Pandora Citadel – Inner Ring
The halls of Pandora Citadel were alive with tension.
Once, the citadel had been a place of quiet confidence—controlled chaos, deliberate madness guided by an eccentric yet absolute leader. Now, it felt like a coiled beast ready to tear itself apart.
Executives gathered behind sealed doors, voices low but sharp.
"This race is insanity," snarled Virex Molt, a senior executive whose ability allowed him to fracture space into jagged corridors. "Binding our loyalty to an unknown successor? I didn't survive this long to kneel to a stranger."
Across the chamber, Nyssa Kade folded her arms, eyes cold. "The contract is absolute. If the old man dies and the box is claimed, refusal means death."
Virex scoffed. "Then we make sure no outsider claims it."
A third voice joined them, calm, dangerous.
"Or," said Cassien Roe, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table, "we let outsiders thin each other out… and take the box ourselves at the end."
Silence followed.
Everyone in the room understood the truth.
Pandora wasn't unified anymore.
It was a nest of knives.
"And what of the old man?" Nyssa asked.
Cassien's lips curled faintly. "He already considers himself dead."
None of them noticed the surveillance crystal dim for half a second.
Someone had been listening.
Ashbourne Fringe – Ruined Transit Sector
Hope raised a fist.
The group stopped instantly.
Aira froze behind Seraphiel, fingers clutching the sleeve of his coat. Her eyes darted nervously across the broken concrete and overturned buses.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Hope didn't answer.
He crouched slowly, fingertips brushing the ground, golden eyes narrowing.
"Five," he said quietly. "No—six heartbeats. Concealed. Nervous."
Lyra blinked. "I didn't sense them."
"They're suppressing intent," Hope replied. "Badly."
Seraphiel's wings shimmered into existence. "Aira."
He stepped forward, golden light unfolding into a semi-transparent dome, enclosing Aira completely. The barrier hummed softly, isolating her from sound, pressure, and spiritual backlash.
"You'll be safe here," he said gently. "No matter what happens."
Aira swallowed and nodded. "Don't do anything reckless."
Hope didn't look back.
"I won't," he said.
That was a lie.
The ambush came from the rubble.
Six men. Armed. Awakened—low-tier, but desperate. Their eyes gleamed with greed when they saw Lyra and Seraphiel.
"Drop your weapons!" one shouted. "We just want the girl—"
He never finished.
Hope moved.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Precise.
He closed the distance in three steps, twin daggers flashing once.
The man's throat opened silently.
Blood sprayed—not wildly, but in a controlled arc.
Before the body hit the ground, Hope was already turning.
Second target—knee severed.
Third—wrist dislocated, dagger driven into the lung at an upward angle to collapse breathing without instant death.
Lyra stood frozen.
This wasn't the Hope she had seen in skirmishes.
This was something else.
The remaining three panicked.
One tried to run.
Hope threw a dagger.
It pierced the spine perfectly.
The man collapsed mid-scream.
The last two raised their weapons.
Hope looked at them.
No hatred.
No rage.
Only assessment.
Threat level: minimal.
Risk to Aira: unacceptable.
He advanced.
They broke.
When it was over, six bodies lay scattered across the rubble.
Not mutilated.
Not theatrical.
Efficient.
Final.
Lyra exhaled slowly. "…That wasn't normal."
Hope wiped his blade clean on a torn sleeve.
"It's efficient," he replied.
Seraphiel stared at him, expression unreadable. "You didn't hesitate."
"I never do," Hope said.
Lyra swallowed. "You didn't even enjoy it."
Hope paused.
"…No."
That was the most unsettling part.
Aira emerged from the dome as it dissolved, her face pale.
She looked at the bodies.
Then at Hope.
"…You protected me," she said softly.
Hope nodded. "Always."
Her voice trembled. "Even if it costs you everything?"
Hope met her gaze.
"Yes."
Seraphiel looked away.
Lyra clenched her fists.
They all understood now.
Hope wasn't chasing power because he wanted it.
He was sharpening himself into a weapon—
Because the world had already decided to use him.
Far away, within Pandora territory, a man stood before a wall of shifting projections.
Footage.
Reports.
Kill patterns.
"…Clean," he murmured. "Too clean."
He replayed Hope's movement frame by frame.
"No wasted motion. No emotional spike. No hesitation."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"A man like that doesn't need power to be dangerous."
He turned away from the screen.
"But give him the wrong incentive…"
The Pandora sigil rotated slowly behind him.
"…and he could become catastrophic."
Hope sheathed his daggers.
"We move before nightfall," he said. "Pandora territory is close."
Lyra glanced once more at the bodies. "Hope…"
He stopped.
She hesitated. "…When did you become like that?"
Hope didn't answer.
Aira took his hand instead.
And for just a moment—
His grip trembled.