In the stillness of the throne room, Sheu lets the weight of her father's poncho settle across her shoulders. Her breathing slows, syncing with the gentle flow of air around her.
The peace doesn't last.
Andzani storms in like a gust of chaos — beige jumpsuit loose, straps whipping, pockets heavy with clinking tools. A red katana swings at his hip, jacket half-unzipped with one arm dangling free to reveal a plain white shirt.
Without a word, he draws a clunky mechanical pistol and fires — thud, thud — two rounds snapping into Moto and Najo's foreheads.
Sheu tilts her head just in time; the shot kisses her cheek, leaving a thin, hot sting.
Andzani: "Oh? Reflexes. Not bad."
He holsters the weapon, smirking at Moto and Najo.
Andzani: "Unlike these two."
Khosa rises from the throne. "What are you doing?!"
Andzani: "Relax, bro. Paintballs. Just testing the new guys. Morning, Trinity."
Trinity (composed): "Good morning, sir."
Khosa: "That's not how we treat guests."
Andzani: "Come on — outsiders love a little violence. Right?"
Their bickering drags on — Khosa defending peace through example, Andzani arguing that peace means nothing if you can't defend it. Then Andzani's gaze lands on Sheu's poncho.
Andzani: "Why are you giving away Shelton's favorite gear?"
Khosa (voice heavy): "Shelton is gone. This is his daughter — Sheu."
Andzani's jaw tightens. A blade appears in his hand with a flick of his wrist.
Andzani: "Who did it?"
Sheu: "I don't know yet. But I will."
Andzani: "Then give them a jab for me too."
He tosses the blade to her. Wind coils around it instantly. Eyes widen across the room.
Andzani: "From Nirvana. You'll figure it out."
Then his eyes narrow on Moto.
Moto: "…?"
Andzani: "..."
Moto: "???"
Andzani: "You're Asher's brother."
The air shifts. Trinity's eyes dart between them.
Trinity: "Wait… you're the younger brother you told me about?"
Moto: "N-no, sir."
Andzani: "Nonsense. You dyed your hair black. You think I wouldn't recognize my friend's family?"
Trinity: "You lied to me?"
Moto: "I wasn't— I was just—"
Andzani: "How's old Ash?"
Moto: "Haven't seen him in a while."
Andzani: "Still wandering, huh? Well, when you do — tell him to visit. Life's too short to waste chasing the dead."
Khosa (sharp): "Don't say that."
Andzani: "What? It's true. You think he'd have found their mother by now?"
Khosa: "Enough."
The palace doors creak, then swing open. Cold air slips in.
Khosa's gaze hardens toward the threshold, though Moto, Sheu, and Najo see only empty space.
Khosa: "A horde of Terrors…"
The trio glance at each other, unsure — until Sheu reminds them Zen's people can see spirits. Trinity had told them about the border sentinels who warn of danger.
Andzani: "Not all Guardians can handle ten-on-one. We'll need backup."
He turns to Moto, Sheu, and Najo.
Andzani: "Perfect. You're with me."
The West Border
Civilians part, cheering as the group sprints past. The warmth in their eyes lifts Moto's chest. In the crowd, he catches Aemon's glare — cold and fixed on Andzani.
Beyond the city walls, the land stretches open.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Koji charges barefoot toward them, a massive black pot balanced on one shoulder, a long black rod in the other hand.
Koji: "Extra hands. Good. They say it's an army this time."
Andzani: "Let's see if they can keep up."
Moto: "We won't slow you down."
Andzani: "Says the kid with the broken arm. But if you're even a tenth as strong as Asher, you'll be useful."
The Battlefield
The Terrors are already there — hulking, twisted shapes tearing through the tree line, claws dripping. Three Guardians are locked in combat, their movements sharp but strained.
Koji shoves the butt of his rod into the ground and nods at Sheu.
Koji: "You have wind?"
Sheu: "Yes."
He pokes a small hole in the base of the pot.
Koji: "Push it out."
A plume of red powder streams into the air. Sheu exhales, sending it sweeping over the field. The dust clings to every Terror, painting them in crimson haze — no more guessing where the claws will come from.
A blur drops into the fight — Kuzai.
Kuzai Enters
Armless, wiry, and barefoot, Kuzai lands delicately on the tip of Koji's extended staff like a bird alighting on a branch. Then he's gone — a streak of motion, legs kicking with stored energy that detonates on impact. Colorful after-images linger behind every move, crashing into enemies even after he's long passed.
Kuzai: "Kick more. Use your legs."
He snaps both calves around a Terror's neck, flips, and slams it into the ground. Moto mimics the move, almost pulls it off — then gets driven into the dirt for his trouble.
Kuzai: "Close. Again."
Near the eastern flank, Sheu's blade flashes. Koji's staff hammers down skulls, but Sheu's elegant dodges aren't cutting deep.
Koji: "Evasion won't win. Strike."
She pulls the Nirvana blade from her side. Blue light surges along its edge, and with one sweep she sends a crescent of wind tearing through a lunging Terror, saving Koji from a claw to the back.
Koji: "Better."
On the far right, Andzani's bow sings — arrows drop Terrors mid-charge, blades finishing those that close the gap. Najo lingers back, fists clenched.
Andzani: "You're just standing there. Hit me."
He steps closer, smirking.
Andzani: "I'm disrespecting you. Gonna let me?"
Najo's jaw tightens.
Andzani: "The only thing I hate more than my enemies are allies who hold back."
There's weight in his tone — as if aimed at someone else entirely.
The ground shudders as Najo slams his palms down. A three-story boulder erupts beneath them, Terrors scrambling atop it.
Andzani: "That's more like it."
They leap — Andzani's arrows drop them midair. Threads of light lash out from his hands, twenty in all, hooking into the beasts. The threads blacken halfway, and the Terrors march, entranced, into the crater Najo carved.
Koji (calling out from across the field): "One-on-one spirit tug-of-war. Andzani can control dozens."
Najo collapses the boulder — crushing them in a thunder of stone.
As the dust settles, the Guardians breathe heavy. Andzani stays upright, already turning back toward the capital.
Sheu pauses, that earlier unease in her chest returning. A sound stirs from the treeline — the same rustle as before, now closer.
A figure emerges, slow, hands bound in rectangular cuffs.
Sheu: "Uh… guys?"
Moto: "What?"
The figure vanishes in a blink — and reappears behind Soris.
A wet crack.
Soris's head tumbles to the dirt.
The battlefield freezes.