Before the sun finishes setting over the mountain, Najo jolts awake—his body bound tightly to a cold, metallic chair. His arms and legs ache against thick, rubber restraints that cut into his skin. In front of him, Dope and Gango stand silently, their figures ominous against the dim light, each holding strange, gleaming metallic tools.
"W-What are you doing?" Najo demands, straining against the cords. "Let me go!"
Dope responds with a brutal punch—a crackling surge of lightning that slams into Najo's gut. His usual smirk is replaced by a cold, deep-seated rage. Najo gasps, spitting blood.
Gango lifts a rod with a pulsating bulb attached to its end. His tone is calm, almost mocking. "You know what this place is?"
"How would I know?" Najo retorts, his voice hoarse, blood trickling from his lips.
The answer walks in through the door. Heather. Cloaked in black lace, her eyes hidden beneath her wide hat. Her chilling smile does nothing to soften her voice. "Naïve as ever. Don't recognize your grandfather's torture chamber?"
"Torture?" Najo whispers, a tremor of fear in his voice.
"Of course." Heather steps closer, her voice filled with venomous resentment. "Your lineage didn't accumulate its wealth by being saints. This chamber was used to instill fear—fear of lightning—in anyone who dared oppose your predecessors." She pauses, letting the words sink in. "My beloved husband told me everything about your disgusting family. He died serving people who never cared for him. Your father sent him to kill you as a baby, yet he spared you. I never understood it."
"That… has nothing to do with me," Najo insists, struggling against the unyielding rubber cords.
"Everything," Heather hisses, her voice rising. "His death left my boys without a father. Your existence stole what was meant for them. Nothing goes unpunished, and today… they'll take it all back."
Najo struggles, but the rubber cords won't budge. He can feel the hum of energy building in the room. Heather turns to Dope and Gango, her eyes cold. "No mercy."
"Yes, Mother," Dope and Gango reply in unison, their faces grim.
Dope grips Najo's head, holding him still. Heather exits the shed as the first, agonizing scream begins. Outside, she listens calmly as blinding flashes of light burst through the windows—the sound of cracking thunder layered with a secret, agonizing sequence designed to instill phobia deep within the mind. The Mheni family's cruel method. Designed to erase defiance.
When it's over, Najo bleeds from his eyes and ears, his body twitching uncontrollably. Heather calmly wipes him down, then tears his clothes—meticulously staging the scene like the aftermath of a lightning strike. Then they drag him back down the mountain. Heather sobs dramatically, rushing forward, pretending to have just found the injured boy.
Ginimbi, alerted instantly by the commotion, rushes to the scene. "What happened?!" he demands, his voice booming.
Najo doesn't speak. He trembles violently, his eyes wide with a terror that eclipses even his pain.
"I… I found him like this…" Heather stammers, feigning distress.
"Najo! Say something!" Ginimbi shouts, his concern warring with a growing frustration.
"He couldn't handle the training," Dope interjects, his voice flat. "He ran off—started acting strange. Won't speak to anyone."
Ginimbi's jaw tightens. He grows tense. Frustrated, he shouts Najo's name—accompanied by a sharp crack of thunder. Najo screams, a raw, guttural sound of pure terror. He convulses violently at the mention of lightning, his body seizing up. A weapon once his strength… now his deepest fear.
Ginimbi looks down at him—what was once his pride, his heir, now reduced to a shaking, silent wreck. "What did I expect from Nawick's son?" he mutters, a bitter disappointment in his voice. "He's a write-off. Send him to his mother."
Guards lift the trembling boy and carry him away. Heather watches, a subtle, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Please make sure he's safe," she calls out, a feigned concern.
Ginimbi turns, his gaze hardening. Heather, sensing her moment, speaks, her voice subtle and suggestive. "Don't be so harsh on him, my lord. Maybe he can still serve his role through his earth powers…"
He looks into her eyes—a long, calculating pause. Ginimbi's mind, reeling from the perceived loss of his heir, processes the new possibility. "…I need to think." He turns and walks back to his chambers, leaving Heather to her silent victory. The plan is unfolding.
In the royal castle, Moto sits frozen. The king's words echo in his mind, a chilling pronouncement: "I never imagined I'd be sitting in a room with a child from Gehen." Moto's blood runs cold.
King Douglas opens a file. Aritri's report—thorough, detailed, damning. The King's ring glints in the light, identical to Aritri's, a silent testament to her unwavering loyalty and his pervasive surveillance. "Aritri outdid herself," Douglas says, his voice devoid of emotion. "Your documents say you arrived from Pasi, yet one of your parents remains untraceable. Your siblings… scattered."
Moto sweats, a cold dread seeping into his bones. He fears deportation. Worse.
"Relax," Douglas says, his tone softening, a practiced manipulation. "I simply wanted to understand what fuels you. Very few people your age have your kind of drive. It didn't make sense to me—until now." Moto stiffens, his guard still up. "What of it?" he asks, his voice tight.
Douglas leans in, his tone soft but firm, almost conspiratorial. "I relate. I too have a delicate mission—to protect my kingdom from every threat. Even future ones. Your goal is the same." Moto settles slightly, a flicker of hope. "…So what do you want me to do?"
"I want to send you to Sango—the world's largest military power," Douglas reveals. "Their Queen has been expanding her forces aggressively. Intelligence suggests she plans to invade us in the future… claiming we've tampered with nature." Moto's heart races. This is it. A chance to truly make a difference. "I need intel. I need someone to go in, blend in, and bring me information. Intel I can use to forge a treaty… or prepare for war."
"You want me to infiltrate?" Moto asks, a surge of adrenaline.
"Yes. Your origins give you access that my people can't reach. They won't suspect you."
Moto thinks of his dream—to create peace, a world for his siblings. This could be his chance. "Can I bring my friends?" he asks, his voice firm.
Douglas pauses, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You are noble, Moto. Rare for one from your… cursed homeland. That nation absorbed the world's sins." Moto bites his tongue, his resolve deepening. "If you succeed, your siblings will receive citizenship. Protection. A future."
Moto, without hesitation: "I won't fail."
Douglas smiles, a thin, satisfied curve of his lips. "You leave tonight. The road to Sango passes through Zen. They'll allow you passage. But beware—Terrors roam that path. You were lucky last time." He hands Moto a world map. Red-marked zones show the danger ahead. Moto swallows hard, the weight of the mission settling upon him. "Farewell. I must rest for King Manasseh's visit." Aritri escorts Moto out before he can fully process what just happened. He sits beneath a tree under the night sky—thinking, the map clutched in his hand.
Later, he visits Sheu. She's halfway through packing a bag. She admits she wants to leave—search for answers about her father—but she doesn't know how or where. More than anything, she doesn't want to say goodbye to Moto.
"You won't have to," Moto says, his voice soft but resolute. "We're leaving together. You'll get the answers you need." Her eyes glimmer with a sudden, fragile hope. "Now—let's go find Najo."
They reach the mansion. The door is ajar. A faint sound of crying spills through the hallway. They step inside— And find their once powerful friend collapsed in tears at his mother's side. Moto drops the map. Everything has changed.