The Skyknife looked like it was carved from the shadow of a predator.

Max circled the advanced VTOL jet, boots echoing softly across the steel deck. It wasn't just a transport. It was a weapon pretending to be silent.

The body was angular and low-profile – not built for comfort, but for survival. A soul-forged hull coated in matte-black composite reflected no light, no heat, no signal. Seamless plating wrapped around twin engine housings flush with the wings. No intakes. No exhaust trails. Everything was aura-cooled and internally cycled – no trail to follow.

Max trailed his hand along a panel near the wing root. A glyph pulsed once beneath his fingers – reactive armour. Dozens of hidden runes lined the fuselage: for nullification, anti-possession, and kinetic shielding.

"This one won't get shot down," Max said.

Grimm nodded. "It's armed too. Missiles, chainguns, two plasma coil cannons, and a top-mounted railburst array – locked beneath spiritual shielding until needed. No visual ports. All guided."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Subtle."

"Doesn't need to look like a warship to fight like one," Grimm said. "We learned our lesson after the last crash."

Ferron added, "The shell's soul-reinforced. It won't fracture under corruption pressure, even if something breaches the dimensional veil mid-flight."

Max looked up at the black wedge of a cockpit. "So, what's it made to outrun?"

Grimm didn't blink.

"Demons."

Max stood beside it, one hand resting lightly against the side. The hull pulsed faintly beneath his palm – warm with soul aura. Power without noise. It reminded him of Liz's pod.

Ferron crouched at the base of the loading ramp, muttering quietly as he traced protective glyphs along the threshold with ochre chalk. He pressed one hand to the hull, then whispered something Max didn't catch.

"Even the wind in Japan is watching," Ferron said quietly. "We go with old blessings."

He glanced sideways at Max.

"You'll need more than Hellfire where we're going. My clan listens to spirits older than the Contract. They'll see through fire. But maybe not through humility."

Grimm opened a metal scroll case and removed something that didn't belong in a place full of machines.

Paper. Old. Thick, fibrous, and folded with precise reverence. Hiragana, katakana, and dense kanji lined its surface – a handwritten letter of approval sealed with crimson wax. A stylized chrysanthemum crest stamped the bottom.

He held it out.

"Clan sigils," Grimm said. "Travel approval. No digital transmissions. No satellite tracking. If you want to speak with Hana-sama, you speak her language."

Max took the scroll carefully. It smelled faintly of incense and ink.

"The Kyoto Clan?" he asked. "What are we walking into?"

Grimm exhaled through his nose. "Warriors. Exorcists. Powerful, but isolated. They don't like interference from the Institute, and they're barely on speaking terms with Japan's defence corps. Independent. Old blood. Politically unstable."

"And if they decide Liz is too far gone?"

Grimm met his gaze. "They may decide for you."

Max didn't hesitate.

"Then I'll stop them."

Grimm didn't challenge him.

"Then don't fail. Or none of us make it."

The words echoed longer than they should have. The hangar felt colder for it.

Grimm turned to Ferron, who was tucking his tools away with methodical care.

"Are you going to be alright? You were exiled. This won't be a warm homecoming."

Ferron stood slowly. He didn't look at Grimm – just at the glyphs he'd left burning in the hull.

"This is bigger than grudges. Bigger than tradition. No one else knows the way. And no one else can guide Max to her."

Grimm nodded once. Then stepped back into the shadows of the hangar.

Max watched Ferron a moment longer.

"Her?" he asked. "Hana-sama?"

Ferron glanced at him. His face didn't soften, but the weight in it shifted.

"My cousin," he said. "A prodigy. She was raised to lead and made to kill. Young. Fierce. She'll protect the clan, even from itself."

"She wasn't the heir. She wasn't supposed to carry the blade. But the elders saw something powerful in her. She's a once-in-ten-generations talent."

Max studied him. "Can we trust her?"

Ferron's eyes darkened. "We don't have a choice."

He turned back toward the Skyknife and said, almost to himself:

"I'll tell you more on the way."

He paused, eyes still on the hull.

"They'll help us. I believe that. But… they won't be kind."

Max frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Kyoto Clan doesn't forgive exile. Or weakness. And if they see Liz as either..."

He didn't finish. Max didn't ask him to.

…………………

The pod room was cold. Not from the machines – the temperature was perfectly regulated, sterile and humming. But the walls were thick, lined with soulfield insulation, and the air never moved. The silence pressed down like snow.

Liz floated inside the chamber, cradled in warm red light. Still. Peaceful. Her hair curled slightly in the gel around her temples, like it always did when she forgot to brush it properly.

Chloe sat cross-legged on the floor beside the pod, head resting on her knees, arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing one of the black Institute jackets – oversized and too clean – with a little patch on the sleeve that read Observation Class B.

She sniffed once. Then spoke softly.

"You'd hate this room, you know. It's too quiet. No colours. No light-up stars on the ceiling."

She looked up.

"Remember when we stayed over at my place and you made that constellation out of sticky glow dots? It was supposed to be a wolf, but it looked like a deformed lizard."

Her voice cracked. Just a little.

"You told Jack it was the Lycan-Crane. The sacred protector of dumb girlfriends."

She smiled. It didn't last.

"I'm sorry I wasn't faster. I should've pulled you out sooner. Should've screamed louder. Should've done something."

Footsteps behind her. She didn't turn.

Max approached quietly, hands in the pockets of a worn jacket, his face unreadable in the low light. He stood beside her and looked down at Liz's pod, the glass slightly fogged from containment mist.

Chloe wiped her nose on her sleeve and stood.

"I don't know if she can hear us," she said. "But she's still here. I feel it."

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Max nodded. Eyes fixed on Liz. "She's not gone. Whatever's inside… she's fought it this long. I think she's even touched the outside. Not just noise – I felt her. Like she almost made it back."

Chloe stepped forward and placed her hand on the glass.

Max did the same, just beside hers.

"We'll get her back," she said.

"Sometimes," Chloe said, voice softer, "I still hear it."

Max looked over.

"The Choir," she whispered. "When I'm alone. Or right before sleep. It's like it's still... ringing."

She touched the glass.

"But Liz didn't listen. Not all the way. She held on."

The silence between them was full. Not heavy. Just real.

Max looked at her, quietly. "How are you holding up?"

Chloe shrugged. "Okay. Maybe."

"And Alyssa?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "She's fine. Spending too much time with Dan, though."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's dumb. She thinks I don't notice, but she's doing the whole 'Oh no, I just happened to end up in the medbay again' thing."

Max laughed softly. "I won't say anything."

"Better not," Chloe muttered. "She'll kill me. Then Dan. Then herself, probably."

They stood for a moment longer, watching Liz's chest rise and fall in perfect mechanical rhythm.

Then Max said, quieter: "Thank you."

Chloe looked up at him.

"For what?"

"For being here. For helping her. For staying when you didn't have to."

He hesitated.

"And I'm sorry. I dragged you all into this. You and Alyssa and Jack. You didn't deserve it."

Chloe didn't answer right away.

Then:

"Yeah, well. We didn't ask for this. But…"

She opened her palm. Let a soft shimmer of telekinetic light flicker through her fingers.

"Superpowers are kinda cool."

Max huffed out a breath. "Can't argue with that."

Chloe looked back at the pod. Her hand still rested against the glass.

Max followed her gaze. Then said, quietly:

"Protect her, Chloe. I'm counting on you."

She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

"She's my best friend, Max. She's the only person who ever saw me before I saw myself. I'm not leaving her in that thing."

Chloe nodded slowly, then rested her other hand over her heart.

"I think she hears me. Not with ears. But inside. Like I'm part of the echo she's trying to reach."

She paused.

"If she comes back… I want her to remember we never stopped calling her name."

…………………

The kitchen smelled like old soy packets, instant broth, and someone's bad idea of spices.

Alyssa sat at a mismatched table surrounded by chairs that didn't match the floor, let alone each other. The soul-lamps overhead flickered gently – warm, low-glow bulbs that buzzed like tired bees. The whole place felt like it had been designed by an accountant and abandoned by a field medic.

Victor stood at the stove with sleeves rolled up and an expression of intense, misdirected confidence.

"How's it looking?" Alyssa asked, eyeing the bubbling pot.

"Like victory," Victor said. "Or gastrointestinal sabotage. Could go either way."

Dan chuckled, unpacking bowls from a dented crate. "You really don't remember anything from survival training, do you?"

"I remember how to stab demons and shoot straight," Victor replied. "Everything else is optional."

Ferron leaned in from the doorway and muttered something in what sounded like old Japanese. He made a short gesture over the pot and whispered a blessing under his breath.

"Did you just… bless the ramen?" Alyssa said.

"Old habit," Ferron replied. "Every journey should begin with prayer. Even if it ends with indigestion."

They all sat. The silence was awkward at first – chopsticks clinking, broth slurping, the occasional grimace from someone who got a surprise chili flake.

Alyssa cleared her throat. "I don't know what to pack for exorcist country. A knife? A crucifix? A polite bow?"

Dan laughed. Even Ying smirked.

The mood loosened.

Victor raised his canteen like a wine glass.

"To surviving," he said. "And if not – to burning bright on the way out."

They all toasted. Water. Tea. Warm broth in dented tin mugs.

Then Ying set down her bowl, gaze sharp but curious.

"Alyssa. Your powers. How did you get them?"

Alyssa blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

She smirked. "Liz's dad. Gave 'em to me. Same way beast-boy over there got his claws. He'll probably light you up too if you ask nicely."

Victor gave a mock bow. "Bestowing gifts like a very angry Santa."

Ying nodded. "What can you do?"

Alyssa leaned back. "Density manipulation. I can make myself heavier. Punch through walls. Toss trucks. You know. The usual teen stress outlet."

Ying tilted her head. "Is that all?"

Alyssa frowned.

"Have you tried using it defensively? Making yourself too dense to harm? Or using it tactically – make objects heavier? Or lighter? Could you run faster if you made yourself weigh less?"

Alyssa opened her mouth. Closed it.

"I— I mean, I haven't… tested everything."

Dan jumped in gently. "She's being modest. Alyssa can hit like a meteor. But yeah – we all need to train more. Figure out how to push our limits."

Ying nodded. "You better. That kind of power, used creatively? Game changer."

Alyssa flushed. "Okay, mom."

Victor pointed at her with a chopstick. "You heard her. Experiment. Train. Just, maybe not in the break room."

Alyssa nudged her bowl away. "I still want to go back to school after this. Just, you know… maybe with better aim."

"We blew up a corridor once," Dan added. "That was a good day."

"You're all lunatics," Ying muttered.

Victor grinned. "Yeah. But we're your lunatics now. Get used to it."

"Chloe says we're trauma-bonded," Alyssa added. "She's not wrong."

Victor raised his canteen. "To trauma. And ramen."

"Jack would've hated this ramen," Chloe added from the doorway, arms crossed.

Alyssa looked up, surprised. Then smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "He'd have said it tasted like boiled bandages."

Victor grinned. "That's the review we should print on the box."

The laughter came easier after that. No more awkward pauses. Just noise, warmth, and the strange comfort of people who knew they were all heading into something none of them were ready for – together.

…………………

The hangar buzzed with controlled urgency.

The Skyknife stood ready on its launch rail – engines humming low, soulfield coils locked in idle resonance. Final checks ticked down on embedded glyph-screens. The air smelled like sanctified oil and ozone. A gust of snow howled outside the cliff-facing bay doors, muffled by thick alloy plating.

Ying moved through the space like a ghost. Quiet, surgical, eyes always scanning. Her boots echoed lightly off steel as she approached the cargo ramp.

Liz's new stasis pod had already been loaded – smaller than the last one, but sleeker. Reinforced plating curved around the shell like folded armour. It looked less like a coffin and more like a cocoon. Runes pulsed softly in the seams. The pod was alive with spiritual containment.

Victor stood nearby, practically vibrating with excitement as Ferron guided him through the weapons manifests.

"Are those grenades?" Victor asked.

"They're sensitive," Ferron said flatly. "So maybe don't shake them."

"I wasn't shaking – okay I was, but gently. Come on, man, let me just hold the railgun for a second."

"Onboard only. We'll distribute in-flight."

Ying ignored them and kept moving.

Dr. Grimm found her before she reached the ramp.

He stepped out from behind a logistics container, coat buttoned to the collar, hands behind his back. His presence was quiet, but not hesitant.

"You're leaving," he said.

"Seems that way," Ying replied, not slowing.

"You're valuable, Colonel. And you have a home here. At the Institute."

She turned. Met his gaze head-on.

"I don't want a home. And I'm not for sale."

Grimm gave the faintest smile. "We don't trade in money. Never have."

He stepped closer and produced a data crystal from his coat. It was shaped like a shard of black ice, faintly glowing at the core.

"We trade in information. And the Institute's been digging. Not into you – into what used to surround you."

Ying's jaw tightened. "There's nothing left."

"Jade Dragon was a ghost project. Buried even deeper than your nuclear crater. But not everything burned."

Her voice hardened. "You think I care? That name's ash. That number's gone."

Grimm didn't blink.

"And yet," he said, "you remember your siblings."

Ying's spine stiffened.

Grimm tapped the crystal once. It pulsed red.

"Agent 26. Agent 888. Ring a bell?"

Ying stared at him like he'd just split her down the middle.

"That's not possible," she said. "They died. Everyone died."

Grimm's voice stayed quiet. "They didn't."

He held the crystal out, but didn't release it.

"They're alive. Off-grid. And I'll give this to you freely. No contracts. No chains. Just one condition."

Ying's voice was low. "What?"

"Keep Max Jaeger alive."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That's it?"

Grimm stepped beside her, voice cold steel.

"Do what you can to keep the others breathing – I won't stop you. But if things go bad, and you have to choose, he is the priority. He's not a soldier. He's the fulcrum."

Ying said nothing.

"Protect him. Bring him back to me. And when you do, everything we've found – resources, clearance, extraction teams — it's yours. We'll help you find them. Help you bring them back."

A long pause stretched between them.

Then Ying looked toward the ramp. Toward Max, loading gear in silence. Toward Liz's pod.

She nodded once.

"Deal."

Grimm let go of the crystal.

She caught it in her palm.

"Keep Max alive," she said. "Everyone else is expendable."

Grimm's voice was soft.

"I knew you'd understand."

…………………

The launch pad groaned as it extended out over the cliff face – a slab of soul-reinforced steel jutting into the frozen dusk. Wind tore across the opening like a warning, shrieking against the edges of the platform. Snow fell sideways. The clouds below churned like something alive.

The Skyknife crouched at the end of the rail, turbines low and waiting, its black hull veined with pulsing glyphs. Wards flared and dimmed along its sides as the loading sequences finalized.

Inside the hangar, the team moved with quiet precision.

Victor and Ferron worked side-by-side near the weapons racks, stacking sealed cases of soulforged weaponry. Victor handled each crate like it was a birthday present. Ferron carved final sigils into a reinforced container lined with ritual salt.

"That one holds the soulforged frag shells," Ferron said flatly. "So maybe don't juggle them."

"No promises," Victor grinned.

A few steps away, Alyssa and Chloe finished securing Liz's new pod into the rear cradle. Magnetic clamps snapped into place with a heavy click, reinforced with redundant ward-locks.

Alyssa ran a finger along one of the control panels. "Her vitals are holding."

Chloe nodded, gaze fixed on the soft pulse of light in the centre of the glass. Red. Faint, but steady.

Dan moved down the aisle, checking oxygen seals, pressure readouts, and psychic dampeners. His coat was zipped to the collar. His hands glowed faintly as he adjusted the containment buffer near Liz's head.

Ferron sat beside the pod, his kusarigama resting across his lap. He didn't speak. Just laid one hand on the nearest ward etched into the bulkhead – the same glyph he'd traced in ochre hours ago – and closed his eyes.

"守りの風," he whispered. The wind that protects.

In the cockpit, Max strapped into the command chair and activated the control runes. The startup sequence rolled across the console in pale blue. No engine roar. No warning klaxons. The Skyknife was silent – a ghost on steel wings.

Outside, Grimm stood alone at the edge of the platform. Coat snapping in the wind. One hand behind his back. Watching.

The bay lights dimmed. Final clearance runes turned green. The boarding ramp began to rise.

The pod's inner light flared – just for a second – bright enough to catch in Chloe's eyes. It wasn't violent. Just… present.

Chloe touched the glass.

"Come back to us," she whispered.

The ramp sealed shut.

With no fanfare, no fire, and no sound but the wind – the Skyknife lifted.

It rose straight into the clouds, into the cold grey mouth of the sky. And then it was gone.

Grimm didn't move.

Adisa appeared beside him, coat pulled tight.

He didn't look at her when he spoke.

"Now we see," Grimm said quietly. "What a soul can endure when you light it on fire and ask it to carry the world."

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