The bunker was quiet, lamps flickering against the stone walls, when the first sound of boots hit the floor. Grace looked up, her breath catching.
Tom stepped inside first. His black hair was a tangled mess, streaked with dust and dried sweat. His clothes were torn, shoulder bandaged in rough cloth still stained through with red.
He walked stiffly, eyes heavy but still held himself upright like he didn't want anyone to see the pain.
Behind him approaching was Arlong. His small blue hair was clotted with sand and dirt, the ends burned as if licked by fire. Grace's eyes dropped lower. His left sleeve was tied shut with cloth, empty where his hand used to be.
Her heart kicked in her chest. "Arlong.… your hand!"
He raised his one remaining arm and smiled faintly, though his face was pale. "It's okay, really. I'll manage. I'm still breathing, aren't I?"
Grace's lips parted, but no words came.
Then Johan entered, tall and broad. His yellow hair was caked in dust, his shirt torn, and his face darkened with the kind of fatigue that came from more than just fighting.
He dropped a heavy sack onto the floor. The fabric was stained faint violet, and a low, faint breath escaped from inside. Grace flinched as realization struck.
Johan exhaled smoke from a cigar clenched between his teeth, his voice rough but steady. "We're not done with her yet."
Grace turned back to Tom, wanting to ask about his shoulder, the torn bandages, the look in his eyes. But her gaze kept slipping back to the sack on the floor, to the faint shape shifting inside.
Tom caught her glance. He sighed, heavy, and rubbed at his temple. "Don't worry. She's alive.… barely. Whatever is keeping her alive isn't something natural or divine."
Vera and Rosario, who had been waiting in the corner, stood as Elior pushed the door open. His silver eyes swept the room. He didn't smile. He didn't even frown. He just looked at the three battered figures, the sack on the ground, and then back to Grace.
"You made it back," he said simply.
Tom barked a laugh under his breath. "Barely."
Arlong gave a soft chuckle, lifting his empty sleeve like a trophy. "Lost a hand, but I got a story for it."
Johan didn't laugh. He lowered himself onto a chair, leaned back, and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. "The desert is glass now. Sand burned to mirrors for millennius of miles. Whole camp's gone." His eyes flicked toward the sack.
Grace rushed over before Tom could even sit down. Her hands caught his sleeve, pulling at the cloth over his shoulder, ignoring his grunt of protest.
"Hold still," she said firmly, eyes narrowing at the soaked bandage. The herbs had helped, but the wound was raw, ugly, and deep. Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped it, breath catching when she saw the bruised flesh beneath.
Tom forced a smile, tired but stubborn. "It's fine, Big Sis. I just witnessed tons of continuous trauma at once."
Her gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "Don't joke." She pressed her palm lightly around the wound, watching his face expression change. "You could've died, Tom."
He lowered his eyes remaining quiet.
Across the room, Johan leaned against the wall, cigar hanging loose from his lips. Elior stood before him, silver eyes sharp, voice low but demanding. "Tell me. What happened back there?"
Johan exhaled, smoke curling through the dim light. "Ghira, The Queen of Darga. She was terrifying as she was se**. You were right. Ghira took control over Rhea Scourge who was in charge of the camp." He jerked his chin toward the sack at his feet. "We had no choice but to bring her awake again."
Elior's jaw tightened. "What happened to the camp?"
Johan shook his head slowly. "Gone.... wiped off the map." He tapped his temple. "We pulled what we came for. The Lea Infra. It's safe."
Elior's eyes flickered with something unreadable, then softened with a nod. "Good. That's one victory."
Meanwhile, Arlong sat with Rosario and Vera among the weary survivors. His empty sleeve was wrapped tight, but he grinned anyway, telling a child nearby that he'd traded his hand for a dragon's tooth.
Rosario smirked faintly at the tale, though his eyes remained tired, shadowed. Vera only listened, silent as always, chewing slowly on an apple he'd saved.
The bunker felt heavier than before. Relief mixed with dread.
A glowing text tore across everyone's vision, cold and merciless.
[ Night Hunt Has Begun ]
The letters burned into their minds, echoing like a voice from nowhere. The survivors froze. Grace's hand tightened instinctively on Tom's arm. Elior's head snapped up. Johan spat out his cigar, grinding it under his boot.
The room was turning into tense motion, lit only by the trembling lantern in the corner. Ghira lay inside the sack, unconscious but breathing, each rise of her chest carrying a strange weight, as if something else was forcing her lungs to work.
Johan's eyes narrowed at her still form. "We can't just keep her like this. She'll wake eventually."
Elior's gaze stayed fixed, sharp and calculating. "If could be useful if they will search inside her brain."His voice was edged with something darker. "Her mind. There are answers buried in there, the Overseer, the Sect, Azmaik. If we can pry them out, we'll know what's coming."
Johan tilted his head, cigar clenched between his teeth. "You want me to do it? Hack into the head of a devil wrapped in eldritch?" He chuckled bitterly. "That's not just a risk, it's suicide with 100% justified warranty."
Elior finally turned, his silver eyes sweeping across the room. They landed on Tom.
Tom blinked an eye thinking what are they muttering about him.
Elior nodded once. "You carry a Face. It can slip where others can't. In her mind, the chains that bind normal men don't apply to you. You might reach her truth."
Johan straightened, his voice sharp. "Wait, wait.... Elior, you're asking him to dive into her. This isn't just memory-reading.... it's swimming in a black ocean full of nearly infinite amount of knowledge and information. He could drown in it. He could lose himself, get stuck, never come back."
Tom's took his hand on his shoulder. His gaze shifted between them. Grace's hand hovered at his shoulder, silent but trembling.
After a breath, Tom said softly, "I'll do it."
Grace's eyes widened. "But...."
He cut her off with a small shake of his head. "If this is how I help.… then fine. We don't have another choice."
Elior's tone dropped lower, almost a warning. "Listen to me, once you step in, there's a chance you won't return to this body. You might lose your sense of self. Or worse…. she might find you first."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Tom exhaled through his nose, lips twitching into a faint, nervous smile. "Guess I'll just have to walk faster than her."
Johan muttered under his breath, "Kid doesn't know what he's signing for." He glanced at Elior. "If he breaks in, what then? You gonna drag him out?"
Elior's reply was cold, certain. "If he breaks out, i will kill myself.... with no hesitation."
The firelight flickered across their faces. Fear, determination, doubt lingering everywhere at every alley. Wondering, who would betray. Why? When? How?
On the floor, Ghira's chest rose and fell, as if she were already laughing in her sleep.