After all the students hopped off the massive shield and regained their footing, it shimmered briefly before shrinking back to its original size. The sleek black disk zipped through the air, flying back to Riku with incredible speed. He casually raised his arm, catching it square in his palm as if it weighed nothing. The effortless display left a lasting impression on the passing examinees, who stared up at him as he waved goodbye from the floating campus above, now a faint speck in the sky.
"Well, now what?" Ezekiel muttered, pushing his glasses up as he surveyed their surroundings. "Weren’t they supposed to show us to our dorms? Or was shoving us off a cliff their idea of guidance?"
"If you need your hand held for everything, you might as well drop out now," a sharp, authoritative voice rang out from seemingly nowhere. The group froze, heads swiveling in search of the source. Suddenly, a glowing halo appeared in the middle of their circle.
From the center of the halo, an arm emerged, gripping its edge. In one smooth motion, Ophelia pulled herself through the glowing ring as if it were a doorway, her golden-lined coat flaring slightly as she stepped forward. Once fully through, the halo floated back above her head, spinning slowly as if it were alive.
She crossed her arms, her piercing amber eyes sweeping over the group. "Just spread out with your respective teams," she commanded. "You’ll come across dorms eventually. If they’re unoccupied, claim one. If not… well, that’s your problem."
Without waiting for questions, Ophelia turned on her heel and walked past them, her presence as sharp and unyielding as her tone. The examinees exchanged uncertain glances before teams began to break off and scatter in different directions.
“Later, Yumiko!” Rayven called, giving a dramatic wave as she walked off with her team.
“Yeah! Let’s talk in class tomorrow!” Yumiko called back with a grin, waving just as enthusiastically.
Ajal’s attention drifted toward Molly, who trailed behind her team with her head low. She looked marginally better, though her sadness still clung to her like a heavy fog. As she walked away, Cassian glanced over his shoulder and caught Ajal’s eye. With a small, reassuring smile, he gave a thumbs-up.
Ajal hesitated, then returned the gesture.
“Hurry up, Ajal!” Jean called, his arm waving from the distance where Team Z was waiting. Ezekiel leaned impatiently against a tree, his arms crossed, his expression as sour as ever. Yumiko crouched next to Arc, chatting animatedly with a playful grin, while Arc stood with her usual dignified posture, ever the picture of composure.
Ajal turned to rejoin his team, but Ophelia stepped forward, blocking his path with an outstretched arm.
"Hold it," she ordered, her amber eyes locking onto him. She glanced past him at Team Z. "The rest of you, go on ahead. He and I need to talk."
The tension among Team Z was immediate. Jean, Yumiko, Arc, and Ezekiel bristled, readying themselves for a fight. Jean’s hand hovered near his pockets, Ezekiel adjusted his glasses with an icy glare, and even Arc tilted her head slightly in a subtle gesture of readiness. Yumiko, crouched one moment, was on her feet the next, her relaxed demeanor replaced with steely determination.
Ophelia rolled her eyes at their reaction, her voice laced with disdain. "Relax. If I wanted him dead, I’d have done it already. Not like you could stop me, anyway," she added, a sly, taunting grin curling her lips.
Yumiko took a step forward, her fists clenched. "You’ve got a lot of nerve—"
"It’s fine, guys," Ajal interrupted, his calm, confident voice cutting through the rising tension. He raised a hand to stop Yumiko. "I actually wanted to talk to her anyway." He shot a finger toward Ophelia, his expression unshaken. "Don’t worry, I can handle myself if she tries anything again."
Ophelia’s expression shifted briefly—first surprise, then annoyance—but her displeasure was betrayed further by the faint trembling in the ground beneath them, the vibrations small yet ominous.
Yumiko frowned, but took a reluctant step back, muttering under her breath. Jean sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a wary glance at Ophelia. Arc gave Ajal a measured look before nodding and turning to walk away. Only Ezekiel lingered for a moment, his sharp gaze flitting between Ajal and Ophelia before he adjusted his glasses again and joined the others.
As Team Z disappeared down the path, a tense silence settled between the two Inheritors. Ophelia remained still, arms crossed, her gaze locked onto Ajal like a hawk sizing up its prey. Her posture was perfect, exuding authority and control, but there was a palpable sharpness in her stillness.
“So,” Ajal started casually, rolling his shoulders back as though the tension didn’t faze him, “this isn’t a secret love confession, is it?” He tilted his head with a faint smirk, meeting her piercing gaze without flinching.
“Die,” she replied flatly, the single word slicing through the air like a blade. There was no trace of humor, no sign she was even mildly amused by his quip.
Ajal kept his composure, laughing off her hostility like it didn’t affect him. “Alright, not that, then. What’s this about?”
“You’re imitating him,” Ophelia said abruptly, her amber eyes narrowing.
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” Ajal replied, his tone measured and steady.
Her lips curled into the faintest sneer. “Don’t insult my intelligence. Your act—your swagger, your forced ease. It reeks of him. Trying to wear Kaito’s skin like it’ll make you half the fighter he is.”
At the mention of Kaito’s name, Ajal’s posture shifted. His eyes lit up with sudden recognition, and with a sharp clap, he dropped his fist into his open palm in a confident gesture. “Oh, now I get it,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of exaggerated revelation. “You’re his other student, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Ophelia confirmed sharply. “I figured he would’ve told you.”
“He did,” Ajal replied with the faintest shrug. “Briefly. It came up while he was cursing at a TV that wouldn’t turn on.” His tone remained light, as if the topic didn’t carry any weight at all.
Her eyes narrowed further, scanning him like she was peeling away his every layer. “Whatever, I didn't hold you here to talk about that idiot.”
Ajal was looking up past the trees and into the cloud with childlike wonder, as if the conversation wasn't anything important to him. He spotted a certain cloud and pointed at it. "Hey, that one kinda looks like poop." He laughed.
She took a deliberate step forward, her golden halo glowing faintly as it hovered above her head, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere she carried. “You can stand there and act like nothing bothers you, but you and I both know it’s an act. A bad one at that.”
Ajal didn’t move, didn’t flinch. “You seem awfully invested in how I carry myself,” he said, his voice as even as ever. “What’s your deal, exactly? Is this some kind of mentorship pep talk or—?”
“Stop pretending you’re on my level,” she interrupted, her words sharp and cutting. “You aren’t. And wearing his mannerisms like armor doesn’t change that. It only makes you look weaker.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and biting. Ajal held her gaze, unflinching, but the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed her success. It had gotten to him.
"That's quite the angry look, Death," Ophelia remarked, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
Ajal inhaled deeply, visibly steadying himself. His features relaxed as he forced a calm expression. "Well, if that’s all you’ve got to say, I’ll be going. Need to get some rest for tomorrow." He turned to leave, his patience wearing thin.
"Hold it," Ophelia commanded sharply, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "We’re not done yet."
Ajal froze mid-step and turned back, annoyance flickering across his face. "What now?" he asked, his voice rising slightly with frustration.
"Calm yourself, Ajal." The familiar voice emanated from his scarf, low and measured.
Ajal glanced down and saw the crimson eye of Death gleaming in the folds of his scarf. His brow furrowed. "You’re back," he muttered.
"Indeed," Death replied, its voice unwavering. "She’s not here to speak only to you. She’s here to speak to us. Or, more precisely... them."
"Them?" Ajal tilted his head in confusion, his annoyance giving way to curiosity.
Before Ophelia could respond, an angelic voice rang out, soft and melodic, as if each word carried a soothing warmth. It seemed to reverberate through the air, quieting the tension.
"Greetings, young Inheritor of Death," the voice said, emanating from the golden halo above Ophelia’s head. Its gentle cadence wrapped around them like a comforting breeze. "I am the Goddess of Life."
"Cool," Ajal replied, his voice casual. "I'm Ajal. Nice to meetcha."
"I'm aware," the voice of Life answered, calm but firm.
"So, do you need me for something?" Ajal asked, tilting his head slightly.
There was a brief pause, the silence stretching just long enough to feel awkward.
"How much do you know about what you Inheritors are here for?" Life asked.
Ajal opened his mouth to respond, but Death’s voice cut in sharply. "He knows enough."
"I don’t remember asking you, Death," Life shot back, her serene tone carrying a sharp edge.
"Ajal, we’re done here," Death said with finality, trying to steer the conversation away.
"Stop hiding things from the boy," Life countered, her voice laced with quiet frustration. "Your reluctance to reveal information to him is what’s feeding his self-doubt to begin with."
"Hey," Ajal interjected, waving a hand. "I’m right here, y’know. And for the record, my confidence is just fine." He struck an exaggerated pose, puffing out his chest with a grin.
Ophelia groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. "You’re insufferable."
"But," Ajal continued, ignoring her, "more information would definitely be helpful."
Death sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Ajal, as much as you’d like to convince yourself otherwise, you do have a problem believing you can live up to expectations. If you want to know more, fine, but be warned—it’s a lot to take in."
"Stop babying him," Ophelia snapped, her chin tilting upward as she fixed Death with a cold glare. "He’ll never learn anything if you keep coddling him."
Life’s soothing voice interrupted the brewing tension. "Back to the original question: how much has Death told you, Ajal?"
"Uhh, let me think..." Ajal muttered, crossing one arm over the other and tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Inheritors are people who receive Gifts that are direct tools or weapons from the Gods, right?"
"Yes," Life confirmed patiently. "Anything else?"
"Well, there were some Inheritors before me," Ajal added, his lips curling into a smug grin. "And Death said I’m the most unique one yet!"
The air grew still, the silence punctuated only by Ophelia’s groan of exasperation as she pinched the bridge of her nose again.
"I can’t believe you," Life said with a sigh, her tone steeped in disappointment.
Death offered no rebuttal.
"Ajal," Life said gently, her tone warm and understanding, "there were no Inheritors of Death before you."
"What?" Ajal asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He tugged his scarf slightly from his chin and glanced down, meeting Death’s gaze with narrowed eyes. "What’s the point of lying about that?"
Death remained silent for a moment, the hesitation palpable before he finally spoke. "I did what I thought was best. I’m sorry if it upset you, Ajal, but the role of an Inheritor is far too important. I believed revealing everything too soon would shatter your confidence—something we cannot afford."
"So what’s so important about me being the first? Is that bad?"
"No," Life interjected, her voice steady and calm. "But you won’t just be the first. You’ll be the only."
Ophelia let out a sharp, exasperated sigh, her patience thinning. "Look, dumbass, the only thing you need to know is that our job is to stop a war."
"A war?" Ajal repeated, his tone laced with disbelief.
"One that goes far beyond your comprehension," Death added gravely. "In realms and galaxies beyond our own, a war rages—a conflict so vast it threatens the very fabric of existence."
"I’m following," Ajal replied, his voice more serious now. "But how are a bunch of humans with borrowed God-powers supposed to help with that?"
Life’s soothing tone returned, patient as ever. "The gods who granted their power to the Inheritors believe that the beings of this realm—your kind—hold the greatest potential to turn the tide."
Before Ajal could respond, both Death and Life emitted sharp, unnatural sounds, like muffled groans of pain.
"What’s happening?" Ajal asked, gripping his scarf tightly, alarm creeping into his voice.
"Hey, what’s going on?" Ophelia demanded, her sharp eyes darting between them as she grabbed her halo and held it defensively in front of her.
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Life answered through strained words. "Our consciousnesses… we can no longer remain within the Gifts. Our time here is ending."
"Then take a break and come back later!" Ajal said quickly, trying to sound reassuring. "It’s no big deal."
"You misunderstand, Ajal," Death replied, his tone somber. "There is no later. This is the last time we’ll speak."
"Wait, what?!" Ajal’s voice rose, desperation seeping in. "At least give me some kind of time frame!"
"It’s alright," Life assured him gently. "You still have time. This war has spanned millennia—it can wait a few more years while you grow stronger."
Ajal’s frustration boiled over, and he threw his arms up in exasperation. "Oh, come on! This timing is straight out of a movie! You can’t just dump all this on us and then vanish!"
Death chuckled faintly, his presence already beginning to fade. "Ajal, I know this is a heavy burden, but you must save existence. Stay confident, even when it feels impossible. You were chosen for a reason. I hope you can trust my words, even after everything."
"Ophelia," Life said, her voice fading like an echo in a vast chamber, "I thank fate every day for bringing us together."
Ophelia’s expression softened, though her words remained sharp. "Of course you do. Meeting me is the greatest privilege anyone could hope for—god or not."
Life let out a light, melodic chuckle. "Goodbye… and stay strong. I—we—believe in you, Inheritors."
With that, the soothing voice of Life and the ever-watching eye of Death vanished, leaving an eerie stillness in their absence.
"So, uh, now what?" Ajal asked, breaking the lingering silence between them.
"Did you seriously learn nothing?" Ophelia replied, her tone sharp and biting.
"No, I get it," Ajal said, rolling his shoulders like he was brushing it off. "The main goal is to get stronger, right? So we just hang around the school, do our thing, and then once we graduate, we go off to fight?"
"If only it were that simple," Ophelia sighed, her hand resting briefly on her hip. "Look, I'm not naïve enough to think I can do this all on my own, so I’m bringing you into my plan."
"Oh, joy!" Ajal replied with mock enthusiasm. "I get to work with the Ophelia. What an honor."
"Drop the games for now, idiot," she snapped. "The first thing we need to do is track down the other Inheritors."
Ajal tilted his head thoughtfully. "Oh yeah, Death told me there were six of us. But where do we even start looking?"
Ophelia crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. "We can assume they’ll either be in other Gift Academies or aligned with the Grand Church. If it’s the latter, that’ll be a problem."
"Why’s that?"
She hesitated for a moment before responding. "I don’t trust the Church. Not that they’re bad people, necessarily, but their motives never sit right with me."
Ajal raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Who doesn’t rub you the wrong way?"
Ophelia shot him a glare that could have melted steel before continuing. "Besides gathering the Inheritors, we’ll also need allies. People we can trust when the time comes—strong ones. This war is bigger than just us, and we can’t do it alone."
Ajal let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez, this is a lot to take in. But I get it—get stronger, find the other Inheritors, make some friends, and then kick some ass. Easy enough, right?"
Ophelia’s lips curled into a faint smirk. "Easier said than done, but yeah, that’s the idea. Here’s the thing, though—I don’t trust you to actually contribute much of value right now."
Ajal raised his hands in mock surrender. "There it is. Couldn’t go five minutes without throwing a jab, huh?"
She ignored his comment, her tone turning serious again. "Your first step should be to make it into the Top Three at the academy."
Ajal blinked, confused. "Why?"
"Because if you make it into the Top Three, you earn your own territory. That’s going to make it easier to gather allies, especially the stronger ones. And while I can’t say I’m optimistic about your chances, you’re going to need to try."
Ajal’s brow furrowed. "Wouldn’t people want to help us just because the alternative is, you know, dying in this war?"
"Don’t underestimate humanity’s ability to prioritize petty, short-term goals over their own survival," she replied flatly. "You’ll need more than logic to win people over."
"Fair enough," Ajal muttered. "Top Three, huh? Sounds like a plan. Speaking of, where’s your territory?"
Ophelia straightened her posture slightly, her tone laced with pride. "On the east coast of Eryndor."
"Wait, on our country’s coast?" Ajal frowned. "Don’t they already have the military covering that?"
"They do," she admitted. "Your well informed for someone from outside the cities. The academy asked me to take that spot because it’s right next to the southeastern border with Tharovelle. It’s a Church-affiliated country, and with tensions rising between the Grand Church and the Gift Academies, they want me there to keep an eye on things."
Ajal whistled low, shaking his head. "Wow, so you’re juggling school and international politics? Sounds like a blast."
"Of course I am," Ophelia replied, a dramatic edge creeping into her voice as she placed a hand over her chest. "I am the number one ranked student, after all. Naturally, the toughest responsibilities fall to me. You can expect the same treatment if, by some miracle, you manage to claw your way into the Top Three."
"Got it," Ajal said with a yawn, stretching his arms as the sky above them darkened. Time had slipped by faster than he realized.
Ophelia tossed her halo forward, the glowing ring hovering just above the ground near her feet. It pulsed faintly as she spoke. "We’ll call it a night here. You’ve got your first assignment tomorrow, so don’t screw it up and make the rest of us look bad. Your dorm is about two miles that way." She pointed over Ajal’s shoulder. "Walk straight, and you’ll find it."
Ajal opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, she stepped into the halo. Her form sank into the glowing ring as though it were liquid, the light shimmering as she disappeared.
"Hold on—!" Ajal reached out instinctively, but she was already gone. He stared at the empty space for a moment before muttering to himself, "How did she even know where the dorm was? And two miles? They really expect us to get our steps in, huh?"
With a groan, Ajal turned toward the direction Ophelia had indicated. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he trudged forward, dreading the long walk ahead.
As the trees thickened around him and the faint glow of the halo’s light disappeared entirely, the confidence he’d worn like armor began to crumble. His pace slowed, and he found himself biting the nail of his thumb, a habit he hadn’t indulged in for years. The monumental weight of everything that had just been placed on his shoulders pressed down like an invisible hand, squeezing the breath out of him.
His chest felt tight, the anxiety building with every step. Ajal’s thumb slipped from his teeth and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to hide the tremble that had started in his fingers. Why me? Despite Death’s reassurances, despite Life’s calm belief in him, and even despite Ophelia’s cold confidence that he could do the bare minimum, Ajal couldn’t silence the voice in his head that told him he was completely, utterly out of his depth.
He tried to think back to all the encouragement Kaito had given him, or even to the way his teammates had smiled at him after the exam, but the memory of those moments felt distant, insubstantial compared to the crushing reality of what lay ahead. Save existence? I can barely figure out my own life.
The forest around him whispered with the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures, but the louder noise came from his own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into doubt.
The dorms might have been just two miles away, but for Ajal, the path felt endless. Still, he moved forward, his shoulders hunched against the weight of the unknown and his heart pounding in his chest. All he could do was keep going, even as his hands shook in his pockets and his breath came just a little too fast.
⁂
"Annnd... done!" Jean announced with a flourish, stepping back to admire his latest creation. He placed the intricate contraption carefully on the coffee table in the center of the dorm's modest living room, his face beaming with self-satisfied pride.
The machine was a mesmerizing blend of craftsmanship and eccentricity, a tangle of delicate brass gears and polished copper coils winding around a central glass orb. The orb shimmered faintly, catching the light in shifting hues of blue and gold as if it held a tiny galaxy within. At the base, small silver filigree spiraled upward like vines, framing the piece and adding an almost regal touch.
Thin rods extended outward from the contraption like the hands of a clock, each tipped with miniature ornaments—a crescent moon here, a starburst there, and even a tiny replica of the dorm itself. It ticked faintly, not because it was keeping time, but simply because Jean thought it should. Every so often, the central orb would emit a soft hum and glow brighter, as if it were alive.
"Pure genius," he muttered, crossing his arms and nodding at his work as if expecting applause. "Nothing says 'home sweet home' like a completely unnecessary, overly complicated decorative masterpiece."
Arc stood to his side, clapping quickly but delicately, like it was practiced. "Well done, Master Jean."
"What the hell even is that?" Ezekiel asked, his arms stretched out and resting on the couch in front of the table that Jean had just placed his contraption on. His legs were spread out in the ultimate position of comfort.
Arc stood beside Jean, clapping lightly and precisely, her movements almost too delicate, as if she'd rehearsed this exact show of approval. "Well done, Master Jean," she said, her voice polite but distant.
"What the hell even is that?" Ezekiel asked, his tone flat as he lounged on the couch in front of the coffee table. His arms were draped lazily over the backrest, his legs spread out in a posture of ultimate relaxation, looking more like he belonged in a lazy afternoon painting than an argument.
Jean turned to him, his chest puffed out like a proud rooster. "What does it look like?" he shot back, indignation already brewing.
"Trash," Ezekiel deadpanned without skipping a beat.
Jean gasped theatrically, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded. "This is not trash! This is your first taste of the great inventions that the future world's greatest inventor will come up with!" He gestured grandly toward his contraption. "I call it—"
"Trash," Ezekiel interrupted with a shrug, his face perfectly blank.
Jean’s jaw dropped. "Okay, simpleton," he said, putting his hands on his hips and leaning forward, "what exactly makes it trash?"
"Does it do anything?" Ezekiel asked, one eyebrow raised.
Jean hesitated, his face twitching as if searching for the perfect counterargument. "No," he admitted finally.
"It's trash," Ezekiel concluded, leaning back into his comfortable sprawl, utterly unconcerned.
Jean crossed his arms and pouted like a child denied dessert. "Your brain is too small to fully understand the importance of exquisite décor."
"Yeah?" Ezekiel fired back, leaning forward just enough for his glasses to catch the light menacingly. "And your brain won’t function after I shoot your ass!"
Jean flinched and scrambled behind Arc, gripping her shoulders like a human shield. "You can’t shoot the team leader!" he protested.
Arc glanced over her shoulder at Jean, her composure untouched by the chaos. "Master Jean, I’d just like to remind you that I am the leader," she said with the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.
Jean peeked around her, his confidence taking another hit. "We’re not arguing about this again!"
Ezekiel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he couldn’t believe he’d let himself get pulled into this nonsense. His irritation faded as he glanced across the room, his gaze landing on Yumiko. She was sitting on a stool by the countertop, staring out the small window that framed the forest beyond their dorm. Her elbows rested on the counter, her chin in her hands, her usually vibrant energy dulled.
It was a rare moment of stillness for her, her dejected posture making it look as though she were waiting for someone to appear from the endless green that stretched before them.
"Staring isn’t going to make him magically appear," Ezekiel muttered, his tone flat as he leaned back against the couch. His arms were crossed, and his head was tilted slightly to the side, though his gaze lingered on Yumiko for just a moment. "He said he could handle it. Just believe in him or whatever."
Jean immediately perked up, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Wow, Ezekiel," he said, his tone practically dripping with mockery. "Didn’t expect you of all people to try and cheer someone up."
Ezekiel clicked his tongue in irritation, turning his head away. "Don’t get it twisted, nerd. She’s ruining my relaxation time with all her moping."
Jean laughed, rubbing his chin as though deep in thought. "Well, we’re down here waiting for Ajal. If you want to go lie down and take a nap, feel free. No one’s stopping you. Unless… you’re worried about him, too?"
"Tch." Ezekiel’s jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes toward the window. "I’m just… curious about what their conversation was. That’s all."
Yumiko, who hadn’t said much, finally spoke up, her voice tinged with concern. "Let’s hope it was just a conversation."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Ajal proved himself during the exam, Yumiko. Don’t you think he’s earned a bit of trust by now?"
"Yeah, he’s strong," she admitted, resting her chin on her palm. "But those upperclassmen? They’re on a whole different level. Ophelia wasn’t bluffing when she said we couldn’t stop her."
Stretching her arms above her head, Yumiko locked her fingers together, palms to the ceiling. "Sorry, guys. Guess I just have a tendency to worry too much about my friends."
As her arms dropped, Yumiko froze, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a figure emerging from the forest. Her dejection vanished in an instant, replaced by pure excitement. She practically slammed her hands onto the countertop as she leapt to her feet.
"Yumiko?" Jean called after her, his voice tinged with confusion.
Ignoring him, she darted toward the door, yanking it open with so much force it rattled on its hinges. "Ajal!" she shouted, sprinting across the clearing toward the figure.
Ajal glanced up, noticing her running toward him. His shoulders straightened, and with a quick flick of his hand, he brushed his hair back into place, his ‘normal’ confident demeanor sliding back into place. "Hey," he greeted, his voice casual. "Sorry for the wait."
Jean and Arc stepped outside, following after Yumiko. Jean waved a hand in mock exasperation. "What took so long, dude?"
Arc stood beside Jean, her hands folded neatly in front of her, but her sharp gaze never left Ajal. Ezekiel, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and one foot resting on the threshold. The light from inside cast a faint glow around his silhouette.
"Had to pee?" Ezekiel asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Nope. Just got lost," Ajal replied, throwing up a peace sign with a toothy grin, as if he were proud of it.
"Seriously?" Jean groaned, scratching the back of his head. "You know how many times we had to stop Yumiko from storming into the woods after you?"
"Sorry about that," Ajal said with a sheepish laugh.
"So, what did you guys talk about?" Yumiko asked, tilting her head as she stepped closer.
Ajal hesitated for just a moment before answering. "Just a bunch of empty threats and whatnot. Nothing you guys need to worry about."
"Just say you can’t tell us," Ezekiel said, pushing off the doorframe. His piercing stare lingered on Ajal. "No need to lie."
For a second, Ajal’s eyes dropped, shadowed by his hair. "You’re right," he admitted quietly. "I can’t tell you guys. Not yet."
Yumiko studied his expression, the brief flicker of something she couldn’t quite place, and softened. She reached out and gave him a comforting smile. "Hey, we’re here for the long haul, right? Teammates. You can tell us whenever you’re ready." Her voice was warm, her usual teasing tone replaced by genuine reassurance.
Ajal’s confident mask slipped for a fraction of a second, and his shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Yumiko," he said, his tone sincere. "I appreciate it."
But just as quickly, he shifted gears, turning toward the dorm. "So, this is our place, huh?" He squinted, taking in the mismatched building.
The dorm before them looked like it had been cobbled together from spare parts and leftover scraps. Mismatched bricks formed uneven walls, some replaced with gleaming bronze panels that caught the moonlight. Vines snaked their way up the sides, intertwining with patches of cobwebs that clung stubbornly to every surface. A slanted chimney spewed faint wisps of smoke, and a piece of the roof looked like it might fall off at any moment.
Jean, standing tall with his hands on his hips, gestured grandly toward the building. "Behold, Ajal! Our glorious castle!"
As if on cue, a chunk of the roof gave way, falling with a loud crash onto the overgrown path leading to the door.
Ezekiel snorted, shaking his head. "Castle? Looks more like a condemned shack."
"Come on," Jean protested, crossing his arms. "It’s got character!"
"Yeah," Ezekiel shot back, deadpan. "The character of someone who’s about to get tetanus."
"It’s fine," Ajal said, stepping closer to the building. His gaze swept over the structure, taking in every imperfection. "It’s not much, but it’ll do. Besides, it’s only temporary."
"Temporary?" Jean raised an eyebrow.
Ajal turned back to his teammates, his grin returning. "Yeah. Once I get us a territory, we’ll have something way better."
His declaration was met with silence for a beat, before the group collectively broke into laughter—not in a mocking way, but in a way that said they’d fully expected him to say something like that.
"Ambitious much?" Yumiko teased, placing her hands on her hips. "Count me in."
"Hey, I like it," Jean said, stroking his chin like a wise sage. "Using your Inheritor status to elevate us? Very noble. Very selfless. Definitely not something I can use to boost my reputation."
"Master Jean," Arc interjected, her tone disapproving, "it’s unbecoming to use your friends for personal gain."
Jean turned to her, affronted. "Then what are they for?!"
Ezekiel ignored the banter, pushing off the doorframe and heading inside. "Guess that makes you my competition, Reaper," he said over his shoulder. "Let’s see who gets a territory first."
Ajal smirked, a glimmer of determination in his lavender eyes. "You’re on."
As they stepped into the dorm, the door creaked shut behind them, sealing them in with the dim light of the interior. Ajal’s eyes drifted toward the small living room, where the strange contraption Jean had built sat proudly on the coffee table.
"Whose trash is this?" Ajal asked, his voice cutting through the chatter.
Jean gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "Trash?! That’s not trash! That is a work of art!"
Ezekiel, already flopping onto the couch, looked at the contraption, unimpressed. "If it doesn’t do anything, it’s trash."
Ajal chuckled, shaking his head as the sound of their banter filled the room. Despite everything that had happened earlier, the warmth of his team’s presence made the weight on his chest feel just a little lighter. For the first time since his first conversation with Kaito, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t in this alone.