Virealia

Evryn gasped and shot up, his breathing heavy from what had just happened.

"Was that real?"

Before he could question it further, loud snoring filled the room.

"Boobies, boobies, boobies." Razek mumbled, half of his upper body hanging off the bed while his legs stuck up at an awkward angle.

He's sleep-talking… and dreaming about breasts. How wonderful.

Evryn sighed, then turned to check on Helaine—only to freeze at the sight before him.

She was sleeping in the most bizarre position he had ever seen. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other stretched awkwardly behind her. Her left leg bent backward, touching her spine, while her right leg crossed over it in a way that defied logic.

How the hell… How does someone—no, how the hell do you even get into that position while sleeping?

At this point, it didn't matter. Evryn needed to get some fresh air. Then he remembered—they were on a ship. In space.

Well, crap…

Sighing, he got up and left the room, shaking off his exhaustion. He needed to think.

That dream—if it even was a dream—felt too real. Like he was actually there.

His thoughts swirled as he entered the main room of the ship, searching for answers in the quiet hum of space.

Then, Evryn noticed Cyrus sitting in one of the booths, his legs propped up and crossed over one another. A faint glow flickered from his mouth—it was a cigarette, dangling lazily from the left side of his lips.

His long coat was off, neatly folded in front of his boots.

With a sigh, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers and exhaled a slow puff of smoke. His gaze shifted to Evryn.

"What are you doing up, kid?"

"I had a nightmare, so I figured I'd come out here to clear my head."

"Ah. I see."

Then it hit Evryn—he had completely forgotten to ask about Cyrus's wound from earlier.

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he tried to lighten the mood. "Oh yeah, I forgot—how's your wound?"

Cyrus smirked, waving his arms dramatically. "Oh, now you wanna ask about it? I thought you guys didn't care." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Evryn rolled his eyes.

"It's fine." Cyrus continued. "Wouldn't even call it a 'wound.' More like a graze. It burned like hell when I got hit, but nothing serious."

"How is it now?"

"Still sore, but it's fine." He exhaled through his nose, glancing down at his coat. "Pissed me off more that my blood ruined my damn coat."

He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling in thought.

"Once we get to Virealia, I'm getting changed."

"I see."

"Say, Cyrus."

"Hm?" Cyrus glanced at him, curious about what he was about to ask.

"I don't mean to pry, but that guy back on Sythar… were you two close?"

"Who, Quinn?"

"Yeah."

Cyrus brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a slow puff before responding.

"I wouldn't say we were 'close.' He was more of an acquaintance." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "We ran missions together, got into shootouts side by side, but I never really got to know the guy. Guess that's just how it goes." He took another drag, his voice carrying a tinge of finality. "But that's mostly in the past now. What about you, kid?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know—where you come from, what's your story?"

Evryn froze for a moment. He never liked talking about his past. He preferred listening to others, keeping his own history locked away.

After a brief pause, he chose his words carefully. He didn't want to reveal too much, just enough to satisfy Cyrus's curiosity without inviting more questions.

"Most of my life, I grew up alone. Had to rely on myself for everything." His voice remained steady, but there was a weight to his words. "Never had a proper education, never stepped foot in a school. Taught myself most things, but I learned pretty fast."

"Must've been tough, but that's what helps us grow stronger as individuals." Cyrus sighed, looking up.

"If life's taught me one thing, it's that we're not really afraid of death—we're afraid of losing what we have."

Evryn listened to Cyrus's words, letting them sink in. He thought for a moment. Afraid of losing what we have…

Most of his life, he had nothing to lose. But now, traveling with them, he felt like he finally had something worth living for. Maybe this was the change he needed.

Before Evryn could delve deeper into his thoughts, the ship rattled and shook.

"Whoah!"

A small smirk formed on Cyrus's lips. "Looks like we're here."

He sat up, picked up his coat, and put it on before heading into the cockpit.

Evryn followed.

Inside the cockpit, Cyrus gripped the steering wheel tightly.

The ship had exited the Aether Stream and was now near Virealia.

The ship lurched as it drifted out of the Aether Stream, the swirling colors of cosmic energy fading behind them as they closed the distance of them from the planet. The familiar hum of the engine steadied, and the once turbulent air inside the ship relaxed as they neared their destination.

Evryn glanced out the small viewport of the cockpit, his breath caught by the sight. Through the glass, the planet Virealia came into view. Its surface was dominated by dense green forests that stretched as far as the eye could see, thick with the vibrant hues of untamed jungle. The swirling clouds above glowed with a faint greenish tint, likely due to the unique atmosphere that surrounded the planet. The jungle seemed endless, a living sea of foliage that blanketed the entire surface, broken only by occasional rivers cutting through the mass of trees like veins.

Cyrus's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his expression unreadable as he guided the ship closer to the planet's atmosphere. The view outside shifted, revealing massive mountain ranges in the distance, their peaks peeking out above the forest canopy, creating a jagged line where earth met sky. The deeper you looked, the more alive the planet seemed—like a breathing entity of its own, untouched by civilization.

"We're almost there." Cyrus muttered, glancing at the control panel before flicking a switch. "Brace yourself."

Evryn nodded, feeling the anticipation rise as the ship descended further, cutting through the calm vacuum of space. The lush world below beckoned, its mystery calling, the weight of its isolation pressing down as they closed in. Virealia, the jungle planet, loomed closer, promising a land of dangers and discoveries hidden beneath its endless canopy.

***

The planet Sythar.

A dimly lit bar buzzed with drunken conversations, the air thick with smoke and the scent of cheap liquor. Patrons huddled around rickety tables, their voices hushed but urgent, gossiping about the latest chaos in NoxHaven.

An older man leaned forward, his voice gruff with disbelief. "They destroyed the whole damn shipyard! Must've killed at least forty cops, maybe more."

Across from him, a man swayed in his seat, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Heh, well, maybe if they didn't treat their citizens like shit, we wouldn't have crime like this in the first place."

A third man slammed his glass down, his lip curling in disgust. "To hell with this planet and its government. All they care about is money, working us poor folk to death for scraps."

Then, the bar doors open.

For a moment, the dim, smoke-filled room is flooded with the cold, flickering light from outside. Then, he steps in.

His heavy boots thud against the wooden floor, kicking up dust with each deliberate step. The weight of his armor shifts with him, the faint clink of metal plates accompanying his slow, measured pace. His tattered cape drags slightly, the frayed edges brushing the ground, carrying the grime of countless battles.

The low hum of conversation dies down as heads turn, eyes drawn to the towering, battle-worn figure now standing in the doorway. His helmeted gaze sweeps across the room, the faint red glow of his skull-like visor flickering from his left eye, a predator sizing up the weak. Beneath the layers of scars and dirt, his armor still holds a dark, imposing sheen, each dent and burn mark telling a story.

A thick tension settles over the room. The barkeep, polishing a glass, hesitates mid-wipe. A group of mercenaries at the corner table exchange nervous glances. No one speaks, but they all feel it—the quiet promise of violence lingering in the air.

Without a word, he moves forward. His sword, strapped to his back, shifts with each step, partially hidden beneath his ragged cloak. His hand rests near his sidearm—not gripping it, just close enough to draw and fire in an instant if someone dares to challenge him.

The bar door swung shut behind him, sealing the moment in silence. He wasn't here for trouble—just a bounty.

Then he noticed the hologram flickering brightly, displaying a picture of Evryn and his friends.

Dead or alive – 20,000 Celestial Scripts.

Last seen at the NoxHaven shipyard, fleeing the planet.

The man stared at the hologram, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon. His eyes scanned the image of Evryn and his group, noting the details—fleeing the planet, a hefty bounty on their heads.

"Twenty thousand for a kid and his crew… Seems like someone's desperate."

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk forming under his helmet, though it was impossible to tell. His fingers grazed the buttons on his wristpad, pulling up more information.

"Dead or alive… Doesn't matter to me."