The storm hit at midnight.
Thunder cracked across the outer district of Varnis City, echoing between shattered rooftops and narrow alleys. Aeris moved like a wraith beneath the downpour, her cloak soaked through, silver daggers humming with static at her hips. Rain pelted the cobblestone, but her stormblood pulsed louder—warning her that something unnatural had taken root in the shadows.
Two nights ago, a soul fragment vanished from a secure vault. A black-market information broker was found dead—burned from the inside out. And now, mana signatures across several Tower sectors were scrambled beyond recognition.
This wasn't coincidence. It was precision.
She followed the energy trail to an abandoned guild outpost. Cameras were fried, security systems silenced, guards unconscious—but untouched physically. No forced entry. No alarm. Just a room full of silence, and in the corner of the surveillance hub… a mark.
Not a name. A sigil—half-burned flame entwined with a shadow fang.
Her heart skipped.
"…Phantom."
She hadn't spoken that name in years—not since the Tower's betrayal. Not since the man who once saved her from death disappeared beneath divine fire.
Rael.
Her fingers clenched around her dagger. Static shimmered across her skin. "He died. I saw the blood. I saw the gods strike."
But deep down, she doubted it even then. He was never the kind of man who died easy.
With a flick of her wrist, she activated her scanner. The residual mana trail was faint—but moving.
Fast.
Aeris leapt from the shattered window, bounding from rooftop to rooftop as the storm raged around her. Wind howled. Lightning danced. She kept her eyes on the blinking trail.
Then she saw him.
A lone figure beneath a flickering streetlight. Hooded. Calm. Walking like he belonged, like the storm bent around him.
Cain.
Rael's infiltrator clone.
She landed on the roof just above him, knees bent, heart racing. He didn't look up, but she knew he sensed her.
"Took you long enough," he said, hands still in his pockets.
"You left a trail," she snapped. "You wanted to be found."
"I wanted you to find me."
Without warning, her dagger flew—a blur of silver through the storm.
He caught it.
One hand. No effort.
Aeris stared. That hand. That reflex. That calm.
"…Rael?"
He turned at last, hood sliding just enough to reveal the shadowed curve of his jaw, the glint of violet in his eyes.
"You remember," he said.
She jumped down, landing softly a few feet away, drenched and furious. "You're supposed to be dead."
"I was."
"Then why come back? Why the theatrics, the sigils, the fragments? Leaving chaos like breadcrumbs?"
"Because I want them to know I'm back," Rael said quietly. "I want her to know. And I want you to choose."
He stepped closer. Not threatening—inviting.
"Choose what?" she asked.
"To walk with me again. Or to stand in my way."
Aeris' dagger trembled in her hand. She remembered everything—the raid where he saved her life. The arguments. The laughter. The long silences that said more than words ever could.
"You owe me answers," she said, voice hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me before you died?"
"Because I didn't plan on dying."
Lightning arced above them, and her dagger crackled with unstable energy.
"For three years," she whispered, "I searched. I thought I failed you."
He looked down. "You didn't. I chose to vanish."
"Why?"
"Because I needed to see who would survive without me… and who would thrive from my death."
She stepped back. "You've changed."
"Yes," he said.
"Are you still the man I knew?"
His eyes glowed faintly violet.
"I'm both. The one you knew… and the one death made."
Aeris exhaled, lowering her dagger slowly. The rain washed over her face as emotion warred behind her eyes—grief, rage, hope, and a sliver of fear.
"If you lie to me again, I'll finish what the gods started."
Rael smirked. "Fair."
She turned, walking back into the shadows.
"We're not done," she said.
"No," he agreed. "Not even close."
Behind him, the sigil flickered once more on the wall—phantom flame and shadow fang—before fading completely into the rain.