She had respected his wish to keep his identity a secret, but now, as she watched him being swallowed by the mist, her heart shattered. Anya lunged forward, trying to grab him—her hands outstretched in desperation—but her fingers slipped through the mist as though it weren't there. She watched helplessly as the boy she had known, the boy she had protected, vanished into the dark, his form dissolving into the unknown.

And just like that, the mist began to recede.

The creatures, the eyes, the ancient beings—everything dissolved into the thick fog, leaving behind only death, silence, and devastation. The battlefield was eerily quiet, the screams of battle replaced by the oppressive weight of what had just transpired.

They stood there, frozen, the trauma of what they had witnessed settling deep into their bones. No one moved. No one spoke.

Anya stared at the spot where Vas had disappeared, her heart aching, her mind racing. The child she had cared for was gone, taken by something far beyond her power. The rest of the survivors were left trembling, haunted by the memory of those eyes—those ancient, unblinking eyes—that watched them from the mist, reducing them to nothing more than prey.

And just as suddenly as it had come, the phenomenon disappeared, leaving behind a battlefield soaked in blood, death, and the lingering sense that something far worse was waiting in the shadows.

"What was that?" Ariane asked, her voice trembling slightly, the echo of fear still fresh in her chest.

"I'm not sure," Gerald replied, his gaze distant as if searching for answers in the battlefield's aftermath. "But it's the second time we've experienced something like that."

"Just like a couple of years ago," Jacob chimed in, the memories of that time still sharp in his mind.

"Yes," Gerald nodded. "The mist, the eyes... everything."

Ariane swallowed hard. "Is it over now?"

Gerald hesitated, his usual certainty nowhere to be found. "I guess," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. He wasn't sure if anything was truly over after an encounter like that.

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Around them, the battlefield shifted from chaos to weary order. Soldiers began to withdraw, their movements mechanical, haunted. The SCD operatives, though professional, moved with an undercurrent of unease as they gathered samples of the hybrids, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows as though expecting something to reemerge. There were still so many unanswered questions—the hybrids' flawless human disguises, their transformations timed so perfectly—these things defied everything they knew. The SCD needed answers, but the cost of finding them weighed heavily on everyone.

As the soldiers worked, Abigail emerged from the ruins, Anya and the children following close behind. The kids clung to each other, their faces pale, their eyes wide with the shock of what they had witnessed. Abigail had questioned Anya earlier, asked why she had been there, but Anya's explanation—that she had been camping nearby and had simply come to investigate after seeing the strange lights—was flimsy. Still, Abigail let it go. Anya had saved her grandchildren and the other kids; that earned her some trust, even if doubts lingered.

"So, what happened in there?" Gerald asked, stepping forward as he saw his wife approach, relief briefly flickering across his face.

Abigail's expression darkened as she recounted the battle. "It was a nightmare, Gerald. The monster… it was like nothing I've ever seen. Brutal. Relentless." She glanced at the children, who stayed close to one another, their bond palpable in the way they huddled together. "They didn't want to be separated after we got out."

"Trauma bond," Gerald said softly, his voice filled with empathy. "They went through something terrible together. Now, they're clinging to whatever makes them feel safe."

Abigail nodded. "They've been through too much already. It's no surprise."

Her thoughts drifted, then refocused. "And Luther?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Gerald met her gaze. "What do you think?" His words were clipped, emotionless, as if saying more would make it real.

Abigail exhaled slowly, a faint, grim smile tugging at her lips. "Good."

There was a brief silence before she asked, "And Celine? How is she?"

"She's back on one of the ships with Clara. She hasn't let go of the child," Gerald explained, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "Clara's checking on Octavia."

Without another word, Abigail made her way to the ship. She needed to see her daughter.

Inside the ship, Celine stood by, watching as Clara used her Anima to examine Octavia. The young girl looked peaceful, but there was something off, something that made Celine's heart tighten in her chest.

"She seems fine and... wrong at the same time," Clara murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's weird."

Celine's heart clenched further. "What do you mean?"

Clara shook her head. "I can't explain it. I think you should take her to Lorraine. She might be able to figure out what's going on."

Celine nodded, her voice small. "Okay. Thanks, Clara."

Just then, Abigail entered the ship, her eyes scanning the room before locking onto her daughter. "Everything all right?" she asked gently, though the concern was evident in her voice.

Celine opened her mouth to respond, but instead, the dam broke. She crumbled, rushing into her mother's arms as if she were a child again. Abigail held her tightly, smoothing her hair, whispering soothing words as Celine sobbed into her chest. "It's going to be okay," Abigail whispered, her own voice cracking with the weight of everything they had endured. "I promise, it's going to be okay."

For a long moment, they stayed like that—Celine crying, Abigail holding her, both drawing strength from the other.

Meanwhile, outside, Clara left the ship, her mind already moving to the next task. Despite the horrors of the day, she still had her children to think about. She made her way to Aleara and Beck, relieved to see Ariane already tending to Kairo and Zola. Clara approached her children, checking them over with a meticulous care that only a mother could give.

"You doing okay?" Clara asked softly, brushing Beck's hair from his face.

Beck gave a small nod. "Yeah, I think so."