The hall behind them emptied into silence.
Only the hum of vents remained.
Artificial wind pressed against glass walls as if trying to drag them back inside.
The metal door closed.
Noren's safety ended behind it.
They walked without talking.
No need.
Their footsteps tracked through quiet corridors that smelled of ozone and machine oil.
Engines far below whispered—a machinery heartbeat buried under marble.
Reinhard kept his hands in his pockets.
Kael studied his reflection in the passing mirror panels.
Elizabeth clutched a data tablet against her ribs.
The walk felt rehearsed—three bodies moving through a world trained to stay sterile.
Their orders were simple: return home, wait.
Malric's jet would come to them.
His commands never wasted steps.
Outside, the sky smelled faintly of rain.
YangPass waited ahead—vine-wrapped houses under low storm light.
Home.
Or what still passed for it.
They reached the HayGram residence.
Vines crawled the outer wall.
Stone damp.
Air heavy with distance.
Then came the sound.
Low vibration first, like thunder trapped underground.
It grew until the air trembled.
Reinhard lifted his head.
Blue horizon stretched flat.
A silver streak cut through it—Malric's private jet, white and black split down the center.
Opposites fused into one.
Kael's grin sharpened.
"There it is."
The craft descended without roar.
Wind only brushed the leaves.
Dust lifted, circled once, and fell again.
Hydraulics hissed.
Landing gear locked into soil.
Reinhard felt the tremor under his boots.
The sound matched his pulse for a moment, then faded.
Door opened.
A pilot emerged.
Tall.
Unmoving.
Not a soldier, not purely human either—just presence made into body.
He greeted them with words shaped for duty, not warmth.
They boarded.
Inside, air—cold and synthetic—met metal polish and citrus sterilizer.
Silence lived in the cabin.
An anti-sound screen separated them from the cockpit.
Only the vibration spoke now.
The jet lifted.
Engines roared once, then steadied to rhythm.
Cloudlight flooded every window.
Ground dropped away.
Noren shrank beneath them.
Villages folded into color.
Hills flattened, water lines thinned.
His island—his cage—reversed into a distant blur.
Reinhard exhaled without sound.
Weight shifted in his chest; release disguised as ascent.
Elizabeth watched him, then spoke softly.
"Have you done your manifestation yet?"
He flexed his hands.
"Now."
Kael turned slightly.
The ritual—they all knew it.
YangPass tradition for willpower.
He'd always thought Reinhard took it too seriously.
Reinhard began.
"Four hundred thirty-eight days until unification begins," he said evenly.
"It will be done by me—Reinhard HayGram.
I, King of YangPass, will bring peace and unity to all Beings."
Kael chuckled.
"Still sounds scripted."
"Shut up."
Reinhard didn't look away.
Kael leaned back.
"At least ask yourself how. How do you unite what nature split apart?"
His tone balanced on mockery and truth.
"Dozens of ruling species out there, each born to destroy the rest.
Even humans fight themselves.
We cherry‑pick similarities and pretend that's peace."
Blue light from the monitor cast over his face.
"Our ancestors match.
Our successors won't.
Evolution cuts sideways.
Every second, some civilization collapses.
You think you'll unite them all?"
The cabin remained silent again.
Only the mechanical heartbeat droned around them.
Reinhard stared out at the ocean below.
His first real ocean.
Its scale stripped thought clean.
Sunlight trembled across waters that seemed endless.
Pictures had never captured this weight.
He felt small enough to vanish into it.
Kael's voice blurred somewhere behind the glass of sound.
Elizabeth sat opposite him.
Her reflection broke over the waves—fractured light on glass.
She breathed slowly until even heartbeat matched the hum.
For the first time, insignificance didn't hurt.
They flew for hours.
Clouds cleared.
Horizon darkened.
A line appeared—faint edge dividing water from something vaster.
Land.
Hawkins.
Forests glowed green-black beneath mist.
Tree crowns rose higher than towers.
Roots thicker than homes twisted below.
Between them, flat clearings flashed—landing pads carved out by stubborn civilization.
The jet folded its wings, descended smooth as thought, and touched stone.
No bump.
No sound outside the deep hiss of settling air.
At the checkpoint, a building waited—gray alloy gleaming in thin light.
A single official monitored the platform.
Body shaped like a gorilla, posture measured, wearing formal uniform.
His hands moved over the console in slow precision.
When the trio approached, he looked up.
No menace.
No warmth.
They handed their travel tags forward.
He scanned them in silence.
A faint blue ring blinked through his eyes.
"Good luck on your tour," he said finally.
The voice was flat, heavy.
"If you meet any ruling species, stay distant.
Instinct overrides treaties.
Like distraction at work—you know better but still follow impulse.
Hunger's no different."
He blinked again.
"I hope you enjoy the continent."
Elizabeth tried a thin laugh.
"Comforting."
His expression didn't change.
"Was it meant to comfort?"
She hesitated.
Before words could sharpen, the pilot stepped in.
No gesture, just a stare—quiet command masked in stillness.
The official faltered.
"I apologize," he muttered, turning back to the console.
They continued forward.
Their footsteps brushed dust from the alloy plating.
Behind them, the official exhaled slow.
Strange humans, he thought.
Too restrained for mercy, too orderly for chaos.
Custom-bred maybe.
But for what purpose?
The trail ahead led straight into wilderness.
Trees gathered like walls.
Light fractured through wet leaves.
Air carried minerals, overripe fruit, and silence.
Reinhard glanced back once at the landing zone—civilization fading behind layered shade.
"We never see forests like this at home."
Kael's wristband beeped.
Holographic lines danced above his hand.
"Coordinates confirmed," he said.
"Four kilometers.
At this pace, we reach the Oryn fast.
We strike in formation—YangPass technique.
Hawkins will remember that name."
Reinhard's mouth edged into half a grin.
"You bet."
Elizabeth nodded quietly.
The forest thickened.
Roots coiled across soil like sleeping serpents.
Air grew denser with each step.
The hum on Kael's screen spiked—distance collapsing.
Five hundred meters.
Then the shift.
Pressure in the air.
Aura presence—raw, alive.
Thunder without sound.
Elizabeth froze for half a breath.
Her pulse jumped under her collar.
"That aura's wrong," she whispered. "Too dense."
Kael's answer came quick.
"Relax. Just leakage.
Big energy bag, small brain.
Oryns never channel properly.
They roar, they skip thought, they die."
Something cracked ahead.
Branches snapped.
Soil trembled.
They pivoted instantly.
The Oryn broke through the slope like an avalanche.
Brown chitin shimmered under filtered sun.
Six eyes burned amber-red.
Eight legs anchored, first pair raised into hooked claws.
Twelve feet tall.
Weight that made earth sound hollow.
The swing came fast.
Air split.
Reinhard jumped sideways.
Claws sliced the space where his ribcage had been.
Dust scattered upward, coating his boots when he landed.
"I'm fine!" he called out.
Elizabeth shouted back.
"Then move!"
They fell into formation.
Triangle spread—three points locking angle by memory.
Hands extended, breath timed.
Aura networks merged.
Light webbed between them, faint blue arcs closing the creature in.
The Oryn slammed the field.
Energy cracked, sealed again.
Reinhard strained, every muscle taut as the binds turned visible.
His aura threads tightened around its joints.
Movement ceased.
"Kael!" he barked. "Now!"
Kael didn't hesitate.
Palm lifted.
Light condensed, spiraled, compressed into a beam.
At its peak, steel shimmered inside—pure pressure frozen into form.
The shot launched.
Impact tore through chitin with surgical precision.
The Oryn screamed once.
Then fell silent.
Body collapsing like a felled monument.
Dust shivered around it.
The glow faded.
Elizabeth caught her breath, smiling despite the tremor in her hand.
"We did it.
YangPass Trio—perfect."
Reinhard slumped onto a nearby branch.
Exhaustion dragged through his limbs.
Elizabeth glared upward.
"You up there to stare down my chest?"
He blinked once.
"Who'd want to look at their sister's anything?"
Flat. No humor.
Kael sighed.
"Save it. We're done. Let's move."
Their laughter came tired, overlapping.
Same rhythm, same weariness.
Kael checked his wrist screen again.
Before they left, he spoke, tone shifting to cold explanation.
"Hawkins is ruled by the Hawken species.
Name, land, law—same origin."
He looked skyward through the branches.
"Three aura tiers define everything.
Azytes, weak ones—like us.
Vertibes, medium.
Catyns, strongest."
He pointed outward.
"Each tier kills the one below on contact.
Atmosphere does the work.
That's why species never mix."
He turned back.
"Yet here we stand—Azytes on Vertibe soil.
Alive."
Elizabeth's gaze sharpened.
Kael continued.
"Two families break the rule.
First—ours.
HayGram line, mutation of control.
We adjust aura at will.
Only four carriers left."
He nodded toward the fallen creature.
"Second—the Oryn.
They adapt by instinct.
No matter the land, they survive."
Wind crossed the clearing, bending tall grass.
Kael's voice thinned into quiet certainty.
"That's why we're taking it back.
To Noren.
To a cage it can live in."
The Oryn's chest rose slowly—barely, but alive.
Elizabeth watched it.
Reinhard said nothing.
Distant horizon blurred; sea and sky drifted together into gray.
Their path home shimmered along that border.
The silence after battle carried them forward—
three figures,
one fallen creature,
and the endless hum of engines waiting to lift them back into confinement.