A Moment of Thought

The battle was over.

But the echoes of it lingered.

The Heart Nexus had fallen into an eerie silence, save for the faint hum of residual Advent energy crackling through the fractured air. The once-chaotic battleground was now a graveyard of shattered stone, scorched metal, and blood—most of it theirs.

Luke stood on trembling legs, his body screaming with every step. His wounds throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, and the faint pulse of his Code flickered weakly beneath his skin—lines of faint, luminous script dancing along his arms, fading in and out like dying embers.

We survived, he thought, his gaze drifting toward Ashtor's crumpled form. But that's all we did.

Eleanor knelt beside Ashtor's corpse, her expression unreadable. Blood splattered across her face, streaked with sweat and grime, yet her amber eyes remained sharp, unyielding. Kuro stood nearby, silent, his breathing heavy but controlled.

It should've felt like a victory.

But something gnawed at Luke's mind—a loose thread he couldn't ignore.

"This wasn't about stopping us," he muttered, his voice raspy from exhaustion.

Eleanor glanced up, arching an eyebrow. "What?"

Luke swallowed, forcing his thoughts into words. "Ashtor... he wasn't here to protect the relic." His eyes darkened as the realization settled. "He just wanted to kill us."

Silence.

Kuro's jaw clenched, the faint flicker of rage returning to his features. "Solen."

Eleanor's smirk faded, replaced by a grim scowl. "They've already taken it."

The weight of that truth hit harder than any of Ashtor's strikes.

We fought, bled, almost died—and for what?

Failure wrapped around Luke like a suffocating shroud.

The trek back to the Shifting Bazaar was slow and painful.

The Nexus faded behind them, swallowed by the distorted horizon as they navigated through broken landscapes and warped corridors of reality—remnants of the battle still etched into every step.

No one spoke much. Words felt too small, too fragile against the magnitude of what they'd lost.

Luke's thoughts spiraled.

How do I even begin to explain this to Aldric?

The image of Aldric's dissapointing gaze flashed in his mind—a gaze that tolerated mistakes but never failures.

And Sylveria…

What will she say when she hears Eleanor's didn't secure the relic?

His chest tightened, not from injury but from the crushing weight of responsibility. The faint glow of his Code Essence occasionally flickered across his fingertips, an involuntary reaction to his racing thoughts—lines of fragmented data, broken commands, like his mind couldn't process the failure cleanly.

As they approached the Bazaar's shimmering threshold, Eleanor finally broke the silence.

"So… my Essence evolved."

Kuro snorted, though the sound was strained. "You think?"

Eleanor shot him a lazy grin, though fatigue dulled the usual sharpness in her expression. "I mean, it's kind of a big deal. Seeing through Ashtor's Intangibility? That's not exactly standard issue."

Luke managed a weak chuckle, despite the heaviness in his chest. "'Predator's Vision,' huh?"

She winked. "Told you it fits."

Kuro's smile faded as he glanced at her, his tone softer this time. "It saved our lives."

Eleanor shrugged, but Luke saw the flicker of pride beneath her casual demeanor.

She's more than just sharp with a bow, he thought. She's evolving—adapting. We all are.

The thought lingered, bittersweet. Evolution meant growth, but it often came at a cost.

Crossing into the Bazaar was like stepping into another world entirely.

The chaotic, ever-changing marketplace buzzed with life, its mismatched architecture shifting like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves. But the usual vibrancy felt muted as the trio limped through the crowd.

Eyes turned to them—Abnormals of all shapes and sizes pausing mid-barter, their gazes heavy with concern.

A tall, serpentine figure slithered forward, scales shimmering under the dim Bazaar lights. His sharp, golden eyes narrowed at the sight of Kuro's injuries.

"Kael's son," he hissed softly, voice layered with both reverence and worry. "You need rest."

Another voice, softer but no less firm, chimed in—a cloaked figure whose glowing eyes pierced through the shadows. "And the human. Aldric sent you, did he not?" A nod toward Eleanor. "And you, touched by Queen Sylveria's will."

Luke could barely muster a response. The exhaustion had carved deep into his bones. The glow of his Code flickered weakly at the recognition, like his Essence responded instinctively to the mention of Aldric's name.

Kuro nodded stiffly, his usual defiance dulled by the weight of fatigue. "We'll rest."

They were guided to a familiar structure nestled within the Bazaar's ever-shifting heart—a towering building reminiscent of an ancient Japanese bathhouse, its dark wooden exterior veined with crimson lines that pulsed faintly.

The Crimson Pools.

Inside, the air was thick with warmth and the faint, metallic tang of blood—Abnormal blood, potent with healing properties. The attendants, masked and silent, moved with practiced precision, guiding them toward separate chambers.

Kuro was led to the largest pool—a deep basin filled with dark, viscous crimson liquid that shimmered under the lantern light. Without hesitation, he stripped down and lowered himself into the blood, a hiss escaping his lips as it touched his wounds.

The transformation was immediate. His battered skin began to knit itself back together, muscle fibers reweaving beneath the surface. His eyes closed, face relaxing for the first time since the battle.

Luke and Eleanor were guided to individual baths, filled with more diluted mixtures—designed for human physiology. Luke eased himself into the warmth, a shudder escaping him as the heat seeped into his broken body.

The silence was comfortable, the exhaustion finally catching up.

But Luke's mind wouldn't rest.

Staring at the rippling surface of the water, Luke's thoughts spiraled.

We failed.

The words echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.

We fought like hell. Lost blood, nearly lost each other—and still, we couldn't secure the relic.

His hands clenched beneath the water, fingers trembling—not from injury, but from frustration. Lines of faint, glowing script—the remnants of his Code—briefly traced along his knuckles, fragmented commands flickering and vanishing like broken data packets.

Aldric and Sylveria's expectations had been clear. Failure wasn't an option. Especially since it was suppose to be an easier mission. Though I guess we never stood a chance, the relic was most likely taken before we even arrived to the Labyrinth. 

Luke exhaled, the breath shaky. He couldn't change what happened. Couldn't undo the battle, the bloodshed, the loss.

But he could control what came next.

No excuses. No hesitation.

He would face Aldric. Face Sylveria. Report the truth.

And then—

We'll get it back.

His gaze hardened, the faint flicker of determination igniting beneath the exhaustion. The fragmented code along his skin steadied, lines aligning as if his resolve anchored even his Essence.

This isn't the end. It's just the next step.

The cycle might've been broken.

But their mission wasn't over.