The footsteps drew closer.
Kael crouched behind the crumbling wall, shoulders tight, breath shallow. His fingers scraped along the broken floor, searching—anything he could use. The storm outside masked the noise of his movement, but the footsteps were getting louder. Slower. Controlled. Not like something hunting, but something approaching.
His hand closed around a chunk of concrete. Heavy. Angular. Cold with rain.
He gripped it in both hands, lifted it above his head, and steadied his breath. The weight settled into his arms. Sweat formed at his brow despite the cold, trailing down the side of his face and mixing with the rain. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, syncing with the rhythm of those steps.
One at a time.
Light, deliberate. Not stomping or dragging—too cautious for a beast. But he couldn’t assume.
In the Fused World, anything could turn. Creatures, remnants, even plants—if they formed a Core, the Arcane twisted them. Broke the natural form. What remained were monsters, reshaped by essence. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast. Always deadly.
The steps flickered closer, then stopped just outside the broken entrance.
Kael tensed.
And then she appeared.
A figure stepped into view through the rain, framed by the fractured doorway.
Kael froze.
She was human.
Young. Pale skin, black hair damp and clinging to her face. Her uniform was soaked, clinging to an athletic frame. There was a sword at her waist, the hilt worn but well-kept. She wasn’t tall, but her posture was sharp—ready to act, if needed. Her gaze locked onto his the moment she entered. Not afraid. Not surprised. Just... watching.
For a beat, he didn’t move.
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Then reality snapped back, and the concrete slipped from his grip.
It hit the floor beside her with a loud crack, shards scattering across the tile.
She flinched, stumbled back with a sharp intake of breath. One knee hit the floor, her left hand instinctively going for her blade.
But she didn’t draw.
She stared at him, chest rising with the adrenaline, eyes narrowed—but still calm. Still focused.
Kael lowered his hands, breath catching.
She stayed there, crouched, soaked and motionless for a second longer. Then she exhaled, brushed the wet strands from her eyes, and slowly stood.
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” she said, voice flat, edged with something dry.
Kael blinked. He couldn’t answer at first. His jaw moved, but no words came.
She waited.
Finally, he forced something out. “I—I thought…”
He didn’t finish.
Of course he’d thought it was a monster. Everything here could be. But looking at her now—alive, real, human—the tension began to slip from his body, even if his muscles hadn’t fully caught up.
She tilted her head slightly, assessing him.
“Aiko,” she said. “Aiko Ren.”
“Kael,” he muttered. “Just Kael.”
That was enough.
She adjusted the strap that kept her sheath tight at her hip, then let her hands rest lightly at her sides. She didn’t seem ready to drop her guard—but she wasn’t treating him like a threat, either.
A smirk pulled at one corner of her mouth.
“Next time,” she said, “just say hello.”
Kael huffed once. It was almost a laugh, but not quite.
As she looked away briefly, scanning the room, Kael’s thoughts started catching up. Of course there’d be others.
It made sense. Everyone who Dove on the same night usually appeared within a certain range of each other. Somewhere near an Anchor—close enough that, if they survived, they might find their way back.
If they can release it.
That was the rule. Anchors were both the gate in and the gate out. But no one just walked up and left. You had to fight your way toward one. Earn the right to escape.
The world didn’t care how young you were, or how unprepared. If you Dove, you were in.
Kael looked at Aiko again. She was already pacing the room, silently cataloging exits and weaknesses in the structure.
She didn’t seem relieved to find someone else. Just… focused.
