Knight.
"Right!"
Seraniti shook her head sharply, snapping herself out of her thoughts as her vision refocused.
With a quick thought, her eyes glowed faintly, sending a signal to her car. A low hum buzzed in her ears as the command went out, and she didn't have to wait long—within a minute, the unmistakable hum of a vehicle cut through the ambient noise of the street.
A few bystanders turned their heads, drawn by the sleek vehicle pulled up beside her.
Seraniti couldn't stop the flicker of pride that crossed her face.
This wasn't just any car. It was a Posha 961.
All aggressive curves, a low, predatory stance, and an air of dominance that made even the more refined transport models in Brewster Heights look like glorified cargo haulers.
The dull silver paint bore faint scratches and scuffs, a testament to its rough history.
Not that she cared.
Considering she'd stolen it from the local mob back in
It's a free vehicle, after all, she mused, running a hand along the warm metal of the hood. And my employer foots the maintenance bills.
With practiced ease, she secured Svalinn—her Cannon and Defense System—into the roof box and the
The custom housing locked the massive weapon into place, its reinforced casing blending seamlessly into the car's aerodynamic frame.
Once everything was set, Seraniti slid into the driver's seat, sinking into the plush leather interior.
The moment her hands touched the wheel—
The car came alive.
A satisfying hum ran through its core, dashboard lights flickering to life as systems booted up in a symphony.
The 961's interior screamed luxury—the kind meant for the ricos who never had to steal a damn thing in their lives.
Soft leather seats with climate control. An integrated holographic interface stretching across the dashboard. Ambient lighting that adjusted based on the time of day.
None of it belonged to her. But she wasn't about to let that bother her.
As she linked with the onboard system, the engine growled to life—
A deep, throaty roar that sent vibrations through the chassis, cutting through the chatter of nearby pedestrians.
More than a few turned their heads.
Some even raised their phones, snapping pictures and recording as they whispered amongst themselves.
Seraniti's brows twitched.
"Tch. What are you looking at?"
She muttered the words under her breath as she adjusted the mirrors, her hands gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
With 680 horsepower under her control, the Posha wasn't just a car—
It was a beast.
While pure horsepower wasn't everything, in a city like Brewster Heights, where most people drove boxy, underpowered transporters, the 961 was practically an apex predator.
Her foot pressed lightly against the accelerator—
The car rumbled in response, a rich, powerful growl, unmistakable in its presence.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
The Posha roared, its tires screeching faintly as they gripped the road.
A burst of speed sent a gust of wind scattering loose debris, drawing startled glances from the few who hadn't already moved on.
The car glided effortlessly onto the main thoroughfare, engine purring in satisfaction as Seraniti weaved smoothly through the light traffic.
Every shift of the gears met with a satisfying click, followed by a sharp growl as the engine responded, eager to consume the road ahead.
And Seraniti—
She let herself enjoy the ride. For now.
Seraniti leaned back slightly, one hand on the wheel as the other rested casually on the gearshift.
"Not bad," she muttered to herself, her smirk widening.
The air in the car was cool and crisp, the climate controls adjusting automatically. The seat subtly shifted to match her posture, molding to her frame like it had been built just for her.
With one last glance at the rearview mirror, she muttered under her breath, "This'll do just fine."
And with that—
She floored the pedal.
ROARRR!
The engine thundered, the Posha leaping forward like a silver blur streaking through the city's streets.
Seraniti tightened her grip on the wheel, the thrill of speed pushing the frustration of the day further into the back of her mind.
Nothing quite compared to this feeling.
The hum of the engine in perfect connection with her pulse.
For now, nothing else mattered.
A few minutes into her drive, with the steady roar of the Posha's engine beneath her, Seraniti received a call.
A faint chime rang through her head, and with a subtle command, she accepted it.
Marcus's face appeared in her field of vision, his sharp features tense. His fangs were visible, and his amber eyes twitched with irritation.
"Update for you, Sera," he began without preamble. "The visitor is in Section 30, and he's not alone. Someone put a mark on his head, and now the Guard Department, alongside a squad of K9s, is swarming the area looking for him. AND GUESS WHAT!"
His voice rose slightly, the frustration thick in his tone.
"The client wants the heads of the accomplices too. All of them."
His expression darkened, the weight of the situation pressing through the call.
"You might need to call that lazy knight of yours," he added with a dry scoff. "But knowing her, she'll find a way to procrastinate, like always."
Seraniti's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, her jaw clenching slightly.
She hated when Marcus dropped bombshells like this.
Even more so when he was right.
Her knight—a valuable but infuriating ally—was reliable in combat but insufferably slow to act.
Marcus's voice lowered, shifting to something more serious.
"You might need to use your eyes again."
His gaze flickered, piercing through the feed.
"Not that I can tell anyone about it anyway. We made a pledge, after all—my spirit's bound to my word."
The weight of those words settled heavily in her chest. Marcus wasn't just her employer.
As her heartbeat quickened, she felt it—
The small rock on her wrist throbbed gently, sending a familiar shiver up her spine.
It hadn't been long since she'd started seeing clearly—just over a month, in fact. And even then, it had been a fluke.
The transplant she'd received had been meant to enhance her vision, to alleviate the distortions from overlapping images in her everyday life.
But for a brief moment, it had interfered with her eyes. For a moment, the impossible had felt normal.
Those eyes weren't a gift.
They were a door.
And once opened—
It could never be closed. The same door Eik had walked through long ago.
"…Sera, are you even listening?"
Marcus's voice cut through her thoughts, but she wasn't paying attention anymore. Her grip on the wheel tightened, her knuckles turning redder than they already were.
All it needed was the last bridge to form, and there goes the grace period she had given herself. The same grace period from the beginning of her story.
The words she had once traced on Eik's piano burned into her mind.
Her breathing grew uneven as the memory of those words clashed with the present. Eik had given up on saving her people, choosing isolation over further pain.
Seraniti wondered if the same fate awaited her, not in physical death, but in the death of connections, trust, and a life not ruled by her sight.
Without a word, she ended the call.
Marcus's voice cut off abruptly as the overlay of his face disappeared from her vision.
Her focus snapped back to the road as she pressed down on the accelerator, the Posha roaring in response. The city blurred around her as she sped toward Section 30.
Her grip tightened further as the car's engine let out a powerful growl.
"Tch. Either I catch him, or I lose another piece of myself trying."
It took twenty minutes of driving before Seraniti finally reached Section 30, one of the massive docking plates of the city.
The plates were critical infrastructure in Brewster Heights, facilitating the flow of goods, people, and—inevitably—trouble.
She had hoped to get closer to her destination. Instead, she was stopped short.
A blockage loomed ahead.
A cluster of armored vehicles and bright hazard lights marked the perimeter, forcing her to stop several blocks before her target.
"Tch. Just my luck." she muttered under her breath, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.
Her frustration lingered as she leaned back, raising her wrist.
Her bracelet lit up with a faint chime, projecting a small, translucent screen in front of her.
The time flickered on the display; 2500.
Terra II. This world we live in. Thirty-two hours in a full day.
For the people of Terra II, the extended days were as natural as breathing.
For visitors, though…
The idea of working twelve hours and having twenty left for yourself seemed alien, even cruel.
But for those born here, the explanation was simple. It's always been this way.
No one questioned it.
Why would they? This wasn't some scripted fantasy where death was just another checkpoint.
Here—
Life was real and so was the cost of failure.
Seraniti pulled up a map overlay, frowning as her view filled with ominous red zones. The flashing markers indicated areas closed off due to the ongoing search.
Public shutdowns.
The system was simple—once a zone went red, there was no way in or out unless you wanted to risk a fight with the authorities.
Her fingers traced the edges of the map as her mind worked through her options.
"Mmm… I'll have to park it and go the rest on foot." she muttered.
The idea didn't sit well with her, but there wasn't much of a choice if she wanted to reach her target.
The next few minutes were spent circling nearby streets until she finally found a spot to park.
With a soft sigh, she turned off the Posha and leaned back in her seat for a moment, glancing down at the opaque card she retrieved from hanging from her pants.
"Fifty years, huh?" she mused, turning the card over in her hand.
Its surface gleamed faintly, and as she squeezed it gently, a screen flickered to life on its face.
"Double my life, and yet it's as common as a phone."
The card was a
It recorded and displayed an individual's skills, talents, and vital metrics.
The fluctuating numbers on its screen weren't precise—nothing more than rough estimates of stamina, magicules, and physical capacity—but for most people, it was enough.
Attributes followed a simple scale; 30 points represented the average for a person, and everything beyond that scaled accordingly.
Seraniti's fingers hovered over the display.
Let's see if anything's changed. She thought, her brow furrowing slightly as she scanned her
Skills, she reminded herself, were byproducts of neural bridges—the pathways in the brain that grew and solidified through repeated use of sequences.
Over time, these bridges formed into distinct skills, categorized into four main
Seraniti tapped at the card thoughtfully, her mind wandering to her own progress.
Intrinsic skills aren't impossible, she thought, but you have to work for them. Her gaze darkened slightly as she considered the effort required to push herself further. And unique skills? Not even worth thinking about. People like me don't get to dream that big.
The Lemos flickered again, displaying a set of fluctuating vitals alongside her skill information. Her grip on the card tightened briefly before she let it fall back in place. No time to dwell on it.
As Seraniti stepped out of the car, the cool air of the city's docks greeted her. The looming cranes and industrial sounds of the sclera plate hummed in the background, blending with the faint murmur of distant voices.
Her boots clicked against the pavement as she adjusted her took Svalinn off her car, she did one last inspection as she heard a chime once more. "Righty then. Time to get to work!"