Ember 20, 2999 – Sunday Afternoon
Lena Cordash's Mansion – Duskhaven Inner Ring
The soft chime of the mansion's front gate echoed through the estate. A sleek obsidian hover-bike pulled up the gravel path—chrome humming with heat.
Dez McCoo swung off, dragging a duffel bag across his shoulder and brushing dust from his ridiculous tropical button-up. Right beside him? The dark elf Shiro wingmaned him with back at the bar—now in a tight bodysuit with tech-link gloves and sleek silver shades. Her long braid bounced against her back as she walked beside Dez, visibly impressed by the elegant sprawl of Lena's manor.
"Damn," Dez muttered, staring up. "Shiro really out here livin' like a mid-boss villain."
He knocked once on the door.
It opened before his second knock could land.
Shiro stood in the frame.
Taller. Leaner. Still shirtless.
But his body had refined into something else entirely. Veins like cables ran down his arms. His skin shimmered faintly under the sunlight. His jaw was sharper. The dreadlocks darker, thicker, wild as ever. And those faintly glowing eyes?
Predator.
Dez blinked. "What the actual f—"
The dark elf beside him bit her lip.
Shiro grinned wide, fangs glinting. "Hey there, bro. Come on in."
They stepped into the main lounge, where velvet couches and enchanted lighting cast warm glows across the walls. Lena, Grakka, and Zarrah were all there—each in loose, lazy-day wear, but no less stunning. Lena's long legs crossed over one armrest, Grakka sharpened a blade with one hand, and Zarrah sipped tea with slow, elegant poise.
Dez glanced around—and froze mid-step.
Shiro grinned, catching the look. "Don't stare too long. They mine."
Dez raised both hands, laughing. "I know, I know. Shit, you don't gotta mark your whole damn castle."
He dropped the duffel beside the crystal table and opened a secure tablet.
"Brought everything. Logs, server scrape, signal data from the relic." He popped a chip into a holographic port. "And good news—I fucked with their tracking pulse."
Everyone turned.
Dez smirked. "Yeah. The relic? Still buzzin', but I was able to redirect the signal loop—sent it bouncing through a dozen dead-end proxies and magical duds. Even if they triangulate, all they'll find is a warehouse in Ruin's Edge full of cursed pigeon bones."
Shiro chuckled, grabbing a nearby bottle. "You're sick, man."
"I'm brilliant," Dez corrected.
Then he leaned forward and tapped the screen. "But here's the part that matters."
The holo shifted to a cluster of black strings, like spiderwebs built across cities. Red dots blinked across Nexus: Hollowbay. Kiram Junction. Duskhaven. Even a few near Ironwell Ruins.
"Names, tags, movements. These aren't field agents. These are mid-tier contractors and staff who got pinged in the system after your relic reacted."
He swiped to a new file.
A name burned across the top in sharp digital ink.
Morrow.
Zarrah's entire body stiffened behind Shiro.
Dez noticed. "That one mean somethin' to her?"
"She wants his head," Shiro said, voice low.
"No," Zarrah corrected coldly. "I want his screams."
Everyone paused. Even the elf blinked.
Dez looked between them. "Well… damn. I like her."
Zarrah didn't smile. Not really.
Just bared a fang and leaned forward.
"Find me where he's hiding," she whispered, "and I'll handle the rest."
Shiro glanced at Dez. "You heard her."
Dez nodded once. "Yeah… consider it done."
Lena uncrossed her legs and stood, her silk robe sliding with a whisper as she moved to the console.
She flicked a finger over the interface. The logs expanded—projecting dozens of contractor names, encrypted correspondences, and geo-markers. Several flickered red.
"Some of these names… I've done deals with," she muttered, lips tightening.
Grakka arched a brow. "You sayin' we been playin' house while the damn termites gnawed the floorboards?"
"No," Lena said sharply. "I'm sayin' I'm about to torch the whole damn house and rebuild it smarter."
Her eyes flashed, hands moving with purpose across the holo-map. "I'm cross-checking my enchantment exports. Anyone I've worked with who links to this Choir—I'm blacklisting. No more intermediaries. I want direct eyes on every contract from here out."
Shiro watched her a moment, then gave a subtle nod. "Good."
He looked at Zarrah next. "You ready to start prepping?"
Zarrah rose, her gaze never leaving the name Morrow burning on the screen.
"I'll need time. Weapons. Information. Anything you can find on his habits, his base, his schedule."
"I'll help her," the dark elf chimed in from behind Dez. "I've worked recon. Stealth enchantment rigs. If he moves, I can track it."
Zarrah gave her a single nod. "Merci."
Dez smirked. "Look at that—already buildin' your murder-girl squad."
Lena didn't smile. "They'll need it. Because if this Morrow is as deep in the Choir's gut as he looks… he won't come easy."
Shiro's grin was faint. "That's fine."
He stepped back from the table and rolled his shoulders. "We don't want easy."
Lena's gaze cut to him. "So what now?"
Shiro glanced between them all—Zarrah sharpening inward rage, Lena calculating fast and deadly, Grakka stretching her neck like she wanted someone to hit, Dez syncing files, and the dark elf prepping scan lenses from her wristband.
Then he spoke.
"We follow the threads. We hit a few of these nodes."
He pointed at two red-tagged names lighting up across the Duskhaven grid. "These first. Shake the tree. See what falls out."
Zarrah's voice came quiet and sharp behind him. "Then we drag Morrow from the roots."
Shiro turned, red eyes gleaming. "Exactly."