A tall figure stood at the edge of the marble platform, unmoving—like a statue carved from war itself.
Black suit. Sharp lines. Tie knotted with precision. A brown leather cloak draped over his shoulders, long and worn, heavy not just with fabric, but with the weight of battles stitched into every seam. It didn't sway—it dragged, like it remembered every life Lane had taken.
His hair was slicked back, dark brown and immaculate—not out of vanity, but necessity. Distractions were a luxury he couldn't afford. His jaw was sharp, framed by a goatee that hadn't been touched in days. Not messy. Just lived-in. Like everything about him.
Then there were his eyes.
Green. Not bright. Not dull. Just… elusive. Like they were always watching something behind you. Like they'd seen things you wouldn't survive remembering.
He didn't speak. Didn't shift. Just watched.
The stage was crowded—presidents, soveringn campaign heads, academy leaders, and the full Global Entity Hunter team. The room buzzed with noise, but none of it touched him.
Lane wasn't here for speeches.
He was here because he had to be.
Though he'd rather be anywhere else.
Thirteen years since Japan fell. The world called it a meeting. Lane called it a reminder. A reminder of what the Curse had done—how it swallowed a nation whole and spat out something twisted.
No one called it Japan anymore.
It was the First Nightmare Realm.
The walls came after. Towering things powered by Entity Cores—those rare drops from slain Entities. Lane had held too many. Each one felt like a heartbeat stolen.
They said the walls kept the monsters out.
Lane knew better.
He knew it'd eventually fall.
The summit was held underground, beneath the White House. The first world meeting in five years. Lane had been to three. He didn't expect much.
The President began speaking.
Lane sipped his coffee.
No sugar. No milk. Bitter. Like the people who brewed it. Like the world that demanded it.
He didn't mind bitter.
But the aftertaste? That was something else. Like chewing on ash.
And now he had to sit through another speech while it lingered in his mouth.
Lane yawned.
The crowd straightened like they were hearing gospel. Lane tuned it out. He'd heard enough speeches to know they all sounded the same—unity, sacrifice, progress.
He stared into space, pretending to listen.
Then the President said something that always struck a nerve.
Seventeen years ago.
The Curse's first appearance.
The "Mass Rebirth," the Wisp had called it.
Lane remembered.
Everyone between seventeen and thirty-five—Cursed. Ninety percent of the population vanished. Just gone.
Only ten to fifteen percent remained.
Lane had been branded Purified. He was seventeen. Still a child. The world he saw was beautiful—but dark. A fairy tale twisted by ancient Entities that devoured star-crossed like breath.
Of the ninety percent taken, fifteen percent were branded Chosen. No trials. No tasks. Just power. Lane had met a few. Most were arrogant. The rest? Branded Cursed—those who returned from the Nightmare Realms changed.
The speech dragged on.
Lane stopped listening.
Then the Reapers were called to the stage.
Ten of them. One for each major power bloc. The strongest Entity Hunters alive.
Lane had fought beside two.
He didn't like either.
His eyes narrowed.
"Kai," Lane muttered.
The Reaper of the United States. A man who abandoned his squad to fight solo which resulted in his squads wipeout as well as a member of lanes sovereign whom lost his life in the accident. Kai took orders only from the Director of the entity hunters and only did wisp trials with his new team full of elite star crossed. He killed high-ranking Entities like they were insects.
A hero to the world.
A bastard to Lane.
Kai walked across the stage like he owned it. Took his medal with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Lane didn't clap.
The rest of the Reapers followed. France's Reaper, Jules, waved at cameras like a pop star.
Lane rolled his eyes. "Clown."
But in combat? A monster he'd once fought a god-clasd astral entity alone and ripped it to shredded with his bare hands.
Then came the real announcement.
The World National Entity Hunter Sovereign.
A global unit. Built from every academy and campaign. Their mission: reclaim Japan. The First Nightmare Realm.
In two years, they'd launch the raid.
The goal—find the Nightmare King's palace and end his reign.
Two years.
That was all the time the next generation had to prepare.
Four-year academy terms? Cut in half. Training would be brutal.
Lane sipped the last of his coffee.
He'd already been assigned to the American batch of Star-crossed in New York. Thirteen others of his rank were headed there too. They'd meet the batch of seventeen-year-olds about to enter their first Trial.
Each rookie would be placed in an internship of the sovereign they pick or if a sovereign campaign puts in an offer for them to intern there but it's entirely up to the star-crossed.
Field experience would come fast.
Too fast.
Lane had trained rookies before.
Most didn't last.
The meeting ended. More speeches. More applause.
Lane didn't hear any of it.
He stepped outside. A cool fall breeze kissed his face. Reporters swarmed the exit, cameras flashing like lightning.
Lane ignored them.
Pushed past the noise, the questions, the praise.
Praise the Hunters hadn't earned.
Wealth came easy after surviving the Wisp's first few trials. Fame came easier. Especially if you ranked high.
Lane had both.
Though he wanted neither.
Well… maybe the money.
He boarded his private jet without a word.
Took his seat by the window.
Engines roared. The city shrank beneath him. The sky opened wide.
Lane stared into the clouds, jaw tight.
Thirteen years of killing monsters.
Thirteen years of watching the world pretend it was winning.
'The world's going to need a new generation,' Lane thought, eyes heavy.
'Young. Strong. Star-crossed.'
He closed his eyes.
The bitter coffee hadn't helped.
Sleep came anyway.