The wind howled over the helipad, tugging at Security Secretary Jane's coat as she stood firm, clipboard in hand. The sky loomed heavy and gray, clouds curling low like bruises across the horizon. Overhead, the steady beat of rotor blades set the air thrumming with tension.
"Sir," Jane said, her voice raised slightly above the noise. "Arrangements are complete. You'll be visiting the lone survivor of General Clement's final unit—the one that fought the higher demon. Former Admiral Felicia Holmes is currently in a rehabilitation facility in the capital."
Beside her, the man known as the Anthesis nodded once. Composed, sharp, immaculately dressed, he regarded the waiting helicopter with an unreadable expression.
"Thank you, Secretary Jane," he said calmly. "It's good to know I can rely on you. Let's depart."
With that, he moved toward the cabin. The helicopter roared as it lifted from the platform, slicing through the sky on its course toward the capital.
Inside the rehabilitation facility, the sharp scent of disinfectant mixed with the faint murmur of voices and the gentle rhythm of footsteps on polished floors. Felicia Holmes, once a symbol of military might, now walked with slow, uncertain steps down a narrow therapy lane.
Her face was drawn, lined with both age and exhaustion, but her eyes were focused—clear and fierce.
One foot moved forward.
Then the next.
Each step was an act of will, a defiance of the quiet doom whispered by her medical charts.
Beside her, Coach Adam stayed close but did not interfere, his hand hovering near her back, ready to catch her if she faltered.
And then, finally, she reached the red line marked on the floor.
Adam burst into applause, his voice warm with genuine pride. "Well done, Felicia! That's the furthest you've walked unaided since your injury."
Felicia exhaled shakily, allowing a faint smile to cross her lips.
"I remember when the doctors said you wouldn't walk again," Adam continued, still beaming. "But you pushed through. You kept going—through pain, through fear. I'm honored to be part of your recovery."
"You've been more than a coach," Felicia said softly. "You've been patient… and kind. I wouldn't have come this far without you."
Adam gave a mock frown. "Don't get sentimental on me. I'm going to update your progress chart. Back in a flash."
He walked away, whistling under his breath. Felicia sat down, resting as her legs trembled faintly beneath her. She was still catching her breath when she heard it—the hush that fell over the hallway. Then the low murmur of awe. Nurses stopped mid-step. Patients turned their heads.
The air changed.
And then, he appeared.
The Anthesis walked through the entrance, flanked by guards in dark suits. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence alone filled the space like pressure in a sealed room. People stepped aside, eyes wide, breath caught.
Felicia straightened in her wheelchair.
He approached her without hesitation.
"Former Admiral Felicia Holmes," he said, extending a hand. "It's an honor."
She took it, warily.
"I've come to speak with you," he said. "Privately, if you don't mind."
Felicia arched a brow. "Oh really? And what would the world's most powerful man want with a half-paralyzed veteran?"
He smiled—a careful, practiced expression. "Let's discuss that somewhere more… secluded."
Within a candle-lit church built of old stone, at the town of Belray, Father Sean moved steadily through a line of weary souls. His hands ladled porridge into simple bowls, passing them into hands that trembled from hunger or age.
"Come here, young one," he said kindly, offering a bowl to a little girl who hesitated behind her mother's leg. "Eat well. Grow strong. And don't forget to thank the Divine for this gift."
Her mother gave him a grateful look. "Thank you, Father. You've been a blessing to all of us."
"We thank the Divine," he replied, "for softening the hearts of those who supply us."
But the warmth was soon interrupted. Brother Ben strode toward him, his face taut with worry.
"Father… we've got a problem," Ben murmured. "Our suppliers— they won't work with us anymore. They want more money. And they say it's too dangerous now. Too many crackdowns. The authorities are watching."
Father Sean's expression tightened.
Ben leaned in. "We're almost out. The food we had stockpiled last season is nearly gone."
Sean looked toward the rows of people eating, some already scraping the bottoms of their bowls. His heart ached. But his voice was steady when he answered.
"Then we must hold onto faith, Brother Ben. The Divine will make a way… even when it seems impossible."
Inside the private consultation room at the rehabilitation center, the walls bore faded photographs and polished medals—a shrine to war and honor. The Anthesis sat across from Felicia, guards stationed beyond the closed door. The air between them was taut.
"You were part of General Clement's final operation," he said. "You and your team achieved what the world thought was impossible. You stopped a higher demon. You helped save civilization."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly.
"I served, once. Before politics. I recognize brilliance when I see it."
Felicia met his gaze evenly. "We did our duty. That's all."
"Yes, duty," he said, letting the word roll off his tongue. "But something unusual happened on that battlefield, didn't it?"
She didn't respond.
"You nearly died," he continued. "But a demon—according to the medical reports—descended from the sky and carried you from the ruins. You survived because of it."
"That's what I've been told," Felicia replied evenly.
He studied her, sharp and calculating. "That rescue… it's become a symbol. People are talking. Whispering about nine demons who now fight for humanity. Some call it divine intervention."
He stood, pacing slowly. "I've given everything for peace. I've unified regions. Stabilized governments. But now… people are rebelling. They reject the Inferno Seal. They chant in the streets. Even my officers are wavering. This 'hope' you represent—it's spreading like wildfire."
Felicia's voice was quiet, but unshaken. "Clement said something like that once. That maybe the demons weren't what we thought. That maybe they were sent by something greater. I didn't believe him at the time. But now…"
She looked away. "All I know is that one of them saved my life. That wasn't manipulation. That was mercy."
His face hardened.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
He took a slow step closer, lowering his voice to a razor's whisper.
"Demons aren't here to save us. They are deception incarnate. They seduce the desperate. What you felt was bait, not mercy."
Felicia said nothing.
"I'm asking you—as a patriot. Use your voice. Speak to the people. Encourage them to accept the Seal. Help restore order. Before this spirals into war."
She held his gaze.
"I've seen war," she said. "Up close. I've lived through it. But I also know what it's like to lose hope. And I felt something real… when that demon carried me out of the flames."
Silence stretched.
"You've been deceived," he said finally. "I understand. You're vulnerable. Recovery clouds judgment."
He turned, walking toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.
"I noticed you haven't taken the Seal."
He looked back at her, his voice turning to ice.
"I hope you're not one of them. It would be… unfortunate if your road to recovery were cut short."
The door closed behind him.
Moments later, Adam stepped in, pausing mid-step.
"What… was that about?"
Felicia didn't look at him. Her eyes remained on the door.
"Nothing good," she said.
Her voice was quiet. But her eyes—sharper now than they'd been in months—held something dangerous.
Not fear.
Conviction.