The bunker wasn't much at first glance rusted steel doors, dust layered over cracked floors, and the sour smell of dampness in the air. But for those who had been sleeping on ruins and dirt, it was a treasure.
A place that at least had walls and a roof. Some crates in the corners held cans, dried bread, a few water bottles. Someone had even dragged in old mattresses, stacked crooked but usable.
It was here the group had settled, whispering that maybe, just maybe, they had found something close to safety. For now.
Grace sat near a lamp fixed to the wall, its flicker casting shadows on her face. Elior stood before her, daggers laid aside, his voice calm but heavy. "You need to understand what happened back there wasn't just luck. It was your Face."
Grace frowned, hugging her knees. "Face… I don't even know what that means."
Elior nodded slowly, crouching so his gaze met hers. "A Face isn't just power. It's… the spirit of someone who lived long before you. A figure that left such a strong mark in existence, their essence never faded. That essence binds with you when the world decides you're ready. It doesn't happen for everyone. Finally, when it does, it's never random."
Grace tilted her head, still lost. "But I just… exploded someone's head. That's not an spirit. That's—"
"Strength," Elior cut in. "A reflection of what your Face is. The nature of the boost depends on the Face itself. A warrior's Face will make you stronger, more fearless. A saint-like Face? It sharpens your mind, gives you sharper reflexes, greater understanding. Each Face is different. But all of them… bend the limits of a human body far beyond what's natural."
Grace swallowed, gripping her hands tighter. "So… if I die, what happens?"
Elior's eyes darkened. "Then your Face decays. It dissolves into the environment as pure energy. It waits… searching for a new bearer. That search can take hours, days… or centuries. And when it finds someone, that person must awaken it. Through a trial, through revelation, through something deeply personal. That's what binds the Face to them again."
Grace shivered, whispering. "That sounds… terrifying."
Elior gave a small, humorless smile. "It is. But that's what this system is. Facecraft. Where a person inherits supernatural powers and personalities of ancient figures."
He leaned back, running his hand across his jaw. "You must understand something else. A Face isn't just about power. It carries fragments of who it once belonged to. Sometimes, the bearer feels… memories that aren't theirs. Emotions that don't belong to them. It can twist the mind, if you're not careful. But if you master it. If you learn to walk beside the Face instead of being dragged by it, you'll gain strength no living being can touch."
Grace lifted her head slowly. "So this isn't just about fighting monsters. It's about fighting yourself too."
"Exactly." Elior's tone was firm. "You'll need to train. To listen. To balance. Or your Face will consume you instead of guiding you."
Grace stayed quiet, thinking about Tom, about how far away he was. Maybe he too had awakened something. Maybe they weren't so different anymore.
Elior finally stood, offering a hand. "Come. You'll need to start learning control. The sooner you do, the less chance there is of another… accident."
Grace hesitated, then took his hand. Her journey into Facecraft had begun.
The night outside the bunker was quiet, though the air carried that strange heaviness as if time itself refused to move. The moon hung broken above, pieces drifting around it like lost shards of glass.
Elior and Grace stepped out into the open, their breaths forming pale clouds in the cool night.
They walked slowly, neither speaking at first. Grace kept her arms folded tightly against her chest, her eyes darting everywhere except at Elior. She wasn't afraid of him, not anymore, but something about his calm presence always made her feel… small.
Elior finally glanced at her, then smirked faintly. "You know, for someone who just smashed a man's head into a wall with her Face, you're awfully quiet."
Grace's cheeks warmed instantly. She pressed her lips together, looking down at the sand. "I-I didn't mean to…"
Grace still couldn't meet his eyes. She kicked at a pebble on the ground, wishing the night would just swallow her whole.
Elior tilted his head, studying her with that half-smile. "You really don't like looking at me, do you?"
"I—I didn't say that," Grace muttered, her voice cracking.
"Oh?" He stepped a little closer, just enough to make her shoulders stiffen. "Then why are your cheeks red? Cold air doesn't do that."
Grace's hands flew up to cover her face. "You're impossible…"
Elior chuckled low, the sound almost warm. "Relax, I'm not going to bite. You're just… fun to tease."
"That's not what I meant," Elior said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "You've barely said a word since we came out. Are you always this shy, or just when you're around me?"
Grace's head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide. "W-what?!"
The tips of Elior's lips curved into something that might have been a grin. "Ah, there it is. A reaction."
Her face went bright red. She turned away quickly, hugging her arms tighter, muttering, "I thought you were the serious type. Didn't expect you to tease people."
Elior shrugged lightly. "I am serious. Most of the time. I don't talk much with others because… well, most conversations don't mean anything." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared up at the broken moon. "But sometimes… you meet someone worth talking to."
Grace's heart skipped. She froze, staring at him, unsure whether he was joking again or not. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.
She finally mumbled, barely above a whisper, "You're… different from what I thought."
Elior glanced at her again, his expression unreadable, but his voice softened. "Good different or bad different?"
Grace, still red as a cherry, quickly looked down at her feet. "I… don't know...."
Elior walked a few steps ahead, hands tucked behind his back like a teacher about to drop something heavy on his student. Grace followed, still embarrassed, but his tone shifted now—calm, serious.
"Listen," he said, glancing at her. "Having a Face isn't about raw power. It's about harmony."
"Harmony?" she repeated softly.
"Yeah," he nodded. "The Face you carry has traits. Personality. Ideals. The closer you are to those, the stronger it gets. Stray too far… and it'll fight you. That's when your attacks feel weaker, slower."
Grace frowned, thinking. "So… if my Face belonged to someone brave, and I act like a coward…"
"You'll cripple your own strength," Elior finished for her. "And one more thing—you can't just keep burning power. Every time you use your Face, it drains psychic energy. Push too hard, too long, and you'll collapse. Sometimes permanently."
Her eyes widened. "Permanently?"
"Your mind fries. Your body gives up. Seen it happen." His voice was flat, but there was weight in it.
Grace swallowed. "So… we fight in short bursts?"
"Smart bursts," Elior corrected, tapping his temple. "Plan. Adapt. Use your Face when it matters most, not just because it looks flashy. Strategy is survival."
She nodded slowly, the truth settling like stone in her chest. "I understand."
"Good," Elior said, his lips curving into a faint smirk again. "Because your first test starts now."
Grace blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Defend against me," he said simply, summoning his weapon in a flash of light. "Ya don't break too fast. Or you'll learn the hard way what exhaustion feels like."
The night air felt colder. Her pulse quickened. She summoned her Face. Elior saw a humanoid vixen beside her appearing with scarlet long kimono. Had a silver crown floating above head, both hands carrying some mysterious leaves leaking green mist.
"Ready?" Elior asked, his tone almost playful again. "Don't freeze on me, Grace."
She steadied her breath, eyes locking on his. He exhaled closing her eyes and told her "Bring it."