Chapter 40 – Whispers of the Unknown

  Late Night in the Isolation Quarters

  War Rabbit Guild, Lower Floor Containment Wing

  The room was unusually quiet.

  A thick, soothing silence enveloped the space, reminiscent of freshly fallen snow that refuses to thaw. Only the soft hum of mana resonated from the sigils meticulously inscribed on the walls and floor, a gentle buzz that became noticeable when one took a moment to just be still.

  Fluffy let out a relaxed breath through her nose and stretched her legs, one extending fully while the other playfully bounced. Perched cross-legged on a cozy cushion against the wall, she lost herself in her well-loved leather notebook. Her handwriting, surprisingly tidy, was adorned with sketches of mana glyphs, brief notes on behavioral patterns, and a curious drawing of Seven’s rifle, complete with a big “???” hovering above it, begging for answers.

  Across the room, a mysterious human lay curled beneath a guild-issued blanket. Even in slumber, his brow furrowed occasionally, and his jaw twitched, hinting at some intense dream surfacing from his past.

  The number etched on his neck glowed softly, pulsating rhythmically every few moments. Fluffy tried to avoid staring at it for too long, feeling uneasy yet intrigued.

  “ Saya...”

  He had murmured that name again earlier, and it lingered in her thoughts like a haunting melody.

  Her gaze drifted toward the shimmering door rune—the protective seal she affectionately named Flufflock, which radiated a serene pale blue light.

  With a soft sigh, she contemplated the stillness of the room.

  A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.

  “Fluffy?” came a warm, familiar voice, slightly muffled through the door.

  The rune seal pulsed one more time before dimming, and the door creaked open, revealing Lola, the guild’s logistics assistant, stepping in cautiously. A tray of steaming food balanced perfectly in one hand, while fresh linens and a new outfit nestled under her other arm. Though her cheerful demeanor was usually infectious, today it was tinged with a hint of concern.

  “Everything alright? I brought you some food... and backup clothes! I thought you might be getting a bit stir-crazy in here.”

  Fluffy felt an instant rush of warmth and excitement. “Lola! You are absolutely the best person in the world right now. I was just about ready to nibble on my own boot laces!”

  Lola chuckled softly as she stepped further inside, the reinforced door sealing with a comforting thrum behind her. With grace, she crossed the room, setting the tray on the table and passing Fluffy the folded garments—snug guild-issued nightwear and soft underlayers that promised warmth and comfort.

  With no shame whatsoever, Fluffy dove into the tray, immediately snatching the buttered flatbread and mumbling contentedly, “You’re the true MVP.”

  Lola’s eyes sparkled with fondness, but then they drifted to the cot.

  Seven hadn’t stirred.

  His breaths were slow yet steady—shallow like someone caught between sweet dreams and feverish nightmares. The blue mana veins around his neck pulsed gently, an almost ethereal glow that suggested something extraordinary was taking place beneath his skin.

  “Still out?” Lola inquired softly, concern weaving through her words.

  Fluffy nodded, her voice muffled by food. “Yeah. Just a few twitches and murmurs. He said her name again. Saya.”

  Lola’s eyes widened with interest. “Saya?”

  Fluffy’s voice dropped, ears flattening slightly. “Yeah... it didn’t sound like a happy name. More like a scar than a pleasant memory.”

  Lola’s expression suddenly turned serious. Her fingers danced as she retrieved a small notebook from her vest, jotting down the name in her neat shorthand. “No idea who that is. But if he’s dreaming about her while he's in this state, we should definitely keep a close watch,” she mused.

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  “Already on it!” Fluffy grinned, nudging her own notebook toward Lola. “I’ve been meticulously documenting everything—what triggers his mana surges, any specific words, and how that neck sigil flares up during his intense dreams.”

  Lola glanced at Fluffy’s notes and smiled, clearly impressed. “I love that you’re taking this so seriously.”

  Fluffy rolled her eyes playfully. “Hey, I’m not just a pretty face!”

  They both shared a light laugh, a momentary reprieve in the stillness.

  But the silence returned, punctuated by the gentle hum of mana from the walls.

  Lola broke the quiet with mindful curiosity. “You mentioned he mumbled her name like it was a painful memory. Do you think she might be the reason he’s like this?”

  Fluffy pondered for a moment, her gaze settling back on the bed.

  “...I think she’s either the reason he’s still alive or the very reason he’s not.”

  Lola followed her gaze and nodded thoughtfully.

  “Guild Master Hopps did mention he might be more than he appears. We can’t quite call him a prisoner yet… but she’s certainly keeping a careful eye on him. Plus, Briney and Luro are currently in the workshop, digging through his gear.”

  Fluffy raised an eyebrow as she tore off another piece of flatbread. “I hope they’re cautious. That rifle didn’t seem like it was designed for just anyone to handle.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Lola replied with a light laugh, “you’ll be astonished by what they’ve discovered so far!”

  Tactical Chamber – Late Night

  War Rabbit Guild – Guildmaster’s Strategic Wing

  The room hummed with arcane energy as the guild’s tactical holomap shimmered to life. Purple-gold light spilled over the chamber, casting soft glows across the angular stone walls and polished steel table.

  The translucent terrain shifted, forming a miniature topographical rendering of the northern frostlands, complete with runic pulse markers indicating guild outposts, wandering beasts, and mana instability zones.

  At the center, Miss Hopps stood with her arms crossed, her expression severe and her posture as rigid as the frost-lined terrain she surveyed. Beside her, Ripper leaned forward, tapping a finger on the eastern ridgeline where a flickering glyph now blinked red.

  “He was found here,” Ripper said, his voice low. “Roughly a hundred miles past our last designated scout perimeter, far beyond the frost curtain—deep into the wilds.”

  Raven stepped closer, folding her arms. “The mana trail around the ridge was fragmented and inconsistent. But it was definitely his. Whatever direction he came from, he had been walking for days—alone, bleeding, exhausted. We only caught him because the Frostbearer went berserk.”

  Miss Hopps narrowed her eyes. “That’s dangerously close to the Aku’s secondary patrol grid—the northeast sweep routes. Are we certain they didn’t see him?”

  Raven’s gaze remained cold. “No. Which makes it worse.”

  Ripper nodded grimly. “If the Aku missed him, they're slipping. If they let him through... they already know more than we do.”

  Hopps remained silent for a moment, staring at the pulsing glyph, her jaw tightening.

  “I don’t like it. Too much about him doesn’t fit: the mana signature, the weapon, the armor—and the sigils… Raven, you said they glitched?”

  Raven gave a subtle nod. “Worse than that. They weren’t drawn—they were burned into him. Improvised and not stable.”

  Hopps exhaled sharply.

  “Then let’s see what our engineers have found…”

  Engineering Vault – The Relic Table

  Guild Engineering Bay

  A metallic buzz echoed as arcanic lights flickered to full brightness, revealing the chamber’s centerpiece: a steel examination table cluttered with gear, cloth fragments, and weaponry.

  Briney Gearwhistle leaned over the workbench, her amber goggles reflecting the scattered tools and half-disassembled rifle parts before her.

  Beside her stood Luro, his sleeves rolled past his elbows and soot smudged across one cheek as he gently pried open the exposed chamber of Seven’s handgun.

  “This doesn’t run on mana,” Luro muttered, confusion evident in his voice. “No conduits. No battery cores. Not even a stabilizer rune.”

  Briney pulled a small probe from her toolkit and tapped it against the rifle’s undercarriage. A faint static crackled. “No spell loops… no infusion sockets… just clockwork, pressure triggers, and this weird residue.”

  Luro scraped some of the grainy black dust from the handgun’s barrel, holding it up to the light. “Soot?”

  Briney sniffed it, her eyes widening. “Not soot. Flashgrain. It’s a refined carbon-oxide compound. Highly reactive.”

  Luro blinked in surprise. “You're telling me this thing runs on combustion?”

  Briney smirked, exhibiting the kind of grin she got when encountering something utterly forbidden. “Old World combustion. This isn’t just tech; it’s pre-barrier.”

  Her attention shifted to the battered duffel bag on the side table, which was unzipped to reveal folded body armor, combat webbing, and sealed ammo magazines lined in tight rows.

  “Stitch pattern’s odd…” she murmured. “Layered plating, modular weight distribution. Definitely military spec—but not ours. Not from any guild I’ve seen.”

  Luro added, “And the magazines? They’re not mana shells. These are ballistic. The rounds are pure metal.”

  Briney carefully unfolded one of Seven’s tattered outer garments—a strange hybrid of tactical weave and synthetic fiber. She ran her hand along the seams.

  “Look at this stitching. Dual seams with kinetic insulation. These clothes were meant to survive shrapnel, not mana burns. They're not from Novastra. Hell, they don’t even look like they’re from Aetheris.”

  Luro stared, his eyes wide. “You mean…”

  “Yeah.” Briney’s voice lowered. “Everything here was designed to fight in a world without magic. And somehow... it still holds its own here.”

  She turned back to the dismantled rifle. The chamber gleamed faintly under the lantern light.

  “This isn’t a weapon. It’s a relic. And he’s not a soldier anymore.”

  She glanced up at Luro.

  “He’s a survivor from a war we never saw.”

  Guildmaster's Chamber – Tensions Unspoken

  Strategic Command Chamber, Upper Floor

  “…so whatever he is,” Ripper concluded as he stepped back from the holomap, “he’s adapted in ways we weren’t prepared for.”

  Miss Hopps didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the glowing outline of the Aku Clan’s territorial ring. The silence stretched—only broken by the subtle hum of the hologram and Raven’s shifting boots.

  At last, Hopps turned away and moved toward the tall window overlooking Novastra.

  The city beyond was peaceful.

  Too peaceful.

  “This won’t sit well with the War Council,” she said finally. “They already think we’re too independent. Too tied to Deogon’s diplomacy push.”

  She turned back, face grim.

  “If word gets out that we’ve recovered a human wielding pre-barrier tech and glitching sigils, we’ll be accused of hiding a weapon. Or worse—a spy.”

  Raven’s voice was low. “What about the peace faction?”

  Hopps sighed. “They’ll see him as a symbol. Proof other humans still exist. That peace with outsiders is viable. And if they push that narrative too soon… it’ll draw the Aku’s attention.”

  She tapped the map.

  “And the Aku aren’t interested in diplomacy. Not when more people like Seven start showing up near their borders.”

  Ripper spoke next, calm but firm. “Then we keep him contained. He’s not a threat. Not yet. But he can’t walk out of here unobserved.”

  Hopps nodded. “Agreed. We’ll meet with Lord Deogon tomorrow. Until then, no reports to the Council, no public alerts, no press. He stays in isolation. Fed. Safe. But off the record.”

  She paused.

  Then looked at them both.

  “If we’re right… and he’s not from this world… then Novastra just became the epicenter of something much bigger than a border dispute.”

  Ripper nodded.

  Raven said nothing—but her eyes were already scanning the shadows.

  Something was coming.

  And this human named Seven was only the beginning.