The village smoldered.
The square that had once been cracked by Daichi's quake was now crawling with soldiers again. Reinforcements had come swiftly—more rifles, more machines, more boots to press down the earth.
The villagers had scattered in the chaos, but not all had escaped unscathed. A house near the square still burned, its roof caved in by falling stone. A child wailed from inside until Kana Fujimoto, the healer's daughter, rushed through the smoke with water streaming from her palms.
She doused the flames in frantic bursts, coughing hard, but her voice still carried: "Someone help me—there are still people inside!"
No one moved.
Fear had rooted them deeper than the rubble.
Yoshiki stumbled forward, his arms bandaged and raw, fire still flickering along his hair. "Kana!" His voice cracked, not with command, but with desperation. He charged through the smoke, shadows at his heels where Hikaru flanked him. Between them, they dragged out the last of the family, coughing and soot-stained.
The villagers gathered around the survivors, relief colliding with dread. Their eyes—wide, darting—kept straying back to the Core Four. To the fire licking along Yoshiki's hands. To the shadows dripping from Hikaru's shoulders. To the blue light still pulsing faintly beneath Yuzuriha's temples. To the cracks glowing faint orange across Daichi's fists.
They whispered among themselves. Not words of thanks. Words of fear.
"They're too strong…"
"They'll bring more soldiers down on us…"
"They're just as dangerous as the machines."
The fire in Yoshiki's chest dimmed, replaced with a leaden weight. His hands shook as he clenched them into fists.
Was this what he had promised? Protection? Or destruction?
Far from the smoke, within the command tent, Director Shiga studied the flickering screens with detached precision.
"Subject Hayasaka confirmed," a soldier reported crisply. "Resonance type: Seismic. Codename: Stonepulse."
Four names pulsed across the monitors now:
Infernal Sovereign. Abyss Warden. Mindweaver. Stonepulse.
Shiga's lips curved faintly, though his eyes were as cold as glass.
"Faultlines," he murmured. "Good. Let them split. Let them tear their own village apart before I lift a finger."
His hands folded behind his back. The machine hum deepened, hungry.
Back in the village, Kana slumped to her knees, tears streaking soot down her cheeks. "I saved them," she whispered, staring at her trembling, water-soaked hands. "But the soldiers… they'll come again. Stronger. What can we do against them?"
Yoshiki looked around at the ruin—burning homes, terrified faces, Daichi braced and silent, Hikaru cloaked in doubt, Yuzuriha pale and shaken.
His heart pounded, heavy with fire and failure.
Yoshiki's knees buckled, and he sank into the ash-streaked earth. His bandaged arms trembled at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he could throttle the fire that burned inside him.
He looked at the villagers — the same people he had sworn to protect. Their eyes avoided his. Some stared at him like he was no different than the soldiers. Others, like the children huddling behind their mothers, looked at him with something worse than fear.
Hopelessness.
The fire in him faltered, sputtering like a dying ember.
"Yoshiki," Hikaru said quietly, his voice calm but strained, shadows still curling faintly from his shoulders. "They'll turn on us. If not now, then soon. Fear doesn't forgive."
Yuzuriha stood beside him, pale and weary, blood crusting faintly beneath her nose. Her voice wavered, but her words were firm. "That's exactly why we can't stop. If we leave them, the government will take everything. If we stay, at least there's a chance."
Daichi said nothing. His hands, still cracked with faint orange lines of power, rested heavy at his sides. But when Yoshiki's gaze met his, Daichi's steady nod spoke volumes.
They were waiting for him. All of them.
Yoshiki's breath came ragged, his chest rising and falling as if each inhalation stoked the embers beneath his skin. His fists curled tight.
"No." His voice was hoarse, but it carried across the ruined square. "They don't get to take this from us. Not our homes. Not our people. Not us."
His fire flared—not wild this time, but steady, coiling around him like a mantle. His red hair caught the glow, blazing against the night.
He forced himself to his feet, standing amid the rubble and ash. "If they call us monsters, then fine. We'll bear it. But we'll make them fear the day they thought we'd break."
The villagers flinched at the flare of his fire, but this time, they did not look away.
Yoshiki turned, looking at Hikaru, Yuzuriha, Daichi. "We're done waiting. From here on out… every strike we take, every step we make—it's for them. For all of us. And I'll carry the blame. Every flame, every scar. I'll bear it all."
The weight in his chest shifted—still heavy, but no longer hollow.
Daichi grunted, cracking his knuckles. "Then you won't carry it alone."
Hikaru exhaled, shadows weaving tighter around him. "Reckless as ever. But… fine. I'll follow you."
Yuzuriha's lips trembled, but her eyes shone with conviction. "Then I'll make sure we don't lose ourselves in the fire."
The four stood together, scarred but unbroken, as the embers of rebellion sparked into something greater.