I know my words strike Crixus exactly as I had intended. I've calculated correctly: he is either exiled or has fled from the clan. His dislike of shapeshifters borders on hatred, and the mere thought of associating himself with them, whether consciously or subconsciously, disgusts him. But how will the others react, those frozen at the edge of the roof? Did my words push them in the right direction? This is more crucial than the reaction of the aggressive raig. He's a stranger in this city, while they are locals - this is not a simple fictitious distinction.

I'm familiar with these Break Knights. Five of the seven belong to BKDW, although they are not open raigs. They were hit hardest by the attack. Much now hinges on their reaction, on their mindset. Formally, I was also a member of the organization as a registered ally Knight. I did not partake in the "day-to-day" affairs but was privy to some of the "internal workings."

The two I'm most interested in are Rex and Leonidas. I've encountered them not only during the Breakthrough but also on my last visit to BKDW. Plus, this pair were the most active on the forum, which could indirectly indicate that their opinion holds weight among other raigs.

My primary bet is placed based on conjectures about the type of people the Break selects to play the role of its Knights. It's a far-fetched theory, but one that aligns well with my observations and the nature of the spectral raig swords.

Of course, all raigs are different. Some are hot-headed, some are calm, some are kind, some are unsentimental, some are jolly, some are gloomy - the differences are plentiful. Yet, there's a subtle similarity amongst all: a certain inner thread or spiritual core. It's not without reason that we have universally been dubbed "Break Knights" - I hope there's some rationale behind it because I have no other strategy to build my behavior upon.

I need Maya. I understand that things would be much more complicated with her, but persuading her would provide a powerful influencing tool. With her help, I could more easily prevent a potential massacre of the city's rat clans by the Knights.

In the long run, Maya Grim is the most critical element. My opinion is unequivocal: BKDW must survive - this organization is a beacon, a flag. It offers the youth an alternative to living in the shadows. Having that choice means a lot.

"Rex, Leonidas," I turn to those who know me best. "Gather everyone on the rooftops. Invite them here. There's no need to force anyone."

Truth be told, I'm mainly speaking to Leonidas - he fought alongside me during the Breakthrough and followed my commands during the battle. He is prepared to acknowledge my authority to instruct him. And if one reacts appropriately, the other will likely follow suit since there will be an example before his eyes.

Leonidas attaches his weapon behind his back. With a brief, silent nod, he takes off. Rex hesitates for a second, then also leaps from the roof. Either I'm an excellent psychologist or a natural-born leader, a quality I've never acknowledged in myself before. Or maybe, I simply assessed the situation accurately.

I need to engage the others, too. Just as in the military, you can't afford to give people time to ponder.

"Crixus, are you with us?" I turn to him, keeping an eye on everyone at once.

"I'm always 'with us,'" he responds ambiguously.

Unfortunately, his response leaves much to interpretation. It could be read in too many ways, but there's no time for contemplation. I detest such situations that call for improvisation and lack contingency plans.

"Master!" A familiar pair leap onto the roof, undeterred by the abundance of raigs around. "Is there anything we can do to help?" Dobrynya asks immediately.

"Baenre, Dobrynya. They're newcomers," I explain to the rest. "They haven't experienced any Breakthroughs yet. Guys, stand aside for now; they don't know you." There's no point in introducing other Knights to the Padawans, who have seen their projections on the net and are familiar with their pseudonyms.

"If you need anything..."

"I understand." I gesture with my hand for them to step aside.

They comply. Excellent. The more instances of others heeding my instructions, the easier it is for the rest to accept it. The psychology of the crowd. Quite a fascinating subject, by the way. A sociologist conducting research in Lebanon piqued my interest in it. We roamed the desert for two weeks together. I gleaned much from him and later read several books on the subject.

How can I navigate this situation without assuming the mantle of leadership? A one-off crisis management is fine, but I don't want to inadvertently become a bona fide leader. These thoughts and fears shouldn't be my focus, yet they still infiltrate my mind.

The arrival of the Padawans fills the spontaneous pause and affords me some thinking time without letting the situation "sag." Then, the Knights summoned by Leonidas and Rex start to gather.

As I converse, I tally the total number of individuals in the square below the roof. I notice an additional twenty-two raigs. I had hoped that half to two-thirds would respond to the call, but the reality proved otherwise. Everyone heeded my summons. No one fled or declined. Another testament to the fact that we are rightly called Knights. After all, this collective moniker has globally "stuck" to raigs. And where the concept of "knight" is unfamiliar, it's replaced with a term of closest meaning. Such universal consensus isn't possible without some form of external or global influence. It's highly plausible that this unanimity didn't come about randomly. The more I observe, the more convinced I am of the validity of such thoughts.

With a few subtle movements, I position myself between the new arrivals and those already stationed on the roof. It's an excellent spot. For those who just approached, it might seem like those behind me are covering and, therefore, supporting me. This instantly enhances my authority. Of course, such an illusion will disintegrate rather quickly if not utilized immediately. Therefore, remaining silent is the worst option...

"I see some new faces."

Indeed, in addition to my trainees, there are two more recently initiated raigs, and one second level raig, whom I haven't noticed in the databases with projection images. With this statement, I achieve the desired effect: people start to exchange glances, turning to the newcomers, thereby shifting the focus of attention away from me.

"I'm Maestro. Is there anyone who hasn't heard of me? If so, raise your hands." A new ripple of movement ensues and not a single hand is raised. "Good," I nod to everyone gathered. "We all know what happened." My sword emerges from the scabbard. The name of my blade is not a secret to many, so there's no need to hide it from the rest, especially when it works to my advantage. "The name of the sword is 'Word.' It imposes on me a vow, which prohibits lying." This revelation seems to stun many. Not because I can't lie, but because I just shared something they considered highly confidential. "It has no rust." I allow the curious to take a peek. Of course, no one steps forward, but I can see their necks inclining towards it.

It appears I managed to ease them a bit and divert their minds from the prevailing thoughts to something else. It was the first step.

"We've been hit. Not BKDW, not those who belong to it... All of us!" There's no dissent, so I continue. "Does anyone here think we should turn the other cheek and forget?" Silence. "Who thinks revenge justifies such an attack?"

Damn it! A blunder! A massive one! Nearly half the hands are raised! Again, I overlook that I'm not in my own world, and the mentality here is entirely different.

"I'll tell you right away," 'Word' is hoisted higher. "Neither Kraas, Thomas, Amanda, nor Red Poppy were involved in the formal cause for revenge. Those who massacred the vassal clan of Eshin are already dead." I intentionally omit the time of their demise. "How do I know that?" A bitter smile graces my face. "To my deep regret, I do. They attacked me as a witness and perished. One fell from a great height when his prana was depleted. The second's blade broke, which was nearly entirely rusted due to the actions of its Knight."

This is a precarious and volatile moment. How will those who didn't have access to the internal website of BKDW and didn't know this backstory react to my words?

Surprisingly, there's no reaction. They simply stand and listen attentively. Only Crixus seems to grunt in surprise, and something akin to respect can be discerned in that exhalation.

"Over a week ago, I informed BKDW about the incident. It appears this information was conveyed to Eshin. They didn't believe it - this much is clear from their memorandum and their talk of lies. But I'm not lying..." My sword is pristine, visible to all. "The strike was aimed not at the guilty, but at those who were easier to reach. Does anyone here find this approach acceptable?"

The question is a trap. If they answer "no," then it won't be so easy for them to go and start killing everyone related to the rats. Not a single hand is raised. Now it's crucial to capitalize on this mesh of semantic traps.

"In my opinion," I emphasize the first word, "this cannot be forgiven!" Almost in sync, the palms of the raigs fall onto their weapon hilts.

These young people, boys and girls, were unsure of what to do or how to react to the situation. For many, BKDW was, if not an ally, then definitely not an enemy. For all the city's Knights, this organization served as a beacon, a potential refuge, a safe haven in case things went awry. The special services saved raigs who fell out during the Breakthroughs, transported bodies to safety, and offered media and financial support. With BKDW in the city, one could contemplate some sort of future and not resign themselves to a life of perpetual solitude and secrecy. The doors were always open to them.

Moreover, many knew the deceased: for some, they were idols they had known about even before their abilities from the Break manifested. This was a heavy blow to everyone, without exception. They're disoriented, even though they wouldn't admit it, not even to their own reflection. But the fact that they're attentively and silently listening to me clearly indicates as much. Otherwise, I would've been interrupted long ago, as is usually the case when a dozen or more young people gather. At such an age, everyone has their own "uniquely correct" opinion. Almost everyone... On those rare occasions when youthful "know-it-all" attitudes meet genuinely unsettling shocks, that's when... that's when they listen - just like now - without interruptions, without interjecting with their own viewpoints.

Moreover, there's an essential detail to consider. The entities before me are projections, not real bodies. They don't have the surge of hormones and quirks of the nervous system; they're more composed than they would be in the physical world.

"We can't forgive... But what good would it do if we find and kill the perpetrators? Would any of you be satisfied with that?" Clearly, this doesn't appeal to everyone. "We need to target those who orchestrated this, those who conceived and gave the orders! Eshin is elusive: many kings, emperors, and even the Inquisition and martial monasteries haven't been able to annihilate the clan." A murmur of discontent with a hint of uncertainty ripples through the disjointed line of raigs. "But none of them had access to what we do. To scrutinize classified documents. To eavesdrop on confidential conversations. To hunt from within the Break, unseen and unidentified. To reach even the most well-guarded target!.. And to punish those who are indisputably guilty!"

These words instill confidence in the Knights - their shoulders straighten, and their faces no longer gaze downward. A good sign.

"Yes! It's not going to be easy. It's a lot of work. Some of you," I nod toward those I noticed in the square among the policemen, "have already embarked on this journey. Gathering all connections, tracking all sources, and reviewing analyst reports - this is only the first stage. The second is harder, and the third will follow, and so on. There will be as many of these steps as necessary. Yes, it doesn't sound like swift revenge. But it will be appropriate revenge! Not targeted at puppets or performers, but at the orchestrators. We have the power to put an end to Eshin, once and for all. Only us," my sword shoots up towards the sky, "and no one else!"

The reaction to my words isn't a roar or a cheer from the crowd. No, it's more of a subdued growl, reverberating around the Break from beneath lowered visors.

Ah... I may have gone too far! I need to temper their emotions urgently, otherwise, their youthful zeal will cause problems!

"But to achieve this, we must stop being solitary. Even if we can't unite in every aspect, we need to be driven by a common goal. We need coordination..." I'm at a loss for words. The right words... But I can't pause and then continue; it's not perfect, but any words are better than silence right now. "Kraas, Thomas - they showed their faces to the public. They became a symbol that we are the Protectors, and ordinary people need not fear us. If their cause perishes and is forgotten, then Eshin's revenge will not only be fulfilled but will also demonstrate that we can be intimidated. And those who can be frightened can be subdued... I appeal to those who are members of BKDW and those who never considered joining the organization. Don't let BKDW perish or allow the banner of all the world's raigs to fall and be forgotten, trampled underfoot. Don't betray the memory of the deceased. BKDW must live on..."

I paused - it was truly challenging to select the right words. A nervous chuckle emanated from the front rows when I stopped speaking. Yaki-dono - that appeared to be the name of the Knight donned in black Japanese classic plate armor.

"I agree," he voiced with a bit too much enthusiasm, "BKDW must persist... They owe me money... Why is everyone gawking? I haven't received my reward for the Breakthrough yet!"

"Me too!" a voice of another Knight, standing at the roof's edge, joined in.

"And I just nabbed the ninth one from the board yesterday!" Another raig, clad in light infantry armor of the late Middle Ages, chimed in, "Nineteen thousand francs... And no! Don't think that I only care about money! It's just disappointing. A bit..."

What a twist! I nearly let my jaw drop. Then, someone chuckled, and a few more joined the laughter. The Knights of the Break laughed, keeping their swords sheathed. Some even doubled over with laughter. I comprehend that this is some sort of tension release, yet it looks bizarre, especially Crixus, who fervently slaps his knees with his hefty messer.

Not everyone was laughing, just a minority, about a third. But thanks to this mirth, the rest have eased a bit, as evidenced by their slightly relaxed postures and indicative gestures.

"Money, funding, government support," my voice was much softer than when I started my speech, "I agree. This isn't something we can dismiss in our position. Retaining BKDW provides us a platform to build upon."

The laughter slowly ebbed. Such outbursts are rare, but I've seen similar ones. Our team filmed in Libya where, post-battle, the government troops laughed the same way, recalling how one of them had a jammed weapon and was banging it against the wall. There was nothing humorous about the scene for an outsider, but they laughed until they cried. The current merriment among some raigs might share a similar origin.

"But primarily, those who are members should decide the fate of the organization."

I purposefully didn't say "were", making it easier for those who remained a part of BKDW to respond as I need. Because if they answer "no," it will appear as though they just made that decision. And given the moral pressure from both the situation and the opinions of others, it would be tough for them to do so after my words.

I took a long, broad step to the side. During the laughter and relaxation of the situation, when spontaneous movement began, the crowd unconsciously regrouped. Now, those who were in the organization stood together. My step drew the attention of others to this group.

Currently, there are nine raigs on the roof of the building who are officially members of the BKDW. Not like me, but fully, except they haven't publicly revealed their faces.

"The decision is yours," I nodded towards this group, with Rex standing at the forefront. "It's up to you to determine whether the Knights of the city will remain a united force or scatter into lone individuals or very small groups. I'm not hurrying you... I comprehend that the decision to sustain the BKDW could pose a risk to your life and those you love. Who knows what information the spies managed to glean for... Eshin." I nearly uttered "rats" but corrected myself in time. That would have been a grave mistake. "Perhaps your real identities are already known to the assassin clan."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Regrettably, I wasn't exaggerating: many joined the BKDW after falling back into reality during a Breakthrough and being rescued by emergency services. Naturally, their personal data immediately became known to the intelligence services. And such raigs were presented with an offer that's hard to decline. "We cover you in the real world, ensuring your media anonymity, and you join BKDW."

Twenty seconds of silence ensued. The knights glanced at each other, the tension escalating with every breath. At last, one of the raigs stepped forward. He goes by the pseudonym Halley. A tall, thin, agile man in a silver cuirass and chainmail, his face concealed by the mesh visor of an infantry knight's helmet. His weapon, a straight longsword, nestled in a sheath on his belt. He's one of the few who've reached the third level. I don't know much about him. I haven't seen him fight - he was on the opposite end of the parking lot during the robot skirmish. Moreover, he barely communicated on the forum, neither in the public nor the private section. I only know one thing, he joined the organization shortly after Thomas and did so voluntarily, becoming the fourth member of the BKDW at that time. Evidently, his opinion carries significant weight, as the others promptly took a step back.

"The threat isn't significant. Only a handful of curators are privy to the identities of the raigs. This information is classified as top-secret and is under the personal supervision of the Duke. If the rats reached that level, their attack would be far more severe," he articulates calmly and confidently. Well done, he's stating exactly what I need, and more importantly, they're listening and understanding him, many visibly relaxed.

I had a hunch about this situation, so I gambled, drawing attention to the escalated risk. Now those in the organization will gain a daredevil reputation, which will benefit both themselves and my impromptu plan.

"As the Maestro said," Halley continued, "abandoning the BKDW now would equate to betraying those who've died. I'm staying!"

He didn't unsheathe his sword or make any dramatic gestures. He simply nodded to everyone and stepped back. But in these modest movements, there was so much dignity, inner strength, and conviction that I felt as if I was witnessing a genuine knight of yore taking a sacred oath.

"I'm with you," Rex stood next to Halley. "And those who killed Amanda..." He pauses for a second, apparently choked up. "I... We! We'll hunt down these monsters!"

What? Ah, I understand now: like Red Poppy, he too was enamored with the girl, which explains his reaction.

"Maestro is right," the third one aligned himself next to them, an almost stranger to me - a raig named Quintus, attired in late Roman armor with steel inserts from Gothic armor. "If we scatter, the most we'll achieve is a meaningless parody of vengeance: inflicted not on the guilty party but on whoever crosses our path."

I can barely suppress a smile; nothing's been decided yet, but we're getting close.

"I'm not one to betray my own," Leonidas joins them.

"Kraas, Thomas, Poppy, Amanda - they were amazing," Shiko, a raig in Chinese plate armor with a massive dadao strapped to his back, squirms in place. "I'm staying, not for revenge, but to ensure that this never happens again..." His voice starts off calm but breaks towards the end. "So that no scum could even entertain the idea of killing one of us!"

As soon as he said this, Crixus leaped towards him and clapped him on the shoulder, extending his hand.

"Respect!"

Initially, it appeared that Shiko wouldn't reciprocate the handshake, but his hesitation didn't last. After a couple of seconds, their hands met in a firm grip.

"I didn't know the deceased too well," another Knight stepped forward. The first level, dressed in Scandinavian armor with fur inserts and a heavy axe hanging from his belt - Oswald, if I'm not mistaken. He was rescued from under the swords of combat robots in the last Breakthrough in the capital - he must've been recruited then. "In general, I wasn't too involved in the BKDW's activities. Honestly, I'm not sure how I can contribute, but... my axe is with you!"

"We're depending on you..."

With these soft, somewhat apprehensive words, two girls step forward. Both are clad in classic brigantines and pointed helmets. They bear a striking resemblance to each other; only the color of their armor differs - one is red, the other gray. Thora and Kael. Rumor has it they're sisters, and one glance at their armor lends credibility to it.

The ninth remains - the last of the BKDW members present - and he hesitates. A large young man, his build rivalling Dobrynya's. He's adorned in a gambeson with sparse metal inserts on his chest, chainmail trousers enveloping his legs, and a Swiss infantry helmet safeguarding his head. His weapon, a massive cleaver hanging from his belt without a sheath, is an earlier model of Crixus' Gross Messer. His pseudonym is Witold, a second-level Knight. I noticed him in the Breakthrough as one of those proficient in swordsmanship. His forum posts indicate a maturity beyond his years, his opinions always measured and logical.

He takes a step back.

"If there's any chance that our real names will be disclosed to Eshin..." His words don't come easily. "Then I decline... I'll be there in the Breakthroughs. But I'm leaving the BKDW." His words are met with complete silence. "I'll protect people from monsters, but I won't embark on the path of revenge..." He looks at the silent Knights and loses his confident tone. "I have three younger sisters! I'm responsible for them first and foremost!"

His final words erupt in a yell. As soon as he finishes, a shadow races across his sword, and a streak of blood-red rust covers nearly a quarter of the blade. The young man hisses in pain, clutching his right hand. With a grunt, Witold leaps off the roof and disappears into a Slide. His exit is met with a chilling silence.

One out of nine! If you'd told me this outcome at the beginning of my speech, I would've been ecstatic, but now I'm filled with regret.

"Coward..." Crixus comments disdainfully on this choice. He probably would have spat after the departing figure if his face hadn't been concealed by a visor.

But this is exactly what I don't need. Those who stay due to the pressure of others' opinions make poor allies. I need genuine volunteers, not pretenders. "Word" flies out of its sheath and halts at the unrestrained Knight's neck. He doesn't flinch at my unexpected action. He just stares, puzzled, at the spectral tip.

"He's a raig," I say calmly. "One of us. We all have the right to choose."

I guessed correctly. Crixus nods at my words, accepting them - they align with his understanding and worldview. If I'm right, he sees all the Knights of the Break as one big family, a family where people of entirely different characters can find a place. With a flawless movement, my sword returns to its sheath.

My show of aggression was a forced and largely impromptu act. As I sheathed "Word", I considered that I might have lashed out unnecessarily, and I began to contemplate how to rectify the situation. However, the reaction of the raigs was contrary to my expectations. They seemed to relax after my outburst, even more so than after the shared laughter about money. It appears that there's something about them I don't fully comprehend. Nevertheless, misunderstanding isn't a reason not to seize the moment.

"I too have this right... The right to choose... And I choose..." It's an opportune moment, with all attention diverted to me. "From being an allied raig of the organization, I'm becoming a full-fledged member of the BKDW!"

This doesn't change much. Like me, many of the present nine only participate in the forum and receive rewards, scarcely engaging in anything else. Nonetheless, the timing of my gesture isn't lost.

As I spoke, I kept an eye on the Padawans - for good reason. Before Dobrynya could take a step forward, I signaled for him to stop! No, I had other plans for them. They saw and complied; they didn't rush forward. Their trust in me is absolute, which is encouraging.

"I'm not compelling anyone to follow my lead. I understand that maintaining anonymity and secrecy now isn't a mere fancy, but a matter of life and death. Yes, Eshin declared in an official statement that they have no interest in revenge and don't wish to escalate the conflict." My words provoked chuckles among the ranks of the Break Knights. "Does anyone believe them?"

I deliberately frame my question to sound mocking. In truth, I believe Eshin's statement. If a clan engaged in such activities for centuries still exists, then its leadership couldn't be entirely made up of fools. That is to say, they would prefer to defuse the conflict. The real question is, to what extent do they believe that after their strike, everything will end? If one thinks about it, they might believe it, for to them - to the clans - ordinary people are nothing more than 'unworthy blood,' fit only for subjugation. And the fact that these 'unworthies' received extraordinary power 'for free' doesn't transform them into true fighters, akin to shapeshifters, in their eyes. The warped logic of the 'superior race' - it's not the first time that those who subscribe to this belief dig their own graves. Perhaps some of the Knights on the roof harbored similar thoughts, but their silent opinion was swallowed in the derisive laughter of the majority.

"That's why it's crucial to maintain our anonymity. True, BKDW rose to prominence on the backs of those who revealed themselves to the world. Kraas, Thomas, Maya... Yes, indeed. But two out of those three are now dead." I sincerely hope that Maya's absence from the news implies she's still alive. "Regardless of whether you decide to join the organization, like I did, or stay as an individual, we should never forget this. I'm not forcing or pursuing anyone to follow in my footsteps."

I felt a bit tangled as I voiced my thoughts. One can improvise for a while, but I can't afford to descend into trivial chatter in this situation, and I struggle to find the right words. My last sentences were altogether unnecessary, effectively undermining half of what I'd previously said. Knowing when to stop is a critical skill that occasionally eludes me.

"I too am now a resident of Wilflaes," Crixus breaks my silence. His sword ascends swiftly. "I've chosen my path." He leaps to the edge of the parapet. Below him, an enormous crowd of people, already fifty thousand strong, barely contained by the police, accompanied by numerous journalists and television cameras. "I am a raig. A Break Knight. And these aren't empty words." Is this a reference to my speech? "I will demonstrate that no act of terrorism can break us." He turns to me, and the tip of his gross messer points directly at my chest. "Are you with me, old man?"

What is he proposing? His gestures suggest that he wants me to stand beside him. Has he gone mad? It seems likely. Yet, I've cornered myself and can't back down now. Not because of "Purity" or "Word," but because if I retreat now, my words will ring hollow.

With a forced grin, I jump and join him. The height isn't significant, but the sight of the vast human sea below is captivating.

"On the count of 'one'?" the audacious Knight poses the question.

I nod at him. All the raigs watch us, their gazes a blend of admiration and confusion.

"Three, two, one!"

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

We emerge from the Break in unison. Initially, no one notices us. However, a few people soon observe two figures appearing on the building's rooftop.

"Back," Crixus whispers, "also on 'one'."

Unlike me, his disguise is far superior. His clan battle armor is matte black, devoid of insignia, outfitted with Kevlar plates. His helmet matches, and his visor prevents any sun glare.

"Three, two, one."

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

"We'll have to wait a bit until they notice us," he says, standing still. "Two more 'blinks', and we'll start."

I stay silent to avoid revealing my identity through my voice. Not that I'm particularly worried – no television cameras can rival Maker's abilities, and one of them already saw my disguise. Moreover, the padding from cotton and scraps under my motorcycle suit fairly well conceals my physique.

I believe I understand what he intends to do, yet doubt gnaws at me because his plan seems troublesome. Moreover, with our helmets and facial coverings, no one will be able to hear us, and gestures can always be misconstrued.

Two more transitions between the Break and reality occur. We finally draw attention from below: thousands of hands point toward the roof of the former museum building. Scores of television cameras and directional microphones are aimed at the spot we just vanished from in the physical world.

"You just need to echo our side," the raig instructs me. "I will address the public."

I feel that if I dare to speak, only curses would escape my lips. So, I choose to remain silent and simply nod. He's trapped me with my own words, and now, with my back against the wall, I can't back down, though I thoroughly despise the situation.

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

We return to reality. The crowd is loud, and the clicks of cameras merge into an incessant chatter.

Crixus raises his hand, and I follow suit, beckoning for silence. My experience tells me that such gestures seldom accomplish their purpose, with a few exceptions. To my genuine surprise, the noise below fades, as if by magic, leaving only the soft hum of camera shutters clicking. This reaction might be due to the diverse crowd beneath us, which includes not just the young but mostly adults, some with their families. While I spoke with the raigs, a veritable wall of flowers grew along the police barrier. Many carried candles, lighting them and placing them next to the bouquets.

My throat feels dry.

Crixus raises his hand to his visor and pulls it back. Before I can internally curse this action, I notice his face is obscured by a dark green bandage under the darkened glass. A clever idea - why didn't I think of such an additional disguise myself?

"Let's start," Crixus whispers so that only I can hear.

I dip my head slightly to acknowledge his words.

We begin simultaneously. His voice is loud, and mine is quiet enough. My words, muffled behind my visor, can only reach the raigs standing nearby in the Break on the roof. His, however, resonate across the entire square. Crixus' voice is confident and well modulated, clearly trained in oratory. We didn't need to align our speeches beforehand, as it was so apparent. These words are the credo of BKDW, the pledge uttered by every Break Knight who joins the organization. These lines are familiar to anyone interested in raigs and can be found on the "front" page of the site.

"I... Crixus!"

"I... Maestro!"

The only variance lies in our names, and then our words align perfectly. I purposefully synchronize my rhythm with my unexpected partner in this event.

"As a member of the Break Knights, the Defenders of Wilflaes, I swear to always defend the city from Breakthroughs and to protect its people from the creatures of the Break! I swear to watch over my comrades' backs and not abandon them in times of difficulty! I am a Break Knight - the shield of this world! I am the sword of Wilflaes!"

Our fists strike our chests simultaneously.

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

"The rest," Crixus' projection turns towards me, "I'll handle by myself."

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

The sound assaults my ears as the young man returns to reality, this time alone. The crowd below has hardly had time to process our shared oath when he materializes before tens of thousands of eyes once again. His hands lift to tear off his helmet, then he removes the protective bandage to reveal his face. The clicking of cameras intensifies.

"I am Crixus!" the young man's self-assured voice overrides the clamor below. "The name given to me at birth is Ange from the Mustelier family!" I catch my breath. Is he the duke of Corsica's son? If my memory serves me right, it's the weasel shapeshifters who rule that island. "I am a Break Knight, and Wilflaes is my new home. In place of the fallen open Knights, I reveal my face to the world. The terrorist attack did not break us... No assaults or attacks will stop us from protecting people from Breakthroughs. We are the shield! We will continue to be so!"

With a noble bow, as the true knights of old once did, he straightens himself and, with a clenched fist thrust skyward, vanishes from the sight of the crowd.

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!