"The difference between vengeance and justice is that vengeance is about your feelings. Justice is about making the world better for people who don't even know you." ― E.F. Coleman (Immechanica)

* * * *

Sometimes, Reina hated being a doctor. Not because of the long hours or the weight of responsibility, but because of moments like this, moments when the limits of medicine became brutally clear and all that remained was the task of making death bearable.

And it was always worse when the patient wasn't just a stranger on a chart, but someone she knew.

With a weary exhale, she slipped the stethoscope from her ears and turned her gaze toward the corner of the cramped bedroom, where Leroy and Alisa stood stiffly, as though shrinking themselves against the peeling walls to give her as much space as possible.

But space felt meaningless in a room so stifled with dread.

"Reina?" Alisa's voice was barely a whisper, trembling with restrained panic, ocean-blue eyes pleading for an answer—any answer—that wasn't the one she already knew.

Leroy didn't speak. He didn't have to.

His silence was louder than any question, his chestnut-brown eyes fixed not on Reina but on the figure in the bed—the frail body of Earl, now a ghost of the man they once knew.

Tubes ran into his arms, feeding what little nourishment he could still tolerate. An oxygen mask clung to his face, fogging faintly with every strained breath. His skin had gone a shade too pale, eyes sunken and shadowed beneath lids that opened only with effort.

Leroy had seen many things in his life—violence, betrayal, death—but nothing made him feel more helpless than this. Because this was the one battle he couldn't fight for a friend. This was a quiet war of attrition that had already been lost the moment Earl arrived in Zalfari nearly a year ago.

Reina shook her head gently, unable to soften the truth, and it hit like a death knell. Alisa's composure shattered; her lips quivered, and she looked seconds from crumbling.

"I've done all I can," Reina said softly, hating every syllable. "We've kept him comfortable… Managed the pain… But there's nothing more I can do. The only thing left is the hospital, and even then—"

"No… No hospital…"

The voice was hoarse and fragile, but unmistakably Earl's. The three of them turned toward the bed, startled despite themselves. Earl's eyes, though dim, were still lucid, still defiant.

"I'd rather die here," he rasped, his voice muffled by the mask but still heavy with finality.

"Earl…" Leroy took a half-step forward, as if words could anchor a man slipping between worlds.

"Should we call Sera?" Alisa turned toward Leroy, her voice breaking. "She'd want to be here. And Zest too. They'll never forgive us if they find out we kept this from them."

Earl shifted slightly, shaking his head with what little strength he had. "They'll…understand," he breathed. "I gave Ethan a letter…for them both…if I pass before they find me."

"Goddess above…" Reina murmured under her breath, stepping back to give them space as Leroy and Alisa moved closer. The pulse on the monitor was slow, steady, a rhythmic reminder that time was running out.

"We shouldn't have involved you," Alisa choked out, her voice cracking as she buried her face in her hands. "Angela was one thing. But you… You were different. You should've stayed out of this. What am I supposed to tell Angie when I see her in the afterlife?"

"Don't cry, 'Lisa…" Earl lifted a trembling hand and brushed her cheek, the contact feather-light. "I don't…regret it. Not a moment."

His gaze drifted to Leroy, whose silence had deepened into something solemn. Leroy said nothing, but Earl could read the guilt carved into the corners of his mouth, the way his jaw was clenched to keep from shaking.

"Leroy…" Earl said softly. "Thank you…for everything."

"You don't owe me anything," Leroy replied, his voice low and rough. "I'm the one who should be apologising. If I could've found a cure… If I'd known earlier…"

He stopped.

Across the room, Reina stared quietly at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. She didn't need to say it aloud.

By the time Earl had come to them, the disease had already sunk its claws deep, accelerating past anything modern medicine could stop. He'd been dying from the moment he walked through their door.

All that Reina could do was make Earl as comfortable as possible.

And lately, since the ESA agent's visit, it was like something in Earl had simply…let go. As though that conversation had pulled out the last threads of fight in him.

His deterioration had been rapid. Alarming. Unstoppable.

"You know," Leroy said suddenly, grasping for anything to fill the silence, "back when you posed as a client, before Aegis became the name it is now, I'm pretty sure Sera already suspected who you were. If not outright knew."

Earl gave a thin smile, his lips cracking slightly from dryness. The smile turned into a wheeze, a faint chuckle that collapsed into a cough. "I wouldn't be surprised. She always did…know more than she let on."

The machines kept beeping in the background, steady and clinical, unaware of the weight of the words exchanged in this dim, suffocating room.

"I was angry…for a long time," Earl whispered. "Afraid, too. But Sera…and Blade… You all gave me something I hadn't felt in years. Hope." His fingers curled slightly against the bedsheets. "I'm not a Gifted. I can't fight like you…or Zest. But if my art… My words…helped even a little…" His eyes searched Leroy's desperately. "To the end… Was I…ever useful? To you? To her?"

"You're part of us," Leroy said, gripping Earl's hand tightly. It was disturbingly cold. His bones felt fragile, paper-thin beneath the skin. "You always were. Always will be. Sera and Zest would say the same. We wouldn't have gotten this far without you."

Alisa nodded fiercely, wiping her face on her sleeve. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"Let me call them, Earl," Leroy whispered, his voice cracking. "Let me call Sera. You know she'll come. So will Zest."

He didn't know where Aegis was marooned at the moment. No one did. And Zest… He could be halfway across the continent. But if Leroy knew anything, it was that those two would find a way. They always did.

Earl gently shook his head, stubborn even now. "You…promised me. I don't want them to see me like this. Let them…remember me the way I was. Not like this."

Alisa glanced at Leroy, her eyes wide and shining. She didn't want to accept it. Neither did he. But a promise was a promise.

As much as they hated it, they wanted to honour Earl's last wishes, despite knowing that Sera and Zest would both regret not being there during their friend's final moments.

"Is there…anything you want me to tell her?" Leroy asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper, relieved that his voice came out steady. Don't break down. Don't break down. He ordered himself inwardly. You can break down after this. Don't let Earl see you break down.

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Earl's breathing grew more laboured. Each breath sounded like it cost him a piece of his soul. "Tell her… If nothing else… I hope I helped. Even in some small way." He exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering. "That ESA agent… I knew who he was the moment he knocked on my door. Lucas Alescio."

Leroy and Alisa exchanged grim looks. It is why they did nothing to stop Lucas Alescio even when they knew he was in Zalfari. Leroy had eyes on Lucas throughout his entire time in Zalfari to ensure he did nothing further than meet with Earl.

"He came for answers… Maybe more. I think… Maybe he can help her. My last…little contribution to Sera. To the Revolution we dreamed of." He gave them both a shaky smile. "I just wished…it was Blade who got to change the world. Is that selfish?"

"No," Leroy said firmly, stepping forward and placing a hand to his heart. He felt the same way when he'd first learnt that Sera had a new crew. "I feel the same way sometimes. Blade will always be a part of us. But we keep moving forward because of them. Because of you. Blade is what shapes us to be who we are now. But it is the future that we must look forward to."

Earl's lips curled into a faint grin. "So… You're calling the new crew 'Blaze,' huh? Leroy…"

Leroy didn't answer at first. He let the silence settle around them like dust in the heavy air, thick with unspoken grief and memories long buried.

He could still remember the conversation from years ago—when Larissa first asked him to take up the quiet, thankless role of Zalfari's protector. And even then, he knew: he couldn't walk that path alone.

A crew was more than just a collection of fighters. It was family. A lifeline. A reason to keep fighting when the cause itself felt too broken to bear.

Still, the guilt had lingered like a wound that refused to close. Despite Sera's reassurances, despite her own decision to start anew, Leroy couldn't shake the feeling that he was turning his back on her, on Blade, on everything they'd once built together.

It wasn't until a year and a half ago that he finally did it—forming a small crew under a name that had burned itself into his heart.

Blaze.

Alisa had never asked him why. She hadn't needed to. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he looked at old photos or walked past certain street corners like they carried echoes of ghosts. She knew the name was his way of preserving what they'd lost, of keeping that fire alive.

Blaze… To let the flame burn on, even in a world that tried again and again to snuff it out.

"…Maybe," Leroy murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to hide the faint tremble in his fingers.

Earl chuckled softly—more a breath than a laugh. "I'm sleepy… s'tired…" he slurred.

"We're right here," Alisa said gently, squeezing his frail hand in hers.

Earl offered her a tired smile. "'Lisa… The top drawer. Can you…get the photo from there…?"

Alisa blinked, then turned her gaze to the nightstand beside his bed. The drawer stuck slightly when she pulled it open, as if resisting the moment, but eventually it gave way, and there, tucked in the corner, was a worn photograph, its edges frayed and creased from being held too many times.

As soon as Leroy caught sight of it, recognition struck him like a punch to the chest.

It was an old photo, taken during one of those rare, golden days in Blade's hideout. None of them remembered who had taken it. Maybe it had been a timer, or maybe it was just a miracle that all of them had ended up in one frame.

Leroy and Lleucu were in the corner, mid-wrestle, with Jamie cheering like a lunatic nearby. Alisa was grinning beside him, caught mid-laugh. Zest and Sera sat near the window, side by side, bathed in warm light, their expressions calm and content. And Wes leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them all with that same familiar smirk—the one that said, this is chaos, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Angela, Earl, Jun, Yunan and even Yuna were in there, just watching with grins.

Alisa passed the photo to Earl, and when his trembling fingers curled around it, the smallest smile touched his lips. He brushed his thumb over his sister's face in the picture.

"The old days…" he whispered. "It was fun. I felt…freer than I had in years. No more running. Angie… She found her strength. I was proud of her. I was glad." His voice dropped, barely audible. "So why…did it have to end?"

"Earl…" Leroy breathed.

"I'm just…so tired…" Earl slurred, the words growing slower now, as though even speech was becoming too much to carry. "I tried to live… Tried to be the best version of myself…even if it wasn't much. But in the end, did I…help? Even a little? Did I matter…to Sera…to you all…?"

Leroy squeezed his hand, steady and warm, even as he felt the sharp edges of bone beneath Earl's skin, even as he felt the cold beginning to creep into him. "You mattered," Leroy said, his voice firm despite the storm in his throat. "More than you'll ever know."

Earl's smile twitched again, faint and fleeting. "'m glad… Leroy… Alisa…"

Alisa reached over, placing her hand atop Leroy's. "We're here. We're with you."

Earl's breathing had become shallow and erratic. His eyes glazed with the daze of fading life. "Be there…for her," Earl rasped. "Be there for Sera… I can't…keep going. My journey ends here…"

Leroy nodded, his lips pressed tight to hold back the flood. His heart felt like it was breaking apart with every slowing breath.

"If there is…a next life," Earl whispered, his eyes flickering, "let's…be friends again…"

"That's a promise."

The silence between his breaths stretched too long.

"I…wanted more time…" Earl slurred. "It's just…too bad…"

And then the rise and fall of his chest stopped. A single long tone pierced the air from the heart monitor—high, unwavering, and final.

Reina moved quietly. She crossed the room and pressed her stethoscope to Earl's chest, hoping, foolishly, that there would still be a beat left to find.

There wasn't.

She turned to Leroy and Alisa, her voice soft. "…He's gone."

Leroy swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to budge. His vision blurred. He bowed his head.

Alisa made no effort to contain herself. A sob wrenched free from her chest as she collapsed into her hands.

Reina, with practiced hands and quiet reverence, removed the oxygen mask from Earl's face, detached the IV tubes, and closed his eyes with her fingertips, lending him one final mercy, one final dignity.

Then, she stepped back into the corner, lifting her phone from where it had been resting, the screen still dimly lit from an ongoing call.

She hadn't told the others. She didn't have to.

Sera needed to hear his voice—his last words. And if Reina knew Zest, he would be there too, silent and listening from whatever shadow he stood in.

Quietly, she ended the call.

* * * *

Outside, Earl's apartment was quiet save for the muffled sound of Alisa's weeping, barely restrained even by the door.

Lleucu stood guard beside it, leaning against the wall like a solitary sentinel.

His grey eyes closed.

"…Go," Lleucu murmured under his breath, his voice like a prayer spoken through dusk. "Go your way to the land of the Ancestors, where they wait for you with open arms. There, on the edge between this world and the next. See; there they stand. Ancestral spirits, welcome him to the place we all must go. Goddess above, guide this soul to Your side. Let him find peace beyond pain."

The clouds above thickened, swelling with un-fallen rain. It felt as though even the sky mourned.

One tear slipped down Lleucu's pale cheek.

* * * *

In the shadowed quiet of Blade's old hideout in Elvryn, the phone in Sera's hands went dark.

Neither she nor Zest spoke. The silence between them was louder than any scream, and far more hollow.

Sera stared down at the screen, her expression unreadable. Her face had gone still—an eerie stillness that only Zest could read. A stillness that meant grief so deep it hadn't found a way to scream yet.

Zest rose wordlessly and walked over, wrapping his arms around her. He pressed her trembling frame against him, gently tucking her face into his chest.

"I won't judge you," he whispered, his voice low and steady, hands holding her like something fragile. "At the very least, we can grieve for him together."

Sera didn't make a sound, but he felt the heat of her tears soaking into his shirt, felt her shuddering quietly as she broke.

Zest held her tighter.

"Go, my friend," he whispered, his voice catching slightly, "Go on your way. To the land that waits for us all. Go your way to the land of the Ancestors. Let there be no more pain. Almighty Goddess, great Gaia… Guide him home."

His voice never broke. But the tears slid down his face anyway.

* * * *

It should be unhealthy—this fixation, this all-consuming obsession that Lucas had developed toward Aegis. And most of all, toward the elusive figure known only as Zero.

And yet, despite knowing how irrational it might seem, he couldn't help himself.

He remained in the Team Alpha office long after his teammates had turned in for the night. The hallways beyond the door had fallen into stillness, the usual hum of evening chatter and movement now replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to press in around him.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting sharp shadows along the edges of desks, documents, and walls already heavy with secrets.

His eyes, deep and unreadable, remained fixed on the screen in front of him, where lines of data, reports, and blurred photographs glowed pale against the darkness. His black jacket hung loosely from his lean frame, the collar slightly turned from his habitual, restless movements.

The buttons of his black undershirt were undone at the throat, as if even fabric had begun to suffocate him. A hand ran through the straight raven-black hair pulled into his usual short ponytail, fingers catching as he tugged at the strands in mounting frustration.

Over and over again, Earl Verga's words echoed in his mind—cryptic, fragile things spoken in that dim Zalfari apartment barely over a week ago. Words that had lodged deep inside him and refused to let go.

And perhaps what unnerved him most was how, despite the sheer improbability of them, they'd begun to make sense.

There's truth buried in their story, Earl had said. If you dig, you'll find it. But you won't like what it shows you.

Lucas had been digging ever since.

He had spent hours, days even, tracing digital footprints and searching through the ESA archives—files buried so deep they might as well have been erased.

Someone, or perhaps several someones, had gone to considerable lengths to bury any comprehensive record of Blade. Tampered metadata. Missing pages. Dead-end trails. But they hadn't hidden everything. Not well enough.

And Lucas was nothing if not persistent.

What remained in the archives were fractured reports. Notes scrawled by field agents who'd come into contact with the gang during its prime. Sparse photographs. Eyewitness accounts. Even a few half-completed threat assessments that someone had clearly intended to finish, before the files were locked, restricted, and quietly forgotten.

Blade.

The name alone carried an edge to it, even now. More than a street gang. More than just urban legend.

They had been a phantom presence in Eldario's underworld—a group that bled into every crack of the city, resisting assimilation, and defying order. They'd operated like ghosts, slipping through the hands of authorities, vanishing before any definitive proof could be seized.

Just when people thought they were gone for good, rumours would stir again, followed by another wave of unrest.

And then there was their leader.

Lucas leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders evident despite the recline, his eyes fixed on the image displayed before him.

It was a mugshot—grainy, low-resolution, and clearly taken several years ago. The girl in the photo was younger, her features sharper with youth, but unmistakably familiar.

Lucas stared at it in silence.

Her expression in the photo was unreadable. A cold, detached sort of defiance lingered in her eyes, as if even then, she'd already seen too much of the world to be surprised by anything it threw at her. Her posture was rigid, yet unafraid.

There was no name listed on the file—just a codename stamped in bold at the top: Subject: Reaper.

And beneath that, was a single notation in red: Highly Dangerous. Potential Gifted. Do not engage alone.

Lucas didn't need the caption to tell him what he already knew.

Sera.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening. The thoughts looped endlessly in his mind, overlapping and contradicting—Sera, the strategist from Blade. Sera, the woman who'd dominated Eldario's underworld. Sera… The Death Reaper.

Was she also Aegis's leader?

Lucas didn't know. Not for certain. But the puzzle pieces were fitting together far too well. Too many coincidences. Too many ghosts aligning with the living.

Blade's leader. Aegis's leader. The Death Reaper. Sera…

Lucas's thoughts whispered her name like a warning. Like a confession.

He had known her before all this—before the revelations had begun to surface like rot beneath the city's polished façade. He had known her without knowing what she truly was.

Or perhaps, more terrifyingly, he had known all along, and simply refused to see.

There had always been something about her. An edge. A silence that weighed heavier than words.

She moved through conversations with a grace that belied her sharpness—always calculating, always watching. Even when they weren't in the same room, she had a way of lingering in his thoughts, like the aftermath of a storm he couldn't explain.

But now, that same silence was beginning to feel like a lie.

He wasn't sure what disturbed him more—the thought that she might have been hiding her true identity all this time, or the fact that, deep down, he might have already suspected, and still found himself drawn to her.

His eyes flickered back to the mugshot.

Younger. Harder. Drenched in blood and rumour.

It wasn't the Sera he knew. But it was.

Lucas dragged a hand across his face, trying to quiet the storm in his chest, the heat threatening to rise behind his ribcage like fire. It should be unhealthy, this obsession. This fixation. But obsession was just another word for something the soul refused to let go of.

And right now, he couldn't let go of her.

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