VIP Lounge at Wilflaes Central Airport. The ambiance is cooled by powerful air conditioners, with chic and lavish furnishings setting the mood. Nestled beside a panoramic window is a petite table. Two comfortable leather armchairs frame it, and on top, small cups of elite porcelain brim with steaming green tea.
"Rui... Don't stress so much. It's just for a short while. A week, two at most, and you'll be back." Zanh Kiem picks up a cup and offers a reassuring smile as he speaks.
"But leaving the team right now..." The Seer shakes her head.
"You're not leaving for good! You're just taking a break for treatment."
"But..."
"No 'buts'!" The Maker's voice takes on a stern tone. "You need to cleanse your aura."
"I understand."
"Then stop worrying. The main task is done. What's left is routine."
"I still want to help."
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"You will... in two weeks." The leader of the Third Palm nods in agreement.
"I get it, but..." Rui lifts her cup.
"Again, no 'buts'!"
"Attention! Flight 17925 is now boarding for Beijing." The Maker's words are cut off by the loudspeaker announcement.
"That's your flight, time to go," Zanh Kiem says with a kind wink.
"It's time, lao ban..."
The Seer nods, standing from her chair, her boss following closely.
"I..." Rui hesitates, her face draining of color.
Her gaze darkens briefly before blazing with madness. The porcelain cup shatters in her clenched hand, and she stumbles, falling back into her chair. With bloodied fingers, Rui hastily searches her purse, extracting her cell phone. She mutters something, lips moving silently, and then drops the phone, its pieces scattering.
"What happened?" The Maker reaches out, trying to stabilize the Seer, but she repels him with surprising strength. Zanh Kiem crashes sideways, toppling tables until a bar counter halts his momentum.
Foam bubbles at Rui's lips. She scratches desperately at the armchair's leather. Suddenly, she leaps up, only to collapse after a few steps. As she convulses on the floor, the airport VIP lounge's security – a trio of shapeshifters – races to her side. But as they approach, the Seer springs up, incapacitating them with swift strikes. Gasping, she dashes to the glass door. It fails to open in time, but her frenzied, red-eyed state is undeterred. Glass shatters, scattering shards everywhere. The Maker, dazedly picking himself up, watches in disbelief as his once-composed subordinate bolts erratically away.