Orange tinges splattered through the dust storm, the sun's sluggish glow obscured by a transient figure. Then it abruptly altered its flying path and darted toward my general direction, slowing down with a deliberate fluttered of wings as it landed on her sharp talons on top of the car's windshield beside me. Noticing Melody's dust-coated feathers through my bleary eyes, I caressed her warm body with the tips of my fingers. My lips curved into a slight smile as the gryphon let out a calming chirp, notifying me of our current predicament. I turned my head toward the scare footfalls drawing closer, mangled contours visible through the dense layers of gray powder. I squinted, unable to discern a thing.

"How about you get over your weeping and give me a much-needed hand," yelped the beast tamer, misery and raspy gasps prevailing his tone, "this guy's really, really heavy."

A horrible embarrassment enveloped me and flushed my face, but I ignored it. Other, more serious issues needed to be addressed. I should be relieved that someone from our party is still alive.

I pierced the smoggy curtain that separated us with rapid steps. "With what should I—" The raw bewilderment prevented me from finishing my sentence. I swallowed the words and choked on them after.

When their figures became apparent, I stopped dead in my tracks, comprehending why their figures moved so awkwardly. With one arm dangling over the newbie's shoulder, Logan's drained face brought me a whole different level of angst. Just like that, the bottom of my shoes remained glued to the street. The bloodstained cloth was recently torn off Lucas' shirt, no doubt about it. A drop of blood escaped through the sloppy bandage and splattered on the asphalt. Peeling my gaze off his fingers, or the lack thereof wasn't a notion I considered. The seasoned mercenary was to be on the verge of collapsing.

"Close your mouth already," Lucas instructed. "There is work to be done. We still have time to save him."

Agreeing wholeheartedly with his logic, I slipped beneath Logan's massive limb, alleviating some of my companion's burden as we sought cover in a nearby alley. Vital liquid remained smeared across ancient bricks and the edge of a rusted dumpster. Not ours, yet. The stench of rotten food wasn't something I'd like to comment on. Melody trailed shortly after us, well above the pandemonium of the Central Plaza.

"She sees someone"—the beast tamer's eyes blurred—"in the rumble."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Did you give him the clarinadryl I gave you?" We lowered Logan down as I spat that out.

Lucas only nodded.

"There." I reached for his phone and placed it on the ledge of a busted window beside us. "Now the artifact; give it to me."

A grunt emerged from below, loud enough to warrant my attention. I knelt and rested my hand on Logan's shoulder. He blinked as if he had just awoken from a nightmare. He smiled sheepishly, tapping my hand, and said, "Gray, you're alive."

"I am." I examined our leader, from his pale mug to his toes. He had to be treated and rest. "And you look like shit."

Logan snorted, clearly not amused by my deliberate joke. His eyelids bowed in anguish as he rotated his head with the last remnants of his energy. I stood there breathlessly and watched as the realization pounded him viciously. "Where's Eddie?" he inquired, the hope and innocence in his voice piercing through my ribs. "They grabbed him as well, so—"

"He's dead," I said, an acrid venom swirling violently and ravaging my stomach.

Lucas opened his mouth, as if to disagree with me about my declaration, and swallowed as I pressed him with my glare. "Edward is dead," I repeated, "and Mara is as well."

The mercenary's jaw trembled as he covered his face with his calloused hands. "It's all my fault," he lamented. "It's all—" The noise faded as his arms drifted by his sides. I put my finger on his neck, relieved by the fluttering pulse that assured me of his vigor.

"You lied," Lucas said.

"Stop sharing your senses with Melody"—I stretched my palm toward him, unable to conceal the rage in my tone for another second—"and just give me the fucking relic."

He drew the dagger from his belt and stared blankly at its empty runes. "I'm sorry, but it ran out of mana." That uncertainty irritated me even more. Rather than waiting, I removed it from his grasp, declaring, "It doesn't need any."

I proceeded through the cement ruins and heard a tuck; rocks slamming against one another. An arm poked out of the peculiar rumble, the casting operator evident on his wrist. I recognized the owner and loathed him for what he'd done. Still, not my goal.

Another tuck rang out.

Clutching the shaft of an arrow, he buried its very tip into the anomaly's belly and dragged it with purpose. He inserted his filthy nails into the hollow without hesitation or disgust. Blood splattered over his face and glasses, but he didn't seem to mind it. A giggle escaped from his lips; the epitome of madness, of a guy who had achieved success. As I watched, goosebumps spread down my skin. How could this be the person I've been fighting beside all along?

"There you are," he exclaimed in a ragged and joyful tone, hoisting a sphere high in the air in both filthy hands as if it were a trophy. Even its dirty surface couldn't conceal the cerulean swirl of mana that blazed inside—a mana core.

I kept my gaze fixed on the maniac, not wanting to lose a single detail. My face grimed as the heinous toxin in my gut churned through my veins, rapidly spreading to my heart. It begged to be poured out. I embraced it.

What's the meaning of this, Edward?