The library felt hollow at that hour.

  Most students were either on the fields or already in their dormitories, and Arcane Academy seemed to shrink into itself after sunset. Only the muted lamps above the archive tables remained lit, casting long amber shadows across the wood.

  Risu sat across from Vega, their table buried beneath digitized files and aging printed reports pulled from deep within the historical records. The air between them had shifted. This was no longer curiosity. It was excavation for information.

  Vega scrolled through a classified document that had long since been decommissioned. His eyes narrowed slightly before he rotated the tablet toward her.

  Project Genesis — Divine Lineage Integration Program.

  Risu leaned in.

  The language was clinical, disturbingly so.

  “Subjects were artificially gestated using extracted mythic genome sequences,” she read aloud under her breath. “Divine DNA successfully integrated into human embryonic structures. Incubation sustained in controlled bio-arcane tanks until full-term stabilization.”

  Her voice faded.

  She continued scanning.

  “No natural birth records. All subjects registered as orphan anomalies following facility relocation.”

  She looked up slowly.

  “They weren’t recruited… Is this New Order?”

  Vega didn’t speak.

  “They were designed, apparently.”

  Another file detailed “output calibration” and “combat synchronization trials.” It referenced early childhood conditioning to shape perspective. The children had been taught that what they were doing was righteous. Necessary. Divine purpose framed as duty.

  “Field deployment exceeded projection thresholds,” Risu continued, her tone tightening. “Subjects demonstrate high magical resonance and adaptive battlefield cognition.”

  “They called them subjects,” she whispered.

  Vega’s jaw flexed faintly, but his expression remained controlled.

  “They were weapons,” she said.

  “No,” Vega replied quietly.

  He met her eyes.

  “They were children first.”

  The silence that followed was heavier than the files.

  Risu steadied herself. “If New Order created them like this… then they weren’t villains. They were victims shaped into something else.”

  The word “victims” lingered.

  Vega leaned back slightly, fingers placed beneath his chin as if weighing something internal and fragile.

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  “There’s a place,” he said at last. “An old training site. Outskirts of the city, probably outside local police jurisdiction. Officially sealed.”

  “Why there?”

  “Because if anything survived the shutdown… it wouldn’t be in a database.”

  Risu nodded slowly. “I can get access.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “How?”

  A pause.

  Then Risu explained, with caution in her voice “I work with the police.”

  Not fully explained.

  But enough.

  Vega wasn’t surprised. He had suspected there was more behind her questions. What he hadn’t expected was the steadiness in her voice when she added, “I’m not trying to hunt anyone. If those children were created and used like this… then someone should at least acknowledge what was done to them.”

  “And if they’re dangerous?” he asked quietly.

  “They still deserve help before punishment.”

  That answer unsettled him more than any accusation ever could.

  Hope was far more destabilizing than threat.

  Deneb had seen enough from the shadows.

  From the library entrance earlier that afternoon, she had watched the two of them sitting too close over restricted files. It wasn’t the investigation that unsettled her the most, it was Vega’s posture. Open. Engaged. Almost hopeful.

  She found Altair in the side courtyard of Cronos dormitories, seated on a stone bench beneath dim lights. He was adjusting the steel band around his wrist, fingers casually reshaping its edge into different forms before smoothing it back into a bracelet.

  “He’s digging,” she said without preamble.

  Altair didn’t look up. “He is just flirting. He always does.”

  “With her? They are looking into New Order.”

  That made him pause.

  He met her gaze briefly, calm as ever. “As long as he doesn’t expose anything, it’s irrelevant.”

  Deneb’s stomach tightened. “You really think this stays contained?”

  “We survived worse.”

  It was a practical answer. Not a comforting one.

  Deneb turned away before her frustration showed too clearly. Survival had never been the same as being free.

  She knew someone else would care more.

  Taren listened without interruption.

  Haruka stood beside him, arms folded but expression unreadable. Tenshi leaned against the wall near the dorm entrance, faint light glimmering at his fingertips as though reacting to tension rather than summoning it.

  “He’s investigating old files?” Haruka asked.

  “Yes,” Deneb replied.

  “And she’s involved?”

  “Yes.”

  Taren’s silence was the loudest response.

  It wasn’t anger first.

  It was concern.

  “She shouldn’t be near this,” he said quietly.

  Haruka studied him. “Or she shouldn’t find out?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Deneb noticed the difference in his attitude.

  Risu left campus before night fully settled over Neo Olympia. The police station lights cut sharply against the darkening skyline. Inside, she moved with quiet familiarity and receiving access credentials, filing a provisional request for restricted zone clearance under investigative review.

  Across the street, Deneb watched.

  Recognition.

  Authority.

  This was no simple curiosity.

  By the time Risu returned, the sky had deepened into indigo.

  From the path leading toward Cronos, she saw silhouettes gathered at the training grounds and felt something in her chest tighten.

  Taren found Vega at the edge of the field.

  Wind moved across the open terrain, tugging lightly at their uniforms. The last strip of sunlight clung to the horizon, thin and defiant.

  “You’re pushing,” Taren said.

  “You’re avoiding,” Vega answered.

  “We buried it for a reason.”

  “You buried it to survive. That doesn’t mean it stopped existing.”

  The words didn’t escalate but they cut.

  Tenshi stepped onto the field behind Taren, golden light coalescing into the shape of a blade in his hand. For a fleeting second, a single white wing manifested at his back before dissolving into particles of luminescence.

  Altair approached from the opposite side. The steel bracelet around his wrist liquefied at his touch, stretching and reshaping into a narrow, polished blade. With a flick of his fingers, he altered its form again, this time transforming into a tuning fork, and tossed it toward Vega.

  Vega caught it without breaking eye contact.

  The metal hummed.

  The vibration rippled outward, subtle at first. The air itself seemed to resonate in response.

  Taren stepped forward, lightning crackling low across his knuckles—not unleashed, merely waiting.

  They moved.

  Physical first.

  A strike. A deflection. Familiar rhythm. No wasted motion.

  They knew each other’s patterns too well.

  The sun sank lower.

  The horizon burned gold and then thinned.

  Taren’s voice carried evenly across the field.

  “As soon as the sun falls completely… we begin.”

  The final edge of light vanished beyond the academy walls.

  And the training ground ignited with power.