In Zone 3, in a particular room of a particular building, a staircase led down a winding path to the basement. Noise bustled, and a handsome man with long, untamed hair lay on an old couch with a flower-print pattern.

  Vintage, they said, though nobody knew what dumpster it'd been dragged from.

  An accumulation of junk and trinkets decorated the rectangular space. In the center, a round wooden table sat under the flickering fluorescent lights. Several candles lined the edges, wafting a blur of floral, citrus, and strange scents intermixed with alcohol.

  Cards were scattered across as three individuals bent their heads around them.

  By the couch, two nearly identical children sat cross-legged on a matted rug. They fiddled with broken toys and gadgets most would call garbage. The young boy dismantled a set of wires and gears expressionlessly.

  The handsome man yawned, arching his back as he stretched his powerful arms in the air. A loose, long black tunic hung over his broad shoulders, and he lazily glanced sideways. "I went on a little adventure the other day and met somebody interesting."

  His gaze drifted to a taller man with pale blonde hair and an unlucky smile. The other leaned against the shadows, written of alienation. "He looked a little like the big cutie you adopted."

  The man ignored him, and his grin split wider. "Oh, if you're wondering, I have eyes everywhere."

  One of the two small teenagers, a young girl with braided pigtails, scrunched her nose and chortled. "Ares is a super stalker!"

  Ares wagged his finger. "Now, shouldn't we blame that mister over there for always acting suspiciously? It isn't my fault he likes to play on both sides—what can the helpless me do?"

  The girl squeezed a soft plush rabbit missing an ear and leaned against the boy. Her twin. She hugged his arm and the rabbit. "Apollo, quick, agree with me. Ares is creepy, and Erebus is suspicious!"

  The boy glanced at her and nodded obediently. His fingers continued moving habitually.

  Ares rested his head against the palm of his hand, sideways as he laughed. "But you liked that cutie too, didn't you, buddy?"

  The boy robotically turned his head, his expression a frigid block of ice. Then, he blinked as if remembering, and the edges of his face softened. Only a fraction. The perfect line of his lips lifted by a single degree.

  The girl, with super vision and a mathematical aptitude for observing the angles of her brother's expression, squealed. She squeezed his cheeks together. Squished it for good measure.

  "Oh my god, sweetie," she exclaimed. Her chest puffed domineeringly, like a little queen. "You like somebody? Want this big sis to grab him for you?"

  Ares choked, guffawing. "A difference of 8 seconds doesn't count, princess. Also, who's been letting you read those weird books again? Little lady, you're sounding like a big boss from some cheesy romance novel."

  The girl pouted. "There aren't many options, obviously. Anyway, Hermes grabbed me some because he's much, much nicer than you. Plus, Hera peeked and didn't say anything!"

  From the card table where a gambling game bustled, a woman snorted. Her green eyes were carved jade, and her dirty blonde hair cloaked her in regality. "Silence isn't approval. Why should I prevent the inevitability of an already rotted brain?"

  The girl stuck out a pink tongue childishly. "Hmph! Yours rots around Zeus."

  "Adults, princess," drawled the woman as she turned back to the game. "Rot around real people, not fictional trash who only know how to throw money."

  "At least they're not poor! Poorness is a sin!"

  Ares rolled over, laughing. "Then we're all sinners, aren't we?"

  The woman couldn't be bothered with the silly argument and waved dismissively, pressing her handful of cards down. A groan came from the other two as she calmly collected a pile of snacks. Ares stared, bored out of his mind.

  Naturally, he decided to bother the silent statue in the corner.

  "Erebus. Don't tell me you're not into any fun tonight?" smiled Ares.

  Erebus swept his icelike eyes over—they were empty pools of frost, infinitely cold. Unsuited for the smile that tilted his lips.

  Hollow. Somebody Ares knew better than to trust.

  "Come on, how about a coin toss?" Ares wasn't one to not get his way, slipping a coin from his pocket. They were mostly useless now, but he liked to scavenge the stuff found along the roads. "I'm betting heads."

  Erebus nodded cooperatively. "Tails."

  The coin soared high, spinning as the twins simultaneously tilted their hands. Ares slapped it against his palm, opening his fingers. There, against the face of the copper coin, sat tails.

  They played five more rounds, and he lost three and won two.

  The other's expression hardly flinched.

  "Seriously," complained Ares. "Why bother coming, lovely Erebus?"

  The man, draped in a dark coat, smiled. "I was informed there would be a discussion tonight."

  "And you need to know them to sabotage us later, of course," laughed Ares, and it was a half-truth. He slunk back to the couch, draping over it.

  The door to the stairs groaned, and a woman with cascading raven hair entered. Her soft features were hidden beneath a crow's mask, but her black eyes held warmth. Gently, she smiled and drew a chair as Hera paused the game to face her.

  "I did call for you. Thank you for coming, Erebus," said the woman softly as she glanced at the snacks. "Winning as expected, Hera."

  "Take some," said the other woman curtly.

  "I'll be alright—"

  "Have you eaten?"

  The masked woman faltered. She let out a faint huff of laughter, accepting the crinkling bag, and popped a crisp into her mouth. "Thank you. Now, I'm here with a warning. The Base is under close observation to examine recent fluctuations in the Rifts, causing inaccurate ratings."

  "Hasn't the Supreme Commander been entering them, too?" wondered Ares, yawning again.

  Her expression stiffened for a moment. "Yes, that's correct. That's why I advise you to take extra caution." Her eyes settled on the two adult troublemakers, radiating an air of scholarly scolding. A gaze that didn't accept refusal, Erebus thought. A familiar gaze. "Ares, I've heard of your performance within a recent Rift."

  "Hey, hey, it wasn't for fun, alright?" He raised his hands in surrender, rolling over. "The energy didn't feel right, so I dipped my toes inside and came across an interesting fellow. Like the gentleman I am, I helped humanity keep one more unfortunate soul."

  Zeus frowned. "I see. Please continue observing, but be cautious. Our research is ongoing. It may be related to environmental alterations."

  "You're too straight-laced."

  "Go too far and you'll be burned," reminded the woman, gaze lowered to her hands, encased in a pair of gloves. A ring of darkened skin wrapped her wrist.

  Erebus reacted slightly, glancing sideways. "Unstable energy?"

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  Ares raised his eyebrows. "What, curious? Well, I don't know why, but that big cutie certainly had something interesting about him. I'd like to eat him up if I get the chance."

  The little girl scrunched her nose. "Gross."

  The boy beside her lowered his lips by 2 degrees, peering at the lazy man.

  Erebus simply exhaled, but it sounded like a faint snort. He thought about those defiant eyes that would either be buried by the world or bury it, but would definitely not be led by the nose.

  Ares squinted, straightening. "You know something. I thought you abandoned him after one night."

  "I'm afraid it's not difficult to know things you don't," said Erebus, pushing off the wall. He ascended the stairs.

  "That Guide," called Ares loudly. The gazes of the others looked over, and Erebus stopped at the top. "Why did you bring him to the surface? His name was Ian, right?"

  At the table, Zeus stiffened. She turned her head towards the retreating figure, and of course, he noticed it. It was interesting. How desperately people nailed on their masks of calm, only for them to shatter with the right tool.

  Erebus smiled that same aloof, strange smile. His hand rested on the handle. "Do I need a reason for taking or abandoning things?"

  "So he's a temporary interest," challenged Ares. "Unimportant."

  "You're free to think what you wish," said Erebus dully as he twisted the door wide open. "And do as you wish."

  He left the basement, eventually stepping into the frigid gust that bristled against his skin. His smile melted away in the shadows, and his gaze simmered. For a second, he stood motionless. Clad in darkness among towering buildings, as if debating something.

  Then, coming to a random decision, he made his way to the train station.

  ———

  By sunrise, which was hard to predict on some days, the Esper-Guide duo left the rundown apartment and started toward the Gates.

  Pain wove into Ian's face from the guiding session—although it was merely skin contact and minimal guiding, the accumulation of distorted energy was infinite.

  Really, thought Ian with a hint of eagerness, that man would likely drop dead one day and become one of the monsters roaming the streets. What a shame. Not.

  It would be a little annoying, considering the madness would likely transform him into an oversized pest that would undoubtedly murder hundreds, but there was nothing Ian could do, so he didn't dwell on it for long.

  Victor glanced sideways at the contemplative face. He couldn't read emotions or thoughts, and felt a jab of irritation at his ignorance. He smiled. "What's going on in your head?"

  Ian glanced over. "How annoying you'd be after death."

  "Because I would wipe out a city post-infection?"

  "You're overestimating yourself."

  "Am I?"

  Ian's gaze shamelessly raked his body, and he considered it. "I take it back. You'll be a massive pest, not a little one."

  Victor nodded. "What else are you thinking?"

  "I'm wondering why the Base doesn't eliminate you," said Ian bluntly.

  According to what he knew, everything was done for the sake of humanity. They took care to cultivate useful tools without wasting resources. A fat, energy-filled source like Victor would be a waste to rid of, but it would be more of a waste to find a way to purge him later.

  Victor hummed, adjusting his watch. "Once you reach the center, you can ask for me."

  Ian frowned. "Ask them yourself."

  "They care about my feelings."

  At that, Ian directly snorted. "You're great at bullshit. Also, can you stop smiling all the time? It's creepy, and I'm uncomfortable."

  Victor continued to smile without a flicker of change. "Have you considered that might be the point?"

  "Wasting energy to annoy an old guide like me? What an honour."

  "It's not a waste," reassured Victor with deceptive gentleness, and shivers rushed up Ian's arms. Heinched away in disgust, and the little action seemed to amuse the Esper, if amusement was something he could even feel.

  Ian couldn't get a reading on that man who easily conversed with him, sometimes cold and sometimes gentle. Always smiling, and always detached. The combination labelled him as somebody to avoid—if not for his ability and partial willingness to cooperate, Ian would've preferred to kick him into the Chasm.

  In fact, he'd love to do that.

  "Ian?" A voice called out from the distance.

  Ian looked up and caught sight of a pink-haired man jogging over. Before he could arrive, an alarm screeched overhead and screams echoed alongside a robotic message reminding citizens to remain calm.

  [There is a breach in Zone 5-B. Warning! Warning! Please return to your homes!]

  [Warning! Please return to your homes!]

  [Reminder: other citizens are expected to continue their duties! Warning!]

  He jerked sideways, but couldn't see beyond the mass of buildings. Several heads looked over mutely before indifferently returning to their tasks.

  Sylvan grimaced. "A breach. First one this month."

  Zone 5 was split into three sections, and each held a gate that circled the outside perimeter. Therefore, any incidents would sacrifice those zones before entering the next.

  "We haven't been told to go underlock down, so it should be minor," mused Sylvan amid the ceaseless screams. He gnawed on his bottom lip. "This is just how it is, and how it stays."

  "Sylvan," said Ian, drawing the younger man's attention back to him.

  Sylvan forced a smile, but it lacked its usual enthusiasm. The alarms blared insistently, and nobody paid them a second glance. They were ants following a routine of ignorance, with only death disturbing their regularity.

  Sylvan cleared his throat. "Sorry, sorry. Those brats have been keeping me up for days! And you leaving all of a sudden and not even saying goodbye—feel sorry for me, I'm so tired."

  Ian muted the alarms. Strange, how easy it could be. "The rules require an Esper or a Guide to take a break after seven days to prevent casualties."

  There were rules bound to Espers, who were monitored upon entering the Base to observe their energy levels. Espers that were determined to be on the verge of eruption or transformation, both equally terrible, would receive emergency guiding.

  Those without partners were sent directly to the facility. Where there were dozens for their picking.

  Sylvan tapped his foot on the ground impatiently. "And what? You won't visit unless we're entering a Rift—using and tossing our friendship like that, huh? I didn't take you as ungrateful."

  "I didn't think you took me as grateful, either."

  "I don't."

  Ian raised his eyebrow. "Then—"

  "If you're done," interrupted Victor smoothly. "I'd like to continue."

  Sylvan finally noticed the large figure beside them, narrowing his eyes. A flash of recognition twisted his expression, and he stepped towards Ian protectively. "Why are you here?"

  Victor didn't bother answering, and Ian explained briefly. "I need to improve my abilities."

  "You're just fine. You're getting better and familiar with the Rifts already! Do you know who that is?" Sylvan tensed, gritting his teeth. Strangely defensive. "I... don't know him well, but I've seen him out there. What are you doing, getting frisky with—"

  Victor finally lowered his gaze, steeped in severity. His smile thinned. "Are you interfering with my things?"

  Sylvan swallowed audibly, as goosebumps dotted his arms and his eyes narrowed further.

  "There's nothing of yours here," scoffed Ian, breaking the tension. He turned and ruffled the younger man's hair in reassurance. "Syl. I won't achieve my goals by waiting around like a sitting duck."

  A strange, jittery anxiety enveloped the pink-haired man. Victor was a beacon of discomfort, with a single look enough to provoke dislike. But Ian noticed a deeper terror, a known and cautious fear that laced Sylvan's avoidant movements.

  He just couldn't place the why and what.

  Tentatively, Sylvan tugged at Ian's sleeve, wilted at the rejection. "You could stay. We can live together. It would be nice, wouldn't it?"

  Ian couldn't understand Sylvan's eagerness but acknowledged his words.

  Sylvan, a stranger who unknowingly became a place of familiarity in mere weeks. A young man with startling honesty and energy, bright and charming in the daytime despite the nightmares haunting his evenings.

  Ian didn't expect to grow so fond, drawn to that brightness that the facility always smothered.

  He didn't move, gazing quietly. Both Sylvan and William hid secrets and a past marked by mystery. Sylvan's restlessness at night and William's excessive protectiveness.

  But none of that mattered. He felt the heat of the Esper beside him, a presence hardly as warm as the evenings he shared soup at their table, or the comfort he received in Rifts knowing he wasn't alone.

  In that soothing comfort, he would become nothing.

  And his sister's corpse would continue rotting in barren lands alone.

  "I can't," he said as he gently removed the tightly curled fingers. He ruffled the bed of pink hair again, vibrant under the sheen of daylight. "But I'll come by for dinner when I'm back. Save me a bowl, I'll take the non-chipped one."

  "Acting all demanding when you're only a guest," complained Sylvan.

  "Good hosts give guests good treatment."

  "Yeah, but guests don't usually demand the best treatment. You're an abnormality! Why do I want you in my apartment, taking all my good, polished, cute bowls?"

  Ian arched an eyebrow. "Singular. You have one."

  "Maybe I have a second one hiding! Fine, anyway, you have to show up to receive my excellent service." He squinted suspiciously, full of accusations. "You'd better show up. I have to get back to the brats, but I'll complain to them if you don't!"

  "Go on. Complain."

  "Aren't you supposed to reassure me?"

  "I don't do unpaid labour."

  Ian listened to several more minutes of Sylvan's venting before waving him away with an insistence that nearly offended the other. Every few seconds, Sylvan would shoot a cold glare sideways to the Esper who played an obedient doll for the rest of the conversation.

  Once Sylvan finally left begrudgingly, Victor glanced at Ian. "Are you ready, or would you like to delay by another few hours?"

  "A few more hours," said Ian unapologetically. "I'll take a nap while I'm at it."

  Ian disliked impatient people; an act of hypocrisy, being one of the most impatient people he knew. He validated it by the fact that his time was valuable, and others' time was irrelevant to him.

  Victor waited. "Should I lay my jacket on the ground for you?"

  "I don't sleep on used clothes. Bacteria," said the man who resided in a filth-covered, dingy apartment with only bugs as visitors.

  "Yet you shared my bed."

  "Unfortunately, at the time, a nasty leech had sucked me dry of all my vitality."

  Victor didn't falter, smiling. "Most would be thankful that it was only their vitality."

  "Most isn't my name," said Ian indifferently, strolling ahead without pause. He tired of the useless conversation and moved according to his wishes. Fearless, some would say. Foolish, others would insist. "Are you ready, or would you like to delay by another few hours?"

  The piercing blue eyes, coated with a frightening chill, dug into the retreating back.

  A broad back belonging to a prideful, yet weak and relentless Guide.

  That arrogance balanced with human fragility—neither hero, nor saint, nothing more than a desperate man with high pride—made one want to both ruin and possess that proud figure.

  Victor's finger twitched at his side, hanging low, before he followed behind.