze.
Standing before her was a boy around her age, taller, with dark hair like the void of space and golden eyes that flickered hazel in the low light. His grip on her shoulders was firm, almost desperate.
"Are you insane?" he hissed, voice low but sharp. "Walking around here without a proper disguise? You could've been kidnapped. Do you have any idea—"
He stopped himself, exhaling hard. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a beat too long, then he let go, tugging her along the side path. The men following her walked right past without noticing.
"You need to go back," he muttered. "This is too dangerous."
His urgency. His voice. The way he instinctively positioned himself between her and the danger — it all stirred something in her chest.
For a fleeting second, she thought she saw Hajime in him — that same haunted solitude, that same fierce protectiveness.
She almost said his name aloud.
But then — movement at both ends of the alley.
Assassins. Blades drawn.
Fight
Lauran didn't hesitate.
Her pistol was out in a flash.
The boy — no, Stark — drew a sleek sword from his back.
They stood back-to-back, breath in sync, a silent agreement sparking between them.
When the assassins charged, they moved as one — weaving through shadows, covering each other's blind spots, their strikes quick and brutal. Blood painted the walls in streaks as they cut their way toward a narrow exit.
"Can you run?" Stark asked, his voice taut.
Lauran nodded. "Lead the way."
He opened a portable portal just ahead and tapped his comm.
"Maya. Open the cushions. I've got someone with me — don't ask questions. Have papers ready."
A knife sailed through the air — Stark caught it with his shoulder rather than let it hit her.
Lauran grabbed his wrist and hissed, "Together."
And together, they dove through the portal.
Base
They landed on a stack of mattresses with a muffled thud.
The portal sealed behind them.
Stark sat up first, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, breathing hard.
Lauran nodded, dazed. "…Yeah."
A girl with bright blue hair skidded into the room, clutching a data pad.
"Stark, are you out of your mind?! Who is she? You never take hits for anyone—"
Stark cut her off, his gaze steady on Lauran.
"Meet our legitimate leader."
Lauran stood too, lowering her hood.
The room went still.
Then — one by one — everyone dropped to one knee.
"Long live the princess."
Henry Stark Sasaki
Stark turned to the blue-haired girl — Maya — and gave her a curt nod.
"Make her a fake ID. Wipe everything. That was the 30th assassination attempt on me this year."
He turned to someone at the door.
"Oi, Xaio. When's Father coming to this base?"
From the doorway, another figure leaned lazily against the frame — tall, calm, with hands tucked into his pockets and an air of quiet authority.
"The name's Henry Stark Sasaki," he said, his lopsided grin betraying none of the storm in his eyes. "The quiet kid in class… the one who actually listens while you're out here causing interdimensional trouble."
Lauran blinked at him, unsure how to respond.
Henry tilted his head toward Maya.
"Show her around. Get her the ID. And a proper disguise if she plans to pull that stunt again."
He glanced back at Lauran briefly.
"We'll talk later. I need to find my sorry excuse of a best friend before he burns something else down."
And just like that, he turned, his long coat trailing behind him as if even the air respected him.
Lauran stood frozen, watching him leave.
He looks even better than the AI-generated images of him back home…
Maya cleared her throat softly and stepped closer with a faint smile.
"So… that was dramatic. Come on. I'll show you where we handle the fake IDs."
Everyone else slowly returned to their work — though a few still cast curious, lingering glances at her.
Lauran forced herself to take a breath, then gave Maya a small nod.
"You don't have to be formal. Just… keep doing whatever you were doing."
Maya chuckled lightly, already leading her to a side room.
"Don't worry. It's not always this intense."
Meanwhile…
Henry walked alone through the stone corridors, his measured steps echoing softly.
Every inch of him screamed calm confidence — the perfect leader mask.
Until he reached the back of the underground library.
In the dim silence, he leaned against the cold wall, let himself sink to the floor, and pressed his palms over his eyes.
That was when the visions came back — sharper this time, crueler.
Shards of memory cutting through his mind. Voices whispering things he couldn't quite catch. A face — her face — but warped, unreachable.
His breath hitched as he gripped his head tighter, muttering under his breath.
Why now? Why clearer?
But the answers stayed just out of reach, taunting him from the other side of the veil.