Location: 30,000 feet above the East China Sea.
Transport: The Grey Goose (Smuggler Cargo Plane).
The cargo hold of the converted military transport rattled like a tin can filled with bolts. The air was freezing, thin, and smelled of unburnt kerosene.
There were no seats. The team sat on webbed cargo netting strapped to the floor.
David was asleep—or pretending to be—his head resting against a crate of illicit medical supplies, his bad leg stretched out stiffly. Isolde sat cross-legged near the cockpit door, stripping and cleaning her sniper rifle with the obsessive care of a mother grooming a child.
Ren was green. He clutched an air-sickness bag, his eyes squeezed shut as the plane hit another pocket of turbulence.
And Saya sat alone.
She had secured the cello case upright against the fuselage wall using cargo straps. She sat facing it, her knees drawn up, her back straight. She wasn't sleeping. She was staring at the black leather, watching for the slightest shift in position.
The "Cold Soldier" phase had set in like permafrost. Since leaving the tea house, she hadn't spoken unless it was tactical. Hungry. Tired. Enemy left. Enemy right. She had excised the grief from her voice, leaving only a flat, monotone efficiency.
"Hey," Ren whispered, cracking one eye open. "You okay, Saya?"
Saya didn't look away from the case. "I am functional."
"That's not what I asked," Ren said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You haven't slept in thirty-six hours. Even a Queen needs to recharge, right?"
"Sleep is dangerous," Saya said. "Dreams are distractions."
Ren shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot on the netting. "My dad... he told me stories about you guys. About the travels. Vietnam. France. America. He said Hagi used to play for you when you couldn't sleep."
At the mention of the name, Saya's eye twitched. Just a micro-expression, instantly suppressed.
"He played Bach," Saya said. "Cello Suite No. 1. It was his favorite."
"Was he good?" Ren asked. "I mean, really good? Or just 'good for a vampire'?"
Saya finally turned her head. Her eyes were dark, unreadable pools. "He was perfect. He didn't play the music. He... spoke it. It was the only time he ever really spoke."
She turned back to the case. "Now he is quiet. The dust has no voice."
Isolde snapped the bolt of her rifle back into place with a loud clack. She looked up, blowing a stray lock of platinum hair out of her eyes.
"Don't romanticize it, kid," Isolde said to Ren. "It's a body in a box. We're hauling a corpse across international borders to stop a science experiment. Keep it grounded."
Ren glared at her. "You have the emotional range of a teaspoon, you know that?"
Isolde smirked. "Emotions get you killed. Hesitation gets you killed. Hope gets you killed. I survive because I don't carry baggage." She gestured with her chin toward the cello case. "Unlike her."
Saya stood up. The movement was so smooth it barely registered. She walked over to Isolde, looming over the sniper.
Isolde didn't flinch. She looked up, meeting Saya's gaze. "Problem, Princess?"
"It is not baggage," Saya said. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it vibrated with menace. "It is my sword. It is my shield. And if you disrespect him again, I will open the airlock and throw you out."
Isolde held the stare for a long five seconds. She looked for a bluff. She didn't find one.
"Understood," Isolde said, looking back down at her rifle. "Just make sure you're that fierce when we hit the drop zone. We're crossing into the Siberian Exclusion Zone. It's not exactly a tourist destination."
"I know Russia," Saya said, looking at the frosted porthole window. "I remember the cold. It smells like blood."
Time: Six Hours Later.
Location: The Mongolian-Russian Border.
Temperature: -25°C (-13°F).
The landing was a controlled crash. The Grey Goose slammed onto a frozen airstrip that hadn't seen a maintenance crew since the Third World War. The plane skidded sideways on the ice, engines screaming in reverse, before shuddering to a halt in a cloud of snow.
The rear ramp lowered with a hydraulic groan.
The wind hit them instantly. It was a physical blow, a biting, screaming gale that cut through their coats.
"Welcome to the edge of the world," David shouted over the wind, pulling his fur-lined hood up. He grabbed his cane, wincing as the cold settled into his titanium hip joint.
They stepped out onto the tundra. The landscape was a monochromatic nightmare of white snow and black rock. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the Stanovoy Range loomed like dragon's teeth.
A vehicle was waiting for them—a massive, six-wheeled all-terrain rover with tracks instead of tires. It looked like a tank stripped of its turret.
A figure stood by the rover, wrapped in layers of wool and animal skins.
"David!" the man shouted, his breath pluming in the air. "You look like a frozen corpse!"
"Yuri," David grunted, shaking the man's gloved hand. "You got the transport?"
"I got it," Yuri said, eyeing the group. He looked at Saya, who was standing in the snow wearing only her thin school uniform jacket and Kai's leather coat, the cello case strapped to her back. "She is going to freeze to death in ten minutes. Is she the package?"
"She's fine," David said. "She runs hot."
"Get in," Yuri waved. "The heater works. Mostly."
They piled into the rover. It smelled of diesel and wet dog, but it was warm.
As they rumbled north, crossing the invisible line into the Exclusion Zone, Ren pulled up the map on his tablet.
"Okay," Ren said, his teeth chattering. "According to the encrypted files, the Chimera facility is called 'The Citadel.' It's built on top of an old Soviet research bunker, Site 51."
"I know Site 51," David said darkly. "Red Shield tried to raid it in the 90s. We lost three teams. It's built into a mountain. One way in, one way out."
"And that's where the machine is?" Saya asked. She was staring out the window at the endless white wasteland. The landscape triggered flashes of memory—a burning village, a train derailment, Hagi carrying her through the snow in 1918.
"Yes," Ren said. "The 'Resonance Chamber.' If the schematics are right, it's deep underground. Level 10."
"We need a Trojan Horse," Isolde said, cleaning the fog off the window. "We can't breach the front door. They'll have sensors, automated turrets, maybe even those Synthetic Chevaliers."
"I am the Trojan Horse," Saya said. She turned from the window. "We stick to the plan. I surrender. They take me inside."
"And us?" Isolde asked.
"You are the hunters," Saya said. "When they take me, they will be distracted. They will want to process the Queen. That is when you breach."
"It's risky," David muttered. "Once you're inside, you're cut off. No comms. No weapons."
"I have a weapon," Saya said, patting the cello case. "They won't separate me from it. They want the dust as much as they want me."
"And if they open it?" Ren asked. "If they find the sword?"
"Then I kill them," Saya said simply. "From the inside out."
Location: 50 Miles South of the Citadel.
Time: Nightfall.
The rover broke a track.
It happened with a loud BANG and a grinding screech. The vehicle slewed sideways into a snowbank.
"Bozhe moi," Yuri cursed, slamming the steering wheel. "The axle is sheared. We are grounded."
"Can you fix it?" David asked.
"In a shop? Yes. Here, in a blizzard?" Yuri shook his head. "No. We walk."
"Walk?" Ren squeaked. "It's fifty below zero!"
"Then walk fast," Isolde said, kicking the door open. "Grab your gear. If we stay here, we freeze. If we move, we might only freeze a little bit."
They abandoned the rover. The trek was brutal. The snow was knee-deep.
Saya took the lead. She didn't seem to feel the cold. Her Chiropteran metabolism was burning high, generating heat.
Ren struggled. He fell behind, his breathing turning into a wheeze.
"Ren," Kai's voice echoed in his memory. Watch her back.
Ren gritted his teeth and pushed forward, but his foot caught on a buried root. He pitched forward, face-planting into the snow.
"Ren!" David called out, turning back.
Ren tried to stand, but his legs were numb. "I... I can't. It's too cold."
A shadow fell over him.
Saya stood there. She looked down at him, her face impassive.
"Get up," she said.
"I can't," Ren chattered. "Just... leave me. I'll catch up."
"Get. Up." Saya reached down. She didn't offer a hand; she grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him onto his feet with effortless strength.
She leaned in close. Her eyes were glowing faintly red. Ren could feel the heat radiating off her skin. It was like standing next to a furnace.
"Hagi carried me," she whispered, her voice fierce. "Through snow deeper than this. For three days. He didn't stop. He didn't complain. He just walked."
She shoved Ren forward. "You are Miyagusuku. You don't quit. Move."
Ren stumbled, but the heat from her brief contact seemed to jump-start his system. He looked at her back—at the black cello case covered in frost.
"He carried you?" Ren asked, breathless.
"Yes," Saya said, not looking back. "He was my legs when I couldn't walk. Now... I have to walk for both of us."
She adjusted the straps of the case.
"Keep moving," she ordered. "If you stop, you die. And I need you to open the doors."
They marched on.
Hours later, they reached the ridge.
Below them, nestled in a valley carved out of the ice, lay the Citadel.
It was a monstrosity of concrete and steel, illuminated by harsh floodlights. High walls topped with energy fences ringed the perimeter. In the center, a massive ventilation tower spewed steam into the night air.
"There it is," David said, leaning heavily on his cane. "The Lion's Den."
Isolde raised her scope, scanning the walls. "Heavy guard presence. Drones. Snipers. And... damn. Look at the gate."
Ren pulled out his binoculars.
At the main gate, two figures stood guard. They weren't human. They were massive, hulking beasts in armor, standing seven feet tall. Their arms were too long, their posture hunched.
"Synthetic Chevaliers," David confirmed. "Type-Beta. All muscle, no brain. But tough as tanks."
Saya stared down at the fortress. Her hand went to the cello case.
"Ren," she said. "Is the frequency emitter ready?"
Ren nodded, pulling a small device from his pocket. "It replicates the Queen's distress signal. It's like ringing the dinner bell."
"Good," Saya said. She began to unbutton Kai's heavy leather coat. She let it drop into the snow, standing only in her thin, tattered school uniform. The cold wind whipped her hair, but she stood tall.
"What are you doing?" Ren asked. "You'll freeze!"
"I need to look weak," Saya said. "I need to look like a refugee. A lost girl coming home."
She turned to David. "Take position in the tree line. When they take me inside, wait for the signal."
"What's the signal?" Isolde asked.
Saya looked at the Citadel. Her eyes burned red.
"When the lights go out," Saya said. "That is the signal."
She turned and began to walk down the slope, alone, toward the lights of the enemy fortress. She dragged the cello case behind her in the snow, leaving a long, deep furrow in the white—a scar on the earth leading straight to hell.