Marquis stepped off the train and immediately noticed the platform swarming with guards.
The usual crowd of travelers appeared tense, the air thick with unease. His frown deepened as he scanned the scene.
"They've already increased security?" he murmured, his blue hair shifting slightly with each step.
As he led the survivors away from the train, a figure in a distinct red uniform approached.
Marquis recognized Sergeant Frederick—a clean-shaven man whose eyes betrayed the tension he tried to hide. Despite the strain, Frederick offered a brief smile.
"Ah, Frederick," Marquis greeted, bowing slightly. The presence of so many guards only amplified his unease.
Frederick returned the bow, his hands twitching slightly as he fought to maintain composure.
"Marquis, we heard about the explosion," he said, his tone flat but respectful.
"Yes, I can see the unusually high number of guards," Marquis replied, still shocked at how fast the news had spread.
"We need your help—" Frederick began.
"It has something to do with robes. White robes, specifically," Marquis cut in.
"White robes?" Frederick echoed, confusion evident in his voice.
"I don't know much else. I sent my guide to investigate. You'll meet him there," Marquis said.
"Oh... okay, sir," Frederick responded, clearly unsettled by the ambiguity.
As Marquis continued leading the survivors, he felt a small tug on his sleeve.
He looked down to see a young girl, her eyes wide and glistening with tears.
"Thank you, Uncle," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Marquis blinked, taken aback. "Oh, I'm not—" He hesitated, noting the fragile hope in her gaze.
"What are you doing here?" he asked gently, trying to steer the conversation away from her mistaken assumption.
The girl's lower lip quivered.
"My older brother… he…" Her words dissolved into sobs, her small frame shaking with grief.
Marquis, still just a child himself, felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
"I'm… sorry," he said awkwardly, unsure how to comfort her.
He had only lost one person, and grieving for them felt like a luxury he couldn't afford. People would hate him for it. Marquis was not the type you'd ask for help.
Noticing his discomfort, Sergeant Frederick stepped in.
"Don't worry, sir. I'll handle this," he said gently, kneeling to the girl's level. He took her hand and led her toward a nearby medic, offering the comfort Marquis couldn't.
Frederick stepped forward, boots crunching against the gravel as the squad straightened.
"We love being Third Rank. Why?" he called, voice sharp and steady.
A chorus rose:
"Because we fight for the streets! We protect the people!"
Frederick grinned, raising a fist. "And we love the fight. Hoo-rah!"
Marquis chuckled under his breath, watching the men's energy ripple like a spark barely kept in check.
They'd never say it out loud, but they knew.
Third Rank held the line.
But everyone knew who would come to end it.
Like Anna, this was his first time outside—barring the unofficial trips his father had arranged when he was a mere child, not much older than the girl.
He turned and walked away from the clearing.
---
[Back at the top of the tower]
Marquis's father stamped his foot repeatedly, his eyes darting anxiously toward the entrance.
"Where is Marquis?" he finally demanded, his voice tight with worry.
He'd heard about the explosion long before his son arrived, but Anna and Elara—who had entered the tower hours earlier—were already here. Marquis, however, was not.
"Calm down, Alphonse," Henri said, trying to soothe him. But judging by the look on Alphonse's face, Henri feared he might lose his composure entirely.
Alphonse turned slowly to Henri, his expression one of barely contained panic.
"No, Henri. My only son is missing at a meeting that holds our entire future in the balance," he said, his voice rising with anger.
"Do you care about your son, or your standing in the Stem?" Henri asked, holding his gaze.
"Two things can coexist, can they not?" Alphonse retorted.
Most others in the room paid little attention to the outburst, consumed by their own worries.
The meeting room—usually a place of cold calculation—now felt like a pressure cooker, ready to explode.
Alphonse's anxiety only made the tension worse.
"He should be here soon," Leonardo said, catching Henri's attention.
Henri, eager to see the person his daughters had chosen as their guide, felt his interest piqued.
"How sure are you?" Alphonse asked, his anger still simmering, though a faint glimmer of hope flickered in his voice.
"I saw him off on the right star. He left with a dark-cloaked man—" Leonardo began, but was cut off by the sudden creak of the door opening.
"Marquis..." Ryuji muttered under his breath, wishing the fool wouldn't show up at all. But the more you wished for something, it seemed, the less likely it was to happen.
Marquis entered the hall, walking slowly toward the large center table. He passed the heirs and caught Leonardo's eye.
"Dad, and… uh, Leonardo?" he said, puzzled.
"Told you he'd be 'fashionably late,'" Anna quipped, using air quotes as she stepped closer.
"You're right," Elara replied. Her fear eased as she sighed. "Same old."
Ryuji had grown quickly—his height and strength nearly surpassing his father's. But his father couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was festering within his son.
"What is this meeting for again, Father?" Ryuji asked, his tone cold.
The seriousness in his voice sent a chill down Kokoro's spine.
Sometimes, Kokoro thought, I wish I didn't have to deal with this. His mind wandered toward his darker fears.
"To start the quest," Kokoro replied, his voice unsteady.
He knew his son was a prodigy. He had hoped it was just a phase—something that would pass. But Ryuji had taken it too far.
"How long do you think it will take? Or is there a time limit?" Ryuji asked again, his eyes glinting with a strange light that made Kokoro's heart race.
"Two to three years at best... and there might be. Rolhim is strict," Kokoro answered, almost whispering.
"Oh, that's better. I thought it would be six," Takashiro said, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of relief and excitement.
As Takashiro walked away, his father felt a knot of dread tighten in his chest.
Just as he was about to speak, a voice rang out from the front of the room.
"Let the meeting commence," Sage Rolhim announced, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
The murmur of conversation ceased at once.
All eyes turned toward the center of the room.
The meeting that would determine the fate of many was about to begin.