At Dr. Hugo's place, Shanya leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on Chiaki, who had just regained consciousness a few minutes ago.
Chiaki sat on the couch, holding her head and frowning. "I don't know why, but this headache's worse than usual. It feels like my whole skull's throbbing."
"Yeah, well, you got messed up pretty bad," Shanya replied with a casual shrug. "Took a serious hit. Honestly, kinda surprised you pulled through. Thought you were done for."
Chiaki let out a small laugh and shook her head. "I know. I'm surprised, too. But I'm really glad you brought me here in time. I was way too careless. If I hadn't used reinforcement technique on my skin, I probably would've lost my head—literally. I came so close to dying, it's unreal."
"Well, whatever. Point is, you're still breathin'," Shanya said, arms crossed and eyes sharp. "Next time, don't be so reckless. Luck doesn't always bail people out. Just stay on that sofa and chill for a while, alright? You need the rest."
"Yeah, I'll take your advice," Chiaki replied, easing herself down on the couch, curling onto her side. She closed her eyes with a quiet sigh. "Hopefully this headache's gone when I wake up." After a pause, she muttered, "I wonder what happened after everything went down…"
As they spoke, unaware of any looming presence, a figure lingered just beyond the window's view—partially concealed behind the trunk of a tall, gnarled tree. She leaned forward slightly, her long nails brushing against the bark, a sly grin stretching wide across her face. Her tongue ran along her crimson lips, slow and deliberate, as if savoring a taste yet to come.
"Ooh... these two might just be quite the prize," she purred with a hushed chuckle, her voice dripping with amusement and something darker beneath the surface. The moonlight hit her face just right, revealing glimmering eyes full of mischief and intent.
She tilted her head, watching their every move like a predator studying its prey.
"So young. So unguarded. And here I thought today would be dull," she whispered to herself, vanishing back into the shadows, her silhouette melting into the night.
Once again, deep within the shallow, snow-kissed forest far removed from the bustling heart of Cascade Cradle, a hidden mansion housed a dark congregation. Timeworn wooden floors groaned beneath boots, and lanternlight flickered across cobweb-laced walls. At the head of the room, where a once-grand throne sat draped in layers of dust, a crimson cushion offered the only vibrancy in an otherwise gray and hollow chamber. Upon that seat rested a man, his posture regal, yet heavy with years of ambition, waiting for the opportune moment to arise.
Surrounding him stood the Vesperians—cloaked in shadow, dressed in garments of pitch and ash. Hoods veiled their identities, and coats lined with fur shielded them from the cold that crept through the broken glass windows. Some bore polished boots that whispered of military pasts; others had daggers at their sides and worn sigils etched onto their belts—tokens of ancient, secret orders.
The man upon the seat finally rose, his voice steady, deep, and deliberate—cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
"I have summoned you all here, my loyal brethren, not out of whim, but out of purpose long carved into our bones and etched into the fabric of our order. Tonight is not just another night. It is the night we ignite the fire that has long slept within the cold ashes of silence. For decades, we have stood in the shadows, watching as Cascade Cradle grew fat under false peace—built upon foundations we bled to forge. Our ancestors laid the path, but the city turned its back on us. They called us exiles. Outlaws. Monsters."
He stepped forward slowly, his cloak sweeping the ground, eyes gleaming with fervor.
"But I say—we are the forgotten truth. The buried flame. The storm they dared to silence, but could never destroy. Our cause is righteous. Our vengeance is patient. And our time... is now."
He raised a gloved hand, gesturing to the circle surrounding him.
"Tonight, as the sun dips behind the distant hills and the final light bleeds from the sky, we shall begin our descent into Cascade Cradle. Its center—its core—will be the stage for our reckoning. Do not underestimate the path ahead. The city's defenders are formidable, and their watchful eyes are many. But they lack what we possess... unity, hunger, and purpose born from years of darkness."
His voice grew more intense, his tone tightening.
"We shall not be driven by reckless thirst for blood—no. That is the path of beasts. We must be sharper than a fang, more precise than any blade. Tonight, we do not fight for mere revenge. We rise for reclamation. For justice. For the legacy of Vesperians."
He paused, letting silence settle, eyes locking with each member around him.
"When we strike, we do so as one. Not as individuals, not as rogues or mercenaries—but as a single force, born from the shadows to swallow the light. Let the city tremble. Let the world bear witness. The Vesperians return not to ask, not to plead—but to take."
A long, weighted breath followed. Then he sat back down, steepling his fingers.
"Now go. Ready your weapons, steel your minds. At nightfall, the cradle shall break."
"Now, now… what do we have here?"
The sudden voice cut through the room like a sharp blade drawn from a sheath. The Vesperians turned swiftly, eyes narrowing as the figure in the doorway stepped into the dusty, broken mansion.
Sunlight spilled in behind him, throwing his long shadow across the rotting floorboards. He was tall, composed, dressed in the unmistakable white marine officer's coat—threaded with red linings, gold-pressed buttons gleaming against the faint light. Each click of his boots echoed with eerie precision.
"I must say," he drawled smoothly, eyes lazily sweeping over the dark-cloaked gathering, "a fine day for plotting a revolution. Sunny skies, birds chirping... and yet here you all are. Sulking in an overpriced ruin."
Some Vesperians moved, hands subtly brushing against hidden blades. But their leader—seated on a high-backed, dusty throne adorned with a crimson cushion—raised his hand, commanding silence.
Desmond stopped a few steps from the center, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Honestly, I'd expected something more theatrical. I came prepared for blood and spectacle, not moldy curtains and broken beams. But… I suppose beggars can't be choosers."
The leader didn't rise, but his voice was sharp. "You're brave to walk in alone. Or foolish."
Desmond chuckled, brushing a hand through his dark hair. "Oh, no. Not foolish. Just… opportunistic. You see, I've been listening. Your grand little plan to storm the heart of Cascade Cradle—sweep away the regime, soak the city in blood, carve your names into its walls. Beautiful stuff."
He paused. "Tragic, of course. Because your plan will fail."
A tense breath passed through the room.
"Unless," Desmond continued, raising a gloved hand, "you had help. Someone with access. Someone with clearance to the depths you so desperately want to reach."
Now, the Vesperian leader stood. Slowly. Measured.
"What are you implying, Marine?"
Desmond's smile widened like a knife's edge. "I want in. But I'm not offering for free. I've got the badge, the codes, the insight. I've walked through the doors you only dream of reaching. But there's one thing I don't have. One tiny detail. The location and access information to the entrance of the underwater sector—the true heart of Cascade Cradle."
Murmurs spread through the Vesperians.
Desmond paced a few steps, turning to face them directly. "You want to take the city. I want to crack it open from the inside. But I need your secrets. I know the government sealed those blueprints generations ago, buried the coordinates in the minds of ghosts and dead men. But you... you Vesperians, you cultists and rebels... you know the old roads. The back doors."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "You want us to trust a marine. One who demands information reserved only for our kind?"
Desmond turned sharply, voice low but firm. "I want access. That's it. I'll bring you to the mainframe beneath the city. I'll get you past the defense grid. I'll make the officials vanish from their posts. But you need to give me the location of the Abyssal Gate. The one that leads beneath the city's crust and into the original sector—the underwater chambers before the city rose. The real Cascade Cradle."
Silence.
Then the Vesperian leader walked down from the dais, cloak dragging behind him like a shadow.
"You're a dangerous man, Desmond."
Desmond grinned. "That's what they keep telling me."
"If you betray us—"
"You'll make a necklace from my teeth. Yes, yes, I'm familiar with your flair for drama."
Another pause. The leader extended his hand.
"You'll have your key, Marine. And we'll have our war."
Desmond shook it firmly. "Let's drown the city in truth."
Their eyes locked, a pact forged in treachery and ambition.
And so began the darkest chapter of Cascade Cradle.
To be continued...