Day 138. 05:30 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
Ground Floor.
The Kitchen.
Hua was alone in the kitchen.
She had been alone since 04:00 — an hour before anyone else woke, an hour before the compound's morning rhythm began, an hour that was hers and only hers, the particular silence of a kitchen before the cooking started.
She stood at the prep station, her crimson hair tied back, her cleaver on the cutting board, her violet-blue eyes on the vegetables she was not cutting.
She was not cutting them because her hands were shaking.
Not from the cold.
Not from exhaustion.
From the particular trembling that came when a woman who had been strong her whole life realized she was the only one in the room who could not fight.
The four wives could fight now.
Alessia moved like a soldier—her blue eyes sharp, her indigo ponytail swaying behind her, every transition crisp and deliberate.
Jennifer fought with her body now, not just her mind—her icy-blue hair trailing behind her, her blue eyes unwavering, her telepathic field silent during combat because she had learned to read an opponent through stance, balance, and intent instead of thoughts.
Yue flowed like water, as she always had and always would—her marble eyes calm, her jian resting across her back, decades of Murim training woven into every movement.
And Hua stood in the kitchen.
Hua stood before a cutting board with a cleaver in her hand. No powers. No Enhanced gene. No supernatural gift. Nothing to offer the strike team except rice porridge, dried fish, and the quiet devotion of a woman who had kept twenty-six people alive through one hundred and thirty-eight days of winter.
But she could not fight.
She could not open wormholes.
She could not blink across a room.
She could not read minds.
She could not suppress thermal signatures.
She could not fly at Mach 1.5.
She could not levitate.
She could not shape metal with her hands.
She could not grow nacreous legs.
She could not do anything except cook.
And cooking did not stop the anomaly.
Cooking did not save lives in the Galleria basement.
Cooking did not matter.
Hua's hands shook.
She set the cleaver down.
She pressed her palms flat on the cutting board and breathed — count four in, hold two, count six out — the pattern of a woman who was trying not to cry in a kitchen at 05:30 in the morning because crying would ruin the porridge.
Jae-min stood in the doorway.
He had been there for three minutes.
His spatial awareness had detected Hua's heartbeat — elevated, erratic, the particular rhythm of someone who was fighting tears — and he had come down from the Master Attic without making a sound.
He watched her hands shake.
He watched her press her palms flat.
He watched the particular trembling of a woman who thought she was useless.
"Hua," Jae-min opened, quiet, his dark eyes on her back.
Hua did not turn around.
Her violet-blue eyes were on the cutting board.
Her crimson hair was tied back.
Her hands were still pressed flat.
"I am fine," Hua offered, sharp, the particular sharpness of a woman who was not fine and did not want to talk about it.
"You are not fine," Jae-min pressed quietly, stepping into the kitchen. "Your hands are shaking. You have not cut a single vegetable. And you have been standing here since four in the morning."
"I said I am fine," Hua countered, sharp, her violet-blue eyes still on the cutting board.
Jae-min crossed the kitchen.
He stood behind her.
He did not touch her — not yet.
He stood close enough that she could feel his warmth through the air between them, the particular warmth of a man whose body ran hotter than baseline because of the void inside him.
"You think you are useless," Jae-min laid out, quiet, his dark eyes on the back of her head.
Hua's hands stopped shaking.
They went still — the particular stillness of a woman who had been caught.
"The four of us can fight now," Hua admitted bitterly, keeping her violet-blue eyes fixed on the cutting board. "Alessia fights like a soldier. Jennifer fights with her own body. Yue flows like water. And I..." Hua finished quietly, her fingers tightening around the knife handle, "...I stand in the kitchen."
"You stand in the kitchen," Jae-min confirmed, quietly.
"I have no power," Hua insisted sharply, her voice cracking with restrained frustration. "No Enhanced gene. No wormholes. No Blink. No telepathy. No thermal suppression. No wind blades. No gravity. Nothing. I'm the only wife who can't fight. The only wife who can't join the strike team. The only wife who stays behind, cooking rice porridge while everyone else goes to war."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Jae-min's hand found her shoulder.
"Hua," Jae-min pressed, quiet, his dark eyes on hers. "You are the one feeding the whole house."
Hua's violet-blue eyes came up.
"Twenty-six people eat because of you," Jae-min reminded her quietly, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Every meal. Every day. For one hundred and thirty-eight days. You've kept twenty-six people alive inside this mansion, and you've done it with nothing more than a cleaver, a stove, and the remarkable gift of a woman who can turn dried fish and rice into something that tastes like home."
"That is not —" Hua started, sharp.
"Having powers means having died first," Jae-min stated quietly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "Every Enhanced—every single one—died before they awakened their abilities. The cold took them, or the blast took them, or the facility took them. They crossed the Threshold. Near death. Fifty-fifty. Half came back with something new. Half never came back at all."
"That's what having powers means, Hua," Jae-min continued solemnly, his jaw tightening. "It means you died. It means you stood at the very edge while the universe flipped a coin to decide whether you lived or disappeared forever."
Hua fell silent.
She couldn't deny it.
Everyone she knew who had crossed that threshold had awakened powers far beyond what ordinary humans could ever possess.
"Because I cannot accept that," Jae-min pressed quietly, his gaze locked on hers with unwavering conviction. "If you had powers, it would mean you died first. It would mean you crossed the Threshold. It would mean the universe flipped its coin on you—a fifty percent chance you came back, and a fifty percent chance you never did."
"I can't accept those odds," Jae-min declared firmly, shaking his head once. "I won't."
"Because if you died..." Jae-min whispered hoarsely, his throat tightening as he struggled to keep his composure. "It would break me, Hua. Not in a way the void could mend, or Spatial Awareness could map, or Wormholes could escape. It would break something inside me that no ability could ever repair."
"Because I love you," Jae-min confessed softly, his voice trembling with quiet certainty.
"And when you love someone," Jae-min finished resolutely, gently cupping her cheek, "you don't send them into a basement where something with thirty-two heartbeats is waiting to kill them."
Hua's violet-blue eyes were wet.
Not from the onions.
Not from the cold.
From the particular wetness of a woman who had been carrying the weight of uselessness for weeks and had just been told that her uselessness was the thing that kept her alive, and that her being alive was the thing that kept him alive, and that the chain went both ways and neither end could break.
"You love me," Hua breathed, her voice cracking.
"I love you," Jae-min confirmed, quiet, his dark eyes on hers. "I love you so much that the idea of you in that basement makes the void inside me shake. Do you understand? The void — the thing that folds space and stores weapons and opens wormholes — shakes when I think about you dying. That is what you are to me. Not useless. Not powerless. Essential. The one I cannot lose."
Hua's tears came.
Not the crying of grief or pain or loss.
The crying of happiness — the particular, overwhelming, unstoppable crying of a woman who had been told she was loved by the man she loved and who had been carrying the fear that she was not enough and had just been told that she was more than enough, that she was everything, that her cooking and her cleaver and her kitchen were the things that kept the world turning.
She turned.
She pressed her face into his chest.
Her crimson hair came loose from its tie and fell across his arms.
Her shoulders shook — not with sobs but with the particular shaking of a woman who was releasing something she had been holding for too long.
Jae-min's arms came around her.
He held her.
In the kitchen.
At 05:30 in the morning.
With the vegetables uncut, the porridge uncooked, the stove cold, and the compound still sleeping around them.
He held her until the tears stopped.
Then Hua looked up at him.
Her violet-blue eyes were red.
Her crimson hair was loose.
Her face was wet.
And her mouth was carrying the particular curve of a woman who had just cried herself empty and was ready to be filled.
"Take me upstairs," Hua pressed, warm, her violet-blue eyes on his.
Jae-min's dark eyes held hers.
"Now?" Jae-min allowed, quiet.
"Now," Hua confirmed, warm, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt. "The porridge can wait. The vegetables can wait. The compound can wait. Take me upstairs. Now."
Jae-min took her upstairs.
— • • • —
Day 138. 06:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
Third Floor.
The Master Attic Sanctuary.
The morning light fell through the attic's reinforced skylights in pale golden rectangles across the four-meter Double King bed.
The bed was empty — the other three wives were still asleep in their usual positions, Alessia on the right, Jennifer on the left, Yue against his chest.
But they had shifted in the night, making room, the particular unconscious adjustment of women who shared a bed and had learned to make space for each other in their sleep.
Hua did not go to bed.
She went to the window.
The window was at the far end of the Master Attic — a wide, reinforced pane that looked west over the compound's perimeter wall and the frozen city beyond.
The glass was triple-glazed, the condensation minimal, the view clear enough to see the snow-covered rooftops of Forbes Park stretching toward the gray horizon.
Jae-min pressed her against the glass.
Her crimson hair fell across the windowpane — a splash of color against the gray-white of the frozen world outside.
Her violet-blue eyes were on his.
Her back was flat against the cold glass, the particular cold that even the triple-glazing could not entirely keep out, a contrast with the warmth of his body against her front.
"I love you," Hua pressed, warm, her violet-blue eyes on his, her fingers in his hair.
"I know," Jae-min allowed, quiet, his dark eyes on hers, his hands on her hips.
The morning light painted them both in gold.
The compound slept beneath them.
The vegetables waited in the kitchen.
The porridge could wait.
Everything could wait.
Hua could not wait.
Jae-min's hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
Her crimson hair fell loose across her bare shoulders, across the particular curve of her breasts — full, heavy, the particular heaviness of a woman who had spent her life in kitchens and had never been shy about the body that came with the work.
Her violet-blue eyes were on his.
Her lips were parted.
Her breathing was uneven.
His mouth found her collarbone.
The particular warmth of his lips against her skin — the warmth of a man whose body ran hotter than baseline, the void inside him keeping his core at a temperature that made every touch feel like a brand.
She gasped.
Her fingers knotted in his hair.
Her back arched against the window, the cold glass pressing against her bare skin, the contrast between his heat and the glass's cold sending a particular shiver through her that had nothing to do with temperature.
His hands found her breasts.
The particular weight of them in his palms — full, warm, the nipples hard against his fingers, the particular hardness of a woman who had been wanting this since 04:00 and had been shaking since 05:30 and was now, finally, in the hands of the man who had told her she was essential and had meant it.
She moaned — low, deep, the sound of a woman whose passion was not volume but depth.
"Jae-min," Hua breathed, warm, her violet-blue eyes on his, her crimson hair spread across the windowpane like fire on glass.
His mouth found her breast.
His tongue found the nipple.
The particular wet heat of his mouth against her skin made her hips buck against him — the involuntary response of a body that had been carrying the weight of uselessness for weeks and was now being reminded, in the most particular way possible, that it was not useless at all.
It was wanted.
It was needed.
It was the body of the woman who fed the house, and the man who ran the house was on his knees in front of her, his mouth on her breast, his hands on her hips, and the particular mathematics of survival had just been rewritten to include this.
Her hands found his belt.
Her fingers worked the buckle with the particular efficiency of a woman who was used to working with her hands — the cleaver, the knife, the wok, the particular manual dexterity of a chef repurposed for a different kind of hunger.
The belt came loose.
Her fingers found the waistband.
He lifted her against the window.
Her legs wrapped around his waist — the particular grip of a woman whose legs were strong from twelve hours a day on a kitchen floor and were now strong for a different reason.
Her back was flat against the glass, the cold pressing against her bare shoulders, his heat pressing against her front, and the contrast was the particular thing that made her gasp — the cold behind her, the heat in front of her, and the particular, impossible, overwhelming sensation of being between them.
He was inside her.
The particular fullness of it — the particular rightness of a body that had been shaking and crying and trembling and was now, finally, still.
Not shaking.
Not trembling.
Still.
The particular stillness of a woman who had found the thing she was shaking for and was holding it and was not letting go.
"I love you," Hua pressed, warm, her violet-blue eyes on his, her crimson hair on the window, her breasts against his chest, her legs around his waist.
"I know," Jae-min allowed, quiet, his dark eyes on hers, his hands on her ass, his forehead against hers.
They moved together—slow, deep, and unhurried, the quiet rhythm of two people who knew the porridge could wait, the vegetables could wait, the compound could wait, and even the anomaly could wait.
Because here, in the attic, against the rain-speckled window, bathed in the morning light, nothing else in the world existed.
There was only the overwhelming, undeniable truth that she was essential to him, that he was hers, and that the toast, like everything else, could afford to be patient.
The morning light painted them gold.
The compound slept beneath them.
Hua came — quiet, shuddering, her mouth on his shoulder, her fingers in his hair, her legs tightening around his waist, the particular sound of her muffled against his skin because even in this, even in this, she was a chef, and chefs did not make noise in the kitchen.
He followed — the particular stillness of a man whose body had found its release and whose mind had found its peace and whose void, for one moment, was not a weapon but a warmth.
They stayed there.
Against the window.
In the light.
His forehead on hers.
Her legs around his waist.
The cold glass behind her.
The warm man in front of her.
The particular silence of two people who had just said everything that needed to be said and did not need to say it again.
— • • • —
Day 138. 08:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
Level 5.
The Gymnasium.
Jae-min stood in the doorway of the L5 Gymnasium, his arms crossed, his dark eyes on the mat.
Rico was running the four wives through full combat drills.
They could fight like soldiers now — Alessia, Jennifer, and Hua especially.
The particular flow of bodies that had been training for three months and had stopped thinking about the moves, and had started simply moving.
Paolo was in the corridor, his practice spear in his hands.
The chubbiness was gone — his shoulders wide, his core tight, his frame developing into the particular definition of a man who was becoming a hunk.
Gabby was on the mat with Ji-yoo.
She moved like a ninja now — silent, fast, precise.
And she was clingy.
She followed Ji-yoo everywhere, and when Ji-yoo was with Jae-min, Gabby was with Ji-yoo, which meant Gabby was with Jae-min.
The bro-con tendency, picked up from her teacher like a habit she did not know she was learning.
Jae-min's spatial awareness moved on.
In the L5 Workshop, Mark Jordan's heartbeat was at fifty-eight.
Aiko's at sixty.
Daniela's at sixty-six.
Lena's at fifty-eight.
ARTEMIS orbital platform—copper coil at eighty-five percent. APOLLO orbital platform—plasma containment at seventy-eight percent. Excellent progress. All required materials acquired.
Elena Cortez at the thermal console, her black eyes scanning the shifting readouts.
Mira crossing the atrium with a stack of freshly laundered linens balanced effortlessly in her arms.
Belle in the greenhouse, her dark eyes studying the intricate patterns spreading across the leaves.
Lina beside her, humming softly as she tended the rows of vegetables.
Ana in Room 8, carefully folding another paper crane with patient fingers.
Lourdes sitting across from her, hands folded quietly in her lap, watching each crease take shape in silence.
Jae-min turned and walked toward the infirmary.
— • • • —
Day 138. 09:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
Level 2.
The Infirmary Recovery Bay.
Lena lay propped on her medical cot, her legs covered in a thin sheet, the nacreous light pulsing — opalescent, iridescent, cycling through pale pinks and blues.
Jae-min stood in the doorway.
He had forgotten.
He had promised.
On Day 117, when Gabriel first arrived, she had knelt beside Lena's cot, placed a hand over hers, and said, "You will walk. I will give you a wind ride if I have to."
Jae-min had made a promise of his own.
Not aloud. Not in words.
But in the quiet way, a man who could feel every heartbeat within the compound made promises.
He had felt Lena's heartbeat change the moment Gabriel spoke about the wind. He had sensed the longing hidden inside that single shift, quietly filed it away alongside the countless pieces of information gathered by his Spatial Awareness, and resolved to make it happen someday.
Then Gabriel happened.
The strike team happened.
The anomaly happened.
And somewhere between duty and survival...
He forgot.
He had forgotten that Lena had never seen the sky.
Not since the Pasig facility.
Not since they had carried her out on a stretcher with nacreous legs that no longer obeyed her, mechanical fingers that clicked without permission, and golden-white eyes that had spent one hundred and twenty-one days staring at infirmary walls.
Until now.
Now he remembered.
"Lena," Jae-min called gently, his dark eyes settling on her face.
Lena lifted her golden-white eyes to meet his.
"Captain," Lena greeted softly, her mechanical fingers clicking once against the blanket.
"I owe you something," Jae-min admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with faint embarrassment.
"You do?" Lena asked curiously, tilting her head.
"The sky," Jae-min answered simply, offering her a small, apologetic smile. "I promised you the sky. I forgot."
Lena's golden-white eyes widened.
She had never expected him to remember.
Not the longing she had felt when Gabriel spoke about the wind.
Not the way her nacreous legs had pulsed at the word fly.
Not the tiny wish she had carried in silence for one hundred and twenty-one days inside a room with no windows, no sky, and no reason to believe she would ever see either again.
"You remembered," Lena whispered tearfully, her golden-white eyes shimmering.
"I am late," Jae-min admitted apologetically, meeting her gaze. "But I remembered."
He crossed the room.
One arm slipped beneath her shoulders.
The other slid beneath her nacreous knees.
The same way Yue had carried her on the day they rescued her.
The same way Gabriel had promised she would one day carry her through the wind.
Now it was his turn to keep that promise.
Lena weighed almost nothing.
Perhaps the nacreous material was lighter than flesh.
Or perhaps one hundred and twenty-one days in a hospital bed had simply taught her body to forget what weight felt like.
"Can you carry me upstairs?" Lena asked hopefully, searching his face.
"Of course I can," Jae-min reassured gently, adjusting his hold beneath her knees. "Come on."
He carried her from the infirmary.
Through the L2 corridor.
Into the standard lift.
Up to the Ground Floor.
Across the quiet atrium.
Up the stairwell.
To the rooftop access door.
The cold greeted them the instant the door opened.
Minus seventy.
The wind bit at exposed skin.
Jae-min barely noticed. The void within him regulated his body temperature effortlessly, keeping his core warm regardless of the frozen world around him.
Lena was not so fortunate.
She remained fundamentally human despite the nacreous modifications.
He reached for the thermal blanket hanging beside the doorway.
Sofia always kept one there.
She understood that sometimes people needed the roof, and sometimes they needed warmth just as much.
Jae-min wrapped the blanket securely around Lena's shoulders before carrying her toward the rooftop parapet.
The sky stretched endlessly above them.
Gray.
It had been gray every day since the Freeze.
A vast ceiling of ice-clouds swallowed the sun, scattering its hidden light into a soft, directionless glow that illuminated the world without offering it any warmth.
Yet even within that endless gray...
There was color.
Far to the west, where the unseen sun rested beyond layers of frozen cloud, charcoal softened into silver.
Silver became pewter.
Pewter faded into delicate streaks of amber and rose.
A sunset.
Or as close to one as this frozen world could still remember.
Light spilled across suspended ice crystals, painting the clouds with ribbons of amber-pink that drifted over the horizon like brushstrokes across an endless canvas.
Beautiful.
Impossible.
Alive.
Lena forgot to breathe.
Her golden-white eyes reflected the fading colors.
Her mechanical fingers clicked faster.
Not from malfunction.
From wonder.
"It is..." Lena breathed awestruck, her golden-white eyes fixed on the horizon.
She could not finish.
Words were too small.
Jae-min stood quietly behind her.
The thermal blanket rested around her shoulders.
One arm remained around her—not to restrain her, but to steady her against the bitter wind.
The other rested lightly over the blanket.
The warmth of his body shielded her from the freezing air.
Brother and sister.
Watching the sky together.
The amber glow slowly deepened.
The western horizon surrendered to violet.
Above them, the endless gray faded into the deep blue of a world quietly turning away from what little light remained.
"Thank you, Captain," Lena murmured gratefully, her golden-white eyes never leaving the horizon.
"I should've brought you here sooner," Jae-min admitted quietly, watching the same horizon beside her.
"You are here," Lena replied warmly, a small smile touching her lips. "That is enough."
Neither of them spoke again.
They simply watched the frozen sunset—
The quiet miracle of a world that had lost its sun...
Yet somehow still remembered how to make light.
The clicking slowed.
Once.
Twice.
Then...
Silence.
For the first time in one hundred and twenty-one days, Lena's mechanical fingers were still.
— • • • —
Day 138. 10:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
Ground Floor.
The Atrium.
The invitation from Commander Reyes had arrived at 06:30—a coded transmission through the secure channel, decrypted by Mei's hardware.
"Commander Reyes requests the presence of Captain Del Rosario and a delegation at the ridge camp fortress. Purpose: strategic coordination and intelligence exchange. Duration: one day. Transport: escorted," Mei reported softly, her violet-blue eyes fixed on the display while Chocho rested comfortably on her lap.
Jae-min read the message.
The ridge camp had never opened its fortress to outsiders.
This was significant.
"I am going," Jae-min stated evenly, his dark eyes sweeping across the assembled group.
Rico stepped forward.
His bandaged shoulder remained carefully braced against his side, the gauze still dark where the wound continued to seep.
"I am coming with you," Rico declared firmly, his good hand already reaching for his tactical vest.
"You are injured," Jae-min reminded quietly, his gaze settling on the bandage.
"I can fight," Rico insisted stubbornly, meeting Jae-min's eyes without hesitation. "The shoulder is healing. I can hold a rifle. I can walk four hours through the snow. I am going."
Jae-min looked at Rico.
Rico looked back.
Neither man blinked.
It was the familiar standoff between two soldiers who respected one another too much to simply back down.
Marie rose from the dining table.
She said nothing.
She did not need to.
She simply looked at Rico.
One look.
A wife.
Twenty weeks pregnant.
A husband with a wounded shoulder.
An unborn child who needed a father far more than another rifle on the ridge.
Rico's mouth closed.
His hand slipped away from the tactical vest.
His eyes shifted from Jae-min...
to Marie...
then back again.
Defiance.
Recognition.
Resignation.
The entire exchange lasted barely two seconds.
"I will hold the perimeter," Rico conceded gruffly, turning toward Marie. "I am not arguing with a pregnant woman."
Marie sat back down.
One hand returned to her stomach.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a tiny, satisfied smile.
She had won without saying a single word.
Gabriel burst into laughter.
Not polite laughter.
Not restrained laughter.
A bright, head-tilting laugh that echoed through the atrium, startled Chocho on Mei's lap, and drew every eye in the room.
"Uncle got schooled," Gabriel declared gleefully, pointing at Rico while struggling to contain another fit of laughter.
Ji-yoo laughed too.
Not because Rico had lost.
Because she'd spent one hundred and seventeen days watching her uncle lose every disagreement with her aunt.
"Uncle," Ji-yoo teased gently, her dark eyes dancing with amusement beneath the oversized shirt she wore. "Auntie didn't even say anything. She looked at you once, and you folded like a card table."
"I did not fold," Rico protested gruffly, the tips of his ears turning pink.
"You folded," Gabriel confirmed cheerfully, pointing at him again. "You reached for the vest. She looked at you. You let go of the vest. That's folding."
"The woman is twenty weeks pregnant," Rico defended stubbornly, his ears growing even redder. "I am not arguing with a pregnant woman."
"You aren't arguing because you can't win," Ji-yoo corrected sweetly, folding her arms. "You've never won. You'll never win. The baby is just your newest excuse."
Rico's ears turned scarlet.
Marie's smile widened.
Laughter spread through the atrium.
Carmen laughed from the serving hatch.
Esperanza laughed beside the sink.
Sofia lowered her clipboard long enough to smile.
Even Alessia's usually clinical expression softened into quiet amusement.
Jae-min allowed the laughter to run its course.
"The delegation will be myself, Gabriel, Ji-yoo, and Yue," Jae-min stated evenly once the room settled. "Gabriel for aerial reconnaissance. Ji-yoo for gravity detection. Yue for Spatial Awareness and Blink extraction. Four Enhanced. Four reconnaissance capabilities."
"Copy," Rico acknowledged gruffly, his ears still faintly red as his good hand quietly found Marie's hip beneath the table.
Marie's elbow found his ribs a heartbeat later.
Rico grunted.
Marie never looked away from her breakfast.
Gabriel laughed again.
Ji-yoo joined her immediately.
— • • • —
Day 138. 09:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Peacock Mansion.
The Rooftop.
The escort was waiting at the northern checkpoint — a four-person ridge camp patrol led by Sergeant Valdez, a stocky, weather-beaten woman in her late thirties.
"Captain Del Rosario," Sergeant Valdez opened, crisp, nodding to Jae-min. Her eyes moved to the three women behind him. "You brought a different team than expected."
"Gabriel. Ji-yoo. Yue," Jae-min directed, flat. "Four Enhanced. Four reconnaissance abilities."
Sergeant Valdez assessed them — three in PAF pilot uniforms, one in a tactical suit.
Jae-min wore his old Captain's uniform — dark green flight suit, PAF wings on the chest, Del Rosario name tape on the right shoulder.
Ji-yoo wore her old First Lieutenant's uniform — the same dark green, the same wings.
She had kept it in her closet in Room 1, behind the Marshall stacks.
Gabriel wore Ji-yoo's spare.
It did not fit.
"It is too tight," Gabriel complained, bright, her golden eyes on the mirror, her hands pulling at the chest of the flight suit where the fabric was straining across her breasts in the particular way that strained across her remarkably voluptuous figure, the uniform tailored for a woman with far more conventional proportions.
"What can I do?" Ji-yoo offered, gently, her dark eyes on Gabriel's reflection, her mouth curving. "Your breasts are enormous."
"Big bro likes them~," Gabriel returned, bright, her golden eyes on Ji-yoo's face.
"He is my brother, not your big bro," Ji-yoo countered, gentle, her dark eyes sharp. "And he does not like them. He tolerates them."
"He grabbed them in the atrium last week~," Gabriel pressed, bright.
"His hand slipped," Ji-yoo corrected, gently. "There is a difference."
"It did not slip —" Gabriel retorted.
"Enough," Jae-min cut, flat, from the doorway, his hand on his face. "We are leaving in five minutes. If the flight suit holds, we go. If it does not, Gabriel wears the tactical suit. The breast discussion is over."
"Copy," Ji-yoo confirmed, gently.
"Copy~," Gabriel confirmed, bright.
Jae-min sighed.
The flight suit held.
The three of them stood in front of the mirror — Jae-min, Ji-yoo, Gabriel — in their PAF pilot uniforms for the first time since before the freeze.
The dark green flight suits.
The wings on the chests.
The name tapes on the shoulders.
The particular sight of three Sky Titans in uniform, side by side, in the same room, in the same suits they had worn when they flew F-22 Raptors and FA-50PHs and forced the United States to lend them aircraft that no foreign air force had ever been allowed to touch.
The nostalgia hit all three of them at the same time.
Jae-min felt it first—the weight of the uniform on his shoulders, the familiar embrace of the fabric, the wings over his heart, and the flood of memories that came with them: a cockpit alive with instruments, a hand wrapped around the throttle, a runway racing beneath him, and a sky that had once belonged to pilots instead of winter.
His dark eyes went distant for one beat.
Two.
Then he was back.
Ji-yoo felt it second—the familiar scent of the flight suit, softened by time but still carrying the ghost of aviation fuel and recycled cockpit air.
For a fleeting moment, she was no longer standing in the Peacock Mansion.
She was back on the flight line, before resignation, before the Freeze, before the world became Marshall stacks, Rivermaya posters, and the quiet comfort of sleeping in her twin brother's oversized shirt.
Her dark eyes glistened.
One heartbeat.
She blinked.
The memory slipped away.
She was home again.
Gabriel felt it third — and Gabriel, being Gabriel, did not go distant or wet. Gabriel got goosebumps.
"I am getting goosebumps," Gabriel offered, bright, her golden eyes on the mirror, her arms wrapped around herself, the flight suit straining at the chest. "The suit. The wings. The name tape. I have not worn this since — since Clark. Since before the cockpit. Since before I died."
She looked at herself in the mirror.
The flight suit.
The wings.
The Second Lieutenant's insignia on the collar.
The Abadia name tape on the shoulder.
The particular sight of a woman who had been a pilot before she was a corpse before she was a weapon before she was a cousin in a nightgown in a compound in a frozen city.
"Big bro~," Gabriel pressed brightly, her golden eyes on Jae-min's reflection, her voice carrying the particular tone of a woman who was about to say something that would get her hit. "I am getting wet. My nipples are popping out~."
Ji-yoo smacked Gabriel in the back of the head.
"Shut up, bitch!" Ji-yoo fired, sharp, her dark eyes on Gabriel, her hand still raised from the smack, her mouth carrying the particular flatness of a woman who had been standing next to Gabriel for thirty seconds too long. "Idiot"
"Owie~," Gabriel offered, bright, her golden eyes on Ji-yoo, her hand on the back of her head, her mouth carrying the particular curve of a woman who had deserved that and was not sorry.
Jae-min sighed again.
Yue wore the standard compound-issued thermal tactical suit.
She was Murim.
Her world had been forged by swords instead of aircraft, mountains instead of runways.
Flight suits belonged to another life.
The tactical suit belonged to this one.
"The commander expected as much," Sergeant Valdez allowed, crisp. "Let's move. Four hours."
They moved.
The journey to the Marikina ridge was four hours of frozen city — buried streets, skeletal buildings, the Pasig River a solid ribbon of ice under the snow.
Minus seventy.
The wind scoured them.
The ice crystals cut.
Jae-min's spatial awareness extended to maximum range, mapping the terrain, scanning for hostiles.
The city was empty.
Ji-yoo walked beside him, her shoulder against his, her gravity-shift sense reading the ground — every shift of mass, every structural weakness, every hidden void beneath the snow.
Gabriel streaked through the frozen sky at Mach 1.5, riding the wind she commanded as naturally as breathing.
Her knee-length black hair whipped behind her while her golden eyes searched the streets and rooftops below.
Every two kilometers, she descended, signaled the patrol, then accelerated skyward once more.
She had once performed reconnaissance from the cockpit of a fighter jet.
Now the wind itself carried her.
The aircraft was gone.
The pilot remained.
Yue blinked through the frozen city—folding space in forty-four-meter intervals, each teleport separated by seven seconds as she appeared atop rooftops, beside frozen intersections, and behind abandoned vehicles to secure the formation's flanks and rear.
Her Spatial Awareness overlapped seamlessly with Jae-min's.
The city existed as the same living map in both their minds.
What one failed to perceive, the other confirmed.
Together, they denied the battlefield a place to hide.
They reached the ridge camp fortress at 13:00.
Commander Reyes met them at the main entrance—tall, lean, angular, with the weathered face of a career military officer.
"Captain Del Rosario. First Lieutenant Del Rosario," Commander Reyes greeted evenly, extending his hand to Jae-min before nodding respectfully to Ji-yoo. "We meet again. Professor Shang," he continued evenly, inclining his head toward Yue. "Welcome to Ridge Camp. It is good to see you all again."
"Commander," Jae-min returned flatly, shaking his hand.
Commander Reyes' eyes shifted to the fourth member of the delegation.
Another Philippine Air Force flight suit.
Another pair of silver wings.
A woman he had never met personally.
His gaze lingered for only a moment before recognition dawned across his weathered face.
"Second Lieutenant Abadia," Commander Reyes observed evenly, his dark eyes resting on Gabriel. "The Flying Hot Chick."
Gabriel's golden eyes widened.
Her cheeks warmed—not with flirtation, but with surprise. She had expected the commander to recognize the Sky Titans.
She had not expected him to recognize her.
"That is not my official callsign," Gabriel protested brightly, rubbing the back of her neck.
"No," Commander Reyes agreed evenly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "But it was the nickname every enlisted man in the Philippine Air Force seemed to know."
His eyes briefly swept across the three pilots.
"The Sky Titans," Commander Reyes continued evenly. "Captain Del Rosario. First Lieutenant Del Rosario. Second Lieutenant Abadia. The Philippine Air Force squadron that convinced the United States to loan the F-22 Raptors. I read the defense publications before the Freeze."
"I did not expect anyone to remember," Gabriel admitted brightly.
"The military remembers its own," Commander Reyes replied evenly.
Gabriel smiled.
"I was also March in the 2019 Philippine Air Force charity calendar," Gabriel added brightly.
"I remember," Commander Reyes acknowledged evenly. "That issue was difficult to miss."
Jae-min closed his eyes.
Gabriel grinned.
"Come," Commander Reyes directed evenly, turning toward the council chamber. "We have much to discuss."
The meeting lasted three hours.
The council chamber was warm — geothermal heating, twenty-two degrees, a shock after four hours in minus seventy.
Seven council members sat at the long table.
The intelligence exchange was significant.
Commander Reyes shared reconnaissance data on the anomaly's tunnel network.
Jae-min shared the strike team's five-point coverage concept and the thermal suppression approach.
The most significant disclosure: the anomaly's enhancement research was not original.
The protocols, the equipment, the theoretical framework — all of it bore the hallmarks of a pre-existing research program.
The Pasig facility was one installation.
The Galleria was another.
There might be others.
"The anomaly is a node," Jae-min laid out, flat. "Not an isolated threat. A node in a network."
"Agreed," Commander Reyes confirmed, even. "After the Galleria operation, we expand intelligence-gathering to the broader network."
"Day one-sixty," Jae-min pressed, flat.
"Day one-sixty," Commander Reyes confirmed, even.
They shook hands at the fortress entrance.
"You are different from the man I expected," Commander Reyes observed evenly, his dark eyes fixed on Jae-min with professional assessment.
"I left the Air Force years ago," Jae-min replied flatly, meeting his gaze without pressure. "After my service, I became a logistics manager and shareholder. The Freeze happened while I was a civilian."
Commander Reyes regarded him for a moment in silence.
"I know your record," Commander Reyes acknowledged evenly, folding his hands behind his back. "Captain of the Sky Titans. One of the Air Force's most efficient fighter pilots. Then you chose civilian life."
"It was time," Jae-min allowed flatly, expression unchanged.
Commander Reyes shifted his attention.
"And First Lieutenant Del Rosario traded flight operations for civilian work and music," Commander Reyes observed evenly, turning slightly toward Ji-yoo.
"I did," Ji-yoo confirmed calmly, standing straight with controlled composure. "Flying was one discipline. Music became another."
Commander Reyes nodded once before turning fully toward Gabriel.
"And only Second Lieutenant Abadia remained in uniform," Commander Reyes stated evenly.
"The Abadia family is Air Force lineage," Gabriel explained brightly, clasping her hands behind her back with enthusiasm. "My grandfather served. My father served. I couldn't abandon that."
"You were recommended for promotion multiple times," Commander Reyes noted evenly, his tone unchanged. "You declined every one."
"I did," Gabriel admitted brightly, scratching her cheek with casual honesty.
"Why?" Commander Reyes asked evenly, narrowing his eyes slightly in curiosity.
"I wanted to remain Second Lieutenant Gabriel Abadia," Gabriel declared brightly, smiling without hesitation. "Captain Del Rosario's wingman. If Big Bro ever returned to the Air Force, I wanted to be exactly where I was when he left."
Silence settled instantly across the rooftop escort formation.
"…No," Ji-yoo muttered sharply, exhaling through her nose while closing her eyes in visible discomfort.
"What part of that was wrong?" Gabriel asked brightly, tilting her head in innocent confusion.
"You just told a commander," Ji-yoo stated sharply, opening her eyes with controlled anger, "that your entire career trajectory is based on waiting for my brother's to return."
"Yes," Gabriel confirmed brightly, nodding without hesitation.
"All of it?" Ji-yoo demanded sharply, stepping forward with rising intensity.
"All of it," Gabriel confirmed brightly again, completely unbothered.
"THAT IS THE PROBLEM!" Ji-yoo exploded sharply, throwing both arms upward in frustration.
"What problem?" Gabriel asked brightly, blinking slowly.
"EVERY PROBLEM!" Ji-yoo shouted sharply, pointing at Gabriel. "You turned down promotions, authority, everything, just to stay at the same rank for a man who left the Air Force YEARS AGO!"
"I understand your interpretation," Gabriel replied brightly, placing a hand on her chest calmly.
"That is not interpretation!" Ji-yoo snapped sharply. "That is exactly what you said!"
"I thought it was romantic," Gabriel admitted brightly with a small, proud smile.
"It is not romantic!" Ji-yoo shouted sharply. "It is structurally insane!"
Commander Reyes cleared his throat evenly, maintaining professional composure.
"Have I missed something important?" Jae-min asked flatly, his eyes moving between them in mild confusion.
"You have missed nothing," Ji-yoo answered sharply, turning toward him immediately, "because this has been happening for years."
"What has been happening?" Jae-min asked flatly, blinking once.
"Her entire existence revolves around you!" Ji-yoo shouted sharply, pointing at Gabriel.
"I would not describe it that way," Gabriel replied brightly.
"It is exactly that way!" Ji-yoo fired back sharply.
"I have hobbies," Gabriel insisted brightly.
"Name one," Ji-yoo demanded sharply.
"Big Bro," Gabriel answered brightly without hesitation.
A pause.
"...That is not a hobby," Ji-yoo stated flatly, her voice dropping.
"It is very engaging," Gabriel replied brightly.
Yue observed the exchange in silence, her marble eyes steady and unreadable.
"It is emotionally inefficient," Yue stated quietly, her voice calm and precise. "But consistent."
"You are not helping," Ji-yoo said sharply without looking at her.
"I was not attempting to," Yue replied calmly.
Commander Reyes exhaled slowly, maintaining discipline.
"I have reviewed hundreds of officer profiles," Commander Reyes stated evenly. "This is the first time I have seen career decisions justified in such a manner."
"Is it memorable?" Gabriel asked brightly.
"It is unforgettable," Commander Reyes confirmed evenly.
"That is good," Gabriel replied brightly.
"No, it is not," Ji-yoo said sharply.
"I disagree," Gabriel replied brightly.
"Of course you do," Ji-yoo muttered sharply.
"I always do," Gabriel confirmed brightly.
Jae-min raised a hand slightly.
"I will assume this conversation will continue indefinitely regardless of my participation," Jae-min stated flatly.
"Correct," Ji-yoo and Gabriel responded simultaneously.
Yue added quietly.
"Correct," Yue confirmed calmly.
Commander Reyes allowed a faint, controlled breath.
"Then proceed with mission briefing," Commander Reyes stated evenly, "before this becomes entirely irrelevant."
"Agreed," Jae-min replied flatly.
But Ji-yoo continued glaring at Gabriel.
And Gabriel continued smiling.
Nothing resolved.
Only documented.