Chapter 111 — Echoes of the Past, Faces of the Future

  Waking in Novastra

  Morning sunlight crept through the slatted windows of the War Rabbit Guild quarters, cutting pale bars of gold across Seven’s bunk. The warmth barely soaked through—winter clung stubbornly to the city’s bones.

  Seven woke slowly.

  The first thing he registered was the weight that wasn’t there—his missing arm.

  A phantom heaviness that made his ribs ache, and his mind flickered back to snapping metal, wyvern claws, and the numb cold of the mountain cave.

  He exhaled sharply, grounding himself.

  Fluffy’s bunk was empty, neatly made. A carrot stalk sat on her pillow like a joke only she would leave after a near-death experience.

  The barracks hummed with life beyond his door: armor straps tightening, boots stomping, laughter, groans, and the ritual morning complaints of warriors gearing up.

  Seven swung his legs over the side of the bed. His torso tugged painfully at the bandages beneath his shirt. The broken remains of his bionic arm sat arranged on the nightstand like a shrine to failure: torn wiring, bent plates, scorched circuitry.

  He picked up the main component with his remaining hand.

  Cold.

  Silent.

  Accusing.

  “…Guess we’re back to square one.”

  He set it down. Something in him felt almost relieved by the honesty of the damage.

  Miss Hopps had put him on strict medical downtime.

  “Three healing sessions. Minimum,” Rhea had said, tapping his ribs with a healer’s authority.

  So Seven wandered the Guild halls instead, acutely aware of each glance thrown his way.

  Not hostility.

  Respect.

  Curiosity.

  Rumors of the “human who killed two Wyverns” seemed to have spread faster than he’d recovered.

  He found himself drifting toward the front desk.

  Lola appeared moments after he rang the bell—ears perked, clipboard tucked under her arm, expression already warm.

  “Seven! Miss Hopps said you’d be stopping by.”

  She slid a stamped slip of parchment across the counter.

  “Permission approved. You’re cleared to visit Yumi—just don’t run, jump, or start any more fights. Rhea will have my ears.”

  Seven gave a tired grin.

  “No promises, but I’ll aim for good behavior.”

  Lola shook her head, smiling as he headed toward the exit.

  Novastra Streets

  Novastra breathed differently after a snowfall.

  Steam curled from chimneys. Vendors set up stalls beneath canopies lined with frost. Children chased each other across frozen courtyards, and Aether lamps flickered faintly under the strain of the weakening barrier.

  Seven walked slowly—his remaining shoulder heavy with the Nameless Wing rifle—but the peace soothed him. It reminded him of something he couldn’t fully grasp, some half-memory of normalcy.

  He followed the familiar route to Yumi’s workshop.

  A sign above the door:

  Yumi’s Tinkery — “Aether Prosthetics & Arcane Limbs”

  Inside the Workshop

  A bell chimed as Seven entered.

  The air smelled of oil, ozone, and burning metal. Gears and Aether coils hung from the walls. Sparks crackled at the far bench where Yumi hunched over a glowing, half-assembled prosthetic.

  “’Bout time,” she muttered without looking up. “I was starting to think you died again.”

  Seven glanced at the workbench.

  The prosthetic was larger. Heavier. Reinforced.

  A new arm—the next step in a long road.

  “Tell me that’s for me.”

  Yumi snorted. “Who else breaks my work faster than I can build it?”

  Before Seven could reply, movement in the back of the workshop caught his eye.

  A girl stepped forward—quiet, small-framed, chestnut hair pulled into a soft braid. She clutched a notepad like a shield.

  Hazel eyes lifted to meet his—

  And the faint glow at her collarbone flared.

  20

  The number pulsed once.

  Twice.

  Seven’s own 07 warmed against his skin in response.

  The girl stiffened, hands trembling just enough for him to notice.

  Yumi clicked her tongue.

  “Right. Seven, this is Rose. My new apprentice. Try not to scare her.”

  Rose bowed her head hurriedly.

  “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. Your number just… reacted to mine.”

  Seven blinked.

  “Yours?”

  Rose tugged down the edge of her scarf, revealing the delicate amber glow of 20 etched into her skin.

  She whispered:

  “I’ve never met another like me. Other then my friends.”

  Seven swallowed.

  Neither had he—not since Yuri… Greg… Jasmine…

  His heart tightened.

  “You’re… like me too but as others call us anomaly humans,” he murmured.

  Rose nodded nervously. “Yumi said it’s better if I stay quiet about it. People get… uneasy.”

  Her fingers fidgeted behind her back.

  Her voice was small but steady.

  “I want to help with your arm, if that’s okay. Yumi says I’m good with mana-conductive wiring.”

  “Better than me,” Yumi muttered. “Don’t let the shy act fool you—girl’s a prodigy.”

  Seven managed a small, genuine smile.

  “…It’s more than okay, Rose.”

  The glow on both their numbers steadied—two fragments of a mystery finally standing in the same room.

  The workshop hummed with quiet mechanical rhythm as Seven settled into the reinforced chair beside Yumi’s main workbench. Tools hung neatly across the walls like instruments in an operating room. Steam hissed softly from mana-conduction pipes overhead, warming the air against the city’s cold.

  Rose stood beside him with a tray of precision tools balanced carefully in her hands.

  “Um… sit straight, please,” she said gently.

  Seven adjusted his posture as she moved closer. Her hands trembled at first—but steadied the moment work began, professionalism taking over instinct.

  She brushed aside the protective cloth covering the connection point at his shoulder.

  Up close, the damaged socket looked worse than Seven expected—metal torn, neural ports blackened, filaments frayed like snapped nerves.

  Rose leaned in, eyes narrowing with focus.

  “The socket’s worn,” she murmured, tracing a faint crack with her gloved fingertip. “And the neural interface—see these microfractures? That means the mana current was pushed past its tolerance. Way past.”

  Yumi didn’t look up from the other bench, but snorted loudly.

  “That’s what happens when someone treats my work like a battering ram.”

  Seven smirked.

  “Past couple weeks, it’s either fight or die. Not a lot of room for gentle handling.”

  Rose didn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

  She picked up a scanner and ran it along the interface port. Soft blue light washed across Seven’s skin, accompanied by rhythmic beeping.

  “Neural response is stable,” she reported quietly.

  “That’s good. Your body adapted to the implant better than anyone I’ve scanned.”

  “Lucky me,” Seven muttered.

  Rose hesitated—then added softly:

  “…You’re not the only one.”

  Seven blinked.

  “Meaning?”

  Rose’s fingers fidgeted with the tool handle.

  “You’re one of many anomaly I’ve met. The others… the ones the Guild rescued… they were like me. Numbered. Human. But they weren’t fighters. They came from different situations.”

  He remembered 76.

  His words.

  His warning.

  “The Guild saved five of us.”

  Seven exhaled slowly.

  “So it was true.”

  Rose nodded.

  “Most left the Guild already. The Peace Council found them work inside the city. I was lucky enough to be sent here… to Yumi.”

  Yumi scoffed without turning.

  “Sent to me because she nearly blew up a council lab trying to fix a mana converter. They said she needed hands-on supervision.”

  Rose flushed scarlet.

  “It… was just a small pop. A very controlled pop.”

  Seven chuckled quietly.

  The New Arm

  Yumi slapped a wrench down and marched over.

  “Alright. Enough reminiscing. You wanted to know about your new arm? Look.”

  She pointed to the half-assembled prosthetic resting in its cradle.

  The design was sleeker—tougher—etched with spiral runes that glowed faintly whenever ambient mana washed through the workshop.

  “This one isn’t just stronger,” Yumi declared. “It’s smarter. Built to drink mana instead of choke on it. It’ll pull energy from your bloodstream OR ambient sources. And maybe,” she jabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis, “just maybe, you’ll stop breaking it every time you sneeze too hard.”

  Seven lifted an eyebrow.

  “So… when do I get it?”

  “Three days,” Yumi said.

  “Four if he keeps talking,” Rose added gently.

  Seven cracked a smile.

  “Well… I’m off-duty. So I’m not leaving the city until Rhea stops glaring at me anyway.”

  “Good,” Yumi barked.

  “Because Rose is rebalancing your socket today, and if you get into another fight, I’m welding the next one permanently to your skull.”

  Rose laughed under her breath—the first genuine laugh Seven had heard from her.

  She bent closer, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ear as she inspected the last connection point.

  “You’ll feel pressure,” she warned softly.

  Seven nodded.

  Rose pressed a stabilizing rune.

  A pulse of warmth shot through the socket, then faded.

  Seven hissed through his teeth.

  Rose frowned.

  “Sorry… it needs to be reinforced on a deeper channel. That should settle with time.”

  Seven looked at her—really looked.

  Hazel eyes bright but cautious, posture small yet determined, the soft glow of 20 reflected faintly across her scarf.

  “You’re good at this,” he said quietly.

  She stiffened.

  “R-Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rose’s cheeks flushed pink.

  Yumi slapped a screwdriver onto the table.

  “Don’t inflate her ego. I already have to drag her out from behind the supply crates when customers show up.”

  Seven grinned.

  Rose sputtered.

  The workshop felt lighter than it had in days.

  The Guildmaster’s office was unusually quiet.

  Only the soft scratch of Miss Hopps’ stylus broke the stillness as she hovered over a spread of aged documents and brittle photographic copies. The lamps cast a golden glow across the desk, flickering over a map far older than Novastra itself—an ink-faded relic salvaged from a ruined archive.

  A jagged symbol marked the northern frontier.

  EPSILON-9 RESEARCH FACILITY

  Pre-War.

  Off the grid even by old-world standards.

  Miss Hopps exhaled through her nose, ears lowering.

  “An ancient facility beyond the Aku border… excellent,” she muttered. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about.”

  Lola stood beside her, stacks of reports tucked under one arm. Her usual cheerful expression had thinned into something more cautious.

  “The City Council wants results, Miss Hopps. Lord Deogon says the barrier spire is degrading faster than projected. They believe Epsilon-9 might hold schematics or backup systems.”

  “Or unstable weapons,” Hopps replied dryly. “Or ghosts. Or something worse.”

  Lola didn’t argue.

  Ripper stood near the window, arms crossed, silhouetted by the morning light. His expression was unreadable—half thoughtful, half irritated.

  “If this place is as deep as the records say,” he grunted, “we’re walking into a tomb. Not a lab.”

  Miss Hopps set her stylus down with a sharp tap.

  “Which is exactly why I need a Howlcrest leading the expedition.”

  Lola checked her slate.

  “Raven’s squad is still three days out. Their last signal placed them near the Western Basin.”

  Hopps’ jaw tightened.

  “I hate waiting. But no one else has her qualifications. And Erik’s still across the continent assisting with the Kiba Clan mediation.”

  She muttered, “How I ended up with one Howlcrest and a mountain of Warrencrests, I’ll never know…”

  She flipped to the personnel availability list.

  Fluffy—present.

  Luro Thane—available.

  Arne—already deployed.

  Brink—busy with the engineering corps.

  Hopps rubbed her temples.

  “We’re stretched thin. And the snow leopards incident means Fluffy could use downtime, not another expedition…”

  Ripper stepped forward.

  “Speaking of humans.”

  He tapped a digital report.

  “Erik’s message said the rumors of more anomaly humans might be credible.”

  Miss Hopps paused.

  Her eyes drifted toward the file pinned to the edge of her desk—SEVEN.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The glowing number on his neck.

  The red mist incident.

  76’s madness.

  The rescued civilians Raven and Arne found living as ghosts in the outskirts…

  Every strange piece was adding up.

  Or maybe they were just adding pressure.

  “It hasn’t even been a year,” she murmured. “And yet everything’s changing. New threats… strange weather… hostile beast migrations… and now this.”

  She closed Seven’s folder with a soft thud.

  “Lola. Pull up Seven’s recovery status.”

  Lola tapped her pad.

  “Stable. Still healing, but conscious. Yumi’s fitting him for a new prosthetic—one designed around his mana output.”

  Hopps nodded once.

  “He’s too valuable to send. And too unpredictable. He’s sitting this one out.”

  Ripper gave a small grunt of approval.

  With decision made, Miss Hopps straightened her uniform and smoothed out the map.

  “Raven will lead the expedition once she returns. But we can’t afford to stall preparations.”

  Her voice sharpened.

  “Send word to Fluffy and two Burrowguards. I want them briefed within the hour. The expedition departs in three days—weather permitting.”

  Lola scribbled notes at lightning speed.

  “And alert Lord Deogon,” Hopps added. “Tell him the War Rabbit Guild accepts the assignment and will escort his engineers to Epsilon-9.”

  Ripper exhaled, long and slow.

  “Let’s hope,” he muttered, “that whatever we find up there actually helps… and doesn’t start a war.”

  Miss Hopps didn’t answer.

  She stared at the old map, one ear twitching with unease.

  Ancient tech.

  Failed barriers.

  Disappearing humans.

  Rising beasts.

  Something was shifting in the north.

  And she could feel it in her bones.

  Lord Deogon — City Hall

  The office of Lord Deogon felt less like a chamber of leadership and more like a bunker built from parchment and responsibility.

  Stacks of reports, half-signed decrees, and copies of incident logs—red mist outbreaks, W.M.B. migrations, border skirmishes—covered every flat surface. The soft thrum of the city’s weakening barrier pulsed through the stone walls, each flicker a constant reminder of how fragile Novastra had become.

  Deogon pressed two fingers to his brow.

  “Without the War Rabbit Guild, we wouldn’t have survived these last weeks…”

  And it was true. The red mist incident alone should’ve crippled the city. The Guild’s rapid deployments had saved districts that the military barely reached in time.

  He signed another document, stamping it with the Deogon crest.

  A topic he had avoided for weeks now sat at the top of the pile:

  THE ANOMALY HUMANS.

  Seven. (07)

  Rose (20).

  The rescued civilians.

  And rumors—still unconfirmed—of more.

  General Rorik had fought tooth and nail to have them exiled.

  But the red mist changed everything.

  So did Seven’s actions.

  Deogon muttered under his breath:

  “Any man who protects our citizens at the cost of his own life isn’t a threat. He’s an asset.”

  Rorik had finally, grudgingly conceded.

  The humans would stay.

  But with limited rights.

  No citizenship.

  No travel outside Novastra without Guild oversight.

  A compromise.

  A fragile one.

  A gentle knock broke his thoughts.

  His wife peeked in, her silhouette soft against the office lanterns.

  “You’re still working,” she sighed, ushering their two children inside.

  The youngest tugged on his coat.

  “Father, are the newcomers staying?” the boy asked.

  Deogon nodded tiredly.

  “For now. Under strict supervision. Rorik has agreed.”

  His wife adjusted the old portrait of the city's founders—the first Adrianus Deogon, a hero who protected the city's construction, the Rorik line, and the Elara bloodline—each a legendary survivor of the first war two centuries ago.

  “We’ve always been a city of strays and second chances,” she reminded gently.

  Before Deogon could answer, a rabbit attendant hurried in.

  “My lord—Guildmaster Hopps has accepted the expedition assignment.”

  Deogon stood immediately.

  “Good. Prepare the engineers. This isn’t a mission we can afford to delay.”

  He kissed his wife’s forehead, patted his children’s shoulders, and strode out.

  The deadlines were closing in.

  And the world outside their walls was changing faster than any of them were prepared for.

  Seven — Yumi’s Workshop

  Rose tightened the last binding screw with delicate precision.

  “The socket survived more punishment than I expected,” she murmured, scanning the exposed skeletal anchor grafted into Seven’s shoulder. “But the neural lattice is… strained. I’m reinforcing it.”

  Yumi hovered nearby like a disgruntled hawk.

  “That’s what happens when you put prototype limbs through suicidal combat,” she grumbled.

  Seven smirked faintly.

  “Past couple weeks have been… a lot.”

  The new arm sat on the workbench—half-assembled, sleek, runed.

  A vast upgrade from the older models.

  “Three more days,” Yumi said. “Maybe four. I’m designing this one around your mana capacity. It won’t burn out when you push those weird techniques of yours.”

  Rose flinched at Yumi’s phrasing, then offered a timid smile.

  “We’ll make sure it fits.”

  Seven studied her—chestnut hair, hazel eyes, the faint luminescence of her number 20 peeking from beneath her scarf.

  Another human.

  Like him.

  “Hey,” he said awkwardly, “are you free later? It’s just—uh… the first time I’ve met someone like me in months.”

  Rose froze.

  Yumi answered for her.

  “She’s still on shift. And in training. You can bother her tomorrow.”

  Rose’s cheeks flushed pink.

  “Sorry… but maybe after work tomorrow?”

  Seven chuckled softly.

  “Yeah. Tomorrow works.”

  He paid the fee, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and stepped back into the street.

  The city lights shimmered along the canals.

  Everything smelled of frost and warm bread.

  It hasn’t even been a year… and I’m already fighting for people I barely understand.

  But that was life now.

  Fluffy & Hopper — Outside The Thirsty Gear

  Seven wandered past the guild district, enjoying the rare peace.

  Steam fogged the tavern windows as laughter spilled out.

  He paused at the sound of familiar voices.

  Fluffy burst out first, twin blades strapped to her back, tail flicking proudly.

  “I won that spar! Admit it!”

  Hopper followed, unimpressed.

  “You tripped. Over your own carrot.”

  Seven snorted.

  “Glad to see you two haven’t changed.”

  They turned sharply—then relaxed at the sight of him.

  “Seven!” Fluffy grinned. “You’re up and alive!”

  Hopper gave a lazy salute.

  “Barely, from what we heard.”

  Seven lifted a roasted tuber skewer a vendor had handed him.

  “Told you—tougher than I look.”

  The Warren Crest on his jacket earned him respectful nods from passing citizens.

  But the vendor—a kindly older woman with spectacles—leaned closer.

  “You take care, boy. The Aku staying quiet this long isn’t normal… The last time they acted like this, we almost lost the northern farms.”

  Seven blinked.

  The world was shifting.

  The threats evolving.

  And somewhere beyond the walls… Lady Lumin’s forces were watching.

  He finished the skewer, dusted his hands, and walked with Fluffy and Hopper toward the guild.

  Tomorrow his arm would heal.

  Soon the expedition team would mobilize.

  And somewhere in Novastra,

  a girl with a glowing number like his own was waiting for answers neither of them had.

  Returning to the Guild

  The trio walked the snow-dusted streets of Novastra in tired silence—each carrying their own thoughts from the long day.

  Seven’s shoulder still ached where Rose had repaired the socket. Fluffy talked with her usual energy, though her words were softer than normal. Hopper offered short replies, hands tucked behind his head as he walked.

  “Think they’ll bump us up to Burrowguard soon?” Fluffy asked, flicking her ear.

  “Not after that spar you lost this morning,” Hopper replied without looking at her.

  “I DID NOT lose—!”

  Seven snorted. “You absolutely lost.”

  Their laughter carried through the crisp evening air.

  As they entered the guild hall, the warm glow of the central hearth washed over them. Lola appeared instantly, clipboard in hand, ears perked.

  “Fluffy—Miss Hopps wants you in her office. Now.”

  Fluffy straightened in an instant. “Right! Warrencrest reporting!”

  “Hopper,” Lola continued, “barracks for you. Miss Hopps may need you for briefing support.”

  Hopper gave a lazy salute and headed down the left corridor.

  “And Seven,” Lola said gently, softening her tone, “infirmary. Rhea’s expecting you. No detours.”

  “Wasn’t planning any,” Seven replied.

  Fluffy’s Briefing — Miss Hopps’ Office

  Miss Hopps’ office was a clean battlefield of maps, reports, and tactical equipment. Lanterns cast a warm glow across the room, reflecting off the polished plaque on her wall.

  Fluffy entered with her usual swagger—then immediately stood at attention when she saw the grim set of Hopps’ jaw.

  “Burrowguards Grent and Sylvi will be joining you,” Miss Hopps began. Two stern veterans stepped forward and nodded to Fluffy.

  Hopps tapped a holographic map.

  “Your mission departs in three days. Destination: Pre-War Facility Epsilon-9. This route avoids Aku territory entirely—”

  A jagged path curved west, then north, circling the dangerous mountain ridges.

  “—but adds nearly a week to your travel time.”

  Fluffy leaned forward. “And Raven leads… right?”

  “Upon her return. Until then: preparations only. Engineering Corp will accompany you—Deogon’s personal request. The Jack Rabbit transport is fueled and ready.”

  Fluffy squeaked. “Can I drive?”

  “No.”

  Fluffy slumped dramatically.

  Hopps softened only slightly.

  “This mission is important. Potential barrier schematics. The council is… pressing us.”

  She didn’t have to say more.

  The city’s barrier had flickered again today.

  Everyone had seen it.

  Hopps dismissed them, though her gaze lingered on Fluffy.

  “No heroics,” she said quietly. “Bring everyone back alive.”

  Fluffy nodded once, more serious than usual, then left with the two Burrowguards.

  Seven – Infirmary

  Warm light rippled across the healing runes inscribed in the infirmary ceiling. Seven sat rigidly on the examination bed while Rhea’s glowing hands hovered over his ribs.

  “You’re healing faster than projected,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t mean you’re cleared for combat.”

  Seven groaned. “Didn’t think I’d be fighting wyverns again anytime soon.”

  Rhea raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s hope not.”

  A junior medic adjusted the magical matrix above him. The low hum vibrated softly through Seven’s bones.

  “You’ll rest the week,” Rhea ordered, pressing a last bandage into place. “No training. No guild yard. No hero routine.”

  “For the record,” Seven muttered, “I didn’t volunteer for that wyvern fight.”

  “I’m aware,” Rhea replied dryly.

  Right then, Fluffy burst into the room—still half in mission gear.

  “Seven! I’m second seat on the Jack Rabbit!”

  Rhea lightly smacked Fluffy’s arm with a rolled-up patient chart.

  “No jumping on the beds!”

  Fluffy darted around anyway, nearly knocking the tools over.

  “You have to see this transport, Seven! It’s huge! And loaded with Aether cells!”

  Hopper poked his head through the doorway.

  “Fluffy, leave him alone. He’s falling apart.”

  “HEY—!”

  Seven chuckled despite himself.

  Raven’s Return

  Far beyond the city gates, Raven and her Howlcrest unit crossed the snow plains in formation. Their black coats rippled in the wind, the magical crossbow at Raven’s hip still faintly glowing from use.

  She scanned the horizon once more.

  “Apex lairs clear. No migration toward the city. For now.”

  Her squad breathed out in relief.

  Raven only muttered:

  “Trouble never stays away for long. Let’s go home.”

  They moved as one, shadows cutting across the snow as they headed back toward Novastra—and toward Miss Hopps’ waiting assignment.

  Seven and Hopper walked the long corridor toward the chow hall, boots scraping against stone still wet from melting snow. The guild’s evening lanterns cast warm light across the pillars—comforting, but somehow heavy.

  Hopper kept glancing over.

  “You good?” he asked quietly.

  Seven shrugged with one arm. “Not dead. Which is apparently a high bar lately.”

  Hopper didn’t rise to the joke. His amber eyes held the same concern he’d kept since the Wyvern attack and the abduction.

  “You almost were,” he said. “Twice.”

  Seven stopped in the hallway. For a moment, the chill from outside clung to his skin again—the memory of the blizzard, the scream of the child, the smell of Wyvern breath.

  He exhaled.

  “Yeah… Look, none of that was my first choice. Getting kidnapped. Fighting another Apex. Running blind in a storm.”

  He paused. “It all feels… connected.”

  “You mean the red mist?” Hopper asked.

  “No,” Seven said quietly. “I mean… him. Seventy-Six.”

  Hopper’s ears tilted. Seven rarely said the number aloud.

  “If he’s causing these beasts to go feral,” Seven continued, “that’s on me. I should’ve stopped him in the first place.”

  “That wasn’t your responsibility,” Hopper said firmly. “You didn’t even know what you were fighting.”

  Seven didn’t answer. The guilt was carved too deeply.

  When they reached the chow hall, Seven froze mid-step.

  Raven stood at the center of the room—steam rising from her armor, black hair clinging to her cheek, crossbow slung casually at her side. Her squad members were already peeling off layers of winter gear, exhausted but alive.

  Fluffy spotted Raven first and nearly vibrated with excitement.

  “RAVEN! Welcome back!”

  Raven’s violet-gray eyes shifted toward her.

  “Your enthusiasm is noted, Fluffy.”

  Miss Hopps arrived seconds later, the heat of the hearth following her like an aura.

  “Report.”

  Raven removed her helmet with one fluid movement.

  “Wild Magical Beasts have migrated north. Apex signatures spotted, but none moving toward Novastra. No threats for now.”

  She tossed a blood-stained map onto Hopps’ desk as if dropping a dead enemy.

  Miss Hopps glanced at it, satisfied—though the frown between her brows didn’t soften.

  “Good work. …And sorry, Raven. You just got back, but you’re needed again.”

  Raven only nodded. “Mission parameters?”

  “Escort and protection,” Hopps replied. “Human engineers. Epsilon-9 Facility. Barrier tech recovery.”

  Raven’s expression soured just slightly.

  “Escorting civilians through winter territory. Wonderful.”

  “They understand the danger,” Hopps said.

  “Do they?” Raven murmured.

  Fluffy puffed up with delight, her chest swelling with pride. “I’m coming too!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  Raven glanced over, a hint of amusement in her voice as she replied, “No, Fluffy. You’re assigned to this mission. That’s a whole different ball game.”

  The Burrowguard pair groaned softly.

  Hopps cleared her throat.

  “Departure in three days. Full Howlcrest command under Raven. No fights with the Aku, no heroics. If anything looks wrong, you pull out.”

  Raven’s tail flicked once, sharply.

  “Understood.”

  The squad dispersed. Snow melted from their boots in silent rivulets.

  Seven finally sat down with a bowl of steaming stew. Hopper slid into the seat across from him, already halfway through his own plate.

  A young recruit rushed past, dropped a tray, then scrambled to gather scattered utensils.

  “Sorry—! Sorry—!”

  Seven helped him pick them up. When the recruit looked up, he froze as the glowing 07 on Seven’s neck pulsed faintly.

  “You’re the… the human,” the recruit whispered. “The one who fought the Wyvern.”

  Seven shrugged, returning to his meal. “That’s what they’re saying.”

  The recruit slid shyly into the seat beside him without asking permission.

  “Word is Raven’s taking the Jack Rabbit,” he said in a hushed tone. “They’re… heading north. Engineers say they might actually find the schematics for the barrier's construction. The real ones.”

  Seven swallowed another spoonful.

  “And the Aku?” he asked.

  “Oh, everyone knows that area’s crawling with Aku Titans,” the recruit whispered. “Even with peace talks going on, they watch everything. They barely tolerate humans stepping outside the gates.”

  A distant gong sounded from the western watchtower.

  Curfew.

  The recruit shot up from the bench.

  “I—I have to go. Good luck with your recovery! Um—sorry about the Wyvern wounds!”

  He bolted out the door, nearly tripping over another recruit.

  Seven sat alone in the dim glow of the hearth.

  The stew cooled in front of him.

  The hall emptied.

  Outside, Novastra’s barrier flickered again—weak, then weaker—until it was almost invisible against the night.

  Seven watched the fading glow in the reflection of his spoon.

  “Six months left…” he murmured.

  “Six months until the Aku want half the city’s Aether.”

  He stared at his missing arm.

  And at the empty space beside him.

  Fluffy’s laughter echoed faintly somewhere in the barracks wing.

  Hopper’s boots thudded down a hallway.

  Raven’s crossbow clacked as she cleaned it across the room.

  Seven exhaled slowly.

  For the first time since waking up in the snow months ago…

  he wondered if he finally had people worth fighting for.

  And worth protecting.

  Even if he wasn’t sure he deserved them.

  The guild hall had mostly gone quiet. Only a few ember-runes glowed along the walls, casting a muted green shimmer over empty tables. Snowmelt dripped from cloaks hung at the entrance, pooling on stone floors worn smooth by years of boots.

  Raven’s heavy steps echoed through the cavernous room.

  At ten feet tall, armor plating strapped over her form-fitting suit, she was impossible to miss—one of the two tallest rabbits in the entire guild, the other being Ripper.

  She grabbed a cold bowl of stew from the kitchen counter and eyed it with suspicion before taking a slow, deliberate bite.

  Seven was still seated near the dying hearth, the last ember-light flickering in his tired eyes. Raven’s ears tilted toward him before her gaze followed.

  She crossed the hall in long, quiet strides and dropped into the seat across from him.

  “Still here,” she said flatly, scraping her spoon against the bowl. “Thought you’d be asleep.”

  Seven shrugged.

  Raven finished her meal in a few efficient bites, wiped her mouth, and leaned back.

  “Miss Hopps assigned me the North run,” she said, tone unreadable. “Engineers. Ancient facility. Possible barrier tech.”

  She tapped twice on the wooden table—an old habit.

  “Long route. Weeks of travel.”

  Her gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, Novastra’s weakened barrier pulsed faintly—so faint it was almost invisible in the night sky.

  “If we don’t find something…”

  She let the sentence die.

  A faint creak echoed from the ceiling. Raven’s ears flicked, then settled.

  “You should rest,” she said, standing. The plates of her armor shifted with a metallic groan. “We leave in a few days.”

  She gave Seven a long, assessing look.

  “Try not to get into fights while I'm gone.”

  Then she vanished into the stairwell with almost silent steps.

  Seven stared at her empty bowl long after she left.

  A watchtower bell chimed midnight.

  Back to the Barracks

  The guild barracks were quieter than usual—dozens of members were still out on assignments searching for Aether or driving away displaced beasts. Only a handful of lanterns glowed along the hallway.

  Seven eased open the door to his shared quarters.

  Fluffy sat at her desk, maps spread around her like a colorful storm. She wore loose shorts and a simple tank, utterly unconcerned with modesty—something Seven had slowly gotten used to in this world. Raven was already asleep in her bed, breathing evenly.

  Fluffy jolted when Seven stepped inside, scattering half her notes.

  “O-Oh! Seven—”

  She grabbed a blanket, trying (and failing) to cover her exposed thighs.

  Her tail flicked nervously.

  “I was just… studying.”

  Papers flopped to the floor again. Raven muttered something about “noise” in her sleep.

  Fluffy leaned over her maps, ears twitching.

  “This is my first real high-tier mission,” she whispered. “Me, Raven, and engineers. That’s… big.”

  She slid a carrot stub toward him.

  “Want some?”

  Seven eased into his bunk, wincing as his ribs protested.

  “You look nervous,” he teased. “Where’s the bunny bravado?”

  Fluffy’s ears shot straight up.

  “B-Bravado?! I—I’m prepared! Not nervous!”

  She hopped to her feet, blanket falling, shorts riding up her toned legs.

  Hands on hips, she leaned toward him.

  “Miss Hopps handpicked me! Me! Not Brinley. Not Hopper.”

  A map slipped off the desk.

  Fluffy ignored it.

  “But the engineers think the facility might be… occupied,” she whispered. “By what? They won’t say.”

  Seven frowned. “You’ll be fine. Raven’s elite of the elite. And if anything seems off, I’ll—”

  “Sneak after us?” Fluffy guessed.

  “…Maybe.”

  “Ripper will have you mopping latrines for a month.”

  Seven smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Fluffy flopped onto her bed in a dramatic heap.

  “But… it’s kinda sweet,” she admitted, voice softening. “You worrying.”

  Her tail thumped once.

  “No one else does. Not really. Raven expects me to handle everything.”

  The confession hung between them—small but heavy.

  Outside, another watch bell echoed through the quiet guild.

  “Speaking of Ripper,” Fluffy groaned, “he wants you tomorrow. Something about ‘proper combat drills.’”

  “Great,” Seven muttered. “Exactly what I need when half my ribs are bruised.”

  Fluffy stretched, arching her back, blanket slipping as she buried her face in a pillow.

  “You should sleep too… Tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

  Seven moved to his side of the room, peeling off his outer clothes. Bandages wrapped his ribs tightly, still stiff with dried blood. He winced as he adjusted them.

  His bionic shoulder socket—cleaned and reinforced by Rose earlier—twitched once under the rune-light. The phantom ache of the missing limb pulsed down his nerves.

  He sat on the edge of his cot.

  The figurine—the rabbit and human carved together—rested on his nightstand. He turned it once between his fingers before setting it down again.

  Raven shifted in her bed, muttering “schematics…” in her sleep.

  Fluffy snored softly, hugging her blanket like a cocoon.

  Seven finally lay back.

  The cot creaked under his weight, bandages scraping uncomfortably.

  Through the narrow window, Novastra’s barrier flickered—weak, unstable, dim.

  Too dim.

  Seven closed his eyes, letting exhaustion drag him under.

  For the first time in days… it was peaceful.

  But the world outside was far from it.

  The Guild Courtyard — Dawn

  Three days passed in a blur.

  Now the morning sun cast pale gold across the War Rabbit Guild’s open yard. Frost clung to the wooden beams, and breath steamed from every mouth as preparations reached their final stage.

  The Jack Rabbit sat in the center of the courtyard—a bulky, long-range transport powered by a humming Aether core. Its reinforced plating gleamed beneath a shell of frost, runes pulsing across its hull.

  Brinley Gearwhistle practically vibrated beside it.

  The 7'5" engineer hopped from wheel to wheel, goggles pushed up into her messy silver hair streaked with cobalt blue. Her tech-rune tattoo glowed as she skimmed her fingers along the hull.

  “Feathers is jealous,” she muttered. “Look at this beauty!”

  Seven groaned from the sidelines.

  “Do not call it Feathers,” he warned, cradling his bandaged ribs.

  Brinley winked. “Oh, relax, tough guy. You’re not going on this trip anyway.”

  Her tone was light, but her hand lingered on the reinforced Aether manifold, double-checking stability.

  “Aether levels are balanced,” Brinley announced, lifting a clipboard.

  “Conduits are warm. Communication relay’s synced to Guild-Net. Heat runes stable.”

  Luro Thane—towering at 9'3", soot-stained, arms folded—stood behind her.

  He grunted.

  “Stop babying the damn thing. If the hull breaks, the jackasses riding it deserve it.”

  Brinley whirled on him. “If they die, that’s on YOU, forge-brain!”

  Luro snorted, adjusting the massive blacksmith hammer on his back.

  “It’s an escort vehicle, not a relic shrine. Armor’s layered in mana-forged composite. Storms won’t crack it. Aku claws won’t crack it. Unless they’re hopped up on what ever juice they eat.”

  Raven stepped up beside him, expression unreadable.

  “Good,” she said simply. “If the hull fails, I’m throwing you two at the first enemy we meet.”

  Brinley saluted dramatically. “Yes ma’am! Please throw him first.”

  Luro rolled his eyes.

  Four human engineers filed into the Jack Rabbit’s interior, clutching crates of diagnostic tools, scanners, and preserved parchment copies of the old barrier schematics.

  Their breath fogged in the cold air.

  One whispered:

  “First time leaving the city in years... You sure this is safe?”

  Raven answered without turning around.

  “No.”

  Fluffy bounced past him, carrot in mouth.

  “But you’ll be fiiiiine! We’ve got Raven!”

  Luro slammed the last hull panel into place with one powerful strike of his forge gauntlet. The rune sequences flickered, then glowed steadily.

  “That’s the last,” he said. “Hull checks out. Aether capacity at a hundred twenty percent.”

  Brinley clapped her hands.

  “And with my tweaks—thank me later—the communication line should hold even if you pass through mana storms!”

  Raven raised an eyebrow.

  “Should?”

  Brinley hesitated.

  “Uhhh... ninety-eight percent sure!”

  Luro muttered, “More like sixty.”

  Seven stood at the edge of the courtyard, wrapped in a warm coat, one arm missing, scars healed but aching.

  Fluffy spotted him immediately.

  She leaned out the window.

  “HEY! Try not to die while I’m gone!”

  “Try not to crash the vehicle,” Seven shot back.

  “No promises!”

  Raven gave Seven a silent nod — an acknowledgement of respect from one warrior to another.

  Ripper stepped forward, wearing his Foundercrown Crest.

  His voice boomed across the courtyard:

  “YOU ALL KNOW THE MISSION.”

  “West route. Avoid the Aku mountains. Avoid the old battlefields. Protect the engineers.”

  “If anything feels wrong—anything—YOU PULL OUT.”

  Fluffy swallowed hard.

  Raven placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “We come back alive. All of us.”

  The burrowguards echoed:

  “Aye.”

  The Jack Rabbit lurched forward with a deep magical rumble. Its wheels churned through the frost, kicking up snow as it rolled toward the gate.

  Seven exhaled, heart pulling tight as he watched Fluffy grin wildly from the window.

  Ripper crossed his arms beside him.

  “You’ll worry the whole time,” he said.

  “Probably.”

  “Good. Means you care. Now—” He tossed Seven a wooden practice sword.

  “Training grounds. Let’s see what that good arm of yours can still do.”

  Seven groaned.

  “Really? I just healed.”

  Ripper grinned savagely.

  “Rhea didn’t say a damn thing about mana training. Move your ass.”

  The Guild gates thundered open.

  The Jack Rabbit rolled out toward the endless white horizon.

  Somewhere far above them, unseen, Kinata and Lyra crouched on a ridge.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Noticing Seven’s mana wasn’t among the departing convoy.

  Their target remained within the walls.

  For now.

  After a grueling four weeks on the road, there’s a lot to unpack. They could have pushed harder, but out here, speed comes second to survival. Beyond the city limits, the landscape is littered with the threats of hostile clans and feral Primals, while the ever-watchful Gentlekin add another layer of tension. Their path was filled with perilous stops along the way, battling fierce storms and treacherous mountain ranges that made communication a nightmare. Navigating around apex predators and lurking Aku scouts turned into a test of grit and resolve, but they pressed on, keeping their spirits high despite the constant danger.

  By the time the Jack Rabbit rolled to a rumbling stop, the fog peeled back like curtains revealing something that absolutely did not belong in this dead wilderness.

  Not a ruin.

  Not an old bunker.

  A building.

  Intact. Warm. Functioning.

  Steel walls—smooth, unmarred, engineered with precision far beyond anything the region should support.

  Above the reinforced hatch, faded but unmistakable:

  SHELTER 17

  Raven killed the engine.

  Her jaw tightened.

  “…This wasn’t on any Novastra record. Not even the pre–war maps.”

  The four human engineers moved in first—scarves up, goggles fogging—fingers brushing the immaculate alloy.

  Grent—broad, tan-furred, gentle despite his size—pressed a palm to the wall.

  “No corrosion,” he murmured. “Composite alloy. Months old… maybe a year.”

  Sylvi—small, white-furred, her goggles glowing with scanning runes—traced a seam with the back of her claw.

  “Someone maintained this. Recently.”

  Fluffy hopped down last, twin blades clacking as she resheathed them.

  “One year old? Out here? Absolutely not. Even the gods wouldn’t build a house in this weather.”

  She reached toward the handle—

  click.

  The mag–lock disengaged by itself.

  Warm, filtered air spilled out.

  Everyone froze.

  Raven’s hand slid to her crossbow as she whispered a glyph. The whisper–coil rotated, locking into ready position.

  “That’s our first warning,” she said quietly.

  “Helmets on. No one wanders alone.”

  Inside the Shelter

  The air inside was startlingly warm—purified, clean, with a faint citrus sterilizer scent.

  Lights flickered overhead at half–output.

  Not dying.

  Conserving.

  The Shelter matched precisely what Seven once described:

  Cafeteria & rec hall ahead

  Six private dorms around a central corridor

  Storage rooms to the left

  No overturned chairs.

  No damage.

  No corpses.

  No signs of panic or violence.

  Just… paused.

  Sylvi knelt beside a vent, letting out a soft gasp.

  “Climate regulation’s still active. Someone shut this place down deliberately.”

  Raven rapped a knuckle against the wall.

  “…Then they left.”

  Recently.

  Very recently.

  The Cafeteria

  They gathered near the cafeteria entrance—everything intact, chairs arranged neatly.

  A tray sat abandoned on one table:

  A half–opened ration pack

  A cracked enamel mug

  Stains still fresh

  The humming generator beneath the floor was faint but steady.

  Fluffy wrinkled her nose.

  “So whoever lived here just… got up and left mid-snack?”

  Grent leaned over the rations, sniffing.

  “Packaging date’s recent. Definitely not more than a year.”

  Sylvi boosted her scanning lenses.

  “No dust on upper surfaces. Minimal settling. Someone maintained airflow until… maybe days ago.”

  Raven raised a hand.

  “Spread out. Slow. Clear every room.”

  Burrowguards moved to their posts, weapons raised.

  Fluffy darted toward a far shelf—

  —and froze.

  “…Raven?”

  Her voice cracked.

  “I… found something.”

  A picture frame lay facedown under thin dust.

  Fluffy lifted it gently and wiped the glass clean.

  Her breath caught.

  Raven strode over, boots echoing sharply, and the cafeteria seemed to fall silent.

  Inside the frame stood six humans, image crisp, colors unmarred:

  Yuri — hakama, twin swords, disciplined posture

  Jake — athletic build, archaic hockey jersey

  Greg — towering, warm smile, glowing tribal tattoos

  Jasmine — red curls, tartan skirt, illusion mist swirling

  Chris — lean, and young

  And Seven

  Seven, standing alive and whole:

  Two real arms.

  No scars.

  No exhaustion.

  No artificial plating.

  Unbroken.

  Fluffy’s ears drooped.

  “…He really was here.”

  Sylvi covered her mouth with trembling fingers.

  Grent whispered, “If this is Shelter 17… then Seven wasn’t the only one.”

  Raven’s eyes narrowed—not cold, but heavy with understanding.

  “Seven told me once he woke up in a shelter,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think we’d actually find it.”

  Her gaze sharpened.

  “And someone else has been living here since.”

  Six doors lined the hall, each with a glowing number:

  08 – Yuri

  12 – Jake

  32 – Greg

  100 – Jasmine

  800 – Chris

  07 – Seven

  Seven’s door sat slightly ajar.

  Fluffy swallowed hard.

  “Raven…?”

  Raven nodded and slipped inside first, crossbow at the ready.

  The room was intact:

  A neatly made bunk

  Old combat knife holster

  A meal tray with one portion eaten

  Dust lay over every surface except—

  The chair.

  Completely clean.

  Recently moved.

  Recently used.

  Raven’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “…He wasn’t alone.”

  Storage Room

  Sylvi and the engineers forced open the paneling to access inner circuits—something intentionally designed to be tamper–proof.

  The lights of the auxiliary command console flickered as power rerouted.

  Unreadable logs.

  Files locked.

  Damage minimal, but deliberate.

  Grent’s voice tightened.

  “If this shelter was active until days ago… who turned it off? And why leave it intact?”

  Raven powered the console down.

  “We camp outside,” she said.

  “No one sleeps in here.”

  Her eyes flicked to the photo clutched in Fluffy’s arms.

  “Not until we know who else walked these halls.”

  The group filed out one by one. Snow drifted through the open hatch.

  Fluffy lingered, hugging the photo tight to her chest.

  “Why didn’t he tell us…?”

  Raven stood in the doorway, the wind tugging her cloak.

  “Because he doesn’t remember,” she answered softly.

  “…Or he still doesn’t know if he can trust us.”

  A heavy snowflake fell onto the glass, melting over Seven’s younger smile—unscarred, untouched by this world’s cruelty.

  Fluffy whispered:

  “Then we’ll remember for him.”

  AGGGHH!

  The moment the photo slipped from Raven’s fingers, the scream cut through Shelter 17 like a blade.

  Not a battle cry.

  A death cry.

  Raven’s eyes sharpened instantly.

  “Fluffy. With me.”

  They bolted for the exit.

  The cold hit them hard—icy wind slashing across exposed skin.

  Snow swirled in frantic spirals, blowing sideways as if the world itself recoiled.

  And then they saw them.

  Three silhouettes stood beyond the fog—each wrong in a different way.

  The first Nekomata.

  Short. Compact. Red fur bristling like razor wire.

  Two short tails twitching in agitation.

  A permanent scowl set into his feline face.

  One hand casually wrapped around a burrowguard’s throat.

  The guard’s boots kicked helplessly, scraping the snow.

  The Second Nekomata.

  The woman in the center moved not at all—yet commanded everything.

  White hair draped down her back, fading to violet at the ends.

  Two elegant white tails curled around her legs like silk serpents.

  Her crimson eyes gleamed with recognition, curiosity… and hunger.

  Her presence alone pressed against Raven’s lungs.

  The last and the largest Nekomata.

  The last figure loomed behind them, massive and lumbering, lids half-closed.

  His mana radiated outward in heavy, oppressive waves.

  Every breath he took distorted the air.

  Soku’s grip tightened.

  The burrowguard managed one wet gasp before—

  CRACK.

  The sound echoed across the empty snowfield.

  The body dropped like a rag doll.

  Fluffy’s breath seized in her throat.

  Her fingers spasmed around her twin blades.

  Raven didn’t blink.

  But her heart did stutter when the red one spoke again.

  “Saya.”

  That name.

  Both Raven’s and Fluffy’s ears snapped upright.

  Because they had heard it before.

  In Seven’s nightmares.

  In his muttered words when jolting awake in cold sweat.

  In the way he clutched his missing arm.

  This was that Saya.

  The devourer.

  The monster who had ripped Seven apart and left him barely alive.

  The air warped around her as she stepped closer, voice soft, serene, and terrifying:

  "We only need to keep a select few alive—the four engineers are essential. As for the rest, we can afford to retain some of the rodents."

  Her gaze slid toward Raven.

  Then Fluffy.

  Then the engineers behind them.

  “And your human…”

  A pause—almost fond.

  “…is missing. Pity.”

  Raven raised her crossbow.

  A Whispercoil bolt loaded with perfect silence.

  She fired.

  The sound was nearly absent—just a faint flutter of mana.

  Saya lifted two fingers.

  SLIKT.

  She caught the bolt mid-air.

  Split it cleanly between her fingers.

  Let the halves drop.

  Raven’s blood ran cold.

  Fluffy felt true fear for the first time.

  Not from combat.

  Not from beasts.

  From knowing—

  They cannot win this.

  Sylvi’s voice rose behind them—cracking with terror.

  “I’ll call for backup! Cover me!”

  She sprinted for the Jack Rabbit.

  She never reached it.

  Sloth exhaled.

  The air bent.

  A crushing force slammed downward—snow exploding outward in a ring.

  The Jack Rabbit groaned, metal twisting under impossible pressure.

  Then—

  CRRRRUMPHH.

  The entire vehicle collapsed into the ground, crushed into a flattened heap of sparking scrap.

  Their only escape was gone.

  Sylvi flew backward, her breath stolen as gravity pinned her.

  Soku blurred—appearing beside her before she could scream.

  He pressed two claws to her throat lightly.

  “Quiet, little rabbit.”

  Raven moved to intercept—

  Her legs buckled violently.

  Fluffy hit the snow face-first, unable to rise.

  Sloth’s gravity magic dragged every joint downward, pulling at bone and blood.

  Raven gritted her teeth, veins pulsing as she tried to stand.

  She managed one knee.

  Then Sloth grunted lazily—

  —and she collapsed fully, crossbow skidding from numb fingers.

  Only Saya remained untouched by the chaos.

  Her steps were slow. Graceful.

  Almost disappointed.

  “You should have run.”

  She tilted her head.

  “But I suppose fate wished our paths to cross again… even without him present.”

  Fluffy’s breath hitched.

  Seven. I… I wish you were here.

  I said I had a bad feeling—and I was right…

  Tears threatened, but she held them back.

  A Warrencrest does not cry.

  Soku dragged Grent’s and Sylvi's limp bodies across the snow, tossing it at Saya’s feet like a trophy.

  She didn’t even look.

  “This should do for now,” she repeated quietly. “Alive.”

  Her eyes lifted.

  “Bring them.”

  Sloth exhaled.

  The gravity intensified—

  And the world went black.