Chapter 63: The Survivors

Above the scorched expanse of District 12, multiple heavy ships hovered as mini-transporters descended one by one to rescue as many survivors as possible.

Military personnel watched in stunned silence as the massive breach across District 12 violently snapped shut, sending a concussive shockwave rippling outward across the landscape.

Fortunately, no one was caught in the crossfire as rescue teams—ranging from Awakened military personnel to humans clad in hazard-marked suits—pushed deeper into the ruins.

"Holo 2, this is Ground Team Five. We haven’t been able to find the Flame Saint. Over."

"Roger that, Ground Team. Holo 3 will be sending a scout team soon. You are all to fall back and grab as many wounded as possible."

"Roger that, Holo 2. Comms out."

The young soldier looked around at his squad before nodding. "You heard right. We all know what needs to be done."

Silence hung heavy across the district as the ground teams systematically loaded the bodies they found. But something was wrong. The casualties looked human, yet their flesh was charred pitch black. A member of Ground Team 7 knelt beside one such body, noticing strange, glowing veins tracing a complex neural network across the skin, converging over the heart into a pulsing sphere of light.

The soldier pulled out a diagnostic scanner to examine the corpse.

Without warning, the hand of the burned body shot out, wrapping its fingers tightly around the soldier’s throat and choking him. Because his back was turned to the rest of the squad, the others didn’t notice immediately. But when one team member finally glanced forward, they froze in horror.

Their teammate’s head had been twisted completely backward at an unnatural angle. The charred figure was already erupting into pale light-fire, tearing into the soldier’s flesh and devouring him right in front of them. Terror paralyzed the remaining team members, but before any of them could scream, a wave of light-fire engulfed them, silencing their agonizing cries beneath the roaring flames—cries that abruptly cut through the static of the comm-channels across the recovery zone.

"Holo 2, this is Ground Team 5. We heard a scream coming from the north sector. The flames are too high to see—requesting permission to investigate."

"Negative, Captain. Do your job; the scout team is already on the ground."

"Right, sir. Ground Team out."

One of the ships hovering high above released a transporter toward the northern sector, where the screams had echoed. The module touched down with a soft hiss, and a four-man scout team stepped out onto the scorched earth.

A tall man with a beard, clad in a sleek grey suit of high-tech flexible armor, glanced around the smoking ruins. "Hmm. I hope the captain is still alive after this."

The team leader, walking at the front, looked back over his shoulder. "When will something positive ever leave your mouth?"

"Well, we still have to expect the worst," the bearded man replied. "If we can’t find Saint Barnabas—"

But the front man stopped and adjusted his gear. "Well, we will find him. I hope."

With that, the scout team set out deeper into the blazing sector.

---

Elsewhere in the district, another ground team pushed through the settling ash and reached a cluster of casualties. They hauled up a man whose breathing was shallow and ragged, his gaze fixed blankly on the empty sky.

One of the ground team members pressed a diagnostic scanner over his chest. "Ma’am, it looks like some debris impaled him. He’s going to need urgent medical care."

"All right, get him to the holo-transport now," a rescue coordinator ordered.

Beside the first casualty lay another body, still breathing faintly but entirely unconscious. "His injuries are bad too—take him as well."

Swiftly, the team lifted the unconscious Orson onto a stretcher and carried him toward the waiting mini-transporter, sweeping the immediate rubble one last time to check for any other survivors.

---

Meanwhile, Lenora sat at the head of a table, going through data brought back by the scouting party.

A man walked into the room. He had a handsome face that could topple a kingdom, and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Lenora, busy with the data, didn’t even look up, recognizing him instantly by his aura.

"What do you want, Preston?"

Preston smiled and gave a slight bow. "Lenora... look, the guys and I talked it over, and we think the plan is a bad one."

Lenora looked up, dropping her tablet onto the ground with a sharp clatter before standing. She wore a loose, long red dress that traced her figure as she walked toward him. She stopped right in front of him.

Preston didn’t dare look up, feeling a crushing, suffocating presence weighing down on him—a presence he didn’t dare meet head-on.

The pressure vanished. Lenora calmly tucked a lock of her hair back, her gaze dropping to the man before her. She reached out, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look up.

"So, let me guess," Lenora said softly. "They sent you because they know I’ve taken a liking to you, and used you for their errand boy. You know, I should be angry at you for looking down on me and my plan... but it’s a good thing you’re handsome, otherwise we’d be having a very different discussion."

She pulled his head up so he had no choice but to look into her eyes. It was as if the storms of the world were caught within them, shining with a pale, brilliant blue light that transfixed Preston. He was completely lost in her eyes.

Lenora leaned in close, their breath mingling in the heavy silence of the room. Preston’s heart hammered against his ribs. He stared helplessly at her beautiful red lips, inches away from his own.

Right before their lips could touch, Lenora smiled, gave him a sharp shove backward, and stepped away. "Woah—don’t even think of stealing my first kiss."

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Preston standing alone.

Besides, why would I kiss a coward like you, Preston?

Her voice echoed mockingly in his mind.

The scene suddenly fractured and shifted, sliding into memory—the same woman, three years ago, sitting blankly in a sterile hospital room. Preston remembered looking at the once-unfathomable woman and thinking to himself: How fast people rise.

Presently, Preston looked past Lenora toward her maid, Miss Baker, who stood flanked by three women dressed entirely in black.

Preston said, looking at them, "I’m only here as a representative of the Sloane family."

"Yes, Mr. Preston," Miss Baker said, then pointed toward the attending physician. "So, Doctor, can you start from the beginning and tell us what happened?"