"Revenge is a color, a color that never fades. A beautiful color." ― Mark Romel (The Mistletoe Murders: A Nietzschean Murder Mystery)

* * * *

The morning mist clung to the surface of the water like reluctant memories, rolling in soft tendrils as the boathouse creaked against the tide. Dawn's fragile light cracked through the haze, spilling across the ragged cliffs and the jagged shoreline like golden blood, offering warmth, but no comfort. The world felt hushed, as if even nature was holding its breath.

Sera Kroix stood at the prow of the moving vessel, her arms folded, her silhouette cut sharp against the rising sun.

The sea wind played with strands of her hair, and the salt of the ocean clung to her skin, a strange contradiction to the weight she felt in her chest. Behind her, the members of Aegis stirred—some stretching, some checking weapons or gear, but none spoke. Not after last night.

They were all still digesting the truth: Project Nona, Zone 0, what she had endured—and what could lie ahead. The silence among them was not one of mistrust but of something heavier.

Reverence. Sorrow. Dread.

The boathouse slowed as the shoreline came into view.

There, against the pale grey of dawn, they saw them.

Armed individuals, waiting.

They were scattered loosely along the sandbank like ghosts or forgotten sentinels, rifles slung over shoulders, and pistols holstered at hips. Some leaned against ruined pillars half-swallowed by moss. Others stood straight and tense. Not in military formation, but out of sheer readiness. Their clothing was mismatched—leather jackets, scavenged armour, and even fatigues in the wrong pattern. A patchwork of past lives and professions, survivors of their own wars.

Mercenaries, maybe. Former rebels. Drifters with nothing left to lose. And they were clearly expecting trouble.

Weapons shifted, eyes narrowed, and hands moved to triggers.

Laura stiffened, her eyes scanning the shoreline. Her fingers curled inwards slightly, instinctively reaching for the water along the boathouse's edge.

Tatius tilted his head, jade eyes flashing under his red bangs. "They're not soldiers," he murmured. "But they're not amateurs either."

Claudia's lips pressed into a thin line. "I count at least twenty. Too many for a welcoming party."

Raul took a step forward, shielding Sera slightly. "This could go south fast—"

But before anyone could act, Sera turned her head just enough for them to see the steel in her eyes. "Don't."

The command was soft, but it snapped through the air like a thunderclap. The tension wavered. No one moved.

Sera stepped down onto the dock first, her boots clicking against the planks, her expression unreadable but cool. Controlled. Unyielding. Her coat swept behind her like a banner as she approached the sandbank and the line of drawn weapons.

She didn't flinch.

"I believe you're expecting us?" Sera's voice rang clear across the hush, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

There was a flicker of uncertainty in the eyes of the armed group. A few exchanged looks. One of them—a burly man with a scar down his temple, tightened his grip on his rifle, just short of raising it further.

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A beat of silence.

Then…

"Hold!"

The single command cut across the morning air like a lightning strike.

Every weapon dropped a fraction, every head turned.

From among the stones and tents scattered further up the shore, two figures walked into view. A woman strode forward first, her dark eyes sharp, her gait fluid and confident. She moved like a soldier—her spine straight, her limbs precise, and danger coiled beneath her skin like a serpent. She was dressed in a sleeveless grey tunic over black combat pants and high-laced boots. On one side of her belt hung a dagger. On the other, a communication device.

Beside her, a young man moved with a quiet ease. He wore a long coat that billowed slightly in the sea breeze, his hood down, revealing dark brown curls and sharp hazel eyes. There was something almost disarming in his crooked grin.

But Sera froze. Her breath caught.

The years hadn't erased him. His face had changed—older now, a few lines that weren't there before, cheekbones more pronounced, but the eyes…

She would never forget those eyes.

"Rex," she whispered.

His grin widened. "Well, well. Seraphina Kroix."

"Sera Kroix," she corrected, her voice steady despite the way her heart beat painfully in her chest.

"Rex, who are they?" Someone from the group asked, confused but cautious.

"Aegis," Rex answered simply.

And like magic, the tension broke.

There were murmurs. Disbelieving. Amazed.

"Aegis?"

"I thought Rex was joking when he said he hired them to send us what we need…"

"He really did it?"

"They're younger than I thought…"

"I was expecting them," Rex said, moving past the stunned guards toward Sera. "They're delivering the supplies we need." His eyes met hers. "I trust you have what I ordered?"

Sera gave a nod. "All accounted for." She turned to Aegis. "Unload the crates."

Raul stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We'll handle it. You go. Meet with Rex. From the way he's looking at you, this isn't just about supplies."

Sera nodded once, briefly touching his hand in silent thanks.

"Mara," Rex said, addressing the woman beside him, "take care of things here. You can trust them."

Mara nodded, glancing once at Aegis. Her gaze was hard and calculating. But respectful. "I believe all of those here already do," she said softly.

Rex smiled faintly before turning towards Sera. "Walk with me?"

* * * *

They walked in silence for a while.

The road wound up through what had once been Zone 0, a place whispered about in the darkest corners of the underground. Sera had once imagined that if hell had a doorway in Eldario, this had been it. A prison camp. A testing ground. A graveyard. And yet…

It was almost unrecognisable now.

What once were concrete holding cells had been demolished or buried under flowering vines. Cobblestones paved pathways where dirt and blood once reigned. Crude shelters were replaced by proper buildings made from scavenged stone and timber. A small garden grew along the west path. Children's laughter—faint but real, floated on the breeze.

People bustled about. A woman carried baskets of berries, her son trailing behind her with a wooden sword. A man with a prosthetic leg taught a trio of younger Gifted how to build a water purifier. There were old folk, too—those who had clearly endured decades of hardship, but they held themselves with a quiet dignity.

Many bore the marks of past horrors. Scars. Burned limbs. Haunted eyes.

But they were alive.

They were surviving.

Sera stopped briefly as they passed a wooden wall. Someone had painted a mural on it. A phoenix, rising from a burning city.

"It doesn't look like hell anymore," she murmured.

"It took years," Rex admitted. "But this place… It deserved better than to be left rotting under their legacy."

Finally, they arrived at a hill that rose gently over the village.

From here, the view was breathtaking. The entire settlement lay spread beneath them. Coastal waters shimmered to the east, and a massive tree stood proudly on the crest of the hill, its petals a vibrant blue-white, its roots deep in the fertile soil.

"It's been more than ten years," Rex said softly, hands in his coat pockets. "I had hoped… But until I started hearing rumours about Zero and Aegis, I didn't think you were still alive."

Sera's eyes didn't leave the tree. "Same goes for you. I heard you left the Abyss a few years after we were taken there."

Rex's voice was quieter now. "Couldn't stomach what we'd become. I kept seeing their faces, Sera. The others. What they did to them."

There was silence. Heavy. Saturated.

"Do you remember that boy?" Rex asked suddenly. "The one who could hear heartbeats through walls? They cut him open just to see if his ear structure was different."

Sera's breath hitched. "I remember the screaming."

A beat.

"They didn't see us as human," Rex said, his voice cold. "We were experiments. Tools. And if Nicolosi has taken over… If he's continued Project Nona in secret…"

Sera turned to him. "He has the motive. The power. The hate." Her voice was quiet and clipped. "I wouldn't put it past him. The man thrives on cruelty. The recent surge in witch hunts… The sanctioned 'disappearances'… It all lines up. If Nicolosi got his hands on the old researchers—the ones who were never discovered, or worse, if they never truly stopped…"

Rex nodded. "It's happening again. You see that too, don't you?"

Sera's jaw tightened. "I'm going to find the truth. If they've started another Project Nona, we end it before it destroys more lives."

There was another long silence before Rex said, "And if it all falls apart? If civil war actually breaks out?"

Sera met his gaze. "Then we have to be ready."

Rex nodded. "I've started setting up fallback zones. Safehouses. If you save any of the Gifted… Send them here. We'll take them."

Sera blinked. "You trust me that much?" she asked.

"Even without your Gift, you always knew who to trust. Who was lying. You've got good instincts, Sera. Always had. Chris…" Rex's jaw tightened at the mention of the older boy. "He always used to say that if there is any of us who can survive and make it out, it'll be you. He's right, isn't he?"

There was silence between them for several moments, until they heard someone calling Sera's name.

And then, down the hill, they saw Raul waving up at them, with Mara next to him. "We need to leave soon, Sera!" he called. "If we want to clear the eastern region before nightfall!"

Sera blinked, then glanced at the sun. Midday already. She hadn't realised how long they'd been talking.

Rex smiled faintly. "We'll be setting up comms soon. I'll be in touch."

Sera turned to go, then paused. "You should name this place," she said softly. "It was a place of death once… But now? It's something else. It's hope."

She began walking down toward Raul, toward Aegis, the wind gently tugging at her coat.

Rex stood in silence for a long time. Mara approached him. "Rex…"

He didn't answer at first.

"She's right." Rex looked down at the village. At what they had built. At what they could still build. "Ashenridge," he said at last. "A place born from ashes. But standing tall."

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