The next morning—
no one spoke.
Not in the van.
Not in the hallway.
Not even during training.
Silence—
took everything.
Bimo sat in the corner.
Usually loud.
Usually annoying.
Usually the first to complain.
Now—
quiet.
He stared at the floor longer than anyone noticed.
"…I hate this."
No one answered.
His jaw tightened.
"…I'd rather get punched than sit in this silence."
Still nothing.
That hurt more than he expected.
Arga stood by the window.
Watching the field.
Not training.
Not talking.
Not looking at anyone.
Especially not—
Rani.
Rani noticed.
Of course she did.
But this time—
she didn't approach.
Didn't argue.
Didn't try to fix it.
That was new.
Sinta watched both of them.
Not choosing.
Not interfering.
Just thinking.
"…this won't hold."
BEEP.
Pak Rahmat's tablet lit up.
Instantly—
everyone moved.
Instinct—
still there.
"…another incident."
His voice calm.
Too calm.
"…east sector."
"How bad?" Lila asked.
A pause.
"…two unstable."
Silence.
That meant—
time was already running out.
"We move in five."
No debate.
No discussion.
Only action.
But something had already shifted.
"I'll take point."
Arga.
Firm. Final.
"I'll handle stabilization."
Rani.
Just as firm.
Just as final.
Their eyes met.
One second.
Enough.
"…we're already divided."
Sinta said it quietly.
No one denied it.
Bimo looked between them.
"…can we not do this right now?"
No response.
He laughed once.
Short. Empty.
"…yeah. Of course."
The school—
too quiet.
Too still.
Too late.
Inside—
a classroom torn apart.
Cracked walls.
Lingering energy.
Heavy.
"Split."
Arga.
"No."
Rani.
Immediate. Sharp.
"We don't have time."
"We don't have room for mistakes."
Silence.
"…fine."
Arga turned.
"I take left."
Rani didn't respond.
She already moved right.
No plan.
No coordination.
No trust.
Just—
distance.
Bimo stood frozen for a second.
"…I don't even know who I'm supposed to follow anymore."
No one answered.
So he ran anyway.
Arga stepped into the left room.
The Guardian lunged.
Fast.
Violent.
Predictable.
Arga moved.
Clean.
Precise.
No hesitation.
THUD.
The body dropped.
Neutralized.
Controlled.
"…done."
Too easy.
Too fast.
Too empty.
Something felt wrong.
On the other side—
everything went wrong.
The Guardian was younger.
Smaller.
Breaking.
Energy leaked from his body—
wild.
Unstable.
Rani froze.
Just—
one second.
Memory hit.
The boy.
The collapse.
The silence.
"…not again…"
She stepped forward.
Alone.
"I won't let you fall."
She reached out.
Direct contact.
No filter.
No safety.
BOOM.
Energy exploded.
Walls cracked.
Glass shattered.
The entire room shook.
Outside—
Sinta turned instantly.
"…that's not Arga."
Arga felt it too.
"…Rani."
They ran.
Fast.
Too fast—
but still too late.
Inside—
dust filled the air.
Silence pressed down.
Rani was on the ground.
Breathing hard.
Shaking.
The Guardian—
alive.
Still unstable.
But alive.
She did it.
But barely.
Bimo rushed to her first.
Dropped beside her.
"…hey—hey—look at me."
Rani tried to speak.
Couldn't.
His hands shook.
"…don't do that."
His voice cracked.
"…don't scare me like that."
He looked up at Arga.
Anger. Fear. Frustration.
All at once.
"…do something."
Arga stopped at the doorway.
Looked once.
Understood everything.
"…you could've died."
His voice low.
Heavy.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"…but he didn't."
Rani answered.
Silence.
Two results.
Two truths.
Arga—
safe.
efficient.
correct.
Rani—
risky.
dangerous.
human.
Sinta watched them.
And finally said it—
"…this is it."
Not tension.
Not disagreement.
A split.
"We can't keep doing this."
Arga.
Clear. Final.
"We won't."
Rani.
Then—
"…I won't."
Silence.
That line—
changed everything.
"…wait—what?"
Bimo stood.
For once—
completely lost.
"No. No, we're not doing that."
He looked at Rani.
Then Arga.
Then both of them.
"We fight. We yell. We disagree. Fine."
His voice rose.
"But we don't split."
No one moved.
No one answered.
His breathing turned uneven.
"…right?"
Nothing.
And that silence—
broke him more than the battle did.
"I'm not following your way anymore."
Rani stood firm.
Arga didn't stop her.
Didn't argue.
Didn't try to convince her.
"…then don't."
That—
was worse.
Bimo stepped back slowly.
"…why does this feel worse than losing a mission…"
No one answered.
Because they all knew why.
Sinta closed her eyes.
"…we just lost our balance."
They stood there.
All of them.
Still in the same place.
Still on the same mission.
But no longer—
one.
Back at base—
no one explained.
No one fixed it.
No one tried.
Only distance.
Pak Rahmat watched.
Silent.
Then—
"…so it begins."
Far away—
a screen flickered.
Two signals.
Separated.
Tracked.
The man in the hat smiled.
Wider this time.
"…divide and break."
That night—
no one trained together.
No shared plan.
No shared strategy.
No shared silence.
Just space.
Between them.
Two lights glowed in the dark.
One—
steady.
Cold.
Unwavering.
The other—
unstable.
Warm.
Still reaching.
Both strong.
Both right.
But no longer—
aligned.
And in a war like this—
that was worse
than losing.