Heyo pushes himself upright. Slowly. His breath still chopped. His back cracks in protest.
But his legs hold.
Beside him, Nora stands. Human again. No flames. No armor. Just… her.
Silent. Head down. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she's afraid she might fall apart if she lets go. Her skin still carries a faint afterglow from her awakening. Invisible to the eye—but Heyo feels it. That kind of energy never disappears.
It sleeps.
It waits.
The silence around them isn't peaceful.
Not after what just happened.
And yet—that silence is broken.
By footsteps.
Two silhouettes move through the dust. Slow. Controlled. Their backs straight, unshakable. Fortuna and Aris. They walk over the debris like it's nothing more than sand. As if the collapse of an entire slum is just a stage prop.
Heyo narrows his eyes.
He recognizes that kind of walk.
That looseness.
That emotional emptiness wrapped in casual posture.
Kaïro.
He steps forward as if the world has never laid a finger on him.
His light-gray hair—almost silver—floats lightly with each stride, messy but effortlessly beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't care to be admired. His hood is white, embroidered with a black hourglass on the side. Strands fall over his face, partially shadowing his tired eyes. A discreet, assumed nose piercing catches the light.
Those eyes.
Pale blue. Translucent. Worn-out.
Like two stagnant pools that forgot how to reflect the sky.
They drift over Fortuna and Aris with the calm indifference of someone who has killed more times than he's spoken.
His hands stay buried in the pockets of his navy pant-shorts. White sneakers brush against the rubble.
He emerges from the wreckage without haste.
He looks at them. Measures them.
Then drops a question—a casual one, as if he were asking the time in a grocery line:
"Are you the cause of this mess?"
Fortuna's brow tightens. A chill runs down her back.
Not fear. Instinct.
Aris clenches his fists. He already knows.
Kaïro is not like the others.
He is not here to talk.
"And if we are?" Fortuna asks, voice level.
Kaïro barely lifts a shoulder.
"Then I'll kill all of you."
Simple. Clean.
Aris inhales deeply. His answer is calm. Painfully calm.
"I understand your anger. We'll fix what we broke.
But we… we can't die yet."
Kaïro pulls his hands out of his pockets.
Slowly.
No tension.
No hostility.
Which somehow makes it worse.
"Very well," he says.
"Let's verify that together."
⸻
The world stretches.
The air thickens.
As if every molecule suddenly tenses.
Fortuna and Aris don't hesitate.
They charge.
Perfect synchronicity.
Opposite angles—one sharp, fast, precise; the other direct, overwhelming.
Kaïro doesn't move.
He waits.
Their fists close in.
Targeting his jaw.
Impact guaranteed.
But—
Time does not obey.
It slows.
Not fully—just enough to turn force into softness.
Their fists touch his skin like a breeze.
Gentle. Weightless.
Kaïro blinks.
Then exhales, almost bored:
"Is that all?"
There's no mockery.
No anger.
Just emptiness.
Aris' heart seizes.
Fortuna grinds her teeth—she leaps back, searching another angle.
Kaïro doesn't need to step away.
He moves.
His foot drives into Aris' stomach—clean, precise.
The thud is sickening.
Aris folds.
Before he even groans, Kaïro pivots—his elbow smashes into Aris' spine with surgical brutality.
Aris collapses. Breath stolen. Movement gone.
Fortuna screams inwardly. She launches herself—her foot slicing the air toward Kaïro's temple.
But he isn't there.
He slips past her attacks effortlessly.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just… aware.
As if her muscles announce their intent seconds before she moves.
She grows furious.
She strikes. Again. And again.
Punches. Feints. Palms. Sweeps.
Her movements a fluid, furious dance—
—and he weaves through them like an insolent shadow.
"Your blows are weak."
A statement.
Not an insult.
Fortuna pauses half a second—her pupils narrow. Her energy spikes.
"Then stop dodging, pretty boy," she snaps.
Her playful smirk is gone. What remains is rage—pure, sharp, electric.
Kaïro doesn't smile. He tilts his head, voice level:
"You'll hit me.
You just won't hurt me."
"Yeah? Watch me break your little ability, you arrogant jerk."
That's when he activates it.
His Zone.
Time distorts.
Air thickens.
Everything within a certain radius becomes heavy, slow.
His armor.
Fortuna charges.
Her fist slices the air—
Enters the Zone—
—and does not slow down.
Kaïro doesn't understand in time.
Her punch slams into his jaw.
His head whips around.
Saliva and blood scatter.
He staggers.
A single step.
But a step nonetheless.
Silence falls.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Kaïro touches his cheek.
Sees the blood.
Impossible.
His mind races.
She is weaker.
Her output is mediocre.
Her control sloppy.
So how…?
His Zone worked.
He felt it activate.
Yet her punch bypassed it—as if probability itself bent around his power.
As if her will refused the rules.
He grits his teeth.
This girl… I need to be careful.
Fortuna wipes her knuckles on her shorts, eyes gleaming with feral triumph.
"Well, Mr. Arrogant… did I scratch you a little?"
Kaïro stays silent.
Confusion clouding his usual emptiness.
He straightens slowly.
Wipes the blood from his lips.
"Fine," he admits.
"You're not as weak as you look."
Fortuna grins.
A real grin this time—sharp and hungry.
"So how about we play a game?"
Kaïro doesn't smile.
He steps back.
Three steps.
His instincts scream.
No. Not a game.
Don't say yes.
Don't answer.
She's a precipice.
He comes from a world where children survive by sniffing danger before they learn to walk.
And every survival instinct he has—those carved into his bones since birth—react to her like she's death wearing a smile.
He thinks:
If one word from me can change the outcome…
then she's not fighting me.
She's gambling with the universe.
He won't speak again.
Not before he understands.
Fortuna watches him with the eyes of a player about to roll her favorite dice.
She clenches her fist—energy gathers, vibrating, pulsing.
Not rage.
Not fun.
Threat.
Kaïro reacts.
He lifts his hand. Energy crackles.
His Zone reforms—stronger, denser.
This time, he waits.
Fortuna snarls:
"You don't wanna answer? Fine.
I'll crush you anyway, brat."
She charges.
Her fist crosses the barrier—
—and slows.
Suspended.
Helpless.
Soft.
Her knuckles tap Kaïro's skin without impact.
Kaïro smiles internally.
Confirmation.
He calculates instantly:
One punch landed. Two didn't.
Odds.
Gambling.
Chance.
Her power is Luck.
A concept that ignores logic.
Ignores physics.
Ignores his ability.
He cannot predict luck.
He cannot slow probability.
And that makes her dangerous.
More than he expected.
I need to kill her. Right now.
He raises his hand.
Energy condenses.
Sharp.
Fatal.
He freezes her, not just space.
Her body becomes a statue—trapped mid-breath.
He moves.
A clean strike to the neck—