"Aston Rhyner! Yosef Redrich! Where are you two?!"

Aston skidded to a halt.

A girl with blonde, curly hair and a violet scarf was cupping her hands around her mouth, shouting again. "This is Genevieve Ortega! Team Eighteen! Can anyone hear-"

"Found you!" Aston yelled.

She blinked just as Aston reached her, grabbing her hand without hesitation.

"Wha-Hey! What are you doing?!" Genevieve yelped as she stumbled after him.

"I'm Aston," he said, without slowing. "We've got less than four minutes left. No time to waste!"

Genevieve muttered something under her breath, but her pace quickened beside him.

The minimap pulsed again.

Another red dot was just up ahead.

Aston and Genevieve rushed forward, their footsteps thudding in sync against the cobbled road. The wind bit against their faces, but neither of them slowed.

Genevieve glanced at him, her breath sharp between words. "How the hell do you even know where Yosef is?!"

Aston didn't answer. His eyes were locked ahead, unblinking. The arrow on his minimap rotated with each turn he made, pulling him forward like a silent compass.

Genevieve huffed, clearly not used to being ignored. "Seriously-"

But she cut herself off when she saw what he saw.

Just beyond a crowded stall of spirit-infused pastries, a tall, lanky boy was craning his neck in all directions, his green cloak flaring slightly as he held his phone out, looking lost amid the sea of cloaks and shouting.

Yosef.

Aston didn't hesitate. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the boy's arm in one swift motion.

"Team 18. Move."

Yosef blinked in surprise. "Wait, are you-"

"No time, we only have three minutes."

Genevieve fell into step behind him without protest this time, eyes wide with something between suspicion and intrigue.

"Okay! Okay! I'm moving!"

The three of them weaved through the crowd, the platform coming into view just as the attendant raised their staff again.

"Three minutes remaining."

Aston's eyes flicked past the attendant, locking onto the other side of the gate.

Rows of peculiar vehicles were lined up beyond the threshold - each shaped like a wagon, but sleeker and more compact. Their surfaces were a blend of darkwood frames and matte-finished alloy. There were no beasts pulling them. No drivers waiting. Just the low hum vibrating through the air.

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Without hesitation, Aston led the way, darting toward the nearest one. Genevieve and Yosef followed closely behind, their cloaks whipping in the wind. From the sky, Mirage swooped down and landed on Aston's shoulders.

As they approached, the front of the wagon shimmered to life. Inside the front console, a hexagonal shard hovered above a ring of engraved runes, slowly rotating with an inner light.

"Please scan your assignment notice," a cool, but synthetic voice echoed from the crystal. "All team members must verify."

Aston lifted his phone, still displaying the message. The floating shard emitted a narrow beam of light, scanning the text with a quick stream.

"Team 18, confirmed."

Genevieve and Yosef followed suit, presenting their screens one by one. With each scan, the runes at the base of the crystal flickered, shifting colors like gears interlocking.

"Verification complete. Team members confirmed. Welcome, Team 18."

The wagon groaned faintly as internal mechanisms stirred. Gears clicked, and with a brief jolt, the transport began to glide forward, its wheels turning without touch, guided by both machinery and enchantment. A shimmering trail of light appeared ahead of the road, visible only to those attuned to it.

Inside, the hum of spirit-infused machinery blended with the creak of darkwood as the vehicle picked up speed.

Genevieve stared at the controls with wide eyes. "I always wondered how the spirit engineers make these things. It looks like part golem, part tech."

No sooner had Genevieve spoken that the wagon shifted again.

Soft, mechanical clicks echoed from above, and thin sheets of segmented plating began to unfold from the sides. Panels of enchanted glass shimmered for a moment before fading into opacity. The once-open view of the road vanished as the transport sealed itself shut, transforming into a sleek, covered wagon. The interior dimmed slightly, lit only by faint glyphs glowing from the curved ceiling.

Genevieve blinked. "Okay… I wasn't expecting that."

"I guess they don't want us seeing the route," Yosef muttered, leaning back cautiously.

Aston leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed. He reached toward the edge of the covered window and tapped it. It was solid. "It's more than that. I can't even feel which direction we're turning. It's like we're moving forward in a straight line, but I can feel no collisions from the trees."

He sat back and sent an inquiry.

Nova, can you track the route?

A flicker passed through his vision.

[Interference detected.]

[Creating countermeasures.]

Aston panicked for a bit.

I don't want the examiners to know we tampered it!

[Countermeasures completed. Bypassing interference. Tracking initialized.]

Aston heaved a sigh of relief. If the examiners know that they cheated somehow…

A small schematic appeared faintly in the corner of his vision, showing a slowly evolved trail through a blank plane. It shifted with each subtle turn or vibration the wagon made.

"Well, I guess we're going somewhere…" Aston muttered aloud.

Genevieve gave him a sideways glance. "You talk to yourself often?"

"No," he said dryly. "Just the voice in my head."

She blinked. "That's not worrying at all."

Yosef gave a short laugh, his voice light and easy. He ran a hand from his light green cloak through his messy auburn hair before offering it forward. "Might as well make this official. Yosef Redrich, Spirit Alchemy Division. I specialize in potions - healing ones, toxic ones, and the kind that goes boom."

He had a lean frame, his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint burn scars.

Genevieve raised a brow, her sharp hazel eyes flicking down to his arm before meeting his gaze. She shook his hand with a firm grip. "Genevieve Ortega. Spirit Combat Division."

Her posture was upright and confident, and the cut of her deep crimson cloak did little to hide the toned shape of someone who trained daily. A few strands of her blonde curls slipped loose from her tied-back hair.

Both of them turned to Aston expectantly.

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