Day after day, time moved like a sluggish river as they awaited the letter that would summon them to their mission. In contrast, Tear and his pupils had no such luxury—every hour was carved into drills and formation. Their bodies ached, their minds trembled, yet they pressed on, bending themselves to Tear's relentless demands.
"Again!" he thundered when a single misstep shattered the rhythm of the phantom step. The movement, deceptively simple, allowed one to glide at unnatural speeds—ghostlike, silent, fleeting.
"I know this is too much pressure," Tear admitted, his voice low and raw. "But I must prepare you… at the very least, to flee if you cannot win."
His body stiffened, fists clenching until his knuckles whitened, thoughts storming behind his eyes. The phantom step was a cruel art. To master it was to unlearn walking itself, reshaping instinct into something otherworldly. It demanded merciless focus, draining mind and spirit alike. Yet in return, it granted the power to slip through air as though it were water—floating with eerie grace, vanishing and reappearing like a wraith in the fog.
"Remember," Tear's voice rang out as he paced the training grounds, "there is no honor in death, nor cowardice in fleeing. Glory belongs to those who have the courage to live."
"Oh come now, Tear. You've pushed them enough. Surely you can see how brilliant they are—some Saint Knights can't even perform those steps."
Her voice rang like a bell, warm and teasing, alluring, just before the door creaked open.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
A velvet sleeve slid through first, then the click of shoes upon stone. She entered like a vision—beauty given flesh.
Her skin was a smooth, earthy brown, her shoulders broad, the thick straps of her dress resting gracefully upon them. Her dark hair was tied into a sleek bun crowned with a single pink flower. The glow of her face carried a warmth like sunlight, simple yet arresting. Her figure was no less grand; she was an hourglass.
Her long legs moved with an unhurried grace, the polished heels clicking in rhythm, and her lips—tinted the faintest red—parted into a knowing smile.
She entered the room, and all movement stilled.
"Wow…" Remy whispered under his breath, his chest tightening. He dared not stare too long. His gaze broke away, shifting to Kat—who had already left the training circle and was rushing toward the newcomer.
"Clara!" Kat exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist.
"Oh, Kat, my love—how I've missed you." Clara cradled Kat's face, her eyes shimmering with warmth. "Look how much you've grown. Truly radiant. Your beauty shines both inside and out." She kissed Kat's cheek before pulling her into another embrace.
The air around smelled like roses, placing people into soft calm.
"Hello, Clara! No manners as always, I see…" Tear's voice carried across the room, low and almost sulking.
"Mmph! You're one to speak, Tear. You left headquarters without so much as a word," Clara replied, turning away from Kat as she stepped toward the boys.
"Well, well—the C brothers…" Her fingers brushed her lips as she giggled.
"I told you not to call us that!" Charles burst into a playful protest.
"Hahaha, all right, all right." Her smile softened as she turned to Remy. "So—you're the new one." Her gaze swept over him slowly, up and down, as though scanning something unseen beneath the surface.
"He… hello. I'm Remy. Nice to meet you," he stammered.
"Remy, you say… You remind me of someone—"
"Clara!" Tear's voice cracked through the air, sharp and commanding.
"Ha! I haven't even done anything," she said, puffing her cheeks and turning aside with mock indignation. "What is it? Are you jealous I'm speaking to other men?" Her tone was teasing, almost sing-song.
"Not one bit," Tear muttered, though the faintest pink touched his cheeks—unnoticed by anyone but Clara.
"So they sent you to deliver the message," Tear spoke, furrowing his brow.
"I am afraid so," Clara said, and started to leave the room. "Let's go to another place; this is no space to talk." Everyone found themselves following Clara out of the training room.
There was something about her that felt… off.
Remy thought this as they wound through the narrow passageways, their steps echoing in quiet rhythm.
Her piercing gaze—though she smiled warmly—told Remy she knew something. His instincts whispered she was dangerous.
"You never write to us anymore," Chad muttered, trailing just behind, his voice low and almost trembling.
"I'm so—so sorry, Chad, love. There was no safe way to send letters. The world has grown more twisted than you can imagine," Clara answered, her voice soft, carrying a grief that pressed against every word.
They reached the sitting hall at last. Tear and Clara settled onto one sofa, while Remy and Kat took the other. Charles perched on the headrest near Kat, and Chad lingered close beside Clara, as though unwilling to let her out of reach.
Without a word, Clara drew a folded slip of paper. She held it to the flame of a nearby candle.
Fsshh.
The fire spat and wavered, then thickened into smoke. Out of the curling haze, a face began to blur into being.
"The time has come for you to fulfill your duties. This mission is reconnaissance. The Region of Saint August has erected a barrier that detects refined Sar, rendering our top Knights powerless." The voice pressed on, hurried, as though time itself were slipping away.
"But your Sar is still forming. To them, you'll pass as ordinary citizens. Your task is simple—slip inside, observe, and report. Find out what lies beyond those walls, and whether there is a way to free the people the Saint has taken."
The smoke-borne voice was cold and coarse.
"I've sent Clara to guide you through the transformation of your beings. With her aid, you'll mask your presence and move unseen. Should you be noticed, run… and make sure no one will trace you back. Forgive me for placing this burden upon you, but we fight for a new dawn—for ourselves and for those who cannot fight."
The smoke curled into nothing. The candle sputtered and died, leaving only a bare stand cooling in silence.
Remy's eyes lingered on the fading glow, his thoughts tangled.
But this could lead me to my mother, he told himself, forcing the doubt away. His fists clenched. His gaze locked on his friends.
All were a little shaken, but the looks on their faces showed determination and a newfound resolve glaring in their eyes.