Greyhorn club
Bel-Yor city, Exterior ward
Spring Court, Hidden World
Terra, Tellus solar system
Milky Way Galaxy
Neutral Free Zone
March 8th 2019
The Greyhorn Club rose like a monument to indulgence—its architecture a seamless marriage of elegance and calculated excess. Polished obsidian panels caught the dying light of the evening sky, reflecting it in fractured gold across its surface, while intricate filigree traced along its edges like veins of quiet wealth. This was not merely a place of leisure—it was a sanctuary for power, a gathering ground where influence was traded as easily as currency.
High above the city, where the noise of the streets dissolved into distant murmurs, the flat rooftop stood pristine and waiting. The stillness did not last long.
With a low, resonant hum, a Golden Dawn airship descended from the sky, its presence commanding yet controlled. The wind it displaced swept across the rooftop in a measured gust, stirring coats and hair alike as it touched down with quiet authority.
Waiting there was Lance Al'Roth.
He stood with the composed ease of a man who owned not just the building beneath his feet, but the reputation that came with it. A tailored black suit clung perfectly to his frame, unmarred by the restless wind. His silver-gray hair was tied neatly into a bun at the nape of his neck, and a pair of dark sunglasses concealed the sharp, calculating gleam of his green-gold eyes. Even in stillness, there was something watchful about him—like a predator content to observe.
The airship door slid open with a soft hiss.
Leonarad Haravok stepped out first, his presence immediate and grounding, followed closely by his companions. But it was the girl behind him who caught Lance's attention.
Samantha Sinclair.
For the briefest moment, Lance's composure faltered—not outwardly, but in the subtle tightening of his posture. There was something about her… a familiarity that brushed against memory like a half-forgotten dream. The resemblance was uncanny, enough to stir old associations he had long since buried.
He said nothing of it.
Instead, with practiced ease, Lance shifted his attention back to Leon, burying his curiosity beneath a polished smile.
"Leon," he called out, his voice smooth, carrying just enough warmth to seem genuine. "It's good to see you again."
Leon responded with little more than a curt nod, already disengaging from the exchange. His gaze swept across the rooftop—and beyond it—his Internal Sight unfolding like an unseen net. Invisible threads of perception extended outward, brushing against the structure of the building, mapping it, reading it, dissecting it.
Lance noticed.
To others, such behavior might have seemed intrusive, even disrespectful. But Lance merely watched, unbothered. In his world, caution was not an insult—it was intelligence.
A soft clearing of a throat broke the moment.
Emily stepped forward, her presence cool and composed, her expression as unreadable as ever.
"Lance Al'Roth," she said, her tone measured, precise. "We would like a word with you."
Lance's attention shifted to her, one brow lifting ever so slightly as he glanced toward the Golden Dawn insignia etched along the hull of the airship.
"Hmm," he mused, voice laced with quiet intrigue. "You arrive in a Golden Dawn vessel, yet I see Paladins of Starlight among you. I have to admit… I didn't expect to see such alliances."
"My family has long-standing ties with Golden Dawn," Leon replied, his voice even, offering no more than necessary. "But we're not here on their behalf."
That earned a flicker of interest.
"Oh?" Lance's gaze drifted past Leon then, settling briefly on the figures behind him—Sam, and Henry—studying them with the same subtle scrutiny he gave everything else.
"And who might these be?" he asked lightly.
Leon didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly, his expression sharpening just a fraction.
"Perhaps," he said, "this is a conversation better had inside."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Lance smiled.
"Of course," he said smoothly, already turning toward the rooftop entrance. "Follow me."
And with that, the doors to Greyhorn Club opened—not just to a building of luxury, but to whatever truths waited beneath its polished surface.
Sam and the others sat across from Lance, the four of them gathered within the quiet luxury of his private office.
The room itself was a reflection of the man who owned it—refined, deliberate, and quietly indulgent. The lower level served as his workspace, anchored by a large mahogany desk polished to a mirror sheen. Behind it, shelves of aged liquor lined the walls like curated relics, each bottle placed with intention beside a sleek, fully stocked bar. Above, an open upper floor hinted at a more personal space—dimly lit, lived in, yet just out of reach.
Near the balcony doors stood a grand piano, its black surface catching the ambient glow of the city beyond. Through the glass, the skyline stretched endlessly, a sea of lights flickering like distant stars. Paintings adorned the walls—masterpieces both classical and obscure, their presence heavy with cultural weight. It was one of these pieces that drew Sam's attention, her gaze lingering as recognition stirred.
It was part of a collection her family owned.
A quiet, almost invisible thread connecting her past to the man before her.
"Lance," Leon said, gesturing toward them, "this is Samantha McCoy and Henry Goldsman—Guardians of Golden Dawn. And this is Lance Al'Roth, owner of the Greyhorn Club."
"This is a beautiful place," Sam said softly.
Even as she spoke, she extended her senses, reaching out instinctively—trying to read him, to feel something, anything beneath the surface.
There was nothing.
A complete absence.
Her expression stilled.
A mental ward.
Which meant one thing—he was an Ascendant.
Sam had learned that Ascension was not limited to a single race, though Pleiadians dominated its ranks. For others, the path beyond mortality was far rarer… far more difficult. She found herself wondering, briefly, what it had cost Lance to reach that threshold.
"Thank you, Lady McCoy," Lance replied smoothly. "May I offer you something? Tea, coffee… or perhaps something stronger? Brandy, whiskey, rum…"
"Nothing for me," Emily said.
"I'll take tea," Sam added.
"And whiskey," Leon said without hesitation.
Lance smiled faintly and snapped his fingers.
From behind the bar, a set of machine servers emerged—sleek, polished constructs moving with silent precision. They carried trays of drinks and delicate pastries, placing them before the guests with mechanical grace. Sam watched, momentarily captivated, as the droids completed their task and retreated just as quietly.
Leon, meanwhile, ignored the glass offered to him. He grabbed the bottle directly, uncorked it, and took a long pull.
"Nice," he said, inspecting the label. "Hidden world variant."
"A careful blend," Lance replied, lifting his own glass. "Grain, water, yeast… and a touch of Erezel plant."
"Erezel plant?" Sam echoed, sipping her tea.
"One of the most valuable resources from the Erezel Forest, in the Summer Continent," Lance explained. "It sharpens the mind. Enhances cognitive clarity."
"And gets you drunk faster," Leon added, taking another swig.
A faint smirk touched Lance's lips. "That as well."
"Can we focus?" Emily interjected, her tone cutting cleanly through the atmosphere.
Lance leaned back slightly, studying them. "I must admit, I'm still unclear why Paladins—and Golden Dawn agents—have come to see me."
Sam set her teacup down.
Her fingers trembled slightly, though she tried to hide it.
There were too many questions. About her aunt. About her past. About herself.
But instead of asking the one she feared most… she asked the one she needed to know.
"Do you know me?" she said.
Her voice was quieter now, uncertain.
"I mean… have we ever met before today?"
For the first time, Lance removed his sunglasses.
His eyes—unnaturally sharp, tinged with something not quite human—met hers directly. He paused, weighing his answer carefully.
"Unfortunately, Lady McCoy," he said at last, "this is our first meeting."
A small breath escaped her.
"But," he continued, "I do know of your aunt. Stella McCoy was acquainted with my mother… and one of my most valued clients. She supplied me with Erezel plants for my distillery."
"Is that why her Exodus trace led here?" Leon asked, lowering his bottle slightly.
Lance nodded. "We conducted business often. Stella was an exceptional herbalist—one of the finest. As a witch, her knowledge of medicinal flora was… unmatched. We met here frequently to negotiate."
Sam froze.
Fragments of memory surfaced—faint, blurred, but insistent.
Her aunt in the front yard… tending to strange, vibrant plants with meticulous care. The way she spoke to them. The way she understood them.
And the way Sam had felt them.
The emotions.
Overwhelming. Chaotic.
Too much.
She hadn't forgotten.
She had buried it.
Her chest tightened.
The drinking. The numbness. The years of confusion.
It hadn't been random.
It had been survival.
Her ability didn't just connect to people.
It extended to plant life.
She had felt the forest on Luna.
Now it all made sense.
"Erezel plant…" Sam said slowly. "You said it strengthens the mind, right?"
"Yes," Lance confirmed.
"And it can also be used to weaken it," Emily added, her gaze fixed on her Zodiak as she scrolled through the data.
Witches.
Contracts with spiritual entities.
Ascension through borrowed power.
And the McCoy family…
What exactly were they tied to?
"You've heard about Cedar Lake," Leon said.
"I have," Lance replied.
"Then you know Stella had an Exodus system in her home. The last recorded coordinates pointed here."
Lance's expression remained composed. "What are you implying?"
Sam stood abruptly.
"Is my aunt here?" she asked, her voice sharper now.
Lance's gaze softened—just slightly.
A trace of pity.
"I'm afraid she isn't."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"But," he added, "someone else came to me. A friend of yours. Barely alive."
Sam's heart skipped.
"Rosa…" she whispered. "Where is she?"
"She's not here."
"Lance," Leon warned, his tone tightening.
"She was transferred to a specialized facility," Lance continued. "Infernal poisoning. Severe. Her soul was on the verge of collapse. That kind of damage requires… very particular expertise."
The room seemed to tilt.
Sam's breathing quickened.
Rosa.
Her father.
Loss. Fear. Helplessness.
It all came rushing back at once.
Her vision blurred as panic clawed its way up her chest. The walls spun, the air thinning—
She stumbled.
But before she could fall, Leon was there.
His hand caught her firmly at the waist, pulling her against him.
The warmth of his body grounded her.
His breath, steady and close, cut through the storm in her mind.
The spiral halted—just before it could consume her.
Her heart refused to slow.
It pounded violently against her ribs, each beat sending waves of heat rushing to her head as something new—something unfamiliar—took hold of her senses.
She felt him.
Not just his presence.
Not just the warmth of his body holding her steady.
She felt Leon.
His emotions surged into her like an open floodgate—raw, unfiltered, impossible to contain. His curiosity brushed against her first, sharp and searching. The memory of their first meeting flickered through her mind—his confusion, his disbelief, the moment he had seen her through the portal and questioned whether she was even real.
And beneath that—
Something deeper.
Something vast.
Something… broken.
It wasn't just pain.
It was an abyss.
A crushing, suffocating weight that coiled within his soul like a buried catastrophe. It pressed against her mind with such force that it felt as though it would tear her apart from the inside. No living being should have been able to carry something like that. No one should have been able to endure it.
It was too much.
Even for her.
The world fractured.
Darkness took her.
—
When Sam opened her eyes again, she was no longer in Lance's office.
She stood in a room washed in soft green hues, the walls painted with the image of a lush, endless forest. It felt gentle. Warm. Safe.
A child's room.
Unfinished, yet full of life.
At its center stood a crib, and beside it—a little boy.
Golden hair shimmered under the light, his bronze skin warm against the painted greens around him. His bright blue eyes sparkled with joy as he leaned over the crib, making exaggerated, playful faces. Inside, a baby laughed in soft, bubbling coos, delighted by his antics.
The innocence of the moment felt almost unreal.
Across the room, seated on a couch, were two figures.
A man and a woman.
Sam's breath caught.
The man—
Her father.
But not as she remembered him.
His hair, once brown, was now a deep emerald green. His face held the same stoic sharpness, the same quiet intensity—but there was something heavier in his expression. Something burdened.
The woman beside him was unfamiliar. Golden-brown hair fell gently over her shoulders, her blue eyes soft yet unwavering as she watched the child in the crib.
"James," she said gently, though there was firmness beneath her tone. "Running away isn't the answer. Your life—and Samantha's—don't belong here."
"My family is gone," her father replied, his voice cold, stripped of warmth. "The Sinclair family is no more. I failed once… I won't fail her too."
"What about Sophia?" the woman pressed. "What about your sister, alone in Agartha?"
"Johanna can take care of herself, Julia," he said, deliberately avoiding part of the question. "But I can't go back. Not to the Federation. Not to the Order. I made a promise… to give her a better life."
"And the Crown?" Julia asked, her voice tightening. "Was there truly no better place to seal it than within you?"
"The Crown is safest with me," James said. "As long as I live, no one can trace it. You remember your oath, don't you? To keep the truth hidden."
"I haven't forgotten," Julia replied. "But keeping it so close to her puts her in danger."
"Samantha is protected."
The voice came from the doorway.
Sam turned.
Her aunt.
Stella.
She stood there, exactly as Sam remembered—dirty blonde hair cascading down her back, hazel eyes sharp and unwavering. There was strength in her presence, something grounded and resolute.
The moment shattered.
—
The world twisted again.
Darkness bled into violet.
Sam stood on a bridge beneath a sky choked with thick, purple clouds. There was no moon. No stars. Only silence.
And ruin.
The ground was torn apart—craters splitting the concrete, twisted metal scattered like broken bones. Blood stained the surface in dark pools, bodies strewn across the wreckage like remnants of a forgotten war.
Sam's breath hitched.
She knew this place.
This bridge.
Cedar Lake… to Nova York.
The place where everything had ended.
Where she had died.
A figure appeared.
The same woman—Julia.
Her cloak swayed as she walked forward, stepping over corpses without hesitation. Her focus was fixed ahead, toward a glowing point at the center of the destruction.
Sealing marks spread across the air like living sigils, tightening, constricting.
And within them—
A Crown.
It floated in suspended space, radiant beyond comprehension.
Forged from thirteen eight-pointed stars, each one unique, each one blazing with a brilliance like miniature suns. Its light was overwhelming—divine, absolute.
But as the sealing marks tightened, its glow dimmed.
Fading.
Contained.
Julia stopped.
Then slowly—
She turned.
Her gaze locked onto Sam.
Her blue eyes ignited into burning gold.
"If you want to save my son, Sam…" she said, her voice no longer gentle, but absolute. "If you truly want to save Leon… then you must reach the Crown before they do."
Sam blinked—her breath catching as Julia suddenly stood before her.
Close.
Too close.
Julia seized her wrist.
A searing heat burned into her skin, sharp and undeniable.
"Find the Crown of Stars."
—
"Leon! Sam! Leon!"
The world snapped back into place.
Sam gasped as her consciousness slammed into reality, her body still held firmly in Leon's grasp. His arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her, his chest pressed close enough that she could hear it—
His heartbeat.
Steady.
Strong.
Mirroring her own.
For a moment, everything else faded.
She looked up at him—really looked.
The sharp lines of his face. The quiet intensity in his eyes. The kind of presence that always, somehow, stole her breath without warning.
And in that moment—
She knew.
He had seen it too.
The confusion in his expression matched hers perfectly.
A shared vision.
A shared truth.
A soft clearing of a throat broke the moment.
Reality returned all at once.
They stepped apart quickly, the space between them suddenly heavy with everything unspoken.
Sam's mind was still reeling—memories, revelations, emotions colliding all at once.
But one thought stood above the rest.
Leon…
Leon, however, was thinking of something else entirely.
He couldn't believe it.
He had let his guard down.
Let her in.
She was an Empath… and she had touched the pain he had spent his entire life burying. The pain he had trained himself to ignore—to survive.
His jaw tightened.
He needed distance.
"Excuse me," he muttered.
Before anyone could respond, he turned and walked toward the elevator. His movements were sharp, controlled—but fast. Too fast.
The doors slid open.
Closed.
Gone.
"What just happened?" Henry asked, rising to his feet along with the others, confusion etched across his face.
Sam didn't answer.
She was already moving.
Drawn forward by something she didn't fully understand—
She stepped toward the elevator.
Leon cut through the mass of bodies like a blade through water, his presence parting the crowd without effort. The dance floor pulsed with chaotic life—music thundered through the space, bass vibrating through bone and muscle, while neon lights fractured the darkness into shifting colors. The air was thick, saturated with clashing scents of cologne, perfume, and sweat, a suffocating blend of indulgence and excess.
He ignored all of it.
His focus was singular.
Escape.
Leon moved straight for the exit, his pace unyielding. When he reached the door, he shoved it open with force, the sudden motion drawing irritated shouts from those outside as it slammed into them. He didn't look back.
Cold night air hit him like a wave.
For a brief moment, he tried to breathe it in—to steady himself, to ground the storm rising within him.
Then it came.
A sharp, violent surge twisted through his gut.
Leon staggered, his control slipping for the first time as he veered into the alley beside the club. He barely made it a few steps before his body gave in.
He dropped forward—
And vomited.
Blood.
It poured from his mouth in heavy bursts, splattering against the concrete in dark, viscous streaks. His body convulsed with each violent cough, muscles locking and releasing in painful spasms as something deep within him began to fracture.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't just strain.
It was collapse.
His Internal Sight snapped inward instinctively, his perception diving into his own body. What he saw made his breath hitch.
His vitality… was breaking.
At the core of his physical existence, the radiant solar disc that governed his Vital Force flickered—its once brilliant glow dimming, its structure riddled with spreading cracks.
Vitality.
The third pillar of life.
If the soul governed the spiritual, and Odic force sustained the mind, then vitality was the anchor of the physical—the energy born from the cells themselves, dictating strength, endurance, and lifespan. It was the force that maintained the body's integrity, the silent engine behind every movement, every breath.
And now—
It was failing.
All three aspects—soul, mind, and body—existed in balance, sustaining one another in a delicate symbiosis. But with his vitality destabilizing, that balance was beginning to fracture.
Leon clenched his jaw.
His fight with Geb had pushed him too far.
He had overdrawn his body, forced his Ability beyond its safe threshold. His vitality had already been compromised—fragile from circumstances he refused to dwell on—but that battle had worsened it.
Cracked it further.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a flask, uncapping it with unsteady hands. Without hesitation, he drank deeply.
The liquid burned as it went down—a concoction given to him by the witch Methos, potent and unnatural. It surged through his system like fire, stabilizing the collapse just enough to dull the pain.
Not healing.
Just delaying.
The spasms eased.
The agony receded into a dull, persistent ache.
Leon exhaled slowly as he slid down the alley wall, his back hitting the cold brick. For a moment, he let himself rest there, eyes half-lidded, breath uneven.
"We're not done," he muttered under his breath.
"Leon… are you there?"
His eyes snapped open.
Sam.
She turned into the alley, her presence immediate, her voice carrying both concern and something deeper—something he didn't want to face right now.
Leon moved quickly.
A pulse of heat radiated from his body, incinerating the blood on the ground in an instant, leaving nothing behind but scorched concrete. He pushed himself up before she could see more, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and slipping the flask away.
By the time she fully approached, he was standing.
Composed.
Controlled.
Like nothing had happened.
But Sam wasn't fooled.
Her gaze lingered on him, sharper than before. She didn't need physical evidence.
She could still feel him.
His emotions—raw, fractured, restrained behind layers of force—were still open to her. It was how she had found him in the first place, following the faint, dark-red traces that lingered in the air, visible only through her Internal Sight.
Proof of what he tried to hide.
Proof that something inside him was breaking.
"Looks like you found me," Leon said, resting against the wall. The pain still clawed at him from within, but he forced it down—buried it beneath sheer will.
"I… I wanted to apologize," Sam said, her voice unsteady. "I don't know what happened—how I did that. I'm sorry for… for invading you like that."
"It wasn't your fault," Leon replied quietly. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back as his gaze lifted to the night sky above the narrow alley. "If anything, it's mine. I should've known better than to let my guard down around an Empath."
A brief silence lingered between them, heavy but not empty.
"Did you… see what I saw?" Sam asked.
"You mean the part where my mum was talking with your father and your aunt?" Leon said. "Yeah… I saw it."
The words settled uneasily in her chest.
That their families had been connected—close enough to share space like that… that she might have known him long before fate forced them back together—
Sam didn't know what to do with that.
Her gaze drifted to him. Though his mental ward had returned, sealing most of his emotions away, something remained. A faint tether—like an echo of what they had shared. Through it, she could still feel fragments of him.
The pain.
Muted, but undeniable.
It reminded her too much of herself.
"After my dad died…" Sam began, her voice softer now, more distant, "all I wanted was to run away. From everything. The nightmares… the shadows… the emotions that never stopped. It was like I was drowning in things that weren't even mine."
She let out a small, humorless breath.
"So I ran. A lot. I'd leave home without telling Stella, disappear for days sometimes. I even dropped out of high school at one point." Her lips pressed together briefly. "But no matter how far I went… she was always there when I came back."
Her eyes dimmed slightly, memories flickering behind them.
"Then I left for college. I thought… maybe I could start over. Have a normal life. I figured—even someone like me deserved that much." She shook her head faintly. "I didn't realize how overwhelming it would be. Being around that many people… feeling everything…"
Her voice faltered.
"It got so bad… I almost ended it."
Leon didn't interrupt.
He didn't need to.
"I didn't see a purpose anymore," she continued. "Didn't see a reason to keep going. If Emani hadn't found me… I don't know where I'd be right now."
"A purpose…" Leon echoed, a faint smile touching his lips. "It's a powerful thing. Gives you direction. Something to hold onto when everything else starts falling apart."
He understood that better than most.
Sam looked down at her hands, her fingers curling slightly as she gathered her thoughts.
"Mine isn't anything grand," she said. "It's actually… pretty simple."
She hesitated, then let the truth surface.
"I don't want to be alone."
Her voice steadied.
"I need connections. I crave them. For most of my life, I didn't have any. No friends. No one outside of Stella. Even in college, I was completely alone." She swallowed. "And it nearly killed me."
She lifted her gaze again, something stronger behind it now.
"But when I became a Guardian… that changed. I found people. Real connections. People I care about."
Rosa.
Henry.
Callum.
Trini.
Names that grounded her. Anchored her.
"They matter to me," Sam said. "More than anything."
Her expression tightened, fear slipping through.
"And if something happens to them because of me…" Her voice dropped. "I don't know what I'd do."
Memories surfaced unbidden—her mother, gone the moment she was born. Her father, gone saving her. And now Stella… Rosa…
Loss followed her like a curse.
"It's not your fault," Leon said.
His tone was firm—but beneath it, something darker stirred.
He thought of his own father. The man he had admired above all else. The man who had died in the Uprising.
A hero.
A sacrifice.
The memory ignited something volatile inside him—a burning, seething rage that swallowed everything else in its wake. For a brief moment, even Sam felt it, sharp and sudden, before his mental ward suppressed it again.
"I know it's not," Sam said quietly. "But knowing that doesn't stop me from feeling responsible."
She exhaled slowly.
"Even for Cedar Lake… I still carry that."
A pause.
Then—
"I tried to kill myself… a couple months ago."
Leon didn't react outwardly.
But he already knew.
"I know," he said.
Sam blinked slightly, then gave a small nod.
"My dad's anniversary… it was four months ago," she continued. "The day he died." Her voice trembled faintly. "I've never been able to face it. Every year, it just… tears everything open again. The guilt. The grief. All of it."
Her hands tightened at her sides.
"And with my emotions already out of control… it just became too much. I didn't want to feel it anymore. I just wanted silence."
She remembered it clearly—the suffocating weight of countless emotions bleeding into her own, mixing with her pain until she couldn't tell them apart.
So she chose an end.
"I was bleeding out in my room," she said quietly. "If my roommate hadn't found me… I wouldn't be here."
"But you are," Leon said.
His voice cut through the moment, steady, certain.
"I read the report. Your heart stopped more than once." His gaze locked onto hers. "And yet—you're still here."
He stepped slightly closer.
"That's not luck," he continued. "That's will. No matter how bad things were… some part of you still chose to live."
Sam's breath caught.
"Yes…" she whispered. "I didn't die."
A faint, fragile smile touched her lips.
"And I realized… I didn't want to."
That truth lingered between them.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Sam understood now what had been driving her all along.
It wasn't just fear of loneliness.
It was fear of loss.
Of building something real… only to have it taken away again.
And if she wanted to protect those connections—
If she wanted to keep them—
Then she needed strength.
Real strength.
The kind that wouldn't fail when it mattered most.
"I understand," Leon said.
There was something in his eyes—quiet, steady, and unguarded—that made Sam's breath hitch. It wasn't pity. It wasn't sympathy.
It was recognition.
As if he truly understood.
As if he had stood in that same darkness and learned how to breathe within it.
Sam cleared her throat softly, trying to steady herself. Why had she told him all of that? Those were things she barely spoke about—things she buried even from those closest to her.
And yet…
With Leon, it had felt… natural.
Effortless.
Like speaking to someone she had known for far longer than she should have.
Before she could second-guess herself, her hand moved.
Her fingers slipped into his, lacing together with quiet certainty.
The contact was gentle—but immediate.
Warmth spread from her touch, flowing into him like a steady current. It wasn't just physical—it was deeper, resonant. The cold that had settled in his body began to recede, chased away by something soothing, something alive.
Leon stilled.
The pain—gone.
Not suppressed. Not endured.
Gone.
The turmoil within his core softened, the violent strain on his vitality easing as if calmed by an unseen force. The cracks that had been spreading across his inner foundation… halted.
Frozen in place.
Stabilized.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Leon felt… whole.
Breath left him slowly, his body relaxing in a way it rarely allowed itself to.
"Sam…" he murmured.
But the moment didn't last.
A sudden weight crashed down upon them.
Invisible.
Overwhelming.
Spiritual pressure.
It flooded the area like a descending storm, dense and suffocating. Within seconds, the atmosphere shifted—air thickening, gravity pressing down with crushing force.
Inside the club, chaos erupted.
Patrons dropped where they stood, bodies collapsing one after another as consciousness was ripped from them. The music cut into dissonant fragments before silence swallowed it whole.
Even Henry—back in Lance's office—couldn't withstand it. The pressure slammed into him, knocking him unconscious where he stood.
Only two remained unaffected.
Emily.
And Lance.
Emily's eyes sharpened instantly, her senses already moving ahead of the moment. She had felt them before they revealed themselves—presences lurking just beyond perception.
Then—
They stepped out of the shadows.
A full squad.
Men clad in white tactical armor, their suits etched with intricate mana circuitry that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Each one held a mana cannon, weapons already raised and locked onto her position.
The insignia on their armor gleamed under the dim lighting.
Fallen Star.
Emily's expression darkened.
Lance, meanwhile, took a slow step back, removing himself from the center as the squad moved past him with mechanical precision, forming a perimeter around her.
"Lance Al'Roth," Emily said coldly, her voice cutting through the tension. Twin shortswords materialized in her hands, their edges gleaming with lethal intent. "Explain yourself."
Lance didn't flinch.
His expression remained composed—almost amused.
"Sam is our target," he said plainly. "And knowing Leon… I knew he wouldn't let her go." His gaze flickered briefly, calculating. "So I made a suggestion. Bring him in as well."
A pause.
"You two, however…" his voice cooled, "are unnecessary."
Emily's grip tightened.
The air grew sharper.
"Engage."
The command fell like a blade.
And the squad moved.
In perfect unison, the Fallen Star operatives surged forward, their weapons humming to life as they descended upon Emily.