The darkness inside the Aqua flagship was sterile and humming. The air pulsed with quiet, mechanical heartbeats as the ship cut through the sky like a steel arrow, leaving glowing blue trails behind.
Tiffany lay suspended inside a glowing cell, her wrists bound by energy cuffs radiating faint marigold light. She was conscious—barely. Her sunflower aura flickered sporadically, no longer golden, but a sickly yellow-white. Her eye was swollen shut, her lip split. Still, she smirked.
"You'll regret leaving me breathing," she muttered to no one.
A guard passed the cell, glanced at her, then looked away quickly.
She knew the look.
Fear.
Far below, Duncan crawled up the western ravine path, blood crusted down one arm. He clutched the edge of a communication scroll that shimmered faintly with Michael's energy signature.
"Found her," he muttered. "Held in the sky. And she's still alive."
His mind wandered—not to the battle ahead, but to Mai.
The image haunted him: orange flames twisting around her like a serpent, her voice not her own, her eyes foreign. He'd seen monsters in war.
But nothing like this.
"Hold on, Tiph," he whispered. "Hold on."
Inside the ship.
A commander entered Tiffany's cell. The woman wore polished navy armor with the Aqua crest glowing from her breastplate. Her face was sharp, angular, and emotionless.
"I am Commander Veyra," she announced.
Tiffany smirked despite the pain. "Congratulations on learning to speak. Now unchain me."
Veyra said nothing. She simply raised a palm, and the cuffs around Tiffany's wrists tightened.
"You are bait," she said flatly. "We anticipated the red one would lose control. Now we wait for her to come."
Tiffany's breath hitched.
"She's coming?"
Veyra nodded. "Faster than predicted. She will come for you. And when she does, she will fall into the final trap."
Tiffany lowered her gaze. "...She'll kill you all."
"I hope so," Veyra said without blinking. "We need her to."
Elsewhere — Michael's camp.
Michael stood silently by the ruins of an old shrine. A stream trickled nearby. He stared at a photo in his hand: a young woman, green eyes, black kimono — his wife, Melanie. The green flower she once bore had been drawn in faint ink on the back.
"Would you have hated me for training her like I trained you?" he murmured.
No wind answered.
He looked up. "I couldn't stop her this time. Not really. Just slowed her down."
He crushed the photo gently and let it fall into the stream.
Then, quietly, he began to walk again.
Toward the mountain.
Toward Mai.
Mai — somewhere between worlds.
Inside her mind, two versions of herself stood. One, glowing orange, psychotic grin spread ear to ear, aura flaring violently. The other—quiet, red-eyed, clutching her head, kneeling.
"You like this," the orange self whispered. "Don't lie."
"No..."
"You're strong now. Untouchable. No more fear. No more begging."
"I didn't want to become—"
"You did."
A vision of Tiffany, bound and bloodied, flashed across the psychic void. Mai screamed, but it came out silent.
She dropped to her knees.
Reality.
The forest around Mai was burning. She didn't notice.
She stood, trembling, her hands glowing orange.
"I'm not... this," she whispered.
But her feet walked forward.
Toward the sky.
Toward the ship.
Back on the Aqua flagship.
Tiffany stirred. Her eye blinked open.
Far away—on the horizon—something was rising.
A streak of orange.
A pressure so intense the glass of her cell trembled.
"She's here," she said.
And smiled.
To be continued...