Snow crunched beneath their boots as three figures crossed the quiet charging station, weaving past rows of frost-covered vehicles humming under low-power currents.
A warm glow spilled from the small diner ahead. The restaurant door opened with a dull jingle —
ting… ting… ting
All three stepped inside.
Inside, warmth was mixed with the air, thick with the smell of broth, grilled meat, and something vaguely herbal. The layout was simple: five square wooden tables lined the left wall, each paired with mismatched chairs that had clearly lived longer than the restaurant itself. On the right side, a long counter stretched beneath a fogged window, stools arranged neatly, though half were missing screws and leaned slightly forward.
The kitchen entrance sat at the back with, not a proper door, but a curtain of dangling plastic ribbons, yellowed at the edges and swaying gently whenever someone passed through.
They swayed now.
A young waitress pushed through them, brushing a stray noodle off her apron. She had heard the jingle and immediately straightened her posture, wiping her hands on her uniform as she stepped forward with the practised smile of someone who didn't earn enough to fake it convincingly.
The brim of her cap drooped low, blocking half her vision as she began her usual greeting.
"Welcome—oh."
Her smile froze mid-word.
She tilted her head up, pushing the cap back with a thumb, and finally saw what had walked into her restaurant.
First — a shirtless man with wild, messy yellow hair, steam practically rising off him from the cold outside, like the winter storm hadn't gotten the memo he was supposed to be freezing.
Next to him stood a boy — no, a teenager, maybe seventeen at most — but he looked like he had stepped straight off a magazine cover: sharp features, perfect posture, the kind of face that made people get lost in their stare.
And the last one—
A black-haired man whose eyes were locked on the floor, shoulders stiff, posture sagging like he was having the worst existential crisis of his life. The way he stared blankly into nothing made her wonder if he even knew where he was.
Snow clung to all three of them, and they looked less like customers and more like survivors.
For a second, she just stared, hand still gripping the plastic ribbons behind her.
So much for a quiet night, she cursed inwardly.
A couple of customers near the counter paused mid-bite.
One man holding a steaming bowl of noodles froze entirely, chopsticks suspended in the air, his eyes following the three newcomers like they were wild animals wandering into a grocery store.
Another customer — an elderly woman in a thick winter coat — quietly slid her purse closer to her chest and leaned away without making it obvious. Her eyes never left Otto's bare torso.
Maren ignored all of them.
He simply walked to the nearest table and sat down, pulling the laminated menu open. The page stuck for a moment, probably from old broth. Typical.
Bael sat beside him with the slump of a man whose brain had not yet restarted after trauma.
Otto approached the table, took one look at the two of them seated comfortably, and sighed.
"Don't you two know you're supposed to wash your hands first?" Otto muttered, sounding personally offended.
Maren blinked.
Right. Hygiene.
He nodded slowly and turned to Bael with a straight face. "Move. We need to wash."
Bael jolted up like he had been electrocuted. "Oh—yeah—right—of course"
All three of them stood back up, leaving the waitress utterly confused as they marched toward the sink station near the counter, washing their hands like a disorganised trio of lost children.
A few customers watched them with expressions ranging from annoyance to faint amusement.
After they returned, the waitress approached timidly, pen in hand.
Maren closed his menu and spoke first. "One beef broth bowl. Extra noodles."
Bael raised his hand weakly. "Uh… I'll take the chicken rice… thing. The one on page two."
Otto placed his menu down neatly. "I would like the black pepper pork set."
The waitress scribbled everything down, relaxing only a little now that they seemed somewhat normal.
Otto leaned back in his chair, glanced at Bael, then asked, "You want beer?"
Bael nodded.
Maren joined in, "Yeah. Get me one too."
The waitress stopped writing.
"Do you… have an ID?" she asked Maren politely.
Maren stared at her.
Blankly.Completely still.
Then the realisation hit him like a truck.
Right. He wasn't twenty-three anymore.
He was seventeen.
He lowered his gaze, defeated.
"…No."
The waitress offered an apologetic smile. "Then… water for you?"
Maren exhaled through his nose. "Water."
Otto chuckled openly.
For a moment, the atmosphere finally felt normal.
Warm food scents. Quiet clattering of dishes. Customers are minding their own business again.
Then Bael shattered it.
CRACK
The metal fork stabbed straight into the wooden table, its prongs buried deep as if the cheap diner furniture had personally offended him.
Several customers jumped. The waitress flinched behind the counter.
Bael leaned forward, teeth clenched, voice a strained whisper that somehow felt louder than a scream.
"Someone explain what the hell happened," he hissed, shaking with leftover adrenaline. " Why is the person who tried to kill me—" his eyes snapped to Otto "— sitting with me eating dinner like nothing happened?"
Then he swung his glare to Maren.
"And you. Why are you so calm?"
Otto lifted his beer. "To be fair," he murmured, "Bael tried to kill you, too."
Bael's eye twitched. "That doesn't make this better."
Maren placed his chopsticks down and finally met Bael's anticipatory stare with a flat, collected expression.
"It's simple," Maren said, a smirk sliding across his face. "I got a deal, Hybris."
Bael froze.
His voice dropped even lower, disbelief twisting every word.
"The boss…?" he whispered. "Like—Hybris? The leader of House of Hybris?"
His eyebrows pulled together, his face saying no way in hell louder than his voice ever could.
Bael wasn't scared; he just looked… done.
He let out a long, exhausted breath and slowly rested his forehead on the table, as if the universe had personally decided he'd suffered enough today.
Otto glanced at him once, then turned to Maren.
"So," Otto said, taking a sip of beer, "what's next? What did the boss say about what I have to do?"
Maren shrugged casually."Nothing. To be fair, it was more of a non-aggression deal. In other words—she's letting me go."
Otto chuckled, finding that more amusing than concerning."Interesting."
Bael lifted his head slightly, looking between them with a confused frown.
"Wait… the leader's a she?"
Otto didn't bother answering. Bael just sighed, placed his palm over his face, and went back to eating with the dead expression of someone whose brain had clocked out.
Maren slurped his noodles." Discuss with your boss what you want to do after," he said, wiping his mouth. "Bael's coming with me."
Bael froze mid-bite.
...
The interior lights flickered on with a soft hum as Bael settled into the passenger seat. Sleek black screens curved along the dashboard, the system still booting up, faint blue glyphs pulsing like a heartbeat.
In the back seat, Maren tapped on his wristband, syncing it with the car's interface.
Outside the open window, Otto stood with both hands on the roof, running his palm across the polished surface as if inspecting a new toy.
"Can't you get one for me?" Otto asked, squinting at Maren like a disappointed father.
"No," Maren replied without looking up, still linking Natla to the vehicle's systems.
Bael didn't pay attention to either of them; he waited for Natla's voice to feed directions to the Dome, eyes fixed on the glowing dashboard as lines of code formed into the navigation map.
Otto let out a long sigh.
"It's your fault he ended up a spoiled brat," Otto muttered. "You should've raised him as I raised you. Though I bet he couldn't handle my training. He'd end up like that girl—what was her name… Kate?"
He snapped his fingers.
"No, no… that was the other one. Tina. The poor girl couldn't even survive three weeks. Waste of time, really—should've just quit earlier instead of dying like that."
Bael's fingers curled.
Before Otto could blink, Bael's hand flashed outward.A pawn materialised — then shattered into a black spear.
It shot straight through the window.
Thunk.
The spear buried itself in Otto's abdomen.
The three people standing near him — the former owners of the car Maren bought for double its price — recoiled instantly, faces twisting in horror.
Otto coughed once, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Then he chuckled.
"Still angry, I see…"
He gripped the spearhead and pulled it out in one smooth motion, white essence swirling around his hand as the wound stitched itself shut, disappearing without a trace.
"Bael," Otto said calmly, tossing the bloodied metal aside, "control your temper. If we fight now, you will actually die. We don't have enough white essence left for another round."
Before Bael could reply, Natla's voice chimed from the car speakers.
"Connection established. Route to the Dome prepared."
A holographic map lit up above the dashboard, projecting a clean blue path forward.
Bael let go of the spear — it dissolved into black smoke — then gripped the steering wheel.
He hit the accelerator.
The vehicle shot forward, tyres screeching as snow and sand blasted behind them, leaving Otto and the terrified sellers choking in a gust of icy wind.
Bael's eyes stayed fixed on the road, even though his thoughts were nowhere near it. Anger had burned out, leaving a hollow quiet inside him. His grip relaxed on the wheel.
He breathed out slowly.
His mind wandered back — to a slum choked with smoke and garbage, to dim, broken streetlights flickering over small figures huddled together for warmth.Dozens of kids, filthy, starving.
He remembered every face like it was yesterday.
When he finally spoke, it was barely a murmur.
"…They were weak."
Bael glanced at the rearview mirror.
Maren sat in the backseat, half-slouched, scrolling through the car's holographic browser with one hand while the other tapped absently against his knee. His expression looked bored — almost lazy — until he noticed Bael watching him.
Without looking away from the screen, Maren answered the unspoken question.
"Seems like the Awakened Terrorists who destroyed the parking levels didn't get a picture taken for the headline."He closed the tab with a flick of his finger.
Bael snorted. "That's good. I didn't have my best face anyway."
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the low whistle of the wind outside.
Bael's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
He looked into the mirror again.
"…Who are you?" Bael asked, suspicion tightening his voice.
Maren fell back against the seat, arms loose, posture relaxed like he was finally comfortable.
"Who else but your master?" he said.
Bael opened his mouth to retort, but Maren continued, unhurried.
"The second shadowed son of a father who's been missing for almost eight years, son of a mother who died giving birth, kept hidden since that birth, and the youngest of four siblings, which basically makes my family harder to understand than a woman's thoughts. And you'd remember the rest: a brat with no emotions, easy to take advantage of by maids who didn't know what family I belonged to but definitely knew I had money in my pockets. I once tried choking a dog because it seemed happier than me — and yes, it was a husky. So… is that enough?"
Bael stayed silent, listening to information only possible for Maren to know, especially the last part, since only he was there with Maren when it happened.
His mouth stayed open for a moment, as if he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words.
"So you've been acting all along too?" Otto muttered, rubbing the dried blood at the corner of his lip. "Fool your closest before your enemies, or something like that?"
Maren leaned back, arms loose, tone casual."Something like that."
Bael didn't bother responding. He set the car to automatic, the wheel shifting on its own as navigation took over. Only then did he twist in his seat to face Maren directly.
"Hybris may have let us go now," Bael said, voice low, "but she definitely wants you for reasons I don't know. But—" he exhaled through his teeth, "the point is, all this has nothing to do with me."
His hand lifted.
A bishop piece flickered into existence — then shattered instantly, reforming into a single-sided axe. Its curved edge gleamed under the passing streetlights, the reflection cutting across Maren's face.
Calm. Completely unfazed.
Bael angled the weapon, his arm steady.
"I may not have any teleports left," he said, "but I still have my weapons. So tell me…"
The blade hovered inches from Maren's skull.
"…what's stopping me from leaving?"