The mountain slope had become a corridor of shattered stone and scattered Marines. Eliane Anđel landed hard, her bare feet skidding on the moss, her bamboo practice sword held in both hands. Her silver hair had come loose from its braid, floating around her face like a banner of defiance. Her olive skin was scraped, her white chef's jacket torn at the shoulder.
Across the clearing, Captain Sane Galedo stood in his hybrid form—a towering, lean creature of cinnamon-brown fur and digitigrade legs. His amber horns swept back from his temples, curving forward like dual spears. The drooping proboscis hung over his mouth, twitching with each breath. In his right hand, Nagisa gleamed—the slender katana gleaming like a beacon of justice.
He tilted his head, his dark, wounded eyes narrowing.
"A child," he said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "You should not be here."
Eliane's jaw tightened. "I'm not a child. I'm a chef."
Sane blinked. "That is... not better."
She lunged.
The bamboo sword swept toward his chest. Sane moved—not fast, but economical. Nagisa came up, and the flat of the blade caught the bamboo with a sharp crack. Eliane stumbled back, her arms shaking.
"You have no training," Sane observed. "Your grip is wrong. Your stance is..."
He paused, tilting his head again. His long nose twitched.
"You are a Lunarian."
Eliane's heart stopped. The wings tucked beneath her chef's jacket flickered—involuntary, uncontrollable. The halo of flame on her back sparked once, then died.
"I'm not," she whispered.
Sane's dark eyes held no judgment. Only a kind of sad understanding.
"The fire does not lie. The wings do not lie." He lowered Nagisa. "I have seen your kind before. In the Steppe Corridor. The World Government hunts you. Why are you here, child?"
Eliane's hands trembled on the bamboo sword. Her voice cracked.
"To raise the flag. So my family doesn't have to hide anymore."
Sane was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed.
"I am sorry. But I cannot allow that."
He raised Nagisa.
They lunged.
The katana met the bamboo sword—once, twice, three times. Sparks flew. Eliane fought with desperation, with fury, with twelve years of suppressed rage. But Sane was patient. Methodical. He let her exhaust herself against his blade.
Then he cut.
Nagisa swept through the bamboo sword like a knife through butter. The blade split in half, the top section spinning away, the hilt still clutched in Eliane's hands.
She stared at the broken sword.
Sane straightened. "Bamboo against steel. What did you expect?"
Eliane's eyes burned. Tears or fire—she could not tell which.
"I will raise the Red Hair flag!" she shouted, throwing the broken hilt aside. "I don't need a sword!"
Sane shook his head. "You will not. The only thing you are going to do is be detained."
"NO!"
She leaped.
Her wings exploded from her back—full, magnificent, uncontrolled. The halo of flame roared to life, casting her in a corona of gold and crimson. She shot toward the sky, toward the flagpole at the summit, leaving a trail of fire in her wake.
Sane cursed under his breath—a soft, honking exhale—and launched himself after her.
"Give up, child! You cannot outrun the Navy!"
Eliane looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes blazing.
"NEVER!"
---
Kaburo Gusaki watched from behind a tree.
His dark eyes tracked the distant fight—Aurélie Nakano Takeko's silver hair flashing between the trunks, Topiaris Tidaltuff's pompadour bobbing as he swung Kalamaru. The cursed katana pulsed with amber light, its serpent heads writhing.
Kaburo's hands clenched. The explosive collar around his neck pulsed with each heartbeat.
He could not move. Could not fight. Could only watch as his blade—his blade—was wielded by a vain man in a pressed uniform.
Then something flew past his face.
A broken bamboo hilt. It clattered against a rock and rolled to a stop.
Kaburo looked up.
A streak of silver and flame shot across the sky—a girl with wings, a girl on fire, a girl running from a lean, horned creature in a Marine captain's coat.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland looked up too.
The eight-year-old's red hair was a mess, his cargo shorts stained with dirt, his armored graphic t-shirt ripped at the sleeve. He had been observing the other fight with detached interest, cataloging weaknesses, calculating outcomes.
But this was different.
A child. A Lunarian. Being hunted.
Sanza's golden-flecked eyes narrowed.
"Vile creature," he muttered. "Chasing a twelve-year-old. How pedestrian."
He stepped out from behind the tree.
"Jelly," he called over his shoulder, "I will return."
Jelly Squish was too busy bouncing on Petra Ven's head to respond.
Sanza closed his eyes. The Byakko's power surged through his small body—white fur erupting across his skin, golden horns sprouting from his temples, three tails unfurling behind him. His hands became claws. His teeth became fangs.
He leaped.
A golden disk formed beneath his paw—solid, shimmering, shaped like a tiger's paw. He pushed off, and another disk appeared higher. Another. Another. He bounded up the invisible staircase, leaving trails of celestial light in the air.
Sane Galedo was closing on Eliane, his digitigrade legs eating ground, his horns lowered for a thrust.
Sanza hit him from the side.
The white tiger's jaws clamped down on Sane's forearm. The saiga hybrid roared—a deep, honking bellow—and tried to shake the child off.
"WHAT IN THE—" Sane stumbled, his katana swinging wildly. "GET OFF!"
Sanza's jaws tightened. "I think not, horned one."
Eliane looked back.
Her wings faltered. She saw the white tiger—standing on a golden platform, his jaws locked on the Marine captain's arm. His three tails lashed the air.
"What are you?" she called out. "How are you—"
"Go!" Sanza shouted, spitting out a mouthful of fur and blood. "I will deal with this pedestrian obstruction!"
Eliane hesitated. "Are you sure?"
Sanza's golden eyes met hers. For a moment, the arrogance faded, replaced by something almost gentle.
"I am going to be the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights." He nodded once. "I am sure. NOW GO!"
Eliane swallowed. Then she turned and flew—wings beating, fire trailing, racing toward the flagpole at the summit.
Sanza turned back to Sane.
The saiga hybrid had regained his footing. He stood with Nagisa raised, his dark eyes studying the white tiger with a mixture of confusion and reluctant respect.
"What are you supposed to be?" Sane asked.
Sanza dropped into a crouch, his claws scraping the golden disk beneath him. His three tails fanned out behind him. His golden horns glowed.
"I am the next Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights. I am Sanza Kaplan Figarland. And you..." He bared his fangs. "You are in my way."
He lunged.
---
Sane brought Nagisa around in a horizontal arc.
Sanza twisted in mid-air, his small body contorting, and the katana passed under his belly. He landed on another golden disk, pushed off, and came at Sane from above.
"Divine Roar!"
The sound that erupted from his throat was not a child's shout. It was a thunderous, golden wave—purging light that washed over Sane, disorienting him, making his horns ache.
Sane staggered. His proboscis drooped.
"That was... unpleasant," he admitted, shaking his head. "The nose knows when it has been... rattled."
He raised Nagisa and thrust.
Sanza's tail caught the blade.
Not the flesh—the fur. The Byakko's celestial aura hardened, and the katana skidded off the tail's surface with a shower of sparks. Sane blinked.
"Your fur is armor?"
"My entire existence is armor." Sanza spun, his claws raking across Sane's chest. The Marine captain grunted and fell back, blood seeping through his torn shirt.
"You are eight years old," Sane said, touching the wound.
"Correction. I am eight years old and destined for greatness." Sanza landed on a disk, his chest heaving. "You cannot stop me. The stars have already decided."
Sane's dark eyes narrowed. "The stars are silent. I have listened to them for years. They never answer."
He charged.
Nagisa became a blur—thrust, slash, feint, recover. Sanza danced across his golden platforms, dodging, parrying with his claws, counterattacking with his tails. The air filled with the ring of steel against celestial fur.
"You are fast," Sane observed, "but you lack reach. Your arms are too short. Your claws cannot touch me."
Sanza's eye twitched. "My arms are not short. They are... efficiently proportioned."
He leaped.
Not at Sane—above him. He landed on a disk higher in the air, then another, then another. He climbed the invisible staircase, putting distance between them.
Sane looked up. "Running?"
"Repositioning."
Sanza launched himself downward.
His three tails streamed behind him. His golden horns blazed. His claws extended, coated in Haki.
"Baihu's Bulwark!"
A golden barrier erupted around his body—a sphere of tiger-striped light. He crashed into Sane like a meteor.
The impact sent them both tumbling across the mountainside. Rocks shattered. Trees splintered. Marines scattered.
When the dust cleared, Sanza stood on Sane's chest, one claw pressed against the Marine captain's throat.
"Yield," Sanza said.
Sane coughed. Blood trickled from his nose—the long, drooping proboscis.
"I cannot," he said quietly. "I have a duty."
"Your duty is to chase children?"
"My duty is to protect the innocent." Sane's dark eyes held Sanza's gaze. "Even from themselves."
Sanza's claw trembled.
He did not strike.
---
Kaburo Gusaki watched from behind the tree.
His teeth were gritted. His hands gripped the explosive collar around his neck—the metal biting into his skin, the red glow pulsing in time with his rage.
The child—the white tiger—had the Marine captain at his mercy. And he hesitated.
Weak, Kaburo thought. He hesitates. He will die.
But the Marine did not strike. The child did not kill.
They stood frozen, two creatures of impossible power, locked in a stalemate.
Kaburo's fingers tightened on the collar.
If I had Kalamaru, he thought, I would not hesitate. I would cut them both down. I would—
The collar pulsed. A warning.
Kaburo closed his eyes.
He could not move. Could not fight. Could only watch.
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