He stiffened, the ebullience within him instantly replaced by a rush of anxiety.
Did anyone else notice it too?
Or was it just him?
Every possible scenario played through his mind, sending another wave of dread running down his spine.
Had they discovered he belonged to the Ashira family?
He took a step back and tried to act normal, breath quickening in a way he knew all too well.
The fear he had felt before returned—dark, heavy, familiar.
His eyes grew shaky, almost blurry, but he still made sure not to draw any attention.
He didn’t move hastily—he tried to blend cautiously with the crowd, hoping the man hadn’t noticed his gaze.
Then a familiar voice called, “Kisatsu!”
He turned toward Anneliese in the distance, the sight of her helping him regain his composure.
Lunchtime had arrived—though he wouldn’t have noticed, not under the sunless sky.
He drew in a slow, measured breath, then strolled through the crowd toward her with casual steps, careful not to cast another glance behind him.
Perhaps I just didn’t get enough sleep, he told himself.
The people of the city were all clad in elegant finery.
Though Kisatsu had been born into a wealth, he’d never worn clothes like these.
Being in another nation made it feel like a different world, but seeing the customs firsthand made it real.
His parents had never taken him to a place like this before.
And if he had ever glimpsed something so resplendent, it was only because Ryurei had brought him elsewhere.
Minutes later, they sat at the table around the corner of the restaurant.
Kisatsu stared through the glass wall, palm pressed against his chin.
The occasional clink of cutlery didn’t disturb his quiet gaze, reflected faintly in the glass.
The shape of the emblem he’d seen earlier lingered in his mind, peculiar, eerie.
Was that just him watching me?
he thought, memories of the cloaked man who’d brought him here flashing through his mind.
Was I the only one who saw him?
A loud clatter on the table broke through his thoughts, followed by a soft, motherly voice: “You’ve been thinking too hard lately.
What’s the matter?”
Kisatsu turned forward, shifting his position with a soft exhale.
“Nothing.
I’m just…
well—it’s my first time being in a place like this.” He paused, gaze drifting back to the glass, voice dipping.
“I’m not used to…
people here.”
Anneliese looked at him with a warm, gentle smile.
“You don’t have to be.
But you’re always welcome here—everyone is.”
His expression clouded over as he debated whether to tell her about the man who had disappeared.
After seeing that no one else had noticed, he dismissed it as a side effect of sleep eluding him.
Still, doubt lingered like a bitter aftertaste
That night, they stayed in a hotel.
He rested near the window where the calm moon peered through.
He stared at the ceiling in quiet thought, hands nestled beneath his head.
The symbol surfaced in his mind again, its shape too unusual to forget.
He had never seen anything like it.
Those priests didn’t seem to have that symbol embroidered on their cassocks.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember carefully.
Was the man only letting Kisatsu know about him?
Was he in any way related to the clerics who had raided his hometown?
Before he could ponder it any further, his eyes closed as drowsiness welled up in him.
The next morning, they visited Silverholt Park—the city park located at the center, teeming with revelry.
At that time, snow had begun to fall, sending a wave of wonder through the crowd.
Kisatsu perched on a bench, gazing absentmindedly at the ever-grey sky.
Dalsdair and Anneliese had gone to a boutique just across the park to look for a purse.
The place bustled with people, so if anyone were to go after him, he could easily call for help.
He scanned his surroundings but didn’t catch sight of the mantled man—not that he wished the man would appear.
But there was another thing that bothered him—a strange object in the distance falling from the sky.
It seemed to have a tail—perhaps a comet, but that’d be too tiny, too far.
Then he squinted, realizing they were smoke trails as the object grew closer with each passing second.
A defective aircraft?
No one else seemed to notice it, riveted by the flurry of festivities around the park.
The air had grown colder, surely, and an ominous feeling gnawed at him.
Anneliese and Dalsdair still hadn’t returned, and the crowd’s excitement swelled around him.
Restlessness crept in, and the urge to just stand and wander aimlessly grew stronger.
Then he remembered something—the knightly regimes Anneliese had told him about.
He rose without hesitation and decided to search for knights in the area.
Just a single glimpse would be enough to ease him.
After all, he was in the city—right at its center.
There should be at least one, he said to himself.
A few minutes passed, and not a single knight showed up.
Maybe they wore something different, or he had expected them to don cuirasses or other conspiciuous armor, like those in fairy tales.
After all, neither Ryurei or his father had never actually worn a panoply—at least, he had never seen them do so.
A resounding bang struck nearby.
Startled, Kisatsu quickly turned toward the source.
The crowd surged with commotion, and everyone began to move toward the fallen object to inspect.
His heart fluttered with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.
Black smoke had already billowed from the impact site, gliding through the snow in a stark, incongruous contrast.
The wreckage sat two houses away from the park, just close enough for him to see.
It was unidentifiable at that distance, but from its contours, it truly did resemble a defective aircraft.
Fire had begun to spread from the area, and the crowd was told to step back.
The site was soon cordoned off with caution tape.
Why would an aircraft be torn apart like that?
Had it been hijacked by the enemy, or was it a simple malfunction?
To answer his questions, Kisatsu moved closer in careful steps.
The wind blew toward him, washing warmth over his front.
The aircraft became clearer as he got closer, seething with bursts of flame that showed no sign of dying.
“Oi kid, we said step away, didn’ we?!” One of the firefighters noticed and shouted in a sharp, clipped accent, though his words barely reached Kisatsu.
Then a dark frame appeared beneath the blazing fire—humanoid at first, but growing more monstrous as the haze cleared.
The creature stepped forward slowly, holding in its hand what seemed to be a roasted block, with a round shape embedded on top and small knobs projecting from each of the four sides.
The hot air shimmered once more, making it difficult to see clearly.
The firefighters barely moved—they seemed petrified by the creature before them.
It continued advancing until the firefighters had to step back cautiously, but Kisatsu didn’t.
Not until he saw what kind of animal this monster resembled.
He was certain the creature before him was a Partian—not like the titanic dragon that had haunted him relentlessly ever since it appeared over his home, but a monster nonetheless.
Suddenly, it stopped, close enough for them to sea clearly.
Its orange eyes gleamed, sharp, predatory, but this time they were half-lidded, as if the creature were tired.
Burns covered its dark fur, already regenerating.
The wolf-like face twitched, lips pulling back slightly.
“B…
Blood,” the Partian mumbled, voice low, rough from the heat caught in its throat.
“S…
Still starving for blood.”
It was at that moment Kisatsu realized the object in the Partian’s grasp was the burnt torso of a man, its limbs mauled away.
He froze on the spot, fingertips numbing from the cold—or whatever had struck him.
“A—A knight!
Call a knight!” one of the firefighters shouted, backing away in anticipation.
After all, the Partian towered over them, and they only stood helplessly, like cattle at the slaughter.
Its glaze flicked around, processing where it had fallen.
“The city?” it muttered, dropping the scorched body with a dull thud.
Its eyes swept over the firefighters, selecting.
“Will anything sate me?”
They fled.
All but one, freezing a second too late.
The creature latched onto his neck and tore away flesh with a sickening crunch.
Somehow, Kisatsu sensed the Partian meant to kill its victims quickly before feasting on them—as if it, too, had its own humanity.
The Partian had moved closer—if it changed targets, he was within reach.
Yet his body stayed rigid, unmoving, feet rooted, as if his mind had severed from his body.
He felt it again—the chains that had tethered him as he watched his brother plead in the priest’s grasp, powerless, paralyzed.
The Partian’s eyes flicked toward him as it kept tearing at the mutilated body, already marking its next target.
Their eyes met, cold, predatory.
Why would a Partian feast on human flesh?
Were they all like this?
When the Partian finished, it let go of the skeletal remains, finally shifting toward Kisatsu.
His breath hitched.
He didn’t move.
The creature approached slowly, deliberately.
It would only run if he did.
“You didn’t run,” it said, voice dripping with malice, tread heavy.
“That means you’ve got what I’m after.”
Barriers descended before it could reach him, crashing down with shattering force and caging the Partian within.
A knight had arrived.
Late, but here.
The impacts sent tremors through the ground, and Kisatsu stumbled back from the barrier, heart hammering.
“Evacuate the park and call for backup.
It won’t be long before this wretched creature breaks through the protective barrier,” he commanded, hand sweeping to lead the escort team.
“Thanduin from Fifty-Seventh Section.
The Partian has been successfully subdued in Silverholt Park, Hamburn City, east of Oakenshire County,” he reported over the handheld radio.
He stepped toward the barrier, sliding the radio into his pocket with practiced ease.
“Quite a nasty piece of work we’ve got here,” he quipped, voice wry with dark amusement.
“Seems like an exploding aircraft isn’t enough to finish you off, eh?”
The Partian stared back at him with quiet patience, saffron eyes glowing through the transparent barrier.
Its gaze carried a grisly glare.
Each shallow breath fogged the surface, blurring its frame into a shadow that writhed with each subtle movement.
The barrier hummed with a low vibration, as if the very air inside dreaded the monster it contained.
“…Disgusting.
Your kind never fails to make my skin crawl,” Thanduin scoffed, repulsion tightening his features.
“Take me…
to Vylsh Village.” The Partian’s voice reverberated, muffled by the barrier.
“What?
Can’t really hear you, but did you say a village?” He leaned in, hand hovering behind his ear in mock play.
“You want to go there?” He turned and whispered, “The only place you’re going is the Entity Containment Zone.”
“The containment…
zone?” the monster asked, voice uneven.
“Are there others like me?
Am I…
about to be saved?”
Thanduin let out a dry chuckle.
“Saved?” He tilted his head slightly.
“What—do you mean turning back into a human?
From what I’ve heard, that’s impossible.
So no.”
Footsteps approached.
Kisatsu had moved closer without announcing himself.
“Are you…
going to kill them?”
Thanduin glanced sideways at him, expression flat.
“Hmm?
Oh—you’re the lad who nearly got himself killed.” He turned fully now, hands settling at his hips.
“Why are you still here?”
He paused, then added, almost casually, “And as for killing it—well, you saw what it did to the firefighter, didn’t you?” His gaze hardened.
“You really think a creature like that deserves mercy?”
Kisatsu hesitated.
When he spoke, his voice wavered, uncertain.
“I don’t think they meant to do it.” He swallowed.
“They were just searching for something.”
Thanduin closed the distance between them, each step measured, deliberate, unforgiving.
“You’re a child—what would you know?” His tone came stern as he folded his arms.
“Have you seen them before?” He leaned in, waiting.
Kisatsu didn’t answer.
He stood rigid, breath caught somewhere in his chest, shame rooting him in place—as though the question itself had been a mistake he was being punished for.
Thanduin exhaled, the tension bleeding from his face just slightly as he straightened.
“That’s what I thought.” He turned away.
Behind the barrier, the Partian watched in silence, saffron eyes smoldering with a quiet, unrelenting focus.
“Stay out of my work—better yet, get out of here.” He glanced back over his shoulder.
“You almost died.” He stopped, turning fully now.
His eyes narrowed, voice sharpening.
“So why the hell are you still standing around?”
Kisatsu hesitated.
The question pinned him in place more than it drove him away.
But he still didn’t turn.
A beat passed.
The atmosphere thickened, flowing with the unprecedented weight of Rage presence.
The air feels wrong…
Thanduin thought.
He quickly glanced at the Partian.
The monster was still there, unmoving, as if it were planning something unbidden.
The moment his attention flicked to the Rage, something in the barriers shivered.
The Partian knew.