*Ring* *Ring*
I sat up in bed, eyes half-shut, the world still fogged from sleep.
"Does he match the description?" I muttered, voice hoarse. "I'm tired of chasing ghosts."
"That was before you met me," the voice on the line replied, calm and confident. "He doesn't match the description—but it's him. I'm sure of it," he added firmly.
I sighed. Deeply. Checked my arcpad. His location pulsed on the map.
"Give me fifteen minutes," I said. "Stay low."
The morning breeze slipped in through the cracked window, soft and tempting. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to lie back down and let the world spin without me. But that wasn't a luxury I had.
I washed up quickly and dressed in a clean black suit. Can't go wrong with a suit like this.
The elevator was descending when I got to it. I sighed in frustration and glanced at my watch—three minutes left. Not enough time.
I exhaled sharply, closed my eyes—then blinked into an alley, skipping the stairs entirely.
Stray cats scattered at my sudden arrival.
I stepped out into the open.
They called it Kanto Haven, and for good reason. It manages to take you by surprise every time—highways jammed with sleek cars, flight paths crisscrossing the skies with winged men and flight drones soaring between towering skyscrapers that stretch into the clouds like monuments to ambition. A megacity both overwhelming and breathtaking.
But I didn't have time to marvel. I refocused, my eyes locking onto a nearby restaurant matching the ping on my arcpad.
Blake was supposed to be here.
I checked his signal again.
Gone. Damn it. Blake was here—I'm sure of it. Where did he go?
"I told him to stay low," I muttered. "Damn kids."
Through the front glass, I scanned the interior. Empty. No sign of him.
I circled around the back. No reason to walk into a trap unprepared.
The alley behind the restaurant was narrow, lined with dumpsters and reeking of oil and old refuse. But that didn't matter. What mattered was the threat ahead. The trap was set, and I couldn't afford to make a mistake.
I approached the kitchen window—empty.
I reached for the door.
A rustling sound behind me.
I turned fast, arms up, braced for impact—
A rat darted past my feet and vanished into a shadow.
"Tch." I lowered my stance, annoyed at myself for reacting.
Then the kitchen door creaked open.
I turned instinctively—
A feint.
The real attack came from behind.
I felt it before I saw it—a faint shift in the air, a movement. I turned just as a boy lunged at me, silver gleaming in the dim light. He was fast, unnaturally fast—but nothing I couldn't handle. I sidestepped out of the way as the blade swept toward my ribs. My hand shot out, seizing the attacker's wrist. A sharp wrench, and the knife hit the ground.
"Real men fight hand to hand," I muttered.
The attacker's eyes burned with intent—pale blue, sharp, focused. Blond hair tied back. Dressed like a waiter, but there was nothing casual in his stance.
"I'm not here to fight," he said, yanking back. "I'm here to kill you."
He lunged with a right hook—sloppy. I parried and countered with a sharp jab to his shoulder, but he ducked—barely missing it. Instead of falling back, he pressed in, snapping two quick jabs into my ribs.
It hurt more than it should have.
I drove my knee into his gut, hard. He doubled over, breath knocked out of him—but I didn't give him a second.
I yanked him up by the collar and smashed my knee into his face. He reeled back—but recovered fast, sweeping his leg at my ankle to create space. I stepped back, adjusting my stance.
I steadied myself. He was strong. Fast. But raw.
"Give up. The moment I found you, you had already lost," I said, steadying my breath.
"You think I'm just going to give up?" he spat. "I'd rather die than go back."
He rushed at me with a left hook, but it was a feint. He threw a haymaker straight at my head, but I dodged and countered with a strike to his temple. I grabbed him by the arm and flipped him over my shoulder. I lunged, foot sweeping toward his head. He caught it, tried to slam me down, but I flipped off his shoulder and landed clean.
He rushed again, throwing a wild punch. I caught his wrist, gripping it tightly.
That's when I felt it.
Heat.
A flicker. A pulse.
Too late.
A blast of searing blue flame erupted from his hand—straight at me.
The alley was engulfed in flames, roaring, unnatural.
For a moment, everything was heat, smoke, and blinding light.
Then—silence.
The blaze faded. Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals.
He stood alone, chest heaving, blue glow fading from his hand.
No body in front of him.
His eyes widened—
I struck from the back, sharp and clean. A precise blow to the neck.
He collapsed.
He came to moments later, coughing on smoke. The pavement beneath him was blackened and warm.
My heart raced. This was the moment I had been waiting for—the boy I had been tracking for over a year, the one who eluded everyone. But something about his cold, unreadable stare told me he was more than a sixteen-year-old runaway.
"So," I said, leaning against the wall, "you wanna talk, or are we doing round two?"
He groaned, propping himself up on an elbow.
"Real men don't teleport mid-fight," he said, wincing from the smell of burning trash.
"Real men don't shoot out flames mid-fight," I shot back.
"What do they want?" he asked quietly.
"What makes you think they want something from you?" I asked, losing to my curiosity.
"It's the only reason I'm still in this alley and not in some truck heading to the middle of nowhere," his voice laced with irritation.
"You are better than I expected. You almost got me at the end. I'm Tobi Anderson—and you are a very hard man to find," I admitted.
"What's next, a performance review?" he muttered, wiping blood from his lip.
"You're to apply as a student at Aegis Academy, Stockholm branch," I said, deadpan.
He froze, his eyes narrowing as his mind raced through the possibilities. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
"Why Stockholm? What am I going to do there? Why me?"
"You will receive further instructions when you get in… If you get in"
"And if I refuse?"
"You're smart. You already know what's at stake."
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
"I need proof," he said, eyes locking on mine. "That they're still alive."
I stepped forward, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet the only sound, the city's noise drowned out. Without breaking eye contact, I tossed him an arcpad.
"We both know you don't need it. Are you willing to gamble with their lives?" I asked, stepping closer. The weight of my words hung in the air, suffocating him with their intensity. "Their lives are your leash, and the uncertainty is your punishment."
His fingers curled slowly around the arcpad, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip.
His breathing steadied, each inhale slow and measured, his gaze never leaving mine.
"This is the end of the road," I said, my voice a low whisper as I turned to leave. "No more running."
Behind me, I heard him exhale, followed by a dry, humorless chuckle.
Just before I reached the corner, I asked without turning, "Where's Blake?"
"Where he belongs," he muttered after a pause.
The lid of the trash can creaked open.
Blake lay inside—bloodied, mangled, dying.
His eyes cracked open, glazed and barely focused.
"…Kyo…" he croaked. "Please…"
I stood over him, unmoving.
"I didn't mean to… They said if I didn't—"
I didn't respond.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible.
Still nothing.
My jaw clenched. My hands curled into fists. I stood frozen, as if one wrong breath might let the anger—or grief—spill out. I didn't want to give him the mercy of seeing me care, not after his betrayal.
Blake's hand lifted, trembling, reaching toward me, searching for forgiveness or help. But he couldn't find either. His fingers fell limp.
I stood there, motionless. I stared down at Blake's lifeless body and couldn't help but recall when he took a beating for me, ancient history. Where did things go wrong?
I took a long, slow breath. I raised my hand. Blue flame flickered to life in my palm.
I let it fall. The fire surged, consuming the corpse.
When the flames died out, only ashes and scorched metal remained.
I didn't want this, but we made our choices—and now we have to deal with the consequences. The guilt gnawed at me. Some part of me couldn't help but envy Blake. At least he was free.
I closed the lid and walked away.
He was gone. And maybe the part of me that still cared went with him.