Two days had elapsed since Kristen's collapse, and Columbia's noble districts remained a festering blight under an ironclad lockdown.
Once glittering centres of wealth within the nation's mobile cities—symbols of Columbia's Originium-driven prosperity, like Trimounts with its towering corporate spires—they now stood desolate, their marble estates stained with blood and haunted by the faint cawing of Hamelin's dwindling crow flocks.
The command team had relocated to a fortified conference hall in Columbia's administrative core, a concrete stronghold amidst the sleek urban expanse of a city built on innovation and inequality.
Saria, Muelsyse, Ferdinand, and representatives from the Maylander Historical Association, Columbian Department of Defence, and Medical Board gathered around a utilitarian table, their faces drawn with exhaustion as they awaited Kristen Wright.
The door slid open, and Kristen entered, her presence a jarring shift from the woman they'd known.
Saria's keen gaze caught it immediately: the detached, analytical confidence that had once defined Rhine Lab's Control was gone, replaced by a cryptic, heavy aura.
Dark bags shadowed her eyes, thinly veiled by makeup, her silver hair pulled taut, her movements deliberate yet weighed down, as if carrying an unseen burden.
She took her place at the table's head, her gaze sweeping the room, and dropped a devastating decree without hesitation.
"As of right now, Rhine Lab is stopping all medical care for the nobles—with immediate effect," she declared, her voice flat, cutting through the stunned silence like a fragment of Originium.
Leaning forward, Saria's tone was sharp with disbelief and her crystalline aura flickered with unease.
"What are you saying, Kristen? We've got bioengineering teams working through nights on those serums—containment's holding, barely. Why scrap it all now? Give me something solid."
Kristen met her gaze, her shadowed eyes unyielding, though a trace of weariness lingered beneath her resolve.
"It's unnecessary, Saria," she began, her words precise, edged with conviction.
"First, the pathogen's incurable—Rhine Lab's data, even with our Originium expertise, shows it's fused to their cellular structure, beyond reversal."
"Second, Columbia's stretched thin—our mobile cities are burning resources on power grids and defence, and every vial we waste on nobles pulls us from Hamelin's threat."
"Third, they don't deserve it—these elites turned Rhine Lab's innovations into tools for their greed, hoarding Originium profits while the slums choke on dust. It's simply karma."
Saria's fists clenched, her voice rising, her crystalline shield pulsing faintly.
"That's a death sentence, Kristen! Rhine Lab's mission—our mission—is progress, not judgement. The nobles are corrupt, sure, but their staff, their families—they're caught in this too. You're tossing them aside like scrap!"
"They're casualties of their own making."
Kristen shot back, her tone hardening.
"The epidemy only targeted a specific group. It's evident that one of them incurred the wrath of Hamelin."
"A few even made it out alive. Those whose backgrounds were clean."
Ferdinand interjected, his voice a low rumble.
"She's got a bead on it. But this is cold, Kristen. You're sure? there's no turning back."
"Certain", she replied, her resolve unshakeable.
"Muelsyse—prognosis. Tell them."
Muelsyse shifted, her elfin features tightening as she spoke, her voice soft but heavy.
"It's bleak. The serums slow the lesions—temporarily—but the Originium trigger's too deep, rewriting their biology. Reversal's a fantasy; with our current tech, we're looking at five years minimum, and that's if we crack something revolutionary. It's not viable."
Saria's jaw locked, her crystalline gaze boring into Kristen, but Muelsyse's words landed like a blow, stifling her rebuttal.
The room simmered with tension, the Maylander envoy scribbling notes, the DoD officer's face grim, the Medical Board liaison paling.
Kristen turned to the comms panel, her fingers tapping a secure line.
"Get me President Mark Max," she commanded, her voice steady.
The screen flared, revealing Mark Max—Columbia's president, a peculiar yet imposing figure.
His form was that of a pigeon, his feathers a muted grey-blue, adorned with a formal black suit jacket that bore a golden badge emblazoned with a crow and the words "CU Terra Bless", a Columbian emblem symbolising the nation's pioneering spirit.
Red and white ribbons, echoing Columbia's flag, draped across his chest, and a pair of antlers—perhaps a ceremonial accessory—protruded from his head, adding an air of authority to his avian frame.
His large, round eyes glinted with the sharp pragmatism of a leader navigating a nation of mobile cities and corporate giants.
"Wright", he cooed, his voice surprisingly deep for his form, carrying the weight of Columbia's restless sprawl.
"This better be worth my time—Trimounts is a feather's breadth from riots, and the corps are squawking."
"It's pivotal," Kristen said, leaning in.
"Rhine Lab's ending noble treatment—today. The infection's beyond us, a resource drain we can't sustain with Hamelin circling. They're finished. I propose we let them collapse—shift to containment, and rebuild Columbia's nobility lineage from the leftovers."
Mark Max tilted his head, his beak clicking softly, his tone sceptical.
"You're cutting off the elite—their money fuels half our grid, Wright. Raythean's already flapping about lost contracts. You've got proof it's hopeless?"
"Solid proof", she affirmed.
"The pathogen's Originium-based, fused deep—Rhine Lab's best can't touch it. Muelsyse pegs reversal at five years, minimum—too late.
"We can create a new born noble coalition born from those who survived. "
"I will be it's representative ."
He ruffled his feathers, his gaze calculating Columbia's fractured landscape—mobile cities like Bolívar teetering, Trimounts' slums simmering.
"Hamelin's the real storm—crows are crashing drones, and the Medical Board's a mess. If you're dead set…"
"I am," she said, her tone final. "Five years is a dream we can't chase."
Mark Max cooed sharply, a decisive sound.
"Alright—nobles are cut loose. You've got my nod, Wright, but you're on the hook—keep this from sparking a civil mess, or you're plucked."
The screen blinked out.
Saria stared, shock carving her features, her voice a low rasp.
"You just got Mark Max to sign their death warrant. What's happened to you, Kristen?"
Kristen turned, her shadowed eyes glinting with a fierce, unreadable light.
"I've seen the truth," she said, her voice swelling with purpose.
"I'm done propping up the rot. From now on, I'm leading a new noble order—Rhine Lab takes control, remakes Columbia from the ashes. I'll handle it all."
Saria's crystalline aura flared, her words sharp with disbelief.
"A new order? You're not the Kristen I stood by—this is something else, something broken."
"Maybe it's what I should've been," Kristen replied, her tone cryptic, resolute.
"Rest up, Saria—the fight's just beginning."
She strode out, leaving the room in a stunned hush, her silhouette an enigma against Columbia's fractured horizon.
***
The conference hall's heavy silence lingered as Kristen Wright strode out, her words—a new noble movement—hanging like a storm cloud over the stunned coalition.
Saria's crystalline aura pulsed with unease, her mind racing as she watched Kristen's silhouette vanish through the door.
Something was wrong—deeply, fundamentally wrong.
The Kristen she'd known, the analytical control of Rhine Lab, wouldn't pivot so sharply, wouldn't abandon the nobles so coldly, wouldn't speak with such cryptic fire.
Without a second thought, Saria bolted after her, her boots echoing down the concrete hallway of Columbia's administrative core.
"Kristen!" Saria called, her voice sharp, cutting through the sterile air.
She caught up just as Kristen reached a junction, her hand closing around Kristen's arm, halting her mid-step.
"Stop—talk to me."
Kristen froze, her back to Saria, her silver hair catching the dim light. Slowly, she turned, her shadowed eyes meeting Saria's, the dark bags beneath them stark against her pale skin.
The air between them crackled with tension, a storm of unspoken questions brewing.
Saria's grip tightened, her tone low but urgent.
"What's changed you, Kristen? This isn't you—halting treatment, leading a movement, all of it. What's driving these decisions? What happened?"
Kristen's gaze flickered, a storm of emotions passing through her eyes—guilt, resolve, something darker. She didn't answer immediately, her silence heavy, suffocating.
Saria pressed, her voice softening but no less insistent.
"Is this about Hamelin? Did he do something to you?"
Kristen's lips parted, but instead of addressing Hamelin, her voice came out cold, cryptic.
"It's from my new director," she said, her tone flat, as if reciting a line she didn't fully understand herself.
Saria blinked, confusion etching her features, her crystalline aura dimming slightly.
"New director? What are you talking about? Why now? What's going on, Kristen?"
Kristen's hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles whitening as she looked at Saria, her expression a mix of defiance and raw vulnerability.
"I'm no saint, Saria," she confessed, her voice low, trembling with the weight of her words.
"Far from it—I'm worse than the nobles we're letting die."
Saria's breath caught, her grip loosening as Kristen continued, her voice steadying but laced with self-loathing.
"For the sake of my desires—my dreams of progress, of reaching the sky—I held nothing back. Countless Originium experiments, exploiting those who sought refuge in Columbia, lured by the lie of a 'land of equality'."
"I let it happen—helped the government craft biological weapons, turned a blind eye as we broke the desperate for our gain."
"Rhine Lab's hands are stained, and I'm the one who dipped them in blood."
She paused, her fist trembling, her gaze distant, as if seeing the ghosts of her past.
"This—Hamelin, the nobles' suffering, the Rhine lab accident —it's my karma. I've reaped what I sowed."
Saria stood frozen, her crystalline shield dormant, her mind reeling.
She'd seen glimpses of Rhine Lab's darker dealings—Originium tests on the vulnerable.
Her mind rushed to Ifrit.
She'd stood by, complicit in her silence, her position as a defender leaving her no room to act.
"I… I watched it happen," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes dropping to the floor.
"I don't have the ground to judge you."
Kristen's gaze softened, but her resolve didn't waver.
"What awaits me at the end of this road is darkness—nothing more," she said, her tone resigned yet firm.
"But the only thing I can do now is change. I'll remake Columbia, purge its rot, even if it damns me further."
She stepped back, pulling free from Saria's grasp, her voice steady as she concluded,
"Whether you follow me or not, Saria—that's your choice."
With that, she turned, her silhouette receding down the hallway, leaving Saria alone with the weight of her words.
Saria stood rooted, her crystalline aura flickering faintly, the echoes of Kristen's confession reverberating in the sterile corridor.
Beyond the walls, Columbia's mobile cities rumbled on, their engines fuelled by Originium and ambition, while the crows' distant cries whispered of a reckoning still unfolding.