The ceremony reached its final moments, The Director offering closing words of resilience and unity before the crowd was dismissed. The plaza slowly empties, the echoes of applause and murmurs lingering like fading smoke.
When the stage was cleared, Pheo slipped away from the dispersing crowd and made his way to where Kael and Thorne prepared for their journey back to the capital. Thorne looked weary, leaning heavily on his cane, while Kael wore his usual smirk.
"You know," Kael said, glancing at the folded parchment still tucked beneath Pheo's arm, "You would've had a chance to protect it. The Crimson Hall, eventually. It might've been a mistake using The Director's favor there."
"I know," Pheo gave him a small smile, one that shows he knew what he was doing. "But it's better to be mine now than later, right? I'll decide what happens to it from now on."
Kael chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Next time we meet, it'll most likely be in the capital. While I'm there, I'll dig into everything I can. Adam's missing person, that ice curse you mentioned, and your own golden problem."
"If there's knowledge hidden in the capital, I'll find it." Kael told him. Pheo nodded, his eyes steady. "And I'll head deeper into the Badlands. There are places no one's dared to map, ruins no one's claimed. Somewhere in that wilderness, I might find answers."
The two boys exchanged a brief silence, the weight of their futures pressing in around them. Then Kael extended a hand, his smirk softening into something more genuine.
"Until then."
Pheo clasped his hand firmly. "Until then."
With that, Kael climbed into the vehicle, Thorne following slowly, his cane clattering against the metal step. The door slammed shut, and the transport's engine roared louder. Dust swirled in the wake of its wheels as it rolled forward.
Pheo stood there until the vehicle was a distant speck in the endless sand, swallowed by the heat's haze. The Badlands still waited for him, endless and unforgiving. Somewhere out there could lay his answers, and the beginning of whatever he was meant to become.
When Pheo pushed open the door to his hospital room, he froze. Sitting there, waiting, was The Director. His posture was relaxed, yet his presence carried the same weight as when he stood before thousands earlier that day.
"I won't lie to you, Pheo," The Director began, his voice steady but not unkind. "I can't personally take care of you. My duties keep me tied to too many places at once. But there are others under me, operatives who've already proven themselves countless times."
"People who could teach you more than I ever could." He told him. Pheo blinked, his curiosity stirring. "Who?" The Director leaned back slightly, folding his arms behind him. "You should know them very well, you've met them before me after all."
"Anora. A cold, sharp, and disciplined operative. Armed with a handgun and special knife, she's a soldier through and through. If you learn from her, you'd learn precision, restraint, and what it means to carry responsibility without wavering."
Images of Anora flashed in Pheo's mind. Her steady grip on her knife while fighting against opponents who were leagues stronger than her. Her composure during a fight, never flinching even when the world around her burned.
"Sylira," The Director continued. "A storm given flesh. Relentless, quick to act, and unyielding when her convictions take root. From her, you'd learn how to take the initiative, to strike first before hesitation comes."
Pheo remembered the raw, pounding force behind Sylira's invisible fists. A storm, yes, beautiful and destructive, leaving nothing in its wake.
"Don," The Director said next, his voice dipping a little lower. "Old, Strong, and patient. A swordsman who can quickly switch between offense and defense. With him, you'd understand the value of endurance, and the stability to stay standing when all else falls."
Pheo thought of Don's small but unmovable frame, his quiet but commanding presence wherever he went. A wall that stands tall among others long broken down.
"And finally," The Director's lips curved faintly, "Wing. Both Elusive and cunning, he's always three steps ahead of his opponent. He adapts to movement, changes form when the situation demands. From him, you'd learn tactics and coordination, a way to fight a battle before it's even begun."
Pheo saw again the sly grin Wing wore even in battle, his movements too fluid to be predicted. The room fell quiet, The Director's gaze held steady on him, giving no hint of which choice he favored.
"So," he said at last, "Which one of them will you choose to go under?"
Pheo lowered his gaze, deep in thought. Each name carried weight. Each path offered something different, something he wanted but couldn't grasp all at once. Picking one meant narrowing the road ahead.
He couldn't help but think, as The Director's words echoed in his head, that the man truly was worthy of his position. Not just powerful and commanding, but able to see people clearly, stripping them down to their best qualities without being blinded by their flaws.
Where others might dwell on weakness, The Director had revealed only strength. That kind of clarity was something Pheo quietly admired. After a long silence, Pheo looked up again. His voice was calm, but firm.
"What if… I didn't have to choose?"
The Director's eyes narrowed, not in anger but in careful thought. "Are you sure? That's quite risky," he said, "You'd be placing yourself in a position where all four could reject you. No guarantee, no safety. Are you certain that you're willing to take a risk?"
"Yes," Pheo said without hesitation. "High risks bring high rewards. If I fail… then I'll just have to find another way forward."
For a moment, The Director studied him. He then exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're bold, I'll give you that. Very well. By tomorrow, they'll be informed. Then you may ask them yourself."
With that, the Director rose, his coat sweeping behind him as he moved toward the door. He paused just before leaving, casting Pheo a final glance. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow will open more doors than you expect."
Then he left, leaving the room heavier in its silence. Pheo sat back against the bed, staring at the faint lines on the ceiling. His own words echoed in his head.
What if I didn't have to choose?
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. If he bound himself to one, he'd gain mastery in one direction, yes, but he would also close the doors to mastering the others.
Anora's discipline, Sylira's drive, Don's endurance, Wing's cunning… they weren't paths he wanted to weigh against each other, but fragments. Each of them a different strength, each of them combinable with the other.
And if I manage to understand all four of them, maybe their weaknesses won't bind me either.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, tired but stubborn. It was a reckless decision, yes, maybe even foolish for someone to gamble an opportunity like this. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the only way forward.
The Director had seen their best qualities, but Pheo had seen all of them. If he manages to learn from one mentor what the other hadn't, then he would build his own path. One where he would be able to become an all rounder, at least, until he found out his gift.
It was reckless, maybe even foolish, but as he laid back against the sheets, he couldn't shake the feeling that what he did was the only way forward.
The Director closed the door silently behind him, leaving Pheo to his restless thoughts. His steps carried him down the quiet hospital corridor, then out into the cool night air. He moved with purpose, his cloak brushing against the stone floor as he made his way.
The sounds of steel on steel reached him before the gates of the training camp came to view. The rhythmic clash of weapons, the instructors barking orders to the recruits that pushed themselves to the point of exhaustion.
The camp was alive even at this late hour, a testament to the city's need for strength after so much loss. He entered without announcement, shifting the atmosphere almost immediately.
Conversations faltered, weapons lowered at the sight of him, and the trainees stiffened to attention. With a single raised hand, he bid them continue, his presence enough to command respect and unease.
The Director stopped near the edge of the sparring grounds, his gaze sweeping across the field until he spotted one of his aides. "Bring Anora to me," he said firmly. The aide saluted and rushed off.
The Director stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the recruits struggle with their drills. His thoughts were elsewhere, on the boy in the hospital bed, and the request he had made. A bold one, risky even.
That boy… He's not acting without reason, he has a plan.
Moments later, Anora approached, sweat clinging to her brow. Her movements were still sharp despite having just finished sparring. She gave a brief bow of her head. "You called for me, Director?"
The Director gave Anora a small nod before gesturing for her to follow. They moved away from the sparring grounds, his stride steady while hers cautious. After a short walk, they came to a quieter stretch of the camp, the clashing steel becoming a background hum.
"Here will do," he said at last, turning to face her. His eyes sharpened as they fixed on hers. "Now tell me, Anora… How did you know about Sylira's failure on the mission?"
She stiffened, her mouth parting slightly at the directness of the question. For a moment, she weighed her response, then her mind pulled her back–
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You don't normally make mistakes in team composition," Anora said, her tone even but heavy. "But this time… making an obvious mistake such as putting Sylira on this team? That doesn't add up."
The Director raised a brow. "Are you questioning my decisions? In the first place, she has combat ability. She'll be useful in case the situation calls for a direct confrontation with another group."
"Useful? In a cramped place like The Free City?" Anora pressed. "She's headstrong. She isn't experienced enough to handle her gift with precision or work with the team. Maybe out there in the dunes she's a force to be reckoned with, but over there she's a fish out of water."
He leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "Every team needs someone who can break the line, someone who can take hits like it's nothing. Sylira would be the perfect option, filling that role better than most."
Anora narrowed her eyes. "I can think of four brawlers from the lower ranks who can fill that role better. Hell, even Ikra's kid would be a better option here. You've had safer options, but you chose the loose cannon. And that's not a choice you would make unless you were aiming at something else. Unless…"
The words hung in the air, and she let the silence stretch before finishing.
"Unless you were trying to make her fail."
The Director's expression finally shifted, the mask cracking just enough to reveal the truth. He didn't deny it. Instead, his voice dropped to something colder. "She's dangerous, Anora."
"And that's not just to our enemies," his gaze hardened. "To us as well. Her impulses put the entire team at risk. I won't let one reckless operative, one blue falcon, ruin the futures of others because of an easily avoidable mistake."
"I chose you and Wing because you two would have the best chances of surviving when things go wrong." He clarified. Anora's breath caught, but she steadied herself, pressing back. "And if you're wrong? If she doesn't break?"
"Then it will mean she deserved to stay," he said, tone clipped. Anora shook her head, frustration across her face. "You see a liability. I see something else, potential far surpassing the other recruits."
"Raw and unshaped, sure. But potential. You can't just keep practicing to grow it, potential is something you're born with. She has the kind of grit you can't teach. She just needs someone to push her where she's weakest."
The Director studied her in silence. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled through his nose, conceding just slightly. "Isn't this the second time today?" he muttered to himself before deciding.
"Very well. If she succeeds in this mission, I'll reconsider my judgment. She stays. But if she fails…" his gaze sharpened, cutting sharp into hers. "Then she's out. And if her recklessness causes more harm than good it'll be you who has to answer for it."
Anora held his eyes, her voice steady. "Then I'll hold you to that."
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The memory of that talk lingered in Anora's mind, and when the present washed back over her, she was still staring at The Director. "... Sylira reminds me of my past," she said quietly.
The Director tilted his head, but didn't interrupt. "I used to believe so much in chances. That the unexplored held treasures that no one else could obtain. And everytime I took that risk, everytime I went to chase after things that others would call impossible, the adrenaline only hooked me deeper."
"It was like I was an addict drinking from a bottle he couldn't put down." She let out a breath, almost bitter, almost wistful. "And I did find those treasures. I saw wonders no one else had seen. I carved my name into the world with them."
Her eyes lowered slightly, her voice quieter. "But it left me empty. I don't even know why. Maybe it was the endless pestering that came from being famous. Or the constant challengers, eager faces, all of them young, hoping to make a quick name for themselves as the one who took me down."
"Or maybe, maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it hollowed me out. I felt like nothing, as though I was missing something I didn't even know I needed." For the first time in their talk, her gaze softened.
"That's what I see in Sylira. That same pull, that same hunger to prove herself, to chase something just beyond her reach. And I can't help but think that maybe… if someone steadies her path, she won't end up as hollow as I did."
The Director's expression was unreadable, his silence deliberate. But in that silence, Anora's words lingered, a weight neither of them tried to dismiss. Anora's gaze drifted to the ground, her hand unconsciously tightening around the edge of her cloak.
"That's why," she continued, her voice low but steady, "when I saw her making the same mistakes I did in the past… When I saw her taking the same routes I once walked, I felt like I needed to stop her. To turn her away from what I've become."
She let out a faint, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "Of course, it's not that I wanted to ruin her life, or drag her down. That was never my goal. I just… didn't want her to become like me."
Her eyes lifted again, and for a rare moment, The Director caught a glimpse of the weight she usually buried beneath her sharp confidence. It wasn't pity driving her, nor arrogance, but a weary recognition.
Anora's words trailed off into silence, her expression firm yet shadowed with that flicker of vulnerability she rarely revealed. "Okay," The Director said simply. The response was so abrupt, so bare, that Anora blinked in confusion. "...Okay? That's it?"
"Yup." He tilted his head slightly, studying her. A smile formed on his face. Then, after a beat, he asked. "Do you know why they call me The Director?" Anora frowned, caught off guard by the question.
In truth, she had never really questioned it. Just thought it was a name he gave himself as the boss. "Because you direct people, don't you? You see their attributes, strengths, and weaknesses, then place them where they need to be. You manage everything without fail."
A small, almost amused breath left him. "Not quite." His eyes, sharp as ever, softened just a touch. "I was given the name because I was always able to see the outcomes of whatever I orchestrated."
"My predictions never failed me. Every plan, every operation, every move…" He paused, his gaze drifting past her as though recalling a hundred victories and calculations. "I could see it unfold from beginning to end."
Then his tone grew quieter. "That is… except for one factor." Anora's curiosity tugged at her. "And that is?" His answer came without hesitation. "Humanity. The one thing I could never grasp."
"It foils my calculations, disrupts my outcomes. I've studied it, dissected it, tried to emulate it. But without fail it ends up becoming unpredictable, chaotic as if in nature. People do not always act with reason, nor with self-interest. Sometimes they act from places I cannot measure."
"That's why I asked you about your reason, Anora." His eyes returned to her, steady and unflinching. "I wanted to know more about you, your humanity. The part of you I cannot predict."
She stared at him, unsettled in a way she hadn't expected. The Director straightened, his tone cooling again into something more professional. "I cannot pretend I will be much help to you. But if you ever find yourself with no one else to talk to… you can come to me."
The Director didn't linger any longer than he should. With his usual poise, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading against the quiet path never looking back. Meanwhile, Anora stood rooted in place, her brows knit in thought.
She hadn't expected this. For him, of all people, to reveal something so deeply personal, so vulnerable. The Director, the man who always seemed untouchable, whose mind ran like a flawless machine, had admitted to a weakness.
And now she carried it. A secret no one else would ever believe. A truth that, if whispered, might tear down the very image he had built. A weakness that could be used against him to foil every plan he would make.
Her chest tightened with guilt. Part of her wanted to tell him she wouldn't use it against him, that she respected his trust. But another part, the sharper, more determined part was telling her this was something she needed to see through.
I'm sorry.
She thought silently, her gaze lingering on the path where he had vanished.
But that kid's the reason half of all your veteran operatives are still alive, including me. Even if you spend nights trying to figure it out, I won't be the one to tell you the owner of the golden flame.
She exhaled slowly, shaking the heaviness from her shoulders. Each moment she spent thinking about it was a moment wasted. With that, Anora turned back toward the training grounds, slipping into the rhythm of drills once more.