I don't know how long we stood there, how long he held me in his arms.
I only know that it was a long time.
Like an eternity.
A small one.
But still an eternity.
One I'll never forget.
Not even when we finally let go.
When he exhales softly and taps my nose one last time.
"You might've been in the way this time," Shato says, "but that doesn't mean you have to stay that way. Look ahead, Vio. Learn from your mistakes and become someone you can be proud of. And when that day comes — surpass us. Surpass me. So that one day, I can watch you go with pride. Deal?"
Shato's words reignite the fire inside me. A fire I usually try to suppress.
But I don't have to.
I never have.
Not today, not ever.
There never was a reason to —
and there never will be.
Because I made him a promise.
As I lift my head.
As I nod.
And smile.
A smile full of determination.
"Good. Then let's begin your next chapter, Vio. Together."
When I take his hand —
the one he's holding out to me —
it leads me forward.
Into an uncertain future.
A future that begins as we leave the rooftop behind.
A future that takes us down to the next floor where a tidy hallway lies silent, empty of children or adults.
A future that still shines, even as it descends deeper.
Until it reaches the basement.
The place where it all began.
The place where I was supposed to be.
And the place where I'm being looked for right now.
By a doctor in a white coat, an old man, to be exact.
Wrinkles line his face as he turns toward us the moment we step onto the cold concrete floor of the dim corridor.
Once again barefoot —
at least I am, since I still haven't managed to find a pair of shoes.
"C-c-COLD! Cold, cold, cold!" I hiss, hopping from one foot to the other.
"Ah, Vio! There's our runaway," the doctor says, wiping the round lenses of his glasses with a cloth before setting them back on his nose.
"Shoes! Shoes!" I yell, ignoring him completely, flailing my arms and practically begging.
"Catch!"
Out of nowhere, Talan tosses a pair of black shoes at me. I barely manage to grab them — only to drop one immediately, earning a burst of laughter from the world's worst thrower.
For a second, I want to pout but the cold shoots up through my feet again, so I ignore him, shove both shoes onto my feet, tie them tight, exhale, and stand tall.
On warm soles.
Warmth. Finally.
Even though wearing shoes without socks still feels weird — better than freezing, but definitely room for improvement.
"Ahem," the doctor clears his throat, quietly brushing off the interruption.
"So, Vio. Raise your arms, please."
I raise my arms.
"Now rotate them."
I start rotating them — first clockwise, then counterclockwise.
"Stretch them out to the sides."
I stretch them as far as I can. A sharp pull shoots through my body.
"Hold it."
I hold. My face twists; the pain grows stronger.
"Pain?"
I nod.
"Hmm."
Silence.
He sinks into thought while I keep my arms raised. Sweat begins to form on my forehead, the pain keeps growing and slowly I start to feel eyes piercing right through me..
Eyes, either worried, like Shat, or curious, like Talan and one unclear ...
Must be Rin.
Yeah, definitely Rin — since I don't see her until she suddenly peeks out from behind the doctor's back.
"So, old man?"
Her voice — and yes, she always calls the doctor that, even though he has another name. But Rin can't stand that name, for reasons I completely understand, considering who else bears it.
"Well, for someone who had a hole in his stomach…"
They're talking about me.
About the wound.
About my fight with that boy.
Although, honestly, calling it a fight might be too generous, given how one-sided it was.
That thought lingers for a moment, but the pain clouds my head again.
"Alright, enough, you can lower your arms."
My arms drop.
My breath follows.
Relieved, I close my eyes — just for a second — and in that time, the doctor magically produces a clipboard and starts scribbling notes on it with a blue pen.
"Most likely some internal wounds that haven't fully closed yet," he says. "But I don't detect any major bleeding. I'd say your muscle tissue's strained, which explains the pain. So, take it easy for the next two days before you get back to full activity."
"Hah."
Shato exhales, visibly relieved.
"Thank goodness," he adds.
"Oho? Shato, worried? About a kid? Our fearless leader?" Talan immediately teases.
"Better make sure that weakness doesn't go public, ahaha!"
His remarks are shameless — and yet Shato responds with a smile.
Probably because he gets the joke.
Unlike a certain other person present.
"Ha! As if a single kid could ever be a real obstacle for Shato."
Rin snaps back, her voice sharper and higher, her gaze dismissive, but it's clear she's more hurt than Shato himself.
"Aaand here we go again. Nope, I'm out. See you later!"
The doctor takes his leave right on cue, instinctively, because he knows.
He knows them.
And me.
Just like I know him.
"Um," I call out.
"Thank you, Doctor Spirit."
He stops for a brief moment, tugs at his white mustache, lets go, and nods — oddly solemn.
"My pleasure, Vio. But try to take it a bit easier next time, alright?"
He leaves the basement, completely tuning out the heated argument brewing behind him between the two loudest voices in the room.
"Well now, Rin," Talan chimes in, unable to resist. "It's because Shato's the best that we can joke about things like that!"
"Oh, really!?" she snaps back. "A second ago, you said it shouldn't be said out loud and now it's suddenly fine? Sure, make the world however you like it!"
Rin fires back — she just can't help herself.
Even though she knows how Talan works.
"And once again, no sense of humor, huh? It was a joke, nonsense, just for fun! But of course, our emotionless queen doesn't get it — as usual."
Uh oh.
Name-calling.
We've officially reached elementary school level.
"Oh, ahaha? Excuse me? Emotionless—? Pfft, you can shove it."
Rin turns away — surprising, really.
Normally, this would be the point where she hits him.
Normally. Which is why I'm confused now.
She just storms off instead, snorting, irritated, but actually pretty calm.
Farther and farther, until her figure fades into the shadows.
"Aha? Starts drama and then chickens out? Wow, what a graceful loser you are!"
Talan yells after her and bursts into laughter.
But only briefly.
Because moments later, he's already chasing after her, quick steps echoing through the corridor — clearly not done with the argument.
"Hellooo! The stars of the show have arrived!"
Suddenly, Daclan's voice bounces down the hall.
I turn immediately — they're coming from the staircase, the same one Dr. Spirit just used to leave the basement.
And I say they, because Daclan isn't alone.
Dragging Zane behind him, he steps onto the cold concrete, glancing first at us and then stopping, confused, at the sight of Talan stomping away.
"He?" Daclan asks quickly.
"Ah, the usual," Shato replies with a sigh, though smiling nonetheless.
Almost happy.
"Mhm. Mhmhm. Yeah, makes sense," Daclan concludes, nodding knowingly.
No further words needed.
Just understanding.
Because they know each other.
We all know each other.
Like a family —
a small one,
but a special one.
My family.
And because they are my family,
I don't expect a single word from Zane who quietly slips past us like a ghost.
Sometimes I barely even notice him,
so silently, so effortlessly does he drift through the air.
More like a shadow of his own shadow.
And yet, his white robe still gleams, even here in the dimness and his equally pale hair doesn't exactly make him someone who could ever truly disappear.
"Well then, shall we go after them?" Daclan asks, though he already knows the answer.
Shato simply nods and lets him pass as well, leaving the two of us at the back of the group.
"See?"
He smiles at me — wide and pure, just like he always does.
"What?"
I know exactly what he means.
But I pretend not to — because that's just who I am.
A bit proud, a bit naive.
"That you're showing your weakness for everyone to see?"
I can barely get the words out without laughing.
And even after that, I can't stop grinning, so I turn away and start walking again, deeper into the hallway, toward where we were actually headed.
Then I stop.
Lower my gaze.
"Thanks."
"Hm?"
"Oh, nothing!"
My words are too soft for him to catch but honest enough for me to feel at peace with them.
So I keep walking.
And Shato follows beside me.
We walk for what feels like forever until we reach a door, already open.
A door spilling warm light into the dark.
A door I step through to find myself in a wide, open hall.
The flood of brightness blinds me.
My eyes squint, then blink, but still can't quite adjust.
Instead, the faint scent of rubber teases my nose, carried on the crisp air
that sends a cool shiver through me with every breath.
Though It doesn't bother me. It's quite the contrary, it's a welcome change from the stuffy basement air.
A pleasant touch, even if the smell is a bit artificial.
"Well, here we are."
Shato's voice echoes through my ears, then across the hall, bouncing from wall to wall and finally fading into silence.
By the time I open my eyes fully, I spot Daclan crouched on the floor
scrubbing away faint white chalk lines that still cling to the ground.
And just moments later he turns to us, away from the dull shine of the laminate.
"Ah, finally. Now we're complete."
He greets us with his usual friendly smile and a voice as bright as ever.
"Did you actually count everyone?"
Shato teases.
Daclan pushes himself upright, slowly and a bit clumsily under his own weight, then swings his arm.
A moment later, the damp rag hits Shato square in the face, releasing a tiny puff of white dust on impact.
"Of course I did," he replies — still smiling, still cheerful, though this time for a slightly different reason.
A very sarcastic one.
"Yeeah … good. Glad we got that sorted out."
Wiping his face, Shato brushes the pale chalk dust from his skin,
picks up the rag again, and hangs it over the green board on the left.
That's what he calls it — his "brilliant invention."
A sheet of rock-hard paper you can write on and erase, as long as you use chalk.
"So, what about our two little troublemakers?"
He tosses the question into the room, sounding only half-interested, as he slides the green board aside, revealing our cozy little corner.
A couch, a table, a couple of armchairs and one single folding chair.
The one I definitely don't want.
So I dive onto the couch right away, wedging my hand between the armrest and the wall to claim my spot.
"What else could it be? They're just not looking at each other anymore,"
Daclan replies, thumb jerking over his shoulder —deeper into the hall.
Past Zane, who's just settled into one of the brown leather chairs.
So far back that the two are almost out of earshot.
Almost.
Just almost.
Shato seems to accept that, waiting patiently until Daclan plops down next to me and kicks his feet up on the silver plastic table.
"Well, they'll come around on their own," he finally says, grabs a piece of chalk, spins it between his fingers, and points it straight at us with a little flourish.
"Wow!" I shout, clapping my hands.
The only one, apparently.
Guess I'm the last person still impressed by Shato's "tricks."
"Then…"
He pauses — eyes closed, taking a deep breath.
Trying to sound epic.
Like he's in a movie.
But he's not — and the lack of music or dramatic lighting doesn't help his case.
So he ends up looking a bit ridiculous.
At least, that's what everyone's faces are saying.
Zane's is as blank as ever, no surprise there, though he's half-buried in a small paperback titled "Death of the Bell Fairy."
A novel he once told us "mirrors his soul."
Daclan sighs, glances at Zane, then at the arguing duo who still haven't moved a muscle — not even now, when Shato's putting on such a show for them.
A bit of a shame, really.
But you can't help people who lack imagination.
So I clap even louder, so loud so, I almost sound like a whole audience by myself.
"All right, let's get started!"
Finally, he finishes his sentence, though the pause had definitely dragged on a bit too long, yet not long enough to get anyone else's attention.
"Heh heh heh… and first of all— Daclan! What do we always do first?!"
Now he's addressing him directly, like a teacher, though, not really.
No teacher would tilt their head like that.
Or hold chalk that way.
Or wear that kind of expression half smug, half desperate for attention.
You'd think he had some sort of condition.
Maybe he does.
Who knows? Some rare, undiagnosed syndrome, perhaps.
"Hm? No idea. You've never stuck to a single training plan anyway."
Silence.
Shato has to process the answer first, swallowing hard before turning around and scribbling furiously on the green board.
"Step one!" he suddenly yells, finishing his masterpiece with a dramatic final stroke.
One that cuts across the entire board and makes whatever he wrote completely illegible.
"Reflection!" he announces proudly, grinning wide and tapping the chalk against the incomprehensible scrawl.
"Pfft. Looks more like ancient runes," Daclan shoots back, laughing.
Mocking, but not entirely wrong.
Because, yeah, it's unreadable.
Even without that random line running across it.
His handwriting has always been a bit… well, hopeless.
"So! We're going to talk about past events, like professionals. Because that's what we are," Shato continues, completely ignoring the laughter.
Because Shato wouldn't be Shato if he let others get to him.
And he wouldn't be Shato if he didn't wear that grin — that confident, steady, almost naive faith in everything.
Everything I want to be someday.
Just as strong.
Just as kind.
Just as full of empathy.
Shato is my idol. My role model.
And one day, I'll catch up to him.
Be just like him.
That's why I clench my fist.
Why I don't laugh.
And instead, rise to my feet.
"I'll go first!"
My shout echoes through the hall and for a moment, all eyes turn to me.
Even the two arguing ones glance over.
Even Zane looks up.
Even Shato smiles, proud and approving.
"That's the spirit, Vio! That's the attitude I want to see!"
he calls out, but then cuts me off.
"But…"
"Hm?"
"Today, I want to start with Daclan. Not because I don't want to hear from you, but because we need a quick recap of what happened three days ago."
A reasonable explanation, enough to make me flop back down on the couch, a little sulky, but not too much.
He is right, after all.
"Ugh, of course I have to do the hard part again," Daclan grumbles.
But yeah, he's right too.
I was unconscious for most of it anyway.
And besides, it's been three days—
Wait.
What?
"So, where do I even star—"
"THREE DAYS?!"
I jump up, practically yelling.
Disbelief. Confusion.
Three days?!
I was out for three whole days?!
How did they feed me?
Why am I even alive?
What happened?
Why so long?
Was I in a coma?
Was I that badly hurt?
No hole in my stomach anymore.
No real pain anywhere else either.
So why three days?!
"Wait… what… three days? You're joking, right? That's impossible! Why didn't you wake me sooner?!"
The questions start to spin in my head, while the answers grow weaker, until they're gone completely.
And even the others, their faces, their expressions, hold no promise of clarity anymore.
No hope for an answer.
But maybe I'm asking too much, since one answer wouldn't even be nearly enough, to solve anything.
Because I still remember the pain, remember the wound and the me, collapsing to the ground.
But that wasn't new — it had happened before.
I've been on plenty of missions, I've been injured more times than I can count.
Even back then, on the day they attacked us.
The day they took my brother.
The day I was supposed to die.
And yet, after just one night, I was back on my feet again.
So why now?
Why three days?
Why this time?
"Does it really feel that long to you?"
Shato's voice cuts through my thoughts. They stop, stumble and drift back just to scatter again.
I nod.
Because yes, that's the problem.
The length. Three days.
And next time?
Will it be longer?
Will I not wake up at all?
Will I just… stay asleep?
Forever?
Fear creeps in, out of nowhere.
And I fall back.
Sink into the soft couch, my eyes wider than ever before.
And then I get it.
Their concern.
His concern.
Why Shato had looked so relieved.
"Well," he says quietly, his voice softer now, more thoughtful, "we still don't know why. Not even the doctor could explain it. But it could be seen as a sort of… mini-coma."
He's trying to keep me calm — trying not to let me spiral further.
But I am allowed to be scared, aren't I?
Three days, anything could have happened in three days.
The APH could've attacked again. Destroyed everything again. Taken everything from me, again.
The world could've ended and I'd have been asleep through it all.
Peacefully.
In a dark, windowless basement.
Hooked up to machines.
Dreaming about burning buildings and ghostly figures teaching me life lessons on playgrounds.
I couldn't have protected anyone.
Couldn't have fought, not even tried.
And that — that is what scares me.
That's what makes me angry.
Which is why Shato claps, once and sharp, letting a gentle smile follow.
"Well, yeah, you did sleep for quite a while," he says, still smiling.
"But luckily for you, you can afford to. You're under the protection of the strongest fighters on the planet. And honestly, if the day ever comes when they can't protect you anymore… I'd probably rather be asleep too. Right, Daclan?"
Oh.
Right.
There's no need to be afraid.
No reason to be angry.
"Ha! I'll be honest — I'd sooner believe in the end of the world
than in you protecting anyone."
Daclan chuckles, then sighs.
"Ow!"
Shato feigns outrage — but keeps smiling anyway.
Because they're still here.
Still the same.
Still the strongest.
Still professionals, even when they're goofing around, making me laugh.
"Three days are nothing, Vio. Don't worry," Shato continues.
"Exactly! I was out for a week once," Daclan adds, grinning.
"I swear, when I woke up, it felt like I'd time-traveled, ahahaha!"
"Hey! Are you complaining about getting a week off?" Shato replies.
"Vacation? In a coma? Please," Daclan defends himself.
"I'd like to be unconscious for once," Shato snaps, folding his arms.
"And I'd like to be a unicorn."
I laugh. Happy — because their conversation was so far away from anything normal. So far from reality. And exactly what I needed right then.
"All right, you unicorn. I'll buy you a sticker unicorn for your forehead later. But now you can go ahead and start," Shato tosses out.
"With what?" Daclan asks.
Silence falls.
Silence as my laughter slowly fades, I wipe tears of joy from my eyes and breathe out in relief.
Silence as Zane puts his book away and fixes his gaze on Daclan. Silence as Shato goes quiet, then exhales.
"He's messing with me," Daclan mutters.
"Huh? Not at all."
"Yeah, right."
Shato turns away. He tries to, at least — but he doesn't get far before Rin storms between them with purpose and slams her fist down onto the plastic table.
"I have a question!" she hisses like a cat, the impact making the moment dramatic.
"Rin."
"No, Shato! Now it's my turn."
She squares up to him again, to his authority, and looks at me. My mouth drops, my expression darkens, and she shows no hint of pity.
"Tell me, what was that supposed to be, kid?!"
She means me, definitely. And her tone promises nothing good — though I'd expect nothing else from Rin.
"And you can spare me your stupid comments this time!"
"Rin!" Shato roars again. For a moment she seems to pause, then her gaze drops, her head bows, her stance slackens.
"Shato, shut up and let me finish."
You can tell she's holding herself together. As best she can.
"So, kid! Why didn't you kill them?! Why did you just blindly charge in, huh? Care to explain your stupidity to us clever folks?"
Honestly, I don't want to explain anything to her or look her in the face. I want to leave, or scream back, or be as angry as she is. But Shato is here, so I feel safer than usual. Maybe a little cocky. A little too sure.
"Simple."
That was my first word. Rin lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes blazing, breath burning — as if she wants to vent her anger on me.
"They weren't a threat. There was no reason to kill them. At least not for me. But I already told you that during the fight."
Silence at first, lack of understanding then and Rin straightens her shoulders, raises her gaze, her eyebrows.
"That doesn't justify reckless behavior."
"Of course not. But my action wasn't reckless either."
"Excuse me? You charged blind at a stranger!"
I stay silent.
"Oh—suddenly so quiet? No, that wasn't reckless at all. You have no idea!"
"I just don't want to kill innocents. If we keep doing that, it only leads to more hatred. More deaths. But if we leave them alive, they might change their minds…"
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Change their minds? Them? The APH?!"
"Let me finish!"
"Kid, this is not a fairy tale! This is fucking reality! So wake up and stop clinging to some dumb wishful thinking."
"And how would someone like YOU know that? Have you ever spared a single life?"
Rin pauses, her right eyelid twitching, inhales sharply, exhales. The anger is written on her, even more than before.
"Kid… am I supposed to—Do you even know what they did?! What they're doing right now, these… these creatures!? With your tiny worldview and your naive principles you just have no idea how people are! As if a single one of them would deserve a change of heart!"
"Then what makes us any different from them? If we kill the same way, show the same lack of understanding—where's the line between a Wunder and the APH? Where's your line between a monster and a living being?"
Silence follows again. Rin seems unable to find an answer. She clenches her fists, lifts them, stops—she would probably hit me if Shato weren't here. Then she opens her mouth, closes it again, inhales, exhales. And a tear follows.
She starts crying. A little—really only a few, small tears from her right eye—before she finally shouts one last time.
"You're just a spoiled, stupid little kid! As if you knew anything!"
Then she goes. Striding away; I catch one last teardrop falling before she crosses the frame and slams the door shut.
At the same time Talan storms past me, throwing reproachful looks my way as if I'd done something shameful, as if I were the cause.
But she was.
And now both of them run away, avoiding the truth. The truth that they're no different from the APH. Just ruthless murderers. Creatures, as she would call them.
"Oh, oh, you really set something off there," Daclan interjects.
"Why me?"
I shake my head, filled with dismay that they apparently don't understand my point of view.
"We're not exactly innocent either, Daclan," Shato replies with a sigh.
"I know. He just can't know better," answers Daclan.
"And where's the explanation? What is there not to understand? She kills just like the APH, so there's hardly any difference between them."
Silence falls as I repeat myself. Not a remorseful silence, not a minute of quiet or some well-reasoned pause—just blank silence, as if they're ignoring me, as if I'd said something nonsensical. It takes them a while to open their mouths again—so long that I almost lose my patience. Almost. So I stay seated, glancing between them: first Shato, then Daclan. Then I want to stand.
"You know," Daclan begins, his voice darkening, and I stop, stay seated, listen.
"Rin once had a sister."
"Sister" is the first word that sticks and I think of my little sibling somewhere out there. "Had" is the second thought that follows, but I can't let it out.
"Rexaluna, called Rexi, was her name. She was older than Rin. And far more experienced."
But that's a difference—after all, I'm older than my little brother. And neither of those facts really undermines my point.
"Both lost their parents early. Also to the APH. So they lived on the streets as children, made a name for themselves as petty criminals. The 'Uncatchables' or the 'Ghost Thieves.' The name came from how they slipped out of every tight spot."
Criminals too, great. So why am I supposed to be wrong again?
"There was a rumor they could see the future. Crazy if you ask me, but it gained traction. And it was convincing enough for one man who gathered five powerful fighters."
Oh, I know him. He's sitting right here, listening to Daclan's mournful lecture about the past of a selfish girl.
"Originally his focus was on Rexi. On Rin's sister. She was supposed to become one of the Five Aces. But of course she didn't trust him. Not at first. Understandable, but also her downfall. The fortune of the 'Uncatchables' ran out when both were grabbed by the APH and—" He stops. Abruptly. Everyone knows what comes next. It's so simple it sounds foolish. A cliché. Even though he means it.
"Let's say Shato could only save one of them that day. One who vowed ever since to wipe out the APH. Even if it cost her her life. She cannot forgive them and she won't. No matter how many people she has to kill for it. She will destroy them or perish trying."
Who would have guessed? Rin checks every box for a tragic superhero.
The perfect cliché.
"And still, that's no justification," I reply in a monotone voice.
Daclan falls silent. Shato looks at me.
"She still doesn't have the right to kill innocent people."
They stay quiet and just stare—because they know I'm right. Because your own suffering doesn't cancel out someone else's life.
"They took my brother too, and still I'm not out on some random revenge spree that leaves more corpses than lives behind. And if I can do that, why can't she?"
"Ah, you guys really are a difficult bunch. What were my selection criteria again when I first recruited you?" Shato starts suddenly, out of nowhere.
He changes the subject—completely ignoring what I said. Which, in a way, only confirms I'm right.
"Did you even have any criteria? Besides 'strong people I happen to like'?" Daclan responds, talking right over my head too.
As if I weren't an equal.
As if my words were childish.
As if I were just a kid.
But I still feel vindicated—even now—because they couldn't answer me.
"Oh, come on, it wasn't that random. Besides, 'strong people I happen to like' is a perfectly good criterion. I have to be able to put up with you lot, after all," Shato defends himself, suddenly looking straight at me.
Because I push myself up from the corner, slide along the table, rise in one motion, and head toward the closed door.
But I don't reach it—Daclan's hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me.
"What, feeling guilty now? Gonna go apologize? Don't worry, you don't have to. Like you said, Rin's an adult—she knows how to handle her emotions. Give her a day and she'll be back to normal, even without your apology."
"Excuse me? Guilt? Me toward her? And who's supposed to be the adult here? Rin?"—that's what I want to say.
I want to scream it as loud as possible so she might hear it too.
But I don't.
Because it wouldn't help anyway.
So I turn around—smiling, understanding, but still angry. Only on the inside, which is exactly why I smile.
And I say,
"You're probably right. I'll talk to her later then."
"Thanks for being understanding. Shows maturity. Just give her some time, and then you two can meet again on equal footing, okay?"
Daclan looks proud—almost heroic—as if he's just defused some grand conflict.
Meanwhile, I simply walk past him. Let the smile fade. And sigh quietly, very quietly.
But not quietly enough to escape Shato's skeptical gaze, which follows me for a moment before he ends the whole scene.
"Alright, that took long enough. Let's just skip the reflection part and move straight to the main course!"
I have no idea why he's suddenly talking in meal metaphors, but honestly, I couldn't care less.
Just like the others clearly don't—Zane, for instance, who finally stands up and strolls past Shato, or Daclan, who grins and follows that walking nightmare.
Even Shato himself eventually joins them, dropping into a cross-legged position on the floor.
The others follow suit.
Except me.
"Good, let's begin then," our leader declares—only to immediately fall silent.
For several seconds.
A whole minute passes before Daclan clears his throat and breaks the tension.
"Uh… and then what?"
Shato shrugs.
"What? That's it? We just sit in a circle and don't say anything?" Daclan asks, horrified.
Another shrug. Shato smiles innocently, as if he's done absolutely nothing wrong.
"So you never had a plan to begin with?" Daclan presses.
"Well, I wouldn't say no plan at all…" Shato replies.
"Ah… now I remember why I'm here," Daclan sighs in defeat.
Because there's no point arguing—Shato always relies blindly on his teammates. Even for things like this.
"Alright then," Daclan begins, frowning slightly as he scratches his chin, then flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
"Where were you guys last time, anyway?"
"Oh! Right!"
"And?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
Daclan sits up, looking Shato straight in the face.
"No clue!"
Shato lifts his shoulders proudly once again, while Daclan just lets himself fall back with a groan.
"Is that your—ugh…"
Anyone else would've given up by now. After all, this whole mess wasn't really his responsibility.
But then again, this is Daclan—the calmest, most level-headed of us all. The only one capable of handling Shato's scattered brain.
"So I guess I'll just ask you, then."
Daclan's eyes shift to me.
"Uh, can you already manifest your power outside your body? That's kind of…"
"EXACTLY!"
Shato cuts Daclan off—shouting, loud enough to echo, his hand smacking against the glossy laminate floor.
"…What?" Daclan asks.
"That's where we left off!"
"Uh-huh."
"Yes!"
"Well, if you say so."
"Of course! Vio, you definitely remember what I told you last time, right?"
Actions speak louder than words, so I feel responsible to show them how much I've improved.
You could call it an uncontrollable urge to prove myself, the way I drop into a cross-legged sit and flash a smug little grin.
Just for a moment—barely a heartbeat—before my focus takes over.
And I close my eyes.