The train rolled into Griza just as the sky began to burn gold and orange with the last light of day. The city, always cloaked in a colder haze than Orlandis, greeted them with a stiff breeze that curled under their jackets and tugged at their clothes. Castor stood by the doors, his breath fogging faintly on the glass, the weight of the shield slung across his back like a silent vow.
Misha gave a tired yawn as she stepped off the train. "I need a hot bath and a day of sleep," she muttered, stretching her arms.
Isla, more composed but clearly exhausted, nodded. "Let me know if anything happens. I'll be ready."
"Thanks," Castor said to both of them. He didn't need to say more. The bond they'd formed during the trip, the things they'd seen—it was enough.
The two girls disappeared into the Griza streets, leaving Castor and Snowflake alone on the station platform.
She bumped her shoulder lightly against his. "Back to the cold reality, huh?"
Castor nodded, rubbing the side of his neck. "Yeah."
They walked in silence, boots thudding softly against the pavement as they passed shuttered shops and flickering streetlamps. Snowflake had offered to help him get a new place since his apartment had been wrecked during Ethan's rampage. For now, he was staying with her. He didn't know how to feel about that. It was a comfort, but also… complicated.
He reached for his phone, only to remember it had been destroyed. With a sigh, he borrowed Snowflake's and dialed Cassie.
She picked up on the second ring. "Where the hell were you?" Her voice was sharp with worry and fury. "Your phone's been off! I've been calling you for days, Castor!"
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I lost it somewhere. I... went on a short trip. Just needed to clear my head."
Cassie was quiet for a beat, then sighed heavily. "Whatever. I'm at Maria's place. Apartment's still a wreck."
"I know. I'll figure something out soon. I promise."
He hung up and handed the phone back.
Snowflake raised a brow. "That went well."
"About as well as I expected."
Her apartment came into view. It was high up, with floor-length windows that overlooked a stretch of Griza's skyline. Inside, warm lights spilled across plush rugs and sleek, minimalist furniture. The moment the door closed behind them, Castor took a deep breath.
"Snowflake," he began, "I need to talk to you."
She was already slipping off her coat, but paused. "This sounds serious."
He stepped into the living room and dropped the bag carrying the Aegis Shield. It thudded against the floor with the weight of a destiny he hadn't asked for.
"It is. I've been thinking a lot lately. About Ethan, about what we saw. About everything."
She folded her arms, watching him carefully.
"It has to be me," Castor said. "I have to be the one to stop Ethan. And from what we saw… only I can wield the Aegis Shield."
She flinched, then frowned. "Don't say that. We don't know for sure—maybe it just responded to you because you were the one who picked it up. I could've—"
"No," he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "We tried. You all tried. It didn't move. Not for Isla, not for Misha. Just me."
Snowflake's jaw clenched. She crossed the room, her movements quick and angry.
"You don't have to do this alone. I have powers, Castor. Isla has powers. We can fight. We can help you!"
"I know you can. But it's not just about fighting. It's about Ethan. I knew him. I still know him. If there's any part of him left in there, I have to try. I owe him that."
"You owe yourself the chance to survive!" she shouted. "Why do you always do this? Why do you always try to carry everything by yourself?!"
His silence said more than any words could. He looked away, eyes clouded.
Snowflake's fury cracked, fell away into something rawer.
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't go. Please. We can figure something out. We can find another way. We always do."
He looked at her then. Her white hair framed her pale face like a halo, her crimson eyes full of emotion she usually hid so well. She reached up and touched his cheek, fingers trembling.
"You don't understand," she said, and her voice was cracking now, vulnerable in a way that made his heart twist. "You mean so much to me. If something happens to you, I don't know what I'll do."
She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. For a moment, they just stood there. Breathing.
Then she gently pushed him backward, guiding him toward the bed. He stumbled slightly, landing on the mattress as she leaned over him.
"Snowflake…"
"Stay," she whispered. "Just for tonight. Don't talk about saving anyone or sacrificing yourself. Just be here. With me."
She kissed him. Soft, hesitant at first, then more desperately, like she was trying to memorize him.
His hands found her shoulders and he pushed back, gently but firmly.
"Snowflake."
Her eyes opened, wet with unshed tears.
"I can't," he said. "Not like this. Not when I know what I have to do."
"Please..."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
He stood, brushing past her and grabbing his coat. His chest ached. Everything in him screamed to stay. To give in. But he couldn't.
He turned at the door, one last time. "You're everything to me, too. That's why I have to do this."
And then he left.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, but the weight of it felt like a slam.
Snowflake stood alone in the dim room, the imprint of his warmth still lingering on the bed. She sat down slowly, pulled her knees to her chest, and for the first time in a long time—she cried.
Castor walked down the cold Griza street, heart heavy, the shield heavier still on his back. He didn't know what would happen next. But he knew this:
The time had come.
He would face Ethan.
Alone, if he had to.
For Ethan. For Snowflake. For everyone he cared about.
Even if it destroyed him.
The wind carried a quiet chill as Castor stood outside the greenhouse-like building nestled at the back corner of Dicarthen's sprawling campus. It was a strange place to be before what might be the biggest confrontation of his life, but he needed to settle things. He needed answers, clarity—maybe even closure. And there were still threads left hanging, loose ends that tugged at the edges of his mind.
He stepped inside the Gardening Club's meeting hall, the familiar scent of damp earth and herbs brushing against his senses. A few students milled about, tending to bonsai trees or watering sun-starved roses beneath artificial lamps. But Castor's eyes locked on Sophia—pale hair braided down her shoulder, her arms crossed as she sat near the back, tapping her foot in a rhythm far too aggressive for someone supposedly nurturing plants.
Aria was there too, chatting quietly with a few others. She gave Castor a polite nod when she noticed him, though her gaze lingered with a trace of concern. She knew.
Castor took a breath and walked toward Sophia, each step weighted with the pressure building in his chest. She didn't even acknowledge him at first. Her eyes flicked up briefly, then returned to the leaf she was shredding between her fingers like it had wronged her.
"Hey," Castor greeted, trying to sound neutral, calm, anything but what he actually felt.
Sophia narrowed her eyes. "You're late."
He blinked. "No one said there was a fixed time."
She shrugged. "Maybe you're just inconsiderate."
That snapped a nerve. Castor furrowed his brow. "Look, I didn't come here to argue."
"Oh, really?" Sophia scoffed, folding her arms tighter. "Because your energy's screaming aggression right now."
That made him pause.
Something wasn't right. Yes, he was irritated—mostly at Ethan, the weight of his responsibility, the nightmare that still lingered at the back of his head—but Sophia was reflecting that same irritation in real time. Not just moodily; exactly.
He toned his voice down. "I'm sorry. I've been dealing with... a lot."
Like flipping a switch, Sophia's body language softened. Her shoulders dropped slightly, and her tone turned lukewarm. "I get it. We're all dealing with stuff."
Castor's eyes narrowed slightly. This wasn't just empathy. It was too synchronized. Too reactive.
He tilted his head. "So... how's the club been? Aria said you've been experimenting with a few new plants."
Sophia smiled faintly, leaning back as her mood visibly relaxed. "Yeah. I've been working on grafting different herbs together. You know, blending scents, altering textures... Sometimes I feel like the plants change based on how I feel when I touch them."
"And what about people?" Castor asked carefully.
Her eyes flicked to his. "What do you mean?"
"Do you feel different when someone near you does? Like you pick up on their emotions without meaning to?"
Sophia frowned. "Are you saying I'm nosy?"
"No. I'm saying maybe you're an empath," he said gently.
Sophia looked at him for a moment too long. Then her eyes dropped to her lap.
"…Aria thinks so too. Says I mirror people like glass." Her voice was quieter now. "I don't know if it's a power or if I'm just... broken."
"You're not broken," Castor said firmly.
For a moment, silence grew between them—awkward, but not hostile. It held a sense of recognition.
He glanced over his shoulder. Aria was finishing a conversation with another club member and shooting him knowing looks every now and then. He gave her a small nod.
Then he turned back to Sophia. "I don't want to push you, but if you're comfortable, maybe we can talk more about this later. Properly. Just you, me, and Aria."
Sophia looked uncertain but didn't protest. "...Yeah. Maybe."
Castor gave her a gentle smile and turned to head toward Aria.
He caught up with her near the small glass pond they maintained at the center of the room.
"I think you're right about her," he said softly.
Aria nodded. "She doesn't realize how intense it is, but people around her feel it. It's like she projects whatever someone else brings into the room. You were pissed, and she came in like a thundercloud."
"She mirrored me, and when I calmed down, she did too," Castor murmured. "It's not just mimicry. It's linked."
Aria glanced toward Sophia, who now sat quietly, her mood visibly subdued. "You think it's worth telling her the truth?"
"Eventually," Castor said. "But gently. She needs to come to terms with it on her own. Not everyone is ready to be told they're not normal."
Aria gave him a quiet look. "And are you ready?"
Castor stared at her for a long moment.
"No," he admitted. "But I'm doing it anyway."
There was a silence between them, filled only by the soft buzz of greenhouse lights and the distant sound of water trickling.
"I'll find time to talk with you soon," he added. "After I deal with… things."