The heavy doors of the Raider headquarters echoed behind Kaizen as he strode down the long corridor, footsteps sharp against the dark marble. He had come prepared to confront the Selection Council over Damon's disqualification, but a messenger intercepted him.
— "The Captain requests your presence. Now."
No room for argument. No delay.
---
Kaizen climbed the spiraling stairs of the western tower in silence. At the top, sunlight poured into a vast chamber. Wind hissed softly through arched windows that opened to the horizon. The scent of rain drifted in.
There, standing alone with arms crossed, was Captain Elijah Knight, leader of the Stormclaws. His storm-blue cape fluttered behind him, his silver-streaked hair still despite the breeze.
He didn't turn when Kaizen entered.
— "Drop the boy's case, Kaizen."
Kaizen didn't speak, but his jaw tightened.
— "Yes, it was unfair. But it's a spark compared to the fire ahead."
Elijah finally turned, his face worn but resolute. His hand rested on a thick file folder placed beside something unexpected on the table — a smooth, silver mask, polished but cold, reflecting the morning light like a blade.
Kaizen's eyes flicked to it, only for a moment. He'd seen that mask before — once, long ago, during a raid that went wrong.
Elijah noticed his glance.
— "Some shadows never fade," he muttered, gently brushing his hand across the mask's surface. "But we don't have time for ghosts."
He tapped the folder instead.
— "The Nyphelyms… they're evolving. The unit stationed at the northern barrier fought one who spoke. Not mimicked — reasoned. Planned. That's not just a mutation. That's intelligence."
Kaizen's expression hardened.
— "That changes everything."
— "It does. And it's why these ten kids from the Tora Trial — they'll enter camp today. Three years. That's all we have to prepare them. Then they go into the dark."
Elijah leaned on the table, gaze locked with Kaizen's.
— "And you'll help train them."
Kaizen nodded firmly.
Elijah smirked — only a little.
— "Speaking of training… how's your fiancée?"
Kaizen blinked, caught off guard.
— "She's well. I think."
— "You think?" Elijah scoffed. "Storms, Kaizen, you're colder than the Highlands. You stare down monsters without blinking, but one mention of her and you're frozen."
Kaizen turned his gaze to the window.
— "I don't have time for distractions."
— "Maybe," Elijah said, returning his gaze to the silver mask. "But one day you'll need something — someone — to keep you human."
---
As Kaizen left, he looked back one last time.
The silver mask still sat on Elijah's desk — unmoving, watching.
A reminder that some battles never leave you.
And others are yet to come.
---