1:10 AM, Japan, Western Cape

  The question-and-answer round wrapped up with a final ripple of laughter across the hall. I stepped back from the microphone, feeling the familiar mix of adrenaline and exhaustion settle into my bones. Midnight games with a crowd always felt half-playful, half-combative—everyone trying to one-up each other while pretending they weren’t.

  The last question had been a close one, but my brother slipped, and Shizuku hesitated a second too long. That left me and Reika. She shot me that look—don’t you dare—right before the tiebreaker.

  Of course, I dared.

  And I won.

  Konrad made a big show of clapping as he strode onto the small stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner for the night!”

  Everyone cheered while Reika groaned. My brother punched my shoulder, muttering something about me being insufferable. All normal reactions.

  When Konrad motioned me over, I walked to the front where he held a brown envelope.

  “Now then, Vi,” he said jovially, “for accounting purposes—payment preference? Bank transfer or cash?”

  “Cash,” I answered immediately.

  Konrad blinked, then laughed. “Of course you’d say that.”

  He handed the envelope to me. At the current exchange rate, this would contain, at least eleven, ten-thousand-yen bills. But despite that, it was satisfyingly heavy. I hopped off the stage and headed straight toward the boy’s table while Reika’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Alright, gentlemen,” I said, flipping open the envelope like it was part of a magic trick. “Let’s divide the spoils.”

  Arthur and Trayn’s eyes lit up, though Taka looked doubtful. Hanzo, Shunsuke and Yuuto looked confused. That is until my brother explained.

  “Is it fine, that you’re just going to give us that?” Hanzo asked, uncertainty in his voice.

  I simply smiled and I made an absolute show of it, fanning the bills, counting them slowly, dramatically, like a stage magician insisting on flair even when no one asked. All while standing directly in Reika’s line of sight. The girls, were also giving me disapproving glares, but those are simply wind and I am bamboo.

  “Ae, why are you doing that on purpose!?” she demanded, whirling towards my mother. “Mother! He’s taunting me!”

  “I’m not taunting anyone, it’s your own fault if you feel taunted,” I said innocently, though I didn’t stop counting. After making that stupid display, I began the redistribution of wealth. It’s not like I need it anyway.

  My mother patted Reika’s head sympathetically while Reika groaned into her hands. I am curious what she said that made my mother her ally, but that is another mystery for another time.

  “One for you, and one for you,” I said cheerfully laying down a bill, one for each person on the table, that includes my brother and six other people.

  When the last bill was handed out, the boys thanked and clapped me on the back, each of them pleased with their small fortune.

  I still had four more, but before I pocketed my share, I turned around, fully intended to smirk in Reika’s general direction, only to be surprised to see my mother standing there. With swift, deft hands she managed to get two bills.

  “No! Noo—!” I said as I hurriedly tried in vain to stop her from what she intended. But I was surprised long enough that she managed to give it to the two she-witches of destruction.

  Everyone else was laughing at our antics thinking it was all a game.

  To hell with that! What’s the point of punishment if she gets rewarded either way!?

  ========================================================================

  1:13 AM, Japan, somewhere near the border of Meguro city and Ebisu

  Chief inspector Kuroda and Assistant inspector Masaki had informed command of what they had found. The response was mixed. In this day and age, who would even believe in the supernatural?

  But a small burning idea struck Masaki. If they were dealing with cultists then—.

  He quickly keyed the mic. “Command, this is Assistant Inspector Masaki. I need a live overlay—current positions of all active target groups.”

  ========================================================================

  6:14 PM, Paris, France

  Nivaan sniffed the air. The tang of ozone was suddenly present. “Wait, something’s off,” he whispered.

  Before Arnault could respond, a shadow detached itself from the crossbeam above was a familiar, electric-charged aura.

  Taarush dropped smoothly between them, landing on the timber floor with uncanny grace, his khanda and spear at the ready and poised for attack. Though no longer in his giant form, red lightning still danced along his skin.

  In a blink, Serment appeared on Arnault’s hand similarly Nivaan summoned Vayu.

  Arnault smiled, but his grip tightened on Serment. “Taarush. I should’ve guessed. How did you get here so fast?”

  Taarush’s face twisted into a frown as he blocked the narrow pathway for the two Archons.

  “You think you can interfere with our plans? Nothing you do makes any difference. You should stop protecting that monster who wears human skin! He will destroy all of us!”

  Arnault smiled, but inwardly, he was surprised. The traitor had spilled much of their secret truth, but the fact that they implied that they knew of Vi and what he became was worrying. They had Vi’s memory shard which confirms the time line of the events. It shouldn’t be possible based on how the story was told.

  He will need to get this information back to the Primarchs as soon as possible. Trying to keep a composed face, he replied, “Oh yes, Vi said so as much. For your information, he’s already given an ultimatum.”

  “Then why protect him!?” Taarush snarled even more swinging his spear as if to drive home a point.

  “Simple, he’s dear to our leaders,” Arnault said with a small smile.

  “That abomination? Dear to your leaders?” Taarush said with a laugh, disbelief dripping from his voice.

  “He’s not so bad, even his ultimatum is reasonable,” Nivaan added though his bow was still locked onto Taarush.

  Taarush snarled. “Then all of you are making a big mistake!”

  ========================================================================

  1:15 AM, Japan, Western Cape

  Before I could lodge any kind of complaint to anyone, Diocletian strode forward with the mic in his hand and said, “everyone, before we wrap up for tonight, we need to do one last thing.”

  Konrad nodded, already waving the Remy over. “To commemorate a very successful first day, we need a picture.”

  People gathered again, shuffling into place with the tired energy of past midnight but the warm camaraderie of a good night.

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  “And,” Konrad added with a grin, “as the winner of tonight’s game, Vi should stand in the center, maybe with his family.”

  I felt an unpleasant feeling crawl up my spine. Then the PTSD from the night before came rushing back.

  A picture!? Not this shit again!

  “Really!?” I griped as loudly as I could.

  “Yes. Really,” Konrad said simply and gesturing towards the stage where most people were shuffling to. “Don’t worry, it will be fun.”

  “Right. What fun. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  Konrad’s booming laughter echoed throughout the hall.

  ========================================================================

  1:17, AM, Japan, somewhere near the border of Meguro city and Ebisu

  The new feed blinked onto the screen. It was now filled with new, 12 red dots, all surrounding a certain point.

  They weren’t scattered anymore. They were encircling a single location.

  Masaki’s breath caught.

  The hotel where his wife and daughter were staying.

  The Western Cape.

  ========================================================================

  6:17 PM, Paris, France

  Then a low buzzing sound like a small chime dominated the space between the three combatants.

  Taarush slowly, deliberately reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone

  No. A small small crystal—green, glowing and humming with a sweet pulse.

  Arnault tensed while Nivaan inhaled sharply.

  Taarush smirked which sent shivers down the two Archons’ back. “Times, up.”

  He planted his spear into the timber floor with deliberate malice. Then he raised his free hand—not toward them, but towards the intersection of nave and choir.

  Sensing what he was about to do, Arnault froze for a fraction of a second.

  If Taarush cast there, if he unleashed power at that point, he could destroy the cathedral.

  But the surge of power gathering around his opponent was immediate, colossal, and merciless. It was then that Arnault let go of his hesitation.

  Serment swung in a bright arc in his grasp, carving three molten orbs of fire from the blade’s edge. They screamed forward, bright enough to light up the space in violent orange. Nivaan followed with four volleys of mana arrows, loosed so fast they seemed to overlap.

  Taarush absorbed Nivaan’s arrows into the lightning spear in front of him—like a sponge drinking in light. Then, with a flick of his wrist and a precise motion of his khanda, the fireballs collided with the blade in his hand. Fire and sparks exploded as Taarush caught the molten projectile midair.

  His grin widened as he redirected one of them towards Nivaan.

  The attack slammed into Nivaan with concussive force, throwing him backward against a timber crossbeam. Reflexively, he raised his shielded arms and the strike deflected upward—unintentionally sending the fireball into the wooden structure of the roof framing.

  The attic timbers ignited instantly.

  A thin streak of flame raced along the old wood, spreading like a hungry serpent. Smoke bloomed, thick and black. The scent of char and centuries-old dust filled the confined space. Wood groaned under the sudden heat, catching flame in thin, fast-spreading streaks. Smoke curled immediately, filling the attic space with acrid, black haze. The faint smell of charred timber and smoke warned of the fire spreading beneath the cathedral’s vaulted ceilings.

  “Merde!” Arnault shouted, spinning Serment to deflect debris as embers rained down. He tapped into the link he had with his partner.

  “Marcelle! Notre-dame caught fire! We’ll try to contain the fire after this fight, we can’t let the cathedral burn completely—but right now we’re fighting for our lives! Stall anyone coming up!”

  Marcelle’s fury pierced him through their link. “What in all the hells did you idiots do!?”

  Arnault didn’t get to answer.

  Before he could answer, Taarush’s red eyes glinted in the smoke. He surged forward, lightning crawled across his skin. Each movement sent arcs of energy snapping across beams and along his limbs, forcing Arnault into the defensive. Every step of Taarush’s advance caused the timber beneath them to shudder.

  Arnault and Nivaan broke apart, circling him in the narrow maze of walkways. The fire chewed greedily at the ceiling. The air turned blistering.

  The fighting at the other levels also became more intense, every clash sent shudders through the rafters. Every redirected fireball or errant spell threatened to ignite more fires. The confined timber attic amplified every sound, the clash of metal, the snap of fire-kissed wood, the hiss of heated air.

  But the warded space ensured silence below, and the throngs of the faithful praying in the church heard nothing of the war erupting above their heads.

  Every second was a countdown to collapse.

  Every time Arnault tried to strike with his blade, Taarush intercepted. Every redirected blast threatened the structure itself. With the fire beginning to spread across the ceiling, the stakes became more dangerous: one misstep could collapse the walkway or the roof beneath them.

  Arnault moved to flank. Nivaan took height. Serment hissed with flame. Airavata’s residual mana flickered around Nivaan’s body tanking blows. But Taarush grew more dangerous, more confident, with each heartbeat.

  The two Archons knew this wasn’t just a duel—it was now a race against time. They had to subdue or drive off Taarush before the mages could complete their ritual, all while trying to prevent the collapse of the blazing structure of Notre-Dame.

  Then they felt it, the rush of power, of mana. To the average individuals they would feel nothing. But to those of versed in the arcane, it felt like a titanic wall of power, an unstoppable tide surging forward faster than the speed of sound. Only the titans of the Order, the Primarchs, would be able to freely use their powers here.

  A tidal wall of mana rushing across the continent, converging, there were twelve such walls of power, across the globe, rushing towards a single point.

  And one of them was here.

  No! There was no ritual here!

  In that split second, Arnault made a choice. Serment disappeared in a flash of light.

  Taarush however, was standing tall, no discomfort in his face. It was the same for members of the Order. The storm of mana they were currently in made focusing their spells difficult, it empowered them true, but only on the physical level, healing wounds and banishing fatigue. Casting spells, became all the harder.

  Sensing what his comrade was about to do, Nivaan was in front of Arnault, weathering the storm much like he was, but with the aim of shielding him from any attack.

  Arnault on the other hand, with titanic will and effort that made his mind burn from the strain, forced a single thought into shape that made his eyes and nose bleed.

  He pushed hard willing his very soul for one spell. Just one. He must get this out.

  With sheer force of will worthy of the title of Archon, Arnault let out a psychic scream that tore across the ley, audible only to people who use mana. In truth it was the only thing he could do at the moment as finer telepathic spells are harder to make in this mana storm.

  They’re using the ley lines as conduits! Disrupt it!

  At once, Nivaan moved in sparks of blue light, Vayu, disappearing in an instant. He charged at Taarush, intent on using hand-to-hand. His opponent tried to counter using his spear and sword. But Nivaan was inside his guard no bow, no distance—just fists, elbows, knees. He was using punches and grappling techniques to keep his opponent close. To contain.

  Arnault took a few seconds before he got up and staggered upright, lungs burning. Using Nivaan as the distraction, he rushed forward past the two who were fighting near tooth and nail, intent on interrupting the flow.

  But as he got back to the stairs, two of his previous opponents, the lightning and earth users, appeared at the foot of the landing.

  “It’s too late! None of you can stop this!” Taarush cackled madly behind him just before Nivaan smashed his forehead into the Taarush’s nose.

  Arnault could only grit his teeth, he put both of his hands and took a stance as his two opponents charged.

  ========================================================================

  1:18 AM, Japan, Western Cape

  Reika being Reika had complained to Konrad about something, and whatever she said must have been convincing enough, because she somehow managed to rearrange the entire lineup for the photo.

  In my case however, I was busy considering the merits of quietly throwing a pepper bomb or ten, across the marble floor and fleeing the scene before anyone noticed.

  Thus, the final formation became, me in the center, Reika to my immediate right, then Shizuku, Wills, Mother, Father, and—surprisingly—Nana baa-san, who had accepted the offer. The rest of the Japanese group stood beside her. And to my left, the other delegates filled in with excitement.

  Yep. My countrymen’s love and enthusiasm for taking pictures is on full display.

  Remy lifted the camera with positive glee in his eyes.

  “Alright everyone—Cheese!”

  A chorus of replies rang out.

  The flash went off.

  And then—I felt it.

  Twelve points of gathering mana in the distance, blooming into life like stars, igniting my senses in the split second of the flash.

  Then a tidal wave.

  The marble floor beneath our feet flared—a circle of pure, blinding light materialized.

  Most people clapped hands over their eyes, startled by the brilliance. But in the space between one heartbeat and the next, I accelerated my thoughts, my mind sharpening, slowing the world around me.

  To my left, Nana baa-san had already moved behind my parents and my brother. Her cane glowed a fierce, angry red, and I felt the pressure of Kusushiki (崩し気), destabilizing energy, on the verge of manifesting.

  Karura was stirring, a sleeping sun rumbled as it lifted its head, sensing the danger encroaching on its scions.

  In front of me, the two Primarchs—Konrad and Diocletian were frozen for a fraction of a second, eyes wide with shock and worry. Then instinct took over.

  Konrad brought forth Angloraine, the tower shield veined with golden filigree, its markings pulsing with blue light. Tropheium followed, the ornate blue-bladed Zweihander—the unmistakable insignia of the Uncrowned Princes’ leader.

  Beside him, Diocletian drew Lux Libertas, its revolver chamber glowing like a furnace, and ornate Mordhau, his bluish-white longsword, humming in protest as the mana storm thickened.

  Ah.

  Even as calamity unfurled around us, a feeling of melancholy struck me. It wasn’t every day I saw them like this—their true selves breaking through the veneer of normalcy. Truly, grandfather had such good friends.

  Then my eyes caught on Remy.

  He was in front of us, the camera nearly on the ground after he had knocked it aside in his haste. His arms outstretched, reaching as though sheer will might pull us back. Desperation etched every line of his face.

  But the spell was already complete.

  One more second, and the transport would begin. If Remy stepped forward again, if he reached even an inch further, the circle would bisect him cleanly.

  Now that won’t do.

  I made my decision, and let go of the hold I had on my mind.

  I exhaled sharply as I grabbed my two childhood friends beside me.

  The shockwave struck and Remy flew backwards.

  And then—

  White swallowed everything.

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