Chapter 34: Reunion

Raphael approached Merin and Senzuko, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency. "I think you both need to return home," he said, his words weighing heavily on the air.

Senzuko, her eyes hollow with years of pain and rejection, looked at him with a resigned bitterness. "We don't have a home," she replied, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Raphael didn't falter. "Go to your father."

Merin's heart clenched, a sharp pain spreading through her chest at the mention of their father. "How do you think we can go to the person who destroyed our lives?" she asked, her voice breaking. "For his own selfishness, he left us to die. He wanted us to be stronger, to meet his expectations, and when we couldn't, he left us. He doesn't love us."

Raphael's gaze softened, his words gentle but firm. "We killed Rasin," he said, the weight of those words sinking in like a stone. "I knew Rasin… the kind of person he was. He always wanted you both to be with him. He valued family more than power. And, probably, his last words were about… telling you goodbye."

Merin's breath hitched. he had been with Rasin in his final moments, and yet, even he hadn't fully grasped how deep his love for them had gone. "I was with him…" he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And he never asked Isan to live a happy life."

Raphael's eyes darkened, a trace of sorrow flickering through his expression. "He did try, Merin. He tried from the inside, every day, to reach your father. But your father always rejected him… and he changed. Especially after Rasin's last words."

Senzuko, who had been silent until now, spoke, her voice softer, more uncertain. "Maybe... maybe there's nothing wrong with trying. Even if he rejects us, we can still live on our own."

Raphael's nod was solemn, his tone quiet but encouraging. "Yes, Merin, there's nothing wrong in trying."

With a reluctant, uncertain nod, Merin agreed. The three of them set out, walking toward Isan's house with a sense of fragile hope. Raphael lingered behind, watching them from a distance, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what they were about to face.

As they approached the house, the door creaked open, and Isan appeared. The moment he saw them, his face softened, a mixture of pain and relief flooding his features. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped them both in a tight, desperate hug. Senzuko and Merin stood frozen for a moment, stunned by his sudden warmth.

Isan's voice cracked as he spoke, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry… I left you to live on your own… Please forgive me, please!" His grip on them tightened, as though he feared they might disappear again. "All I ever wanted was to protect you. I thought the only way to do that was to make you strong, but only Rasin was strong. That's why I left… Rasin begged me every single day to bring you back. He never gave up on you… but I… I never listened to him. And now… now he's gone…"

The words struck Merin and Senzuko like a physical blow. The news of Rasin's death, the confirmation of the loss they had feared but never truly accepted, sent waves of grief crashing over them. They both collapsed into his arms, tears streaming down their faces.

Merin's voice was raw with emotion. "Dad… Did you… did you do Rasin's funeral?"

Isan's face crumpled with a deep sadness, and his voice trembled with regret. "No… I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was waiting for you… he wanted you to do his funeral, not me. He wanted you to honor him, to say goodbye to him."

Merin's sobs grew heavier, the weight of all the years of abandonment and heartbreak finally breaking through. Senzuko, too, wept silently, her heart shattering for the brother they had lost, for the father they had never truly known. Isan, for all his faults, had loved them in his own twisted way, but it was too little, too late.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their grief, the deep ache of what had been lost. The silence between them was filled with the weight of years spent apart, of words left unsaid, and of promises never kept. But as they stood there, in each other's arms, there was a glimmer of something new—something fragile, but real. It was a chance, however small, to heal the wounds of the past. To rebuild the family they had once lost.

And, for the first time in a long while, they felt that perhaps, despite everything, they weren't entirely alone.

Raphael gave a sly smirk as he stepped out of Isan's house, heading straight to Meteosity's hospital to bring Izaki and Hellesa back home. Upon arrival, he approached the attending doctor.

"When will she be discharged?" he asked.

"In a few hours," the doctor replied. "We've run some final tests—just waiting on the results."

"Great," Raphael said with a nod, settling into the waiting room.

Hours passed slowly. Eventually, the doctor returned with an update.

"Sir, she's stable now. You can take her home," he said. "But she'll need considerable care. She won't be able to walk for a few months, so we'll provide a wheelchair for transport."

Raphael's expression softened. "Is there any medication she needs?"

"No, sir. None at the moment."

"Understood," Raphael replied.

Twenty minutes later, they finally arrived home.

As the vehicle came to a stop, Izaki leaned forward, his eyes widening at the sight of the familiar house. A wave of nostalgia washed over him.

"I've waited so many years to see this place again," he said, stepping out slowly. "There are so many memories tied to this house… I grew up here. I bet you don't remember much, Hellesa—you were just a little kid back then."

Hellesa glanced around, her eyes scanning the weathered walls and familiar outline of the house. She nodded thoughtfully. "I can barely recognize it… It feels familiar, but distant. Like a dream I once had."

Kazen stood beside them, hands in his pockets as he looked around with quiet appreciation. "Your home looks great," he said sincerely.

Raphael smiled and turned to him. "If you want, you can stay with us for a while. There's plenty of space."

Kazen shook his head gently. "Thanks, but my mom's probably worried sick. I haven't contacted her in almost a month. I should go home."

Izaki stepped forward and pulled Kazen into a warm hug. "Take care of yourself, brother. It's been a great journey with you. I'll see you around."

"You too," Kazen said with a grin, clapping Izaki on the back.

Hellesa gave a small wave. "Bye, Kazen. See you later."

Kazen walked over and gently shook her hand. "Take care, Hellesa. You're stronger than you think."

As he turned to leave, Hellesa suddenly yelped, "Hey! Stop tickling my hand!"

Kazen laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Sorry! Couldn't help it. Bye, everyone!" he called out, walking down the path.

Raphael watched him for a moment, then casually walked beside him. After a few steps, he said quietly, "Hey, Kazen… you love my daughter, don't you?"

Kazen stopped in his tracks. His cheeks flushed crimson. "W-What? No, I—" he stammered, clearly flustered.

Raphael chuckled. "No need to lie. I've seen the way you look at her. You care about her. And I think… you'd be a good match for her."

Kazen lowered his gaze and admitted softly, "Yes, I do love her. I always have. But I've never had the courage to confess."

Raphael nodded approvingly. "That's okay. These things take time. For now, just focus on your mother. Take care of her."

With a firm pat on the back, Raphael turned and walked back to the house where Izaki and Hellesa were waiting.

As he approached, Izaki raised a curious eyebrow. "Dad, what did you talk to Kazen about?"

"Nothing important," Raphael replied with a grin. "Come on, let's head inside."

The three of them walked toward the front door, the warm breeze carrying with it the scent of home, of new beginnings, and of stories yet to unfold.

Kazen arrived home a few minutes later. The door creaked open, and before he could say a word, his mother rushed toward him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw her arms around him.

"Son! You're finally back," she cried, her voice trembling. "I thought… I thought you were dead. How are you?"

Kazen hugged her tightly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "I'm fine, Mom. I've missed you. How have you been?"

"I've been worrying day and night," she said, wiping her tears. "Why didn't you call? Why didn't you send a message?"

"I lost my phone," Kazen explained softly. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

His mother stepped back slightly, noticing the scar on his hand. She gently held it, her brows furrowing. "What happened to your hand? Why is there a scar?"

Kazen glanced down, then met her eyes. "It's nothing, really. I'm okay. Please don't cry—I'm here now, and I promise I won't leave you again."

She let out a shaky sigh, brushing a hand through his hair the way she used to when he was a child. "I told you from the beginning not to go. You never listened. You could've found a safer job, a better one."

Kazen looked at her with soft regret in his eyes. "I know, Mom. You were right. But it's over now. I'm not going back."

She hugged him again, tighter this time, as if afraid he'd vanish if she let go. For the first time in weeks, Kazen felt a deep sense of peace—he was finally home.

A government officer approached briskly, urgency in his voice. "Sir, we've received confirmation—both BCB and Meteosity have disbanded."

The governor's eyes lit up with a rare spark of satisfaction. "Excellent news! Send our forces immediately. Arrest their members and make them answer for their crimes."

The officer hesitated, lowering his voice. "Sir, while the organizations are dissolved, their leaders remain active. Worse, they've joined forces. Even if we deploy our entire army, it won't make a difference. They're too powerful together."

The governor's expression darkened, the brief glimmer of triumph vanishing. "Erghh… So we're still stuck with them." He leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. "At least they've stopped—for now. That's something."

Silence lingered between them, heavy with uncertainty. The officer offered a respectful nod and turned to leave, but the governor's voice called him back.

"Keep a close eye on them. The moment they slip, I want to know."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed behind the officer, leaving the governor to his thoughts. Victory had been a fleeting illusion—but perhaps a temporary ceasefire was enough to buy time.

Several days had passed since the battle, and the air still carried the heaviness of loss. A solemn silence blanketed the fields as Senzuko and Merin prepared Rasin's funeral. The sun remained hidden behind thick clouds, casting a pale gray light over the gathered crowd. Friends, allies, and even former enemies stood together in mourning, united in grief.

Despite the tension that had once divided them, everyone was there. Rasin had left behind more than just a memory—he had left questions, regrets, and pain too heavy to ignore.

As the final rites began, each person took a moment to speak, to offer their words for the one they had lost. Some spoke with reverence, others with sorrow, and some with guilt. When it was Merin's turn, his voice broke before he could even begin. Unable to hold back his emotions, he knelt beside Rasin's lifeless body, wrapping his arms around him in a silent embrace.

Senzuko stood nearby, his eyes hollow, his shoulders tense. The image of Rasin's final moments haunted him—he had delivered the last blow. It didn't matter that it was in battle, or that he hadn't known the truth then. Guilt clawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

Moments later, the time came to lay Rasin to rest. They lowered his body into the grave with solemn care, the weight of their sorrow pressing down with every handful of dirt. Isan stepped forward, knelt at the edge of the grave, and bowed his head.

"I fulfilled your promise, Rasin," he whispered. "Your brothers gave you the farewell you deserved. Goodbye… and thank you."

As he rose, Akin approached Merin, his steps hesitant. He paused for a moment before speaking, eyes fixed on the grave. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly. "I fought him first. I should've known who he really was before it came to this."

Merin looked at him, his eyes still wet. "I shouldn't hate you either," he replied. "I didn't even know him... not really. Not until it was too late. I kicked him in the face—he didn't fight back. He just... accepted it. He knew we hated him, and he didn't resist."

There was a pause. Akin's voice was softer now, filled with confusion. "But... how did you even hurt him? I could barely cut him when we fought."

Before Merin could respond, one of the council members stepped forward. "Akin," the elder said firmly. "Give him space. He's already hurting. There will be time for questions later."

Akin nodded apologetically and turned back to Merin. "Sorry," he murmured, then quietly stepped away, disappearing into the crowd.

Not far off, Izaki approached Senzuko. The young warrior stood motionless, his hands trembling at his sides, tears streaking his face. Izaki placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Senzuko," he said softly, "I know you struck the final blow. But it wasn't your fault. You didn't know who he was—not until it was too late. None of us did."

Senzuko's voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. "How could I… Why did I even stab him? If I hadn't—if I'd just stopped, even for a second—he might still be alive. This is all my fault. I never understood him. I didn't even try. I deserve to be the one buried there."

Izaki tightened his grip on Senzuko's shoulder, his own face grim. "I can't take your pain away," he said honestly. "But I can tell you—you're not alone. We all failed him in some way."

Senzuko collapsed to his knees, sobbing, and Izaki stood by silently, his hand never leaving his shoulder.

A little distance away, Raphael approached Isan, his expression stern but not without sorrow.

"I told you to keep him out of the war," Raphael said, not unkindly. "I always kept my children away from it. Even when I left them... I still protected them. From the shadows, maybe—but I was always there."

Isan didn't look at him. His eyes were locked on the grave. "It's all my fault," he muttered. "I wanted power—to protect everyone. That was the goal. But I lost sight of it. I went down the wrong path. I brought him into this. He begged me to stay out of it... and I ignored him."

His voice cracked with the weight of his regret. "He trusted me... and I rejected him."

Raphael exhaled, placing a firm hand on Isan's shoulder. "Then don't make the same mistake again," he said. "Listen to the ones who are still here. Learn from this—use it to become something better. It's the only way forward now."

For a long moment, Isan didn't respond. But eventually, he gave a small nod.

As the crowd began to slowly disperse, the grave remained—fresh, silent, a painful reminder of what had been lost. The skies finally opened up with a light drizzle, as though the heavens themselves mourned the fallen.

There was no victory in the air, no triumph. Just the deep, aching silence of sorrow shared among those who were left behind.

But perhaps, in that grief, there was also the seed of something new—a chance to change, to heal, to honor the one they had lost not only in death, but in how they chose to live from now on.

A few days later, disaster struck in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle. Multiple ships attempting to cross the region vanished without a trace, triggering global alarm. The only surviving transmissions from one of the vessels were brief, distorted, and chilling.

"There's something… something very dark… it's looking at our faces—checking… and then killing… we need help… help! Help!"

Before authorities could respond, the signal cut off completely.

Satellite surveillance caught a glimpse of the phenomenon: a massive, black entity emerging from the triangle, cloaked in an ever-shifting, cloud-like form. It pulsed with unnatural energy, dark as the void, and impossible to analyze. Every ship within its path had been torn apart, their remains scattered across the sea or vanished entirely.

The entity moved with intelligence—not random destruction, but something calculated. Eyewitnesses from a distant aircraft reported seeing flashes of light before their instruments failed, followed by an overwhelming sense of dread, as if something ancient and malicious had awakened beneath the waves.

Global agencies scrambled for answers, but none could explain what had surfaced. The Bermuda Triangle, long shrouded in mystery, now seemed to hold something far more dangerous than anyone had imagined.

Whatever it was… it had finally come out.