The forest thinned behind them.
Air clung wet to their skin, rich with sap and moss.
Branches rose overhead, rib-like, holding light in broken ribs of gold.
They walked in silence.
Boots pressed the soaked earth.
Leaves whispered.
Wind shifted like a living thing between trunks.
Reinhard looked up.
"When we came here, these trees felt taller."
Elizabeth's hand brushed a fallen branch.
"Completely agree."
Her tone barely disturbed the quiet.
A faint rustle ahead.
Small, soft.
Sound cut short and came again—closer.
Something moved through mist.
A creature lifted from the underbrush.
Two feet tall.
White fur streaked thin across its body.
Eyes tilted upward, startled and wide.
Round face on muscular frame—fragile, yet wrong for pity.
Elizabeth stopped.
Her expression softened, a flicker of warmth against the damp gloom.
She knelt, leaned forward, and pressed her lips gently to its cheek.
A sharp voice cut through the stillness.
Kael.
"What's the difference between me and that thing?"
The creature jerked violently.
Whole body spasmed.
A thin scream cracked out.
Tears streaked down fur, its sound shrill and broken.
Reinhard laughed once, short and cruel.
"Crying over a kiss. Pathetic."
Kael's gaze stayed flat, voice colder than the air.
"Not pathetic. Necessary. It's how life filters what works."
The trees held still around his tone.
"Evolution keeps conflict. Erases peace. Where struggle helps survival, it stays."
His eyes barely moved.
"In every ruling species, war became instinct. Peace? Error in design."
Reinhard's voice lowered.
"You think fear helps that thing survive?"
"Not for long," Kael said.
A small twitch passed through his mouth, maybe humor, maybe fatigue.
"It'll die eventually. Traits like that vanish. Efficiency remains."
He paused, then added,
"So should your ideals. If you want unity, start with elimination. Unite what fits. Remove what doesn't. Same principle governments use with criminals. Order through removal, Reinhard."
The words landed heavy.
Reinhard's pace slowed.
Mood drained from his face.
He said nothing, eyes tracking the roots underfoot.
Elizabeth tried casual murmurs, anything to draw him out.
Silence ate her voice.
Kael trailed behind, expression unreadable.
At least he hasn't asked what that creature was.
He wouldn't understand anyway.
The sound of turbines reached them first.
Low hum.
Air thinning ahead.
Their jet waited in the clearing—metal bright under fading cloud.
The pilot stood ready, face masked in discipline.
No greeting needed.
They boarded.
The hatch sealed.
Air pressure hissed.
Forest dropped away to green blur beneath metal wings.
The flight home felt hollow.
Clouds swallowed distance.
Each heartbeat sounded too loud.
When the plane dipped through morning sky toward Noren,
waves caught light below like scales moving under glass.
Home returned in fragments.
The jet landed.
Metallic echo trailed across the platform.
Reinhard stepped down first.
"Coming home feels better," he said quietly.
Elizabeth nodded.
"Same."
A truck waited nearby.
The Oryn lay bound inside a restraint cage—chains layered thick around its limbs.
They loaded it by hand, steel brushing steel.
Kael took the driver's seat.
Reinhard rode beside the cage.
Elizabeth sat at the back, eyes on the blurred horizon.
The engine rumbled.
Wheels ground against metal road.
Noren's trees blurred by, their branches thin, skeletal in sunwash.
None spoke.
The silence made the truck louder.
The government complex rose through mist—gray, flat, final.
Sunlight hit its face and broke into pale shards.
Kael slowed.
They stopped in front of the main gate.
Light dimmed against their arrival.
Reinhard looked at his sister—her calm almost trembling now.
Triumph flickered behind their eyes.
Mission complete.
A prize returned.
Elizabeth climbed down first.
She worked the back latch.
Metal shrieked softly.
Reinhard moved beside her, fingers grazing the cold cage door.
The chains rattled once.
He lifted the lock.
Eyes snapped open.
Not human.
Not rage—something older.
It moved.
Sound tore through air.
Deep. Grinding. Not roar, not voice—something that hurt in the chest.
The Oryn lunged.
Kael's hand moved.
The lock shattered.
Chains fell like broken scales.
"What are you doing!" Reinhard shouted.
Elizabeth turned.
"Kael—stop! You'll—"
No time.
Oryn assaulted Elizabeth.
Elizabeth froze mid-breath.
Sound cut out.
Her eyes widened.
Color drained.
Chest arched, then still.
The world folded around that single motion.
Reinhard's body locked.
Every nerve failed.
Breath hitched and stopped halfway.
He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't form the scream clawing at his ribs.
Kael stood back.
Face calm.
Watching.
A faint smile appeared, barely there.
Reinhard would remember that shape longer than he'd remember her face.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Measured, deliberate.
Leather soles on smooth stone.
Malric.
He stopped beside them, gaze cold, eyes reflecting no confusion.
"Thank you, Reinhard," he said.
"For being the protagonist of my plan."
The tone split the air clean.
Reinhard turned slowly, unable to understand the simplicity of it.
Malric continued.
"You can perceive abstract information right now. Stress sharpens comprehension."
His hands folded behind his back, teacher at a lecture.
"Our world has three domains.
First—Azytes. Us. Weakest aura.
Second—Vertibes. Moderate.
Third—Catyns. Highest.
Each built where its aura fits.
None cross their boundary and live. Strong becomes prison for the strong."
Kael's voice slid in, faintly mocking.
"Told them that already, Uncle. Still good to repeat. The boy finally sees cause and effect."
He grinned.
"Hi, Reinhard. Nice timing. No more pretending."
He stepped closer.
"Remember the Hawkins treaty? The species that feed on humans? The peace deal that keeps them from hunting?"
He tilted his head, smile tightening.
"Payment's not theoretical. They get humans. Regular shipments. Want to guess from where?"
Reinhard blinked, blank.
Kael's next words dropped quiet, methodical.
"Our kind. Noren humans. Easier to control.
Usually they can't cross aura barriers, which keeps them safe from trade."
His eyes brightened, amused.
"But two families carry a mutation—the power to adjust aura, pass through any field alive."
He raised two fingers.
"One is ours. HayGram. You, me, Uncle, your sister—four in total."
He turned slightly.
"Three now."
He nodded toward the Oryn, still breathing deep, sound like grinding metal.
"The other exception—these creatures. Oryns. Reproductive anomalies. Breed with anything. Blend lineages."
He smiled, thin and glass-edged.
"That's why she mattered. She'll birth something hybrid—no mind, pure vessel. Aura immune. Boundless movement."
He looked back at Malric.
"You'll refine it, right? A weapon, obedient and unstoppable."
Malric's lips barely moved.
"Yes."
Kael continued, words smooth as glass.
"The offspring will erase Noren. Deliver bodies to Hawkins. Payment completed. Their hunger satisfied. Our survival secured."
He met Reinhard's eyes.
"That's the treaty. Humans trade humans. The world keeps spinning."
Wind crossed the courtyard.
Metal scent.
Distant ocean faint behind concrete.
Reinhard didn't move.
Didn't breathe right.
Inside, his heart thrashed against his chest, wild and fragile.
Kael watched him fold.
"You carried the bargain home," he said softly.
"Nice work. But now your usefulness ends."
The field turned still.
Even the air seemed to hold back.
Reinhard's mouth opened.
No sound.
Every thought fractured before reaching language.
He shook once, body jerking like strings had snapped inside.
The world blurred.
Light dimmed at its edges.
Colors drained into gray smear.
Grass rustled.
Wind whispered.
Silence deepened into black.
His knees bent.
Then gravity took him completely.
Reinhard HayGram—dreamer, believer, fool—collapsed at the feet of those who had rewritten the truth of his world.