The first thing Conus noticed was the sudden rush of cool air against his skin. One moment there had been nothing but suffocating heat from an intense battle. It was now replaced by the low vibration of generators and the murmur of voices.
The jungle was gone. They had returned to Kroll County, to the staging camp beyond the portal.
For a moment, he simply stood still, his gaze distant. The image of those eyes lingered, burning itself into his memory. Countless, unblinking, inhuman. Watching from the cracks in the sky as though the very fabric of the realm had been peeled back and something old and terrible had stared through. He knew what he had seen. No trick of exhaustion or panic could explain it. They were real.
"Conus." His father's voice was steady, pulling him back. "Let's move."
The young Pugnator shook himself free from his thoughts, forcing his mind into the present. Nearby, the survivors of the rival Feridale Order were gathered in a tight cluster near the barricades. They were battered, their formation broken, but they were alive. Their captain stepped forward, his left arm bound tight in a sling, his face pale from blood loss but his voice calm.
"Thank you," he said, his eyes filled with gratitude.
Ishira did not waste time with words. He nodded before turning to his squad. "Let's go," he said. "We have to get these submitted."
He led them toward a large white tent pitched near the heart of the camp. Inside, the air was tinged with the sharp scents of parchment and metal, and the faint vibration of machinery filled the space.
Crates and trays lined the tables, some stacked with crystals, others with fragments of weapons and armor still crusted in green blood. Behind one table stood a woman in a crisp suit, glasses perched neatly upon her nose.
Her name was Hertha.
Her gaze lifted at their arrival, and when her eyes found Ishira, her expression softened. "Captain Aromane," she greeted, her lips curving faintly. "Back already?"
"The job's done," Ishira replied simply. Then he gestured toward Conus. "This is my son. Conus."
Hertha's attention shifted, and Conus thought he glimpsed something fleeting in her look, the smile that stayed just a moment too long before she refocused.
"Your son? So this is the boy. Welcome. Your father speaks highly of you, but it seems even his stories don't do justice to how good looking you are. You look just like your father."
Ishira, ever oblivious, gave no reaction, but Conus caught the subtle note and hid a smirk. He did look like his father, if you took away his tanned skin and black hair. His facial structure was basically the same as his father's.
Hertha clapped her hands lightly. "Let's see what you brought me."
The porters moved forward, unloading their spoils. Sacks heavy with jars filled with organs, jagged weapons chipped and stained. There had been no crystals to be found in the portal that day. Hertha slipped on gloves and began to sort through them with practiced care.
"The Hobgoblin king's heart," she murmured, opening the first. "On the current market, perhaps two hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more if buyers are desperate."
She shifted to another crate and drew out a severed ear, her face impassive. "Hobgoblin ears are minor ingredients, ten or fifteen hundred dollars each. Glands and hearts, however…" She held up a jar, its contents glistening with purple fluid. "three thousand a piece. Potion-makers will pay well."
Conus watched, oddly fascinated, as she continued her assessment. Then her hand came to rest on the blood crystal Ishira had claimed. The blood crystal glowed faintly at its center, crimson light pulsing like a living thing. Hertha's eyes gleamed with a hunger that was difficult to mask.
"And here," she whispered, "is the highlight. An E-rank blood crystal. This one will fetch at least two million."
Conus could not hide his surprise. "Why is it worth so much?"
Hertha's smile turned indulgent, almost teacherly. "Because one such crystal can power a small county for ten years. Clean. Stable. Efficient. Imagine what the government would pay for that."
Before Conus could respond, a voice rang across the tent.
"Ishira."
The squad turned. At the entrance stood a tall, lean man with short, neatly combed hair and sharp glasses that caught the light. His clothes were immaculate, pressed with precision. Beside him walked a round-bellied man, shorter, carrying himself with less polish, though his grip never left the hand of the small boy beside him.
Ishira's face broke into recognition. "Manager Lowell," he greeted warmly. "I did not expect to see you away from your desk."
Lowell inclined his head with a faint smile. "Field work has its charm. I thought I'd pay a visit, and bring an old friend." He gestured to the stout man. "Inspector Hoppins. He wanted to show his son a raid spot."
At the word "Inspector," the Aurefila squad stiffened. Their bodies shifted ever so slightly, the air growing heavier. Inspectors were not common Pugnators. They were the blade of the government, enforcers whose role was to regulate and, if necessary, cull their own kind. They were feared for good reason.
But Hoppins laughed, patting his belly with ease. "Relax, all of you. I am on leave. Today, I am only a father, giving my boy a memory."
Some of the tension drained, though not all.
Conus's curiosity sparked. Almost without thinking, he let his ability flare.
Lowell – Level 125 (C).
Hoppins – Level 158 (C).
The numbers struck him like a blow. They were titans compared to him. Entirely out of reach.. For now.
While the boy wandered in awe among the trophies, Lowell's eyes slid briefly to Alice. He said nothing, but Conus caught the way his gaze studied her, before he turned away.
The two men did not stay long. With polite farewells, they left.
Hertha broke the silence with a soft clap. "All accounted for, Captain. Your commissions will arrive by morning."
Ishira thanked her. She smiled, warmer than before, but he did not notice. With efficiency, he called for the squad, paid the porters, and soon enough they were on the road again.
By the time Ishira's car rolled to a stop in front of the Aromane home, the evening light painted the street in golden hues. Two figures stood by the front steps. Alora, arms folded as if she had been waiting, and a boy leaning casually against the railing, his blond hair glowing like a crown in the last of the day's light.
Conus's smile rose before the car door even opened.
"Lucas," he muttered.
The boy's head lifted, his blue eyes sparking as he strode forward. He pulled Conus into a firm embrace. "You're alive," he said with a laugh. "Your mom told me you were off doing… things." He leaned back, still grinning. "A Pugnator, huh? You are one hell of a miracle."
Conus smirked. "Guess I am."
Lucas turned to Ishira, his grin settling into respect. "Good evening, sir."
Ishira clasped his shoulder briefly. "Lucas. How are your parents?"
"They're fine. Busy, as always," Lucas answered, though his smile dipped, betraying a weight he did not voice.
Conus caught it but said nothing. Lucas had always been like a brother to him, golden-haired and bright-eyed.
As Ishira disappeared inside, Lucas turned back, his grin returning with force. "So it's true. You're a Pugnator. But how? Seventeen is too late. Past sixteen, you're supposed to be..."
Conus chuckled, lowering his voice. "Yeah, about that…" He glanced toward the narrow street leading away from the house. "Walk with me. I will explain everything to you."
Lucas raised a brow, his curiosity growing, but fell into step beside him.