The trio arrives at one of Zen's eastern borders, where a massive golden gate glimmers against the morning sunlight. In front of it, a small crowd awaits their arrival.
As they approach, women dressed in straw skirts and red cloth bras move to the rhythm of rattles and drums. They dance with a primal grace and intensity, sweeping the path and tossing vibrant petals into the air to welcome their guests. At the center, a tall, dark-skinned man in a vibrant red-and-yellow robe stands with arms wide and a warm, serene smile stretched across his face.
Koji: "Welcome, travelers, to the beautiful nation of Zen. My name is Koji of the Postori tribe. What brings you here?"
Moto: "We're on our way to Sango, and we'd like to pass through your country."
Koji: "Splendid. Tariro here will be your guide. The quickest route passes through our main city. If you're lucky, King Khosa himself may greet you—he delights in meeting guests."
Tariro, a poised young woman dressed in a flowing green tunic, offers a small, serene nod. "It would be my pleasure."
Najo watches them in silence, his expression subtly skeptical of the overt warmth. Sheu, meanwhile, scans her surroundings, captivated by the vibrant, almost luminous life around them.
Moto: "Thank you, Koji. We appreciate your hospitality."
Koji, his smile unwavering, lifts a black clay bowl swirling with red powder. "One tradition before entry. Everyone in Zen bears a mark—a symbol of unity and connection. It allows me to track movement through the land for the safety of all." Trinity lifts her sleeve, revealing a soft, permanent imprint of red ash on her forearm. Koji dips his thumb in the powder and gently marks Moto's forehead.
Najo: "So you track everyone in a place built on openness? Isn't that... contradictory?"
Koji: "A new rule, introduced by the King's brother Andzani. He believes structure protects harmony. I follow the law."
Najo exhales slowly through his nose, clearly unconvinced, but allows Koji to press the mark. Then Sheu steps forward. As Koji lifts the powder to her forehead, he pauses. His brows furrow in concentration, his gaze piercing.
Koji: "You… your eyes. They're familiar."
Sheu: "I've never left Nyika. I doubt we've met."
Koji hesitates, his focus intense.
In his mind's eye, thousands of red dots flicker across a mental map—each representing a citizen of Zen. Three new yellow dots now pulse softly into existence. Moto. Najo. Sheu.
"When I mark someone, their energy is briefly recorded. And yours… echoes someone I remember. Though I can't track him now, his presence still lingers."
Sheu's hands tighten at her sides, a sudden tremor. "That may have been my father, maybe."
Koji gasps, a flash of recognition in his eyes. "The daughter of Shelton? Is it truly you?"
Sheu: "Yes. Y-You knew him?" Her voice is barely a whisper, caught between hope and dread.
Koji: "Knew him? He helped me master my spiritual mapping. A man of immense peace. He was even friends with King Khosa himself."
Sheu's breath catches. Her voice shakes with a newfound determination. "He died on a mission, and I that's all I've been told. I'm here to find out what really happened."
Koji's face softens with profound sadness. "If only I could escort you myself. But my duty binds me here. Allow my daughter, Trinity, to guide you. She knew your father too, and she'll help you find answers."
Trinity bows and smiles gently, then walks off to prepare, her green tunic flowing behind her. As new visitors arrive, heralded by distant drums, Koji steps aside to greet them. The trio waits.
Najo: "Can we really trust these people?" His voice is low, laced with suspicion.
Sheu: "This could be the lead I've been hoping for." She snaps back, frustration spilling out. "Don't talk like that."
Moments later, Trinity returns, her smile calm and reassuring. "Welcome again. I've been briefed. Let me show you the heart of Zen."
They step through the golden gate, entering the outer district of the city. It's quiet. Too quiet.
Moto: "Where is everyone?"
Trinity: "King Andzani ordered a relocation—bringing everyone closer to the central city. Safety, he claims. It's made the core livelier. You'll see."
Moto: "It sounds… like control more than safety."
Trinity: "Perspective is personal. But there is beauty in unity, and Zen has always balanced freedom with flow."
Sheu walks but is lost in her head, zoned out from the moment with worry and hope. She asks herself if seeing the king is worth it, what if he is hostile and doesn't answer her questions. Moto notices her worry .
Moto: "Since King Khosa knew Sheu's father… we should meet him."
Sheu: "That would be an honor."
Moto: "Sheu… you should ask everything you want to know. While you're here."
Sheu nods slowly, a steely resolve in her eyes. "I will. Trinity, please—tell me about my father."
Trinity's expression softens, a genuine warmth. "Gladly. His first journey here… he said he was heading to Nirvana."
Elsewhere… Beneath the Floating Kingdom of Denga
We enter Gehen. Dry crimson soil stretches to a desolate horizon under a perpetually hazy sky. Heat hangs heavy in the still air. A jagged, crumbling warehouse looms in isolation, its rusted metal groaning in the silence.
Inside, the chilling rattle of chains and monstrous groans fill the air. The crimson-haired Old Man, last seen at Moto's Succession Trial, approaches a central, reinforced shed. His golden bracelet—with its seven engraved links—gleams faintly under the flickering, dust-choked lamps.
Inside the shed: five men, all with crimson hair, their eyes burning with a desperate intensity. One holds down a snarling Terror, a grotesque creature with dread-like tentacles and glowing teeth that spell MELLY, grinding against his strained grip.
Commander: "You're late."
Kangetsu, a chilling smirk playing on his face, steps from the shadows. "And why the ugly face?"
Old Man: "The trials were… more entertaining than expected."
A fourth brother, smooth-haired and expressionless, holds a worn black leather book. The Scribe. "Later. We begin now." He removes his shirt and, with a grim determination, cuts deeply from shoulder to flank. Blood pools on the dirt floor, a dark, rich offering.
The Terrors, sensing the fresh blood, stop snarling. Their pupils dilate. Their growls fade into an eerie, expectant silence. Their spirits react to the blood—the ancient signal to serve.
The MELLY Terror is shackled, its immense form finally restrained. The rest are freed—loosed from their chains, their eyes now fixed on their masters.
Commander: "Well then. Let's see if Zen's shiny new defenses are worth anything."
They sprint—a terrifying, crimson wave—toward light, toward order, toward Zen.