Motives?

"Wake up!"

"Wake up!!"

"Wake up, you fool!!!"

The words smashed against my eardrums like a hammer, dragging me out of the suffocating blackness of unconsciousness. My eyelids fluttered open, but the moment I became aware, the searing pain flooded my body....a lingering reminder of my failed attempt to escape this wretched existence. Poison. I had ingested it, hoping for the sweet release of oblivion, yet here I was, still breathing, still shackled to this miserable reality.

Before I could process my surroundings, a crushing pressure closed around my throat. My vision blurred, and instinct took over as my body rebelled against the sudden deprivation of air. A vice-like grip, fueled by frustration and something far darker, held me down.

Moss...

His once-pristine moss-green hair now lay in uneven clumps, patches of baldness contrasting the disheveled mess. His tailored suit, once a symbol of his wealth and status, was now marred with scars, burnt marks, and gaping holes....proof of the poison I'd accidentally spilled on him. He looked ruined, a mockery of the man I had once known.

I forced a smirk despite the crushing pressure on my throat. "Don't... think this is a little... overboard... Moss?" My voice barely broke through, a strained rasp, but I still felt the need to taunt.

"Shut up!" His voice cracked, a mixture of raw rage and something else....something I couldn't quite place. "The boss wants to see you."

His grip loosened slightly before he released me entirely, and I crumpled to the cold floor, gasping for air as my chest heaved with laborious breaths. My gaze shifted upward, beyond him, to the runes etched into the ceiling. The intricate symbols glowed faintly, a constant reminder of the world I couldn't escape from.

Still alive.

Even after everything.

How pathetic.

No matter how many times I tried, fate refused to grant me release. Perhaps that was the cruelest part of it all...the endless cycle of hope and failure, the eternal dance with death that never led to its embrace.

***

MOSS

I straightened, the ache in my joints a constant reminder of how much I loathed this man beside me. Zehen, despite everything, still wore that infuriating deadpan expression. Slowly, he sat up, every movement stiff, his body protesting as if every part of him resented the very act of existence. He groaned, but there was no anger, no frustration....just an unbearable indifference, as though pain itself had lost its meaning.

My eyes swept around the room, noting the carnage he had left behind. Slain beasts lay in pools of their own blood, their bodies scattered like discarded toys. The remnants of his so-called "death wish." He fought, endured, and survived, only to throw it all away with a vial of poison?

His lips twisted into a dry chuckle, his gaze locking with mine. "You seem calm, Moss. Considering your... ugly look."

I froze. The name. Moss.

Every time he said it, it grated against me like sandpaper on skin. I'd told him a hundred times to stop calling me that, yet he persisted with that mockery of a name, like a child unable to grasp the weight of something as simple as respect.

I grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him close, fury boiling under my skin. "It's Michael. Michael Cullin, you fool. Not Moss." My grip tightened, fingers digging into his fabric, and I could feel my heart pounding harder in my chest. "You want to know why I hate that name? Because it's a reminder of the fool I was when I first got stuck with you. A reminder of how I've been rotting here, looking after you and your nonsense."

His usual smirk flickered, but there was no humor in it now. I could see the faintest trace of mockery, but it was so much more than that. He knew how much that name bothered me. And he still used it.

"Now, now." He smirked, amusement flickering briefly in his eyes. "Let's not keep your King waiting."

His deliberate emphasis on the word King was not lost on me. Adrien. The man we followed, the one who stood at the peak of the Celestials.

I forced myself to let go, the anger burning in my chest, but I couldn't let him get the better of me. Not now.

"Let's go," I said, my voice colder than I felt.

A scoff escaped him. "Good doggy."

***

The morning sun hung low, casting a golden hue over our territory, stretching across the nine blocks we had secured. The grand structures loomed above us, towering monuments to the power we held—fortified, untouched, and dangerous.

I stole a glance at Zehen, my mind swirling with questions. Why him? Why had Mr. Kenzaki chosen someone like him? This foul creature, this wretched soul, eager to die, to throw his life away. What purpose could someone like that possibly serve among us? It was beyond me.

He was a riddle, every action a contradiction, every moment alive seemingly against his will. And yet, he moved forward, step by step, bound by something unseen, something beyond comprehension. The question that burned in my mind, the one that gnawed at my patience, was why Mr. Kenzaki brought Zehen here. Why him? What was the significance of this broken, half-dead man, constantly toying with death, who somehow remained alive?

I glanced at him again, wondering if there was something I was missing.

Then he spoke, his voice laced with amusement. "Wow. That's rich, coming from a guy who looks like a madman." A sharp glint flickered in his eyes, his lips curling slightly into a smirk. "Calling me a low, foul creature."

My chest tightened, and a knot formed in my stomach. He knew.

I forced out a sigh, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "God help us all."

The entrance to one of the most heavily guarded buildings in our territory came into view. Celestial sentries, the finest among us, stood tall and unwavering. As we approached, ten pairs of eyes turned to us, sharp and calculating. One of the guards, noticing my battered state, opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him with a single glance. Concern flickered across his face, but he said nothing, respecting the silent command.

We stepped inside, greeted by the sterile glow of sensory runes embedded in the walls. Each rune hummed with arcane energy, their purpose clear: to analyze, judge, and ensure only those worthy could proceed further.

We ascended the stairs, passing door after door, each one exuding an unspoken authority. Some rooms held archives of knowledge, others were filled with Celestials honing their craft. Every corridor whispered of power, purpose, and forces far greater than any one individual.

Yet, beside me walked a man who seemed to disregard it all.

Zehen moved at his own pace, indifferent to the weight of the world. But then, for the first time since we left, he stopped.

I followed his gaze.

Through the glass window before us, his eyes locked on something....or rather, someone. His expression, usually unreadable, shifted. It flickered with something foreign... something I had never seen before.

Shock. Confusion.

And most of all... sorrow.

I stepped closer, curiosity gnawing at me. I peered through the glass, trying to see what had caught his attention.

A girl...

She stood with her back to us, her hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring her face. But something about her presence stirred something deep within him, something I couldn't understand.

For the first time, Zehen's stoic mask cracked. A tremor ran through his body, his fingers twitching as though he were reaching for something he could never touch. The façade of indifference faltered, and his jaw tightened with barely contained emotion.

I didn't know who she was. I didn't know what she meant to him.

But in that moment, for the first time since meeting him, I saw Zehen... feel.