Ezekiel sat slouched on the couch in the dorm’s living room, the soft hum of a nearby fan the only noise breaking the silence. In his hand, he held the mysterious card, its glossy surface catching the dim light overhead as he tilted it back and forth. The intricate, almost hypnotic design danced across its face, shifting subtly as he inspected it from every angle. With a bored expression, he raised it up toward the ceiling, squinting like he might somehow decipher its secrets if he stared hard enough.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Zeke?” Ajal’s voice cut through the quiet like a buzz saw.
Ezekiel didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the card.
Ajal leaned over the back of the couch, his head hovering dangerously close to Ezekiel’s. “Hey, Zeke! What’s that? Is it a ticket to somewhere? Or is it like… a magic spell? Or a really weird gift card? Ooh, is it cursed? What if it—”
“Do you ever shut up?” Ezekiel deadpanned, lowering the card just enough to glare at Ajal over the rim of his glasses.
“Not usually,” Ajal replied with a grin, undeterred. He reached out, trying to grab the card, but Ezekiel quickly pulled it out of reach, holding it above his head like a prized possession.
Jean, who was seated at the dining table tinkering with one of his small gadgets, looked up. “You know, I was gonna ask about that card, too. You’ve been staring at it for ages. What’s so special about it?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Yumiko chimed in from her spot on the floor, where she was lazily stretching. “It’s been, like, what? Two hours now? You’re not gonna unlock its secrets by glaring at it.”
Ezekiel let out a long sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He turned the card over in his hands, the design catching the light again. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted, his voice low but thoughtful. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Where’d you get it?” Ajal asked, practically vibrating with curiosity as he plopped onto the couch beside Ezekiel, invading his personal space.
Ezekiel leaned slightly away from Ajal’s enthusiasm. “During the exam,” he said. “After I beat that Cult spy, Aisha, it was just… there. Right next to her.”
Jean’s tinkering stopped, and he rested his chin in his hand, his fiery orange eyes narrowing in thought. “So it’s connected to The Cult somehow.”
“Obviously,” Ezekiel replied. “But that doesn’t explain what it is or why it was there.” He held the card up again, watching the light glint off its glossy surface. “It’s like it’s mocking me. It feels important, but there’s nothing on it. No writing, no symbols—just this weird design.”
Ajal squinted at it, tilting his head like a curious puppy. “It looks kinda important. Maybe it’s a key? Or a map? Or—”
“Maybe you should stop guessing and start being useful,” Ezekiel cut in, rolling his eyes.
Yumiko sat up, brushing stray strands of hair out of her face. “Hey, you can’t blame Ajal for being curious. It’s not like cards like that just pop out of nowhere. You think it might be, I don’t know… linked to her Avatar?”
Ezekiel shrugged. “Possibly. But it didn’t feel like it belonged to her. It was almost like…” He trailed off, frowning. “Like it was left for me.”
The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of Ezekiel’s words settling over them.
“Left for you?” Jean echoed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a creepy thought.”
“I like creepy,” Yumiko said with a grin, though her expression sobered quickly. “But if it was left for you, that just raises more questions. Like who left it—and why?”
“And how is it connected to Aisha and The Cult?” Jean added, standing and pacing a little.
Ezekiel leaned back into the couch, flipping the card over again. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
Ajal suddenly leaned forward, his face lighting up. “Oh! What if it’s, like, a hidden weapon? Or maybe it has a super-secret message that only shows up under moonlight! Do we have any moonlight in here?”
Ezekiel gave him a blank stare. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“I mean, he’s not totally wrong,” Yumiko said with a shrug. “We should probably test it out. You know, try stuff. Heat, water, maybe some light spells.”
Jean smirked. “Or we could let me take a crack at it. If there’s any tech hidden inside, I’ll find it.”
“You’re all ridiculous,” Ezekiel muttered, standing up and pocketing the card. “I’m going for some air.”
As he moved toward the door, the rest of the team exchanged curious glances, their thoughts lingering on the card and the mystery surrounding it.
"Hey, Jean," Ajal said, sitting cross-legged on the couch, leaning slightly forward.
"What's up?" Jean replied, barely glancing up from the small gadget he was fiddling with.
"What's The Cult? I know what a cult is, but you called it The Cult.”
Jean let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Jeez, you really don't know anything, huh? Okay, listen up. There are a ton of cults out there that worship specific Devils, but when people say The Cult, they're talking about the main branch. Think of it as the head honcho of cults, the one that worships all the Devils at once. They're basically a terrorist organization aiming to revive the Devils into our realm."
"What do you mean by ‘revive’?” Ajal asked, tilting his head slightly.
Jean’s brow furrowed in frustration as he set his gadget down. “Seriously, what do those village schools even teach? Alright, you know we’ve got Gods that represent and wield concepts, right? Like the God of Death, God of Life—big, important stuff?”
Ajal nodded slowly.
“Well, for every God, there’s a Devil that represents the same concept but in opposition. Death and Life, Order and Chaos—you get the idea. About 40 or 50 years ago, there was this massive war between the Gods and the Devils. It’s called the War on Sinners. The Gods won, or so we’ve been told, and almost all the Devils were either killed or sealed away in their own realm forever.”
Ajal leaned back slightly, frowning. “Okay, so The Cult is trying to bring these Devils back. I get that, but… why? What’s the point?”
Jean shrugged. “Hell if I know. Maybe they think the Devils will grant them power or something. Doesn’t matter. All you really need to know is they’re bad news. Like, ‘destroy the world’ levels of bad.”
"Interesting…” Ajal trailed off, his gaze distant as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest of the couch.
Yumiko, still stretching on the floor, joined the conversation. “Y'know, maybe the Gods didn’t win after all.”
Jean shot her a skeptical look. “What makes you say that? There’s no real reason to believe otherwise.”
“Our reason is sitting right there.” She pointed toward Ajal without lifting her head. “If the Gods really won, why would we need Inheritors?”
Jean raised an eyebrow, his mind clearly turning over her words. “Good point. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. The best theory I’ve got is that they’re just trying to bolster our armies in case there’s another war down the line.”
Ajal, who had been quietly lost in thought, suddenly muttered under his breath, “Not all that far off…”
Both Jean and Yumiko snapped their heads toward him.
“Did I say something?” Ajal asked with a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Just forget it.”
"Ajal," Jean said in a serious tone, leaning forward slightly. "Your discussion with Ophelia during the exam—did she tell you anything about the Inheritors’ purpose? What’s their role?"
"Jean," Yumiko interrupted gently. “I already told him he can tell us when he’s ready.”
“I get that,” Jean replied, his frustration evident. “But—”
The door opened with a faint creak, cutting Jean off mid-sentence. Ezekiel walked in, his usual tired expression plastered across his face. Without saying a word, he flopped onto the couch, slumping into his seat like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“Just answer me this, Reaper,” Ezekiel said, glancing at Ajal as he adjusted his glasses. “Are you here because you wanted to be at this school, or is it because you’re an Inheritor?”
Ajal hesitated, his brow furrowing as a mix of frustration and sadness flickered across his face. “…Because I’m an Inheritor,” he admitted quietly.
“Figured,” Ezekiel said, leaning back and closing his eyes.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jean asked, looking between the two of them.
“It’s simple,” Ezekiel replied, sitting up slightly. “He struggles with making decisions on his own.”
Ajal’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
“You’re lost,” Ezekiel continued, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. “You’ve been shoved into this role with no warning and no direction. That’d mess anyone up, but somehow, it feels like it’s hitting you even harder.”
Ajal chuckled nervously. “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘worse.’ I’ve just always been the ‘go with the flow’ type, y’know?”
“Fake bravado doesn’t suit you,” a voice suddenly chimed in.
Everyone froze, their eyes darting around the room. Finally, they landed on Lucius, who was casually perched on the coffee table in front of the couch, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief.
Both Ajal and Ezekiel jumped in surprise.
“How the hell did you get in here?!” Ezekiel yelled, sitting upright.
Lucius waved a paw dismissively. “Now, now, no need to yell,” he said smoothly. His gaze shifted to Ajal. “You don’t have to share everything, but bottling up your true thoughts and feelings won’t get you anywhere. You’ve been put in a big role, yes, but things aren’t as hard as they seem. Just take it one step at a time. Ophelia gave you a blueprint—don’t let her kindness go to waste because of hesitation.”
Ajal crossed his arms, tilting his head in confusion. “You call that conversation kindness? And how do you even know what happened?”
Lucius chuckled, his tail flicking lazily. “Oh, she didn’t have to have that chat with you, believe me. And as for how I know…” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “The teachers know everything that happens on campus or in Campus City. It’s kind of our job.”
"But it's not fair to only point out Ajal's flaws, Ezekiel," Lucius said, his tone light but cutting. "You’ve got some serious trust issues that you refuse to address. Yumiko down there? She bottles her real feelings way worse than Ajal could ever hope to. And don’t even get me started on Jean’s crippling need to prove himself."
"Okay! We get it!" Jean shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. "We all suck. Is that the only reason you’re here, or do you actually have something useful to say?"
Lucius looked up at Jean, his grin widening mischievously. "Not at all, my dear inventor. I'm here to help you sort out your billing situation. Can’t have my favorite students skipping meals or getting booted from their dorms now, can I?"
As if on cue, a small clink sounded from the coffee table. A delicate teacup resting on a saucer was placed beside Lucius. The steam from the freshly brewed tea curled upward in soft, hypnotic spirals.
“Here you go, Professor,” Arc said, stepping back gracefully after setting down the cup.
Jean blinked, startled. “Wait, where did you even come from?” he asked, pointing at her like she’d just teleported.
“I was cleaning your room, Master Jean," Arc replied, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with just enough judgment to make him squirm. "You left it an utter mess. Gears and wires were everywhere.”
“That’s no good, Jean,” Lucius added, leaning down to lap at his tea delicately. “The future ‘world’s greatest inventor’ should really take better care of his space. Chaos and creativity are not the same thing, you know.”
Jean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure, whatever. Are you going to actually help us now, or are you just here to roast us all into oblivion?”
Lucius placed his paw on the rim of the teacup as if it were a throne and tilted his head, his grin sharpening. “Why not both?”
Lucius took another sip of tea, the chains around his front paws jingling softly as he set the cup back down. "Now then, let’s get down to business, shall we?" His golden eyes scanned the group, his tone shifting to something vaguely serious but still tinged with his usual smugness. "As residents of one of Arkphis Institute’s dormitories, you all share the responsibility of paying the monthly living expenses. This includes rent, utilities, maintenance… and, of course, food."
“Food?” Ajal asked, tilting his head.
“Yes, food,” Lucius replied. “The cafeteria isn’t free forever, my dear young Inheritor. The first meal plan was covered as a welcome gift, but from here on out, it’s pay-as-you-go. Oh, and just so you’re aware, delivery to the dorm is extra. Everything has a price, my friends.”
“Wait,” Jean interjected, raising a hand as if he were in class. “I think we have a solution for that.”
Lucius arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do enlighten us.”
“Well,” Jean began, sitting up straighter. “Ajal, you mentioned growing up on a farm, right? I’m not saying you have to feed the whole dorm, but it can definitely help cut costs if we plant some stuff nearby. You know, vegetables, fruits… maybe some herbs for flavor?”
Yumiko looked skeptical. “You’re saying you want to farm while we’re trying to survive school?”
“Why not?” Jean shrugged. “We’ve got a lot of empty land outside the dorm, and I'm sure Ajal knows what he's doing. We’ll save money, and who doesn’t like fresh produce?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Yumiko perked up, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her chin resting on her palm. “Honestly, that sounds kinda nice. Fresh tomatoes? Strawberries? Ooooh, or carrots!”
Ezekiel let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “So you’re gonna try to grow a whole farm with just your bare hands from scratch?”
“About that...” Ajal shot back, grinning. “I always just did what my dad and brother told me to do, I never really did any of it myself.”
Jean facepalmed. "Well, there goes that idea."
Lucius chuckled, his tail swaying behind him as he regarded them with faint amusement. “Well, I like your resourceful thinking, Jean? If you truly intend to contribute in that way at some point, I’ll make a note of it. But you’ll still have to pay your share of the rent, utilities, and any other… incidentals.”
“Incidentals?” Jean asked, narrowing his eyes. “Like what?”
“Oh, you know,” Lucius said, waving a paw dismissively. “Damage caused during training, extra fees for classes with materials costs, emergency transportation… Things like that.”
“Great,” Jean muttered, crossing his arms. “So basically, everything costs money.”
Lucius hopped down from the coffee table and sat primly on the floor. “Now, let’s get to your current balance.” He paused for dramatic effect, his golden eyes glinting. “As of this moment, the four of you owe a combined total of 1,200 dinari for the first month.”
“What?!” Yumiko shot to her feet, her eyes wide. “How is it that high already?”
“The dorm rent is 800 dinari per month, split evenly among you,” Lucius explained. “That’s 200 each. The rest is from the Basil Drake rides, which are an additional 100 dinari per flight. You took two flights as a group: one to the exam and one back to the campus. So, that’s 400 total.”
Ezekiel groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. “They’re seriously charging us for those? It’s not like we had any other way to get here.”
“Welcome to adulthood,” Lucius quipped, his grin unfaltering. “Now, to help you lovely students avoid drowning in debt, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing something for you.”
With a flourish of his paw, he pulled a folder seemingly out of thin air and placed it on the coffee table. The folder was stuffed with brightly colored flyers, each one advertising various part-time jobs down in Campus City.
“Behold!” Lucius declared, nudging the folder open with his paw. “Your salvation. These are all jobs that are available to first-year students. I recommend you pick one—or two, if you’re feeling ambitious—and start earning those dinari. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to sell your soul to the loan sharks.”
Ajal picked up the stack of flyers Lucius had left behind, flipping through them idly. The flyers were colorful and eye-catching, each advertising various jobs in Campus City. "Man, there’s a ton of stuff here. Pet Walker Needed: Must Be Comfortable With Dragons’? ‘Help Wanted at The Alchemist’s Brewshop’? ‘Live Bait Tester’?!”
Lucius purred in amusement. “Ah, yes. That one pays quite well.”
Yumiko scooted closer to Ajal on the couch, resting her chin on her hands. “Ooh, let me see!” she said, snatching the stack from his hands with a grin.
“Hey!” Ajal protested half-heartedly, but he leaned back and let her go through them.
Yumiko’s eyes scanned each flyer with growing curiosity until she pulled out one with a sleek, minimalist design. The flyer read ‘Reverie Atelier—Seeking Sales Assistants. Requirements: A Sense of Style and Passion for Fashion.’ Yumiko’s eyes sparkled as she held it up for everyone to see. “Guys, this is for Reverie Atelier! You know, the brand owned by Kyosho Takeda! They’re, like, the designer in the entire world. I didn’t know they had a location in Campus City!”
Jean raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you’re qualified how?”
Yumiko playfully flicked the flyer at him. “I’m a tailor, genius. I’d kill to work there.”
Jean shrugged and returned to flipping through his own stack of flyers. “Good luck with that. I’ll stick with something practical.” He pulled out a plain, grease-stained flyer that read ‘Tinker’s Haven Repair Shop: Seeking Mechanically Inclined Workers.’
“What’s this?” he muttered, holding it up to inspect it more closely. The flyer advertised a repair shop that could fix “anything and everything,” from watches to furniture to technology. Jean’s fiery orange eyes gleamed with interest. “A repair shop, huh? Finally, a job that actually uses my talents. I bet I could teach them a thing or two.”
“You?” Yumiko teased. “You’re gonna work in a place that fixes other people’s inventions? What happened to ‘the world’s greatest inventor’ building his own stuff?”
Jean straightened his back and adjusted his goggles with mock grandeur. “Every great inventor starts somewhere. Tinkering with scraps builds character. Plus…” His voice dropped into a grumble. “…we need the money.”
Yumiko smirked. “Fair enough.”
Ezekiel, who had been sitting silently on the other side of the couch, finally let out an audible sigh. He hadn’t touched the flyers, his arms still crossed and his square-framed glasses reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the window. “This is pointless,” he muttered.
“Still not looking for a job, Zeke?” Ajal asked, tilting his head. “What, you think money’s just gonna fall from the sky?”
Ezekiel shot him a side glance. “I’ll figure it out. I don’t need some dumb flyer to tell me what to do.”
“You’re no fun,” Yumiko said with a pout, tossing the stack of flyers back onto the coffee table.
Lucius, who had been lounging on the table the entire time, stretched out luxuriously, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, if you’re all done bickering like children,” he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I have a recommendation for our dear Inheritor over here.”
Ajal blinked in confusion. “Huh? Me?”
Lucius hopped down from the table with feline grace and snatched one of the flyers with his paw. He held it up for Ajal to see, the glossy paper reflecting the light. The flyer depicted a retro-styled building with bold, vibrant lettering that read ‘Eclipse Diner—Servers Wanted! Experience the Charm of the Golden Age.’
Ajal furrowed his brow. “Eclipse Diner? What’s so special about that place?”
Lucius’s grin widened as he hopped onto the armrest of the couch and waved the flyer in front of Ajal’s face. “It’s a little slice of history, my boy. A unique experience, if you will. Perfect for someone with your… adaptable nature.”
Jean squinted at the flyer. “What’s the theme? I can’t make sense of this aesthetic.”
“Oh, just a bit of our history from 40 to 50 years ago,” Lucius said with a dramatic wave of his paw. “It’s called the Golden Age. Back when Gods roamed our realm alongside us, in harmony. Simpler times.”
“‘Simpler times,’ huh?” Yumiko repeated skeptically, leaning back against the couch. “Were you even alive back then?”
Lucius chuckled, his tail swishing lazily. “I was a mere baby, but yes. All of it took place back before the War on Sinners made everything a mess. The Gods were more than just beings to be worshipped, you know—they were here, living among us, their presence a constant force that kept the world balanced. Their Divinity seeped into everything, stabilizing the natural flow of energy in this realm. A little extra push for crops to grow, storms to calm, and even people’s abilities to flourish.”
Jean tilted his head. “Wait, you’re saying their bodies just, what, leaked Divinity? That sounds… unhygienic.”
Lucius shot him an unamused look. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose, if you want to sound like an idiot. But yes, Divinity flowed freely when they were here. It was a constant, natural energy source—limitless, self-renewing. But after the War on Sinners… well, they didn’t have much of a choice.”
“They sealed themselves away,” Ezekiel said, more to himself than anyone else.
“Correct,” Lucius replied, tapping a paw lightly against the coffee table. “The Gods couldn’t risk the Devils returning and using the human realm as a battleground again. So, they retreated to their own realm, cutting themselves off from us entirely to keep their enemies contained. Noble, really, but it came with consequences.”
“Like what?” Yumiko asked, sitting up straighter.
Lucius’s expression grew uncharacteristically serious, the golden glow of his eyes dimming slightly. “When the Gods left, they took the natural flow of Divinity with them. The energy we once had in abundance started to stagnate. And now, scientists theorize that if we keep using it at the current rate—especially with how we consume Divinity in our everyday lives—we might actually run out.”
“Run out of Divinity?” Jean echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“Yes. Imagine a world where there’s no Divinity left to fuel our appliances or vehicles, crops don’t grow, the weather spirals out of control, and humanity is left powerless. That’s the theory. They call it the Fading Vein Hypothesis.”
“Fading Vein?” Yumiko repeated, frowning. “Sounds pretty dramatic.”
“Well, it is,” Lucius said with a wry smile. “Divinity is the lifeblood of this world. If it dries up, so does everything else. That’s why some people—very paranoid people, I might add—believe Inheritors were created to prevent this from happening.”
“How would we stop that?” Ajal asked, genuinely curious.
Lucius waved a paw dismissively. “Who knows? You’d probably have to ask the Gods themselves. Too bad they’re sealed away, hmm?”
Ajal frowned, a thought suddenly coming to him. “Wait… what happens if a God comes back to the human realm now? Like, would it fix the problem?”
Lucius chuckled darkly. “Oh, it’s not as simple as them just popping back in for a visit. The only way a God can exist in this realm now is by inserting their consciousness—or soul, if you want to get mystical about it—into a human host. They essentially take over the body. You can tell when it happens because the person gains a mark on their forehead and glowing golden pupils. And let me tell you, it’s not something to look forward to. Humans were never meant to carry that kind of power. Most don’t survive it for long.”
Ajal’s eyes widened slightly as he remembered something—or rather, someone. A certain mark that was impossible to forget. “Kaito…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
“Hmm? What was that?” Lucius asked, tilting his head.
“Nothing,” Ajal said quickly, shaking his head. “Just… thinking.”
Before Lucius could press further, Ezekiel, who had been mostly quiet until now, finally spoke up, his tone sharp and direct. “I'vw been meaning to ask, what happened to Aisha?”
Lucius turned to him, his tail flicking lazily. “What about her?”
“Did you catch her?” Ezekiel asked, holding up the card for Lucius to see. The intricate, hypnotic design on its glossy surface reflected the light, drawing Lucius’s attention immediately.
The room fell quiet as Lucius leapt onto the coffee table, his golden eyes narrowing as he inspected the card. For a brief moment, his usual air of smug confidence slipped, replaced by something much harder to read.
“Well,” Lucius finally said, his voice light, but his expression guarded. “I think it’s best if I hang onto this.”
“Wait, what? Why?” Ezekiel asked, frowning.
Lucius plucked the card from Ezekiel’s hand with a swipe of his paw, tucking it somewhere into his hat with a practiced motion. “Because it’s fascinating, obviously. And dangerous. The less you know, the better.”
“Hey—”
But before anyone could stop him, Lucius turned and bolted for the doorway, his chains jingling as he moved. “Good talk, everyone! Stay out of trouble, and don’t forget to file your dorm expenses! Ciao!”
With that, he vanished through the door, leaving the team to sit in stunned silence.
“Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Jean muttered, leaning back on the couch.
“No kidding,” Yumiko said, crossing her arms.
Ajal, still lost in thought, glanced down at his hands. “Kaito…” he repeated softly, the image of that crossed out mark burned into his memory.
Ezekiel let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed. “This place gets weirder by the day.”
"Well," Jean said, stretching his arms as he stood. "Let’s head to Campus City tomorrow. The sooner we get these jobs, the sooner we start making money."
The others nodded in agreement, and with that, everyone began to disperse to their rooms for the night.
⁂
The wind howled through the steel and concrete jungle of Campus City, carrying with it the faint, acrid smell of burnt oil and exhaust fumes from the streets far below. Neon lights flickered erratically on the sides of high-rise buildings, their reflections shimmering in the rain-soaked pavement below. The city was alive with sound: distant honks of car horns, the occasional screech of tires, and the ever-present hum of electricity coursing through tangled power lines overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a faint melody from a street performer’s saxophone drifted up, weaving through the chaos of nightlife.
On a rooftop that overlooked the city’s sprawling maze of alleys and glimmering streets, a man crouched lazily on the edge of a weathered generator box. The surface of the box was scuffed and speckled with rust, and the metal groaned softly under his weight. A cold gust of wind tugged at his dark, unkempt hair, which curled messily around his face.
His outfit blended seamlessly into the night, dominated by shades of black. A long, hooded jacket hung loosely from his lean frame, the fabric frayed and torn in places as though it had weathered countless storms. Beneath the jacket, a plain black shirt clung to his torso, creases etched into it from what looked like days of wear. His pants, equally dark, were baggy and worn, with reinforced stitching along the knees and thighs, suggesting a practical edge to his otherwise disheveled appearance. Heavy combat boots encased his feet, scuffed and dulled with age, the laces tied in haphazard knots. Around his neck hung a long silver chain bearing a simple cross, which gleamed faintly in the neon glow.
The man brought a cigarette to his lips, its glowing tip a small, fiery dot in the dark. He exhaled a plume of smoke that twisted and spiraled upward, caught by the relentless wind. The faint scent of tobacco mixed with the night air, adding another layer to the city’s cocktail of smells.
He held a sleek black phone to his ear, the muted glow of the screen illuminating his tired expression. His half-lidded eyes stared blankly into the sprawling cityscape as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yeah… uh-huh," he mumbled, his voice carrying a lazy drawl. "Mm, got it. Yeah, she’s dead. Checked that box, didn’t I?"
There was a pause as the voice on the other end spoke. The man leaned back slightly, resting one arm on his knee while taking another drag from the cigarette. The embers flared briefly before dimming once more.
"Moving forward with the plan?" he repeated, his tone indifferent. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Don’t need to micromanage me." Another pause, longer this time.
He tilted his head, watching as a distant airship rumbled across the skyline, its massive floodlights cutting through the misty darkness. His lips twisted into a faint smirk as he flicked ash from the cigarette, letting it scatter into the wind.
"Look, I didn’t ask to be the leader of this little circus," he said, his voice dropping slightly, tinged with annoyance. "I mean, seriously, you could’ve picked someone else. This is such a drag."
The voice on the line responded with what sounded like sharp, impatient words. The man sighed audibly, as though the effort of even listening was too much for him. "Yeah, yeah, I get it," he said. "The mission. The stakes. The whole world hanging in the balance or whatever. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the Inheritors."
His voice hardened slightly on the last sentence, the faintest glimmer of resolve breaking through his usual lethargy. He crushed the cigarette butt against the metal surface of the generator, extinguishing it in one fluid motion.
"Later," he said simply, hanging up without waiting for a response.
The man slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, exhaling one final breath of smoke as he stood. The wind whipped at his jacket, causing it to billow like a shadow against the red neon glow of a sign on the adjacent building. He lingered there for a moment, staring down at the bustling city below.
"Guess I better get to it," he muttered to himself, his tone as nonchalant as ever. But as he turned and stepped away from the edge, his posture straightened ever so slightly, the weight of his task settling over him like the night itself.
The rooftop door slammed shut behind him, the faint hum of the city continuing uninterrupted.
⁂
The soft hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of papers filled Team A’s dorm as they gathered in the living room, surrounded by a chaotic array of flyers and job postings scattered across the coffee table and the floor. The mismatched furniture and worn cushions gave the room a relaxed, lived-in feel, but the tension between some of its occupants was anything but relaxed.
Sosira was perched on an armchair, her massive tail wagging excitedly as she held up a crumpled flyer with both hands. The bold text across the top read: “UNDERESTIMATED? PROVE THEM WRONG IN THE RING!” The image showed a shadowy figure delivering a punch with explosive force, surrounded by cheering silhouettes.
“This one’s got my name all over it!” Sosira practically shouted, her golden eyes gleaming. “I could fight people—real tough ones—and they pay you! Fightin’ and gettin’ money for it! Don’t get no better than that!”
Her tail thumped loudly against the side of the chair as she leaned forward, gripping the flyer as though it might disappear if she let go.
"I can imagine you getting kicked out for breaking someone's ribs," Molly, sprawled out on the couch, rolled her eyes. She was flipping through a stack of flyers, her movements sharp and deliberate as she tossed one after another onto the floor. "Dumb. Stupid. Boring. This one’s dumb too."
Sosira snorted, a toothy grin spreading across her face. “If he’s tough enough to fight, he can take it. Ain’t my problem if he can’t!”
Jing, seated cross-legged on the floor, raised a flyer of his own. The design was bright and cheerful, with text reading: “SIGN LANGUAGE INSTRUCTORS WANTED! SPREAD YOUR KNOWLEDGE!” His expression remained calm, but his eyes held a quiet determination as he showed the paper to the group.
Sosira tilted her head at him, squinting. “Teachin’ sign language? What’s the fun in that?”
Jing’s response was swift, his fingers moving fluidly as he signed his thoughts.
Cassian translated from his spot on the floor. "He says it’s fulfilling, and not everything’s gotta be about punching people."
Sosira huffed, flopping back into her chair with a dramatic sigh. “Sounds boring,” she muttered, though her tail still swished with excitement at her own idea.
Meanwhile, Molly let out a loud groan, throwing another flyer onto the growing pile at her feet. "These are all garbage!" she snapped, glaring at the folder. "I don’t need some dumb job! I’ll just go out there, take down some bad guys, and get paid for it. That’s what a real hero would do!"
Cassian looked up from his own flyer, concern evident on his face. "I get that you want to be a hero, Molly," he said gently, "but you can’t force it. That’s not how it works."
Molly’s glare shifted toward Cassian, but there was no real heat in it. She hesitated, her jaw tightening, before letting out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Whatever."
With a flick of her wrist, she threw the folder at Cassian, who barely managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. "You pick one," she said flatly, crossing her arms.
“Uh…” Cassian fumbled with the folder, his cheeks flushing as he tried to organize the scattered flyers. “Why me?”
“Because you can’t take care of yourself,” Molly shot back, her tone sharp but her expression betraying a faint hint of softness.
Cassian blinked, caught off guard. “I-I mean… I’m fine?”
“You’re not,” Molly said firmly, standing up and jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’d end up lost, mugged, or starving if I didn’t keep an eye on you!”
Cassian opened his mouth to protest but quickly gave up, letting out a defeated sigh. "Alright," he said, flipping through the folder carefully. After a moment, he pulled out a flyer and held it up. "How about this one? Eclipse Diner. It seems… manageable. As long as I don't have to interact with the customers."
Molly raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "That’s the one you’re picking?"
Cassian nodded hesitantly. “It looks kind of fun, and I think I could handle it.”
"Fine," Molly said, her voice softer now. She plopped back onto the couch, her arms still crossed. "I’ll go with you."
Cassian blinked in surprise. "What? Why?"
"Because you can’t take care of yourself," Molly repeated, avoiding his gaze. Her face turned slightly red, but she quickly looked away, hiding it behind her usual bluntness.
Sosira, watching the exchange with amusement, leaned over to Jing and whispered, “She’s got a crush, huh?”
Jing smirked silently but didn’t respond, his expression as knowing as ever.
Cassian sighed, tucking the flyer into his pocket. “Alright, I guess we’re working at the diner.”