Jasper ran through the streets, shoulder-checking anyone who didn't move fast enough out of his way. His breath came sharp, hot against the cold air, and his left hand stayed buried in his pocket, clenched into a fist. The hand that usually carried his katana felt lighter now, empty. The blade was still inside the Citadel. Stuck there.
He wasn't going back for it. Not now. Maybe one day, if the chance came and the odds weren't suicide. But not now. Not while James still lingered there. James never lied, and if he said he'd kill him for stepping foot inside again, Jasper believed it. No hesitation. No mercy. That wasn't James's way.
His steps slowed only when he reached the narrow alley, slipping into it without a glance behind. The shadows pressed thicker here, heavier than the streets he had just run through. The lamps overhead flickered, making the air feel cramped, like he had walked into something's throat.
He pushed forward until the alley spat him out into the clearing.
The forgotten block. The space the city had skipped over, rebuilding all around it while leaving this one corner untouched.
He crossed it quick, weaving through piles of stone and collapsed beams until he reached the shell of gray stone pressed against the far wall.
No windows. No paint. Just an empty husk shaped like it used to matter.
His pub. Or what would've been, if things hadn't gone to hell faster than he could pour a drink.
So close. And still too far.
He pulled himself through the window, boots scraping against the sill. A shard of glass caught his pants and tugged, snapping free before it could cut through. Small luck. Maybe the only luck he had left.
He dropped inside, feet hitting the dusty floor, and crossed to the counter. Sitting down hard, he leaned against the old wood, pressing his forehead to his knees. His breath came heavy, sharp, every exhale filling the silence.
Evodil turning into a monster. Noah collapsing. James tightening his grip until he was less man than machine. Dictator, maybe. Maybe he always was, and Jasper just hadn't seen it. Too blind because James had taken care of him, because for once someone had.
His chest tightened. He couldn't think straight. Couldn't make sense of it.
"Fuck!"
His voice tore out into the empty room, rattling against the walls. He grabbed the first thing near him, an old bottle that had been lying on the floor for years, and hurled it across the room. Glass shattered, scattering across the far wall.
The echo died quickly, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his own huffing breaths.
Alone. Just like always.
Abandoned again. Left behind again. Same as before, when he'd clawed his way out of that labor camp. Another prison. No walls this time, but a prison all the same.
Menystria.
Once the safest place he had ever found.
Now the most suffocating.
He pulled at his hair, twisting curls between his fingers until they tugged tight against his scalp. Black strands fell into his face, getting messier with every pull. It fit. The world outside was just as tangled, just as broken.
His chest rose and fell fast as his thoughts circled back. That battle. That war. Or whatever name people would give it later. Everything had collapsed after it. All because he had been too injured. All because he had to kill that soldier. If he hadn't been taken, if the bomb hadn't gone off, maybe things would be different. Maybe Menystria would have stood. Maybe it would have become a country, not a broken fortress. Maybe he hadn't been nothing more than a burden.
He let go of his hair, arms dropping heavy until his palms smacked against the floor. His gaze drifted up, unfocused, as he tried to picture the room different than it was. A jukebox against the wall. A bar polished and stocked. Posters and pictures lined up straight, not crooked and fading. A small kitchen in the back. Tables. Guests filling the space with noise.
But the images wouldn't stick. They slipped away just as fast as he built them. The dream was too heavy now. Too far out of reach when everything else was falling faster than he could count to thirty.
He needed something else. Something to pull him out of his head before it cracked open completely. Something to focus on. Anything.
He pushed himself off the floor, dragging in a long, steady breath. His eyes settled on the counter, coated in a fine sheet of dust. With the edge of his red sleeve, he brushed at it until the wood came through. Pointless work, but it was something. With nothing better to do, he set himself to cleaning. Maybe if he could put this place back in order, it would feel less like a grave.
If not, he'd just leave. Head underground. Or out into the wastes. Anywhere but here.
A creak broke the quiet.
The sharp whine of a floorboard shifting under weight.
Jasper froze. His heart hammered up into his throat. James? No. Evodil, come to finish the job? Civil Control, dragging him back to the Citadel? Or worse, a shade slipping through the cracks?
He had nothing to fight with. No sword. No steel. Nothing. His hand shot out for the nearest object, a battered booklet lying on the counter. He gripped it tight, raised it like a blade, and spun on his heel ready to throw.
And stopped.
A light shimmered in the dark. A lure, long and narrow, glowing above eye level. Below it, two white orbs burned back at him, steady, unblinking.
The lure twitched once. Then its glow sharpened, casting a harsh beam across the room.
The eyes shrank, their shape shifting until they were no longer alien, no longer monstrous. Just human.
Jasper blinked, his grip loosening on the booklet.
It was only Noah. Flashlight in hand.
Noah's eyes flicked up to the booklet Jasper held. His head tilted, the confusion hardening into something close to insult.
"Were you about to throw that at me?" His voice carried no humor. "Did you really think I was the enemy?"
Jasper shrugged, muttering something under his breath before lowering the booklet behind xhis back like a guilty child. "What are you even doing here?" He hopped onto the counter, feet scraping the wood. His balance faltered, almost tipping him over the other side before he caught himself at the last second with both hands gripping the edge.
Noah didn't mention it. Instead, he tapped his boot against the floor. The wood groaned, then shifted, rising into the rough shape of a chair. It looked like it had been carved from the same decayed material as the rest of the building, barely holding together. Still, he lowered himself onto it. The legs screeched and popped in protest, filling the room with noise.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. In the other, a knife spun between his fingers, the blade glowing faintly with the same crystalline sheen as his arcane bow. Jasper glanced at it, said nothing, but kept the detail tucked away in the back of his head.
Noah's eyes narrowed, fixing on him.
"Tell me what's happening out there," he said. "The war. The panic outside the mountains. Evodil losing his mind. James turning into… whatever that thing was. None of it makes sense." His voice edged sharper, tighter. "They were extreme, yes. But they had lines. Morals. Consciousness. Now it feels… written. Scripted in advance. And I don't like it."
Jasper huffed, dragging air through his teeth while he thought it over.
It wasn't the worst theory he'd ever heard. In their world, it almost made sense. Evodil was chaotic, yeah, insane most days — but he wasn't cruel. If you stuck around long enough, you realized he could actually be… decent to be around. Strange, but decent. He wasn't the kind of killer James painted him to be.
And James? James was James. Sharp, cold, iron in human form. But he had a heart, at least when it came to his brothers. Or maybe just one brother, since his hatred for Evodil seemed to burn hotter than anything he felt toward humanity. Even then, it proved he wasn't heartless. He had lines he wouldn't cross.
So Noah's point… it had weight. Not much, but enough for the chair to wobble without falling.
They circled it for a while. Questions tossed and caught, Jasper pushing his side, Noah answering with clipped logic, both chipping away at the shape of things.
Until Noah leaned back, his knife still twirling between his fingers, and gave up something new.
"There's a dimension," he said, "one tied to that poker card Evodil always carries."
Jasper frowned, raising an eyebrow.
"Evodil told me once," Noah continued, voice low, "that he had meetings. Sundays. Some hour he never clarified. Said it like a joke. A fan club, he called it."
Jasper let out a short laugh, half disbelief, half nerves. "Fan club. Of course."
"But one day," Noah said, ignoring him, "he came back different. Not in a way you could point to. Not his face, not his clothes. Him. His whole act, his so-called jester thing… it shifted. He stopped sounding like himself. Less chaos. More mimicry. Like he was borrowing his own memories instead of living them."
Jasper blinked at him, lips parting. "So what, you're telling me he's not Evodil anymore?"
Noah's eyes hardened. "I'm telling you something replaced the part that was."
Noah sighed into his palm, his hand closing around his chin as he tapped slow, steady fingers against his cheek. His glasses slid slightly, and he nudged them back into place with his other hand. Beneath the chair, the flashlight guttered once, its beam flickering before it steadied again.
He lowered his hand from his face and extended it across the counter, open, waiting, his eyes fixed on Jasper.
"There are only two options," he said evenly. "We go with the flow. We watch everything die. Everyone. While Evodil… or whatever wears his skin… does as it pleases."
His fingers curled slightly, then straightened again.
"Or," he continued, "we start something. A revolution. Not to burn this city down. To save it. To make the people understand they can control it as much as the gods do. It isn't truth. But it's a gamble worth taking."
Jasper stared, his lips parting as Noah pressed on.
"The face of it? You. The first human to set foot in Menystria. Jasper, the first follower of Solaris Imperial." A faint smirk tugged at Noah's mouth. "It has a ring to it. Fragile minds will follow a savior if you give them one."
He leaned back slightly, glasses catching the faint light.
"And I," Noah said quietly, "will be the hand that shapes it. Our end is simple. Free Evodil. Or cage him. By any means necessary."
Jasper stared at Noah's hand, half stunned, half resigned. The worst part was knowing he was right.
Not about the shades. They were worthless to a revolution. Shadows with no voice. They could fall apart and stand again a second later, but they'd never rise for themselves. And even if they did, they were Evodil's work. His creations. His chains. If the theory was true, they'd never escape his control.
Noah meant the humans. The ones packed into the underground district, scraping to live while the earth cracked above them. They were the ones who would listen. Who needed to listen. They already saw Noah as their savior, a guiding hand that wasn't violent. But shown the cracks, the rot in their "lovely" home, they'd follow Jasper instead.
Jasper's gaze lifted, locking on Noah. His voice came rough, unsteady. "You're just as rotten as the other two."
Noah didn't flinch. "If they're already under control, then so am I. Which makes your choice here already written. Predetermined. So why not gamble? We have nothing to lose."
The words dug in deeper than Jasper wanted to admit. He nodded, stiff and slow. Noah was right again. Normally this was where Evodil would step in, crack a joke, tear logic in half. But not now. Now he was off somewhere else, maybe even breaking someone apart for fun.
Jasper shoved the thought away. He extended his hand, rough grip closing around Noah's.
"Fine," he muttered. "We'll save them. Even if they're too blind to see it."
The shake sealed it. The deal stood. A pact to gamble with what was left of Menystria.