Dr. Wagner and Misha made their way through the alleyways toward the meeting point.
Misha was happily munching on a bag of mango slices dusted with chili pepper salt, crunching like a man without a single care in the world.
Dr. Wagner stared at him through the gasmask's lenses and muttered, "Unfassbar… you can eat at a time like this?"
Misha shrugged, took another bite. "Stress makes me hungry."
Wagner groaned. "We may be in very serious trouble, in case you forgot."
And the reason was simple:
A few hours earlier, the FTL engine scan had finally finished. They wrapped the original prototype like a birthday present and quietly returned it to Veltronic Motors. Once back at the garage, Misha dove straight into improving the blueprint void recalibration, efficiency tweaks, the whole nine yards. They printed the upgraded engine, admired it for ten whole seconds…
…and then made one catastrophic decision.
They strapped the brand-new third-generation FTL engine onto a DeLorean.
The moment they powered it up, reality folded wrong, space-time snapped like a rubber band, and the car vanished launching itself into some random corner of the multiverse.
They had absolutely no idea where it went.
When they reached the wall where the meeting point was hidden.
Misha lifted his MTD, tapped it, and the surface peeled open like a vertical iris.
They stepped through immediately assaulted by the sound of rock music echoing through the old library wing.
Both men stopped.
Dr. Wagner blinked.
Misha just kept eating mango slices coated in chili salt, totally unfazed.
"Why is there music?" Wagner muttered.
They followed the noise deeper in, weaving between shelves until they found a small cleared-out space where the bookshelf had been shoved aside.
And therebof course was the disaster.
Virdarath lay flat on his back, dazed.
Lyssara stood over him with a feral, triumphant grin.
Sevrina, calm as ever, held a boombox above her shoulder.
Dr. Wagner threw his hands up.
"WHAT in the hell are you all doing?"
Lyssara turned to him, manic smile sharpened to a point.
"We're teaching Virdarath capoeira, Doctor!"
Wagner just stared at her, then looked at Misha for translation.
Misha, still chewing, spoke without missing a beat.
"Capoeira's a martial art from Brazil. Created by enslaved Africans. They disguised it as dance so the slavers wouldn't know what it was."
Dr. Wagner stared harder.
"…How do you know that?"
Misha shrugged.
"I learned about it back when I was KGB. Thought it looked cool. Never got the chance to try it."
He shoveled another mango slice into his mouth andwalked over to Vidarath who was sitting up and held out the bag of mangoes. "Mangoes?" he offered.
Vidarath's face lit up with a smile as he reached into the bag, pulled out a slice, and took a bite. "Great to see you, Uncle Misha," he said warmly.
Misha chuckled at the greeting.
Sevrina, standing nearby, gave a small nod, her tone flat but polite. "It's great to see you, Uncle Mikhail," she said emotionlessly.
Misha frowned at Lyssara. "Hey kid, why are you going harder on him than before?"
Lyssara snorted, clearly annoyed. "He's forgotten my teachings."
Misha blinked. "Which teachings?"
She leaned forward, eyes blazing. "Simple. Never go easy. Ever. Gender means nothing in a fight. And yet… he's been holding back on female opponents. Ridiculous. In a real fight, death doesn't care if you're male or female."
Her voice sharpened, venomous. "And these words humans use… 'man' and 'woman'? Nonsense. 'Woman' is just 'man' with a 'wo' tacked on. 'Female' is 'male' with 'fe.' Completely pointless. Contradictory. Humans XX, XY, whatever human are weird."
Dr. Wagner opened his mouth. "But… you're human."
Lyssara's glare turned icy. "Human? Me? Ha. Sevrina and I aren't human. We're hybridized clones. Made by some corporation to be perfect slaves, perfect wives, perfect… partners for rich, disgusting assholes. And now I'm supposed to care about being 'human'? Don't make me laugh."
Lyssara then snapped her head toward Vidarath and barked, "Alright, break's over! Get back here, we're not done."
Vidarath froze mid mango bite, eyes widening like a kid caught skipping homework.
Sevrina, still holding the boombox, calmly clicked to the next track something with heavier drums, clearly chosen to make the moment worse.
Misha patted Vidarath on the back. "Good luck, kid."
Vidarath shot him a betrayed look before standing up. Lyssara didn't even wait for him to get into stance she spun on her heel and launched a sweeping kick that Vidarath barely ducked under.
"Move your hips!" she shouted. "You're not doing capoeira, you're doing depressed yoga!"
Vidarath stumbled into a back-handspring to dodge another kick, landing awkwardly. "I'm trying!"
"Try harder!" Lyssara lunged again, her movements a chaotic blend of dance, aggression, and pure homicidal enthusiasm.
Sevrina, still completely expressionless, offered dry commentary:
"Vidarath, your form is deteriorating. Probability of injury increasing by thirty percent."
"Thanks for the optimism!" he yelped as Lyssara's heel whistled past his cheek.
Dr. Wagner muttered under his breath, "I'm surrounded by lunatics…"
Lyssara flipped forward, planted a hand on the ground, and delivered a spinning inverted kick that actually connected this time sending Vidarath skidding on his back across the polished floor.
She pointed at him with theatrical fury.
"GET UP! You think enemies will wait for you to catch your breath? No! They'll shove a spear in your ribs while you're whining!"
Vidarath groaned, pushing himself upright.
"Yes, yes, I know, never underestimate anyone especially women because gender doesn't stop a blade, I remember!"
Lyssara cracked her knuckles.
"Good. Now show me."
Sevrina raised the boombox slightly.
"Beginning intense training playlist."
A bass-heavy track started.
Vidarath's face fell.
◇◇◇
Somewhere else in Evolto City, laughter chimed through a sun-drenched garden.
In a small clearing, Marisov hopped after drifting butterflies, tiny hands swatting clumsily at the air. Each time he missed, the little sparks of power around his fingertips glimmered like dust in the sunlight.
Azura sat nearby beneath a flowering arch, a slim book resting open on her lap. She wasn't reading anymore not really. Her eyes kept drifting to the boy, a soft smile breaking the usual icy calm of her face. Moments like this were rare… and she cherished them.
After a while, Marisov finally ran out of energy. With a small huff he plopped down between Azura's thighs, leaning back against her stomach like she was the softest pillow in the garden. Azura adjusted without thinking, one arm looping gently around him as the other held her book.
"Mama… what book are you reading?" he asked, voice still breathless from all the running.
Azura let out a warm chuckle and brushed her fingers through his messy hair.
"This, my little prince?" she teased, tapping the cover lightly against his forehead. "It's a story about a general finding love do you want to read it."
Marisov wrinkled his nose. "Hmm… no, I don't wanna read it myself."
He tilted his head back to look up at her, wide-eyed. "Mama, can you read it for me?"
Azura's smile softened genuine, unguarded in a way only he ever saw.
"Of course," she murmured. "Settle in."
She pulled him a little closer, the garden quieting around them as she turned the first page.
Azura cleared her throat softly and began.
"Once upon a time," she read, "there was a general known across the realms as the Frostblade. She was brilliant, fierce, and colder than the storms she commanded. Entire empires trembled when her banner rose."
Marisov listened quietly, head resting against her.
"But one day," Azura continued, turning the page, "her kingdom was struck by an enemy unlike any she had faced. She fought oh, she fought with everything she had. Yet even the strongest soldier falls when the storm grows too heavy."
Her thumb brushed gently over Marisov's shoulder as she read.
"With her army defeated and her strength fading, the enemy moved in for the final blow… but before the strike could land, another warrior intervened. A king one whose power shook the battlefield like thunder."
Marisov's eyes widened a little.
"The king saved her," Azura said softly. "And from that moment on, the general could think of only one thing: How strong is he really?"
She flipped to the next page.
"So when the king invited her to his court, she challenged him. And she lost.
The next day she challenged him again.
She lost again.
For many days they fought, and every day she was defeated."
Azura let out a quiet chuckle, her fingers idly tracing circles on Marisov's arm.
"But instead of despairing, her heart began to fill with a new thought… One day, I will win. And so she kept trying."
Azura turned the page, her voice steady but softer.
"And the more time the general spent with the king," she read, "the more something inside her began to change. At first, she thought it was only her desire to defeat him… but it wasn't."
Marisov looked up at her, curious.
"It was something warmer," Azura continued. "Something she didn't understand at first. Every time she lost, she wanted to try again not out of pride anymore, but because being near him made her heart feel strange. Like the winter inside her was melting."
She paused just a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the page.
"She found herself thinking about him far too often. Wondering what he was doing. Wondering if he ever thought of her too."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her tone held a quiet gravity beneath it.
"What began as a warrior's challenge slowly grew into something deeper… something fierce… something she held close, even when she didn't want to."
Azura's voice grew quieter as she turned the next page.
"One day, the king rode out alone on a great expedition," she read. "He didn't tell the general where he was going or how long he would be gone. And so… she waited."
Marisov snuggled a little closer, listening.
"At first, she stood by the gates every morning, expecting to see his banner crest the horizon. But days passed… and no king returned."
Azura's fingers paused on the page for just a heartbeat.
"The general began to feel something she had never allowed herself to feel before. Worry. Then fear. Then… a terrible quiet growing in her chest."
She gently tapped the illustration an armored woman standing alone before a castle gate.
"She kept thinking, I should have gone with him.
Or, I should have stopped him from leaving."
Azura breathed softly.
"And the longer she waited, the colder her thoughts grew. Her fear wrapped around the warm feeling she had for the king… until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began."
Azura's voice faltered for the first time as she turned the page.
"But then… one day… the king finally returned."
She hesitated, swallowing softly before continuing.
"He did not return alone. In his arms he carried a small bundle tiny, warm, and new. A child the kingdom had never expected."
Marisov blinked up at her, tilting his head.
"The citizens cheered," Azura went on, her voice barely above a whisper. "They celebrated the king's joy… his future… his hope."
She lingered on the next line far too long, eyes fixed on the paper instead of the boy in her arms.
"But the general…"
Her words grew slow, careful.
"She felt something she did not understand. A cold, sharp fear she could not name. She worried terribly that this child would take the king's time. His attention. His warmth."
Azura's fingers tightened around the book just slightly.
"It wasn't anger," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "Just… fear. A fear she didn't know how to hold."
She turned the page, but her eyes were distant almost haunted before she caught herself and relaxed her grip.
Azura took a slow breath and kept reading, though her voice wavered for a moment.
"Before the child arrived," she said, "the general and the king crossed blades every single day. It was tradition. A ritual they shared."
Marisov listened quietly, tracing little circles on her thigh with his finger.
"But after the baby was brought by the king… the duels changed."
Her tone softened. "Once every two days. Then once every three. Sometimes a whole week would pass with no match at all."
She paused just long enough for Marisov to notice before turning the page.
"The general… she didn't know what to do with the feelings curling inside her. She began to think it was the child's fault. That the king no longer had time for their fights because he was busy raising his heir."
Azura's eyes lowered, her thumb resting still on the paper.
"One day, the king announced that he sought a caretaker and a teacher for the little one."
Her breath hitched, barely audible.
"And the general had a thought," she continued softly. "A selfish one. If I watch over the child… I can stay close to him."
Marisov blinked, confused but attentive.
"So she chose to take the role," Azura said. "At first, she was cold. Distant. The baby cried, and she didn't know how to hold him. She tried to treat it like a duty… nothing more."
Her voice warmed without her noticing.
"But slowly… very slowly… the baby smiled at her. Reached for her. Trusted her."
A small, involuntary smile touched her lips.
"And in time, the general stopped thinking of him as a responsibility."
She lowered her head slightly, almost whispering the next line.
"She began to think of him… as her own son."
Azura's voice tightened on that final word faint, emotional, real.
Azura gently closed the book, her fingers lingering on the cover for a moment longer than they should have.
"…And that," she said softly, "is the end."
Marisov blinked up at her. "That's it, Mama?"
She hesitated only a heartbeat, but enough to feel the tension ripple through her chest.
"…Yes," she whispered. "That's the whole tale."
Her voice carried warmth, but also something tighter, something she clearly wasn't explaining.
Marisov tilted his head, studying her with those perceptive little eyes of his.
"The general… she loved the baby a lot, didn't she?"
Azura's breath caught.
"She did," she answered quietly. "More than she ever expected."
He leaned back against her again, small and trusting and warm.
"…Just like you love me?"
Azura froze just for a second then pulled him gently closer, pressing her cheek to the top of his head.
"Yes," she murmured. "Exactly like that."