The faint glow of the Crimson Pools reflected off the vaulted ceilings, casting wavering crimson patterns across the stone walls. The warmth had worked its way into Luke's battered muscles, soothing the raw ache left from the battle. But it did nothing for the heaviness coiled tight in his chest.
He found Kuro standing at the far end of the chamber, half-dressed, with a towel slung over his shoulder. The faint, pink scars from freshly healed wounds traced along his back like a road map of violence and survival. His red fur, damp from the bath, clung to his neck, and his eyes—those sharp, violet eyes—were distant, lost somewhere Luke couldn't reach.
Luke cleared his throat. "Kuro."
Kuro didn't turn, but Luke knew he was listening.
"We're leaving."
The words hung there, simple but weighted.
Eleanor appeared beside Luke, her gear half-buckled, amber eyes sharp despite the exhaustion still etched into her features. "We need to report back to Aldric. The sooner the better."
Kuro finally moved, rolling his shoulders before glancing over. "I'm coming with you."
Luke blinked. "What?"
Kuro's face was unreadable. "I want to speak to Aldric myself."
Luke exchanged a glance with Eleanor. She shrugged as if to say, What's the problem?
Luke hesitated. He'd always thought of Kuro as the wildcard, the one untethered from their chain of command. But hearing him say that—I want to speak to Aldric—felt… different. Like it shifted something in the dynamic.
But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
Luke nodded. "Alright."
No arguments. No hesitation.
Kuro gave a curt nod, as if that settled it, but before they could leave, he glanced back toward the Bazaar's chaotic sprawl beyond the chamber doors.
"I need to say goodbye first."
The Shifting Bazaar was alive with motion, the air thick with strange spices and the hum of foreign languages woven into the tapestry of commerce. But as Kuro stepped into the open, the crowd seemed to ripple around him, like water parting around a stone.
Eyes turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence.
Whispers followed him: "Kael's son.""The Echo of Hope.""He's leaving?"
A towering, horned Abnormal with burnished red skin approached first. His voice was a gravelly rumble. "You're leaving us, Kuro?"
Kuro nodded, his expression impassive but respectful. "For now."
A group of children—Abnormals with scales, horns, and strange luminous markings—gathered around, their wide eyes filled with admiration. One of them, a small girl with iridescent wings folded against her back, tugged at his sleeve.
"Will you come back?" she asked softly.
Kuro crouched to her level, his violet eyes softening just a fraction. "I will."
A simple promise. But for them, it meant everything.
Luke watched from a distance, feeling like an outsider looking in on something sacred. Kuro isn't just Kael's son to them. He's a symbol—a living reminder of hope that didn't die with Kael.
Eleanor stood beside him, arms crossed. "They adore him."
"Yeah," Luke murmured. And I think part of him needs that—needs to know he's more than just a fighter.
After the farewells, Kuro rejoined them, his face once again the familiar mask of calm indifference. But Luke could tell something lingered in his eyes—a weight not entirely healed.
They navigated through the labyrinth's shifting pathways until they reached one of the breaches in its ceiling—an irregular tear where fractured stone gave way to the open sky. Daylight spilled through like a promise.
Climbing out wasn't easy. The walls were jagged with tendrils, the footing unstable, but exhaustion had been replaced by a quiet determination. Luke's hands were raw by the time he hauled himself over the edge, Eleanor right behind him, grumbling under her breath about needing "better life choices."
Kuro emerged last, pulling himself up with effortless grace, as if gravity simply didn't apply to him.
They stood in the open now, the vast wasteland stretching out before them—an endless expanse of cracked earth, distorted structures, and a sky too big, too empty. But for the first time since the battle, Luke felt like he could breathe.
The trip to Sylveria's domain would take two days. They traveled light, their footsteps the only sound against the barren landscape. The tension that had gripped them after the Nexus began to loosen with each mile.
The first night, they camped under a fractured sky, the stars scattered like broken glass. They sat around a small fire, its warmth a fragile comfort against the chill.
Eleanor broke the silence. "You know, for a mission that was supposed to be 'straightforward,' we really outdid ourselves."
Luke snorted. "Yeah. If by 'straightforward,' you mean 'ambushed by a sociopath who works for the Hand of Fates and nearly killed.'"
Kuro glanced at them, his lips twitching slightly—a Kuro equivalent of a full-blown laugh. "At least no one lost a limb."
Eleanor grinned, poking at the fire with a stick. "Give it time."
The laughter—small, dry, but genuine—felt good. Like shedding layers of weight they didn't realize they'd been carrying.
Luke stared into the flames, his thoughts quieter now. Maybe we did fail. But we survived. And that counts for something.
The next day passed in a blur of dusty roads and half-hearted complaints. Eleanor found a game in tossing rocks at distant targets, challenging Kuro to beat her accuracy. To Luke's surprise, Kuro was… decent. Not great, but he played along, his usual stoicism giving way to rare, fleeting smirks.
Luke didn't join in. He just watched, content in the rare moment of simplicity.
By the time Sylveria's stronghold appeared on the horizon—a towering spire carved into jagged stone, its dark silhouette sharp against the blood-red sky—Luke felt lighter. Not healed. But not broken, either.
They got closer until the gates were practically in front of them. Despite failure determination glimmered in Luke's eyes.