Sedgwick's eyes widened.
Charging at him from the battlefield came a lone boy—wild-eyed, reckless, and burning with something far more dangerous than anger.
"You fools!" Sedgwick barked, stepping back instinctively. "Capture him!"
Theo didn't slow. His feet slammed the dirt, every stride carved from rage. Grief clung to his chest like chains, but anger burned through it like fire.
He wasn't thinking. He wasn't planning.
He was done hiding.
He was going to make someone pay.
But just as Theo closed in—something shifted.
A gust of wind exploded through the area. Dust twisted into the sky. A blur of forest green tore past him like a gale.
Cloak billowing, sword drawn, the figure darted toward Sedgwick.
"What now—?!" Sedgwick stumbled backward and shoved one of his soldiers into the oncoming strike.
Steel clashed against steel.
The soldier collapsed with a groan.
"Defend me!" Sedgwick shrieked.
Another gust whipped through the air, tearing the hood from the stranger's head. A man with a thick beard, dark eyes, revealed himself.
It was Nozomu.
He didn't waste a second. He raised a hand, wind coiling around his fingers. With a sharp breath, he unleashed a storm that tore through the enemy's ranks like a hurricane, scattering Sedgwick's men in all directions.
Then the ground quaked.
Sedgwick lost his footing and hit the dirt.
When he looked up—there was a shadow standing over him.
Evaughn Wyatt.
Bald, bearded, and built like a barricade, his forest green cloak fluttered behind him like the wings of a hawk. Muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he leaned forward, grinning down at the cowering Sedgwick.
"Going somewhere, Section Commander?" Evaughn asked, cracking his knuckles. Sedgwick tried to stand but flinched as more enemies emerged from the smoke.
A blur shot overhead. Boots landed with precision. Hair as dark as ink whipped around her as she spun midair, tossing a rope javelin made of pure water into the nearest soldier's chest.
Isabella Rain—small but merciless. Her movements were sharp, clean, efficient.
Wind howled again as Nozomu bellowed, "Attack!"
Their cloaks—the same deep green—marked them as a unit. A resistance.
Sedgwick's jaw clenched. "Kill them! Kill them all!"
His soldiers obeyed, casting their hands forward channeling a gust with sharp calls.
"Wind Manipulation... Needle Current!"
Razor-sharp flechettes burst from their palms—whistling blades of air meant to pierce flesh and bone.
But before they reached their mark, the air shifted again.
Above them hovered a young man with a calm, unreadable expression. His wavy hair was tied back in a man bun, and his sword was already drawn.
Pop.
"You all lack control... over the wind!" he yelled, swinging once.
A wall of wind burst from his blade. It caught the incoming needles, turned them around, and hurled them back toward the soldiers who had cast them.
The explosion was immediate.
Screams tore through the sky as Sedgwick's forces were shredded by their own attack.
As the smoke cleared, another figure stepped into the chaos, boots crunching through the soot. Emerald eyes glinted behind square-rimmed glasses. Fiery red hair trailed behind her.
Tana Effie.
"You guys always get the fun stuff," she huffed, lifting her arm. A swirl of flame danced across her palm.
"Flame Manipulation… Prometheus Spear!"
The fire exploded into shape—long and spiraling, forged into a weapon of molten energy.
She hurled it into the fray.
A blinding blast rocked the battlefield. Flames engulfed what was left of Sedgwick's front line. The smell of burning cloth and cooked steel filled the air.
Theo could barely speak. His heart pounded in his ears. These people—who were they?
Dawn knelt beside him. "We need to move—while we can."
But Theo wasn't listening. He was already crawling toward the lifeless bodies of his parents.
Meanwhile, Sedgwick stumbled to his feet. Blood caked his lip. His cloak was singed. Around him, his men regrouped under the bark of another voice.
"Sir! This way!"
From the edge of the field rode a frail man in a similar cloak and armor—less elegant, but still marked with status. His shaggy black hair blew wildly in the wind as he waved frantically from horseback.
Branch Corvust.
He had arrived with dozens of horses trailing behind.
Sedgwick shoved his soldiers out of the way and made a break for them. "Retreat! All forces fall back!"
The surviving men followed.
But Nozomu wasn't letting him go that easily.
He twisted his fingers. A sphere of spinning wind formed in his palm—tight, fast, and howling.
With one breath, he hurled it.
The sphere barreled across the field.
Sedgwick's eyes widened.
He yanked one of his soldiers into its path.
The man was swept up instantly—shredded by the spiraling air, his scream lost inside the wind before being flung into the sky.
The distraction worked.
Sedgwick mounted a horse and rode off with his men toward the edge of the Wastelands.
Isabella stood beside Nozomu. "Should we go after them?"
"No," Nozomu said, his eyes locked on something else.
Evaughn stepped forward. "You sure? We can still catch them."
Nozomu didn't answer.
His attention was fixed on Theo.
The boy sat on his knees, hunched over the bodies of his mother and father. His arms cradled them like broken porcelain. His face—wet with tears, his mouth frozen mid-sob.
Nozomu walked toward him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "We couldn't get here sooner."
Theo said nothing. But a single cry tore from his throat—raw, unfiltered grief.
Dawn and David stayed by his side.
Nozomu turned and walked away.
"Isabella, Tana—tend to the wounded," he ordered. "Evaughn, Pop—check for survivors."
Pop motioned to Theo and the bodies. "What about the ones who've been… you know?"
Nozomu exhaled, closing his eyes. "If they're mind-wiped, they'll die within the hour. There's nothing we can do. Move out!"
Everyone nodded. "Yes, sir!"
Smoke still hung over the field like a dying breath. The battle was over, but the silence that followed felt heavier than any clash of steel.
Ash drifted lazily through the air, mingling with the scent of scorched land and grief. In the center of the devastation, Theo remained unmoving—clutching what was left of his world in shaking arms.
From the ridge above, Sedgwick paused.
His men regrouped around him, battered and burned, their morale cracked if not broken. For a moment, Sedgwick said nothing.
His chest heaved as his eyes swept over the battlefield. His soldiers lay in heaps. Their enemy had retreated to tend to the wounded—but they had won the day.
He hadn't.
And worse—he knew someone had seen him run.
Clenching his jaw, he turned his horse with a violent tug and galloped away.
Whatever peace Sector Five had known was over.
And far beyond the smoke and flame, in a fortress carved from stone and dread, answers would be demanded.
Because the God-King did not tolerate failure.
Far across the fields of Sector Five, Sedgwick and his forces galloped across the plains.
Their destination loomed ahead: a massive black-iron stronghold.
Inside, soldiers lined the halls. "Welcome back, sir!"
Sedgwick didn't stop. He shoved them aside. "Move, imbeciles!"
He stormed into his quarters and locked the door.
His eyes and fingertips began to glow.
He pressed two fingers to his temple—and his consciousness slipped from his body.
Suddenly, Sedgwick stood in a different world.
A throne room—not made of marble or gold, but of stars.
Cosmic light stretched across an endless chamber, galaxies suspended in the void like chandeliers.
A throne sat in the center, tall and obsidian, crackling with celestial energy.
Seated on it was a figure—a silhouette of power.
The God-King.
Sedgwick dropped to one knee.
"Your Grace."
"Speak," the God-King said.
"I believe we've found him," Sedgwick replied, swallowing hard.
The God-King's aura rippled. The room shook.
"You're sure?"
"Yes. We were ambushed," Sedgwick continued, sweat trailing down his neck. "But the man leading them—he fits the description."
"Then it's in your possession now?" the God-King asked, voice like a storm held in chains.
Sedgwick hesitated. "Regrettably, no, Your Grace. The target escaped during the battle. There were… multiple Dyna users. Not just one."
The chamber trembled. Stars blinked out above his head. Cosmic rubble fell like meteors.
"Did I ask for your excuses?" the God-King thundered.
"N-no, Your Grace," Sedgwick stammered.
There was silence.
Then the God-King spoke—calm, cold, final.
"Section Commander Sedgwick Fullerman. By my will, you are to retrieve the Iritheum Core. No matter the cost. By any means necessary."
Sedgwick bowed low, forehead to the floor of stars. "At once, Your Grace."
And the vision shattered.
Back in his quarters, Sedgwick gasped for air.
His fingers twitched.
His orders were clear.
Retrieve the Iritheum Core.
By any means necessary.
He stood, his eyes glowing faintly from the lingering echo of the God-King's will.
The room around him felt colder now—emptier. He reached for the edge of the table and steadied himself.
Outside, the fortress remained alive with activity. Soldiers marched. Officers barked orders. The sun had already dipped past the hills, casting Sector Five in blood-orange hues.
Sedgwick didn't care.
He walked to the window and looked toward the black horizon.
Toward Artimia.
Toward the wreckage.
Toward Nozomu.
"You damn scum..." he muttered under his breath, the words crawling from his throat like venom. "I saw it in your eyes."
A cruel smile crept onto his lips.
"You're the one, aren't you? The one who stole the Iritheum Core."
His reflection in the glass flickered, the edges of his face warping—like something old and inhuman was staring back.
"You'll come to me eventually," he whispered. "But I won't wait."
He turned sharply, cloak billowing behind him.
"Prep the Devil Unit," Sedgwick barked to the guards outside. "Mobilize the men. I want eyes all across the sector."
The guard hesitated. "Across the entire sector, sir?"
Sedgwick's gaze turned cold.
"Did I stutter?! Yes! The entire sector!"
He closed the door behind him and let the silence press in once more.
The hunt had begun.