""...?"
As I exited the terminal, the first thing I did was scan the area—eyes sharp and instincts tense. I needed to be certain. If even one person caught sight of me vanishing from the terminal, I could end up with a tail. And I couldn't afford that.
((No one's watching...Corvus is still loading their gear on the far side…good))
Once I was sure the coast was clear, that there were no eyes lurking behind corners or glancing from mirrored glass—
((Hup!))
—I vaulted the perimeter fence in a single, fluid motion and launched myself into the wilds beyond, disappearing into the overgrowth like a shadow cast by the wind. My breathing slowed. My presence vanished. Every trace of Prana and Mana I exuded was reined in until I was nothing but a ghost.
*Fwoosh...* *fwoosh...*
The air howled past me as I raced forward, the scenery blurred at the edge of my vision. My speed was impossible for a bipedal creature and yet, I left not a single footprint behind on the grass beneath me. The only sign I existed at all was the brief whistle of air displaced by my movement.
((No one's on my tail. Senses clear, distance secured...good))
I expanded my awareness, sending a ripple through the ether to scan my surroundings for movement or signs of pursuit. When the silence of the world confirmed I was alone, I picked up even more spee —a fleeting gust in the wilderness.
""That went smoother than expected...to be honest, when I heard Corvus would be attending, I braced for something much uglier""
I murmured to myself, breath steady despite the velocity. No blood, no alarms. Just two unplanned interactions—one with the Lord of Crows himself, Edward Iger, and the other with his adopted daughter, Fiama.
""Still, I'd rather not make a habit of this. Haaah...if only the Eidengrad empire wasn't Covenant territory""
A tired sigh escaped me—more annoyance than exhaustion. The only reason I'd taken the train was because it was the quickest and quietest way in. The Mekhanites had little influence here; this land belonged to the Black Covenant. Because of that, we had no access points. No hotel Nowhere doors, which meant no supernaturally convenient shortcuts.
""Then I wouldn't have had to play tourist...""
The wind swallowed my words as I vanished deeper into the wilds—the hustle and bustle of the border station shrinking behind me, one bound of my feet at a time.
((Oh well. No point getting hung up on the details. Just one more thing to check off the list and then...))
I paused mid-thought, something creeping into the edges of my memory.
""And then...what? Go on that "vacation" the shifty rag doll cooked up for me?""
The words left an off-putting taste in my mouth. I could still hear the Maestro's voice—or rather, voices—echoing in my mind. That uncanny, wooden doll with its three heads, each more unsettling than the last.
When I handed him the letter that the Chroniclers and the foundation had entrusted me to deliver, he said it with those signature caricatures plastered across his carved face:
"Vacation"
Even now, the word felt wrong—twisted. Hearing it come from him made my skin crawl. I can't imagine that thing actually intending for me to "rest" in any possible reality. The idea of "relaxing" for him must be a type of torture that would sent chills down even my spine and turn my stomach to lead.
((Ugh...forget it. I'll deal with that nightmare when it comes. Focus! Mission first))
I pushed the anxiety down, forced my nerves into silence, and funneled all of my thoughts into the task at hand. Forward. Always forward.
*In the meantime, back at Hohenwald terminal...
"He's really gone?"
Leon voiced what we were all thinking.
"Seems so..."
I replied, though I couldn't say for sure if I felt relief...or something else.
(It's like he...vanished into thin air, and yet it doesn't seem like any teleportation was used)
Just moments ago, we'd watched the White Jackal—"Markus", as he called himself—step off the train. And then, the instant he passed out of view...
His presence simply evaporated. No residual Prana, no faint Mana trail, not a single trace. It was as if the earth itself had scrubbed him clean from the map.
"Haaa~ finally! I really thought we were going to get into a bloodbath there"
Leon exhaled hard, shoulders sagging, like he'd just offloaded a mountain's worth of anxiety.
"Yeah...guess he had more important things than us to worry about"
I muttered, though my eyes were still scanning the edges of the platform, my senses stretched thin—probing, searching, just in case
"..."
But minute after tense minute passed, and nothing stirred.
He was gone, truly gone...
(Here one moment, stirring up chaos…gone the next without a trace. I guess he really IS a storm)
The image Zofia painted of him echoed in my mind — wild, unpredictable, and impossible to hold onto. A force of nature in the shape of a boy. It wasn't just poetic; it felt true in a way that unsettled me more the longer I thought about it.
"Enough about him! We're on a tight schedule too, you know? Move it!"
Leon's voice snapped me out of my thoughts like a cold splash of water.
He shot me a look, part urgency, part impatience and jerked his thumb toward the rest of the corp. Everyone was already in motion, packing up equipment and preparing for the long trek on foot toward the border between the Eidengrad Empire and Fanoshia.
"Yeah, yeah..."
I replied to Leon with a roll of my eyes, half-exasperated, half-amused.
(Already slipping back into his role as my taskmaster the moment the coast was clear)
The shift was almost comical. As soon as the pressure lifted, Leon snapped right back into form, relaxed but efficient, commanding and of course a little annoying.
The platform hummed with quiet urgency as the corp sprang into action. I made my way to Zofia first. She had already bounced back, her usual radiant energy back in full force now that the White Jackal had vanished.
She moved with her trademark effortless precision, tossing neatly folded gear into open hands and delivering orders in a tone that somehow managed to sound cheerful, not harsh.
"Good work today, Fifi...though don't think you're off the hook. I'll be giving you an earful later"
Her grin didn't quite reach her eyes.
She nudged my arm playfully, but her gaze was sharp. Zofia had been one of the most shaken when news got out about my little chat with "Markus." She was letting it slide for now, but the promise of a lecture was clearly written in that look.
"Got it..."
I muttered, choosing to move on rather than press the issue.
"Left box is medical, you walnuts, not munchies! Goddess above, how do you people survive yourselves?"
She pivoted instantly to yell at two other corp members fumbling the supply crates, her voice bright with irritation.
I found Garren at the rear cart, inspecting the payment cases and scanning our travel map. He looked the same as always, composed, silent, a wall of unreadable steel.
"You have a route in mind?"
I asked, knowing he'd already planned three.
He didn't look up, but gave a firm nod.
"South Ridge Pass. Travel light, move quiet. Imperial patrols are sparse out there so we'll be able to avoid most of the troublesome stuff, but stay sharp, no mistakes! After that, we'll have one more stop at a small village before crossing the border"
Short and direct, he disliked wasting words.
"Mmhm"
I accepted that as good enough and stepped away.
"Huh?"
Then I saw him, off to the side, away from the commotion.
My father (and boss), Edward Iger.
"..."
He stood alone, hands clasped behind his back, his coat swaying gently with the breeze. His eyes were fixed on the far horizon, as if watching something the rest of us couldn't see, something only he could see, or maybe something he felt was coming.
"Boss? What's wrong? Did the Jackal come back?"
I asked cautiously, reflexes already kicking in as my body tensed and one hand drifted toward my weapon, hardwired fear pumping in my veins.
"No...he's gone already. As much bad blood as there is between us, I trust his sincerity. The boy's personality is blunt, brutally so—for better or worse"
The boss said it quietly, almost reflectively, with a surprising flicker of respect in his eyes. Subtle, but there. Even though his tone still carried that underlying venom, the way he spoke... it wasn't full of hatred.
(...That caught me off guard)
I blinked, unsure how to feel. Did the boss really hate Markus with every fiber of his being, or did he want to shake his hand? Maybe both? It was always hard to read what went on behind that old man smile.
"Then why are yo—"
I started to ask why he was acting like a storm cloud was still hanging over us if the threat had already passed, but he cut me off before I could finish.
"Unfortunately...our new guest aren't quite as pleasant"
His voice dropped lower, wearier—like he was already bracing for the next oncoming wave.
*Fssshhhh...!*
The sound hit me first—something burning, shrieking through the sky with rising pitch and speed.
"GET DOWN!"
The command burst out of me before thought could catch up. I dropped everything and dove for the ground, lungs tight, heart hammering, yelling for the rest of the Corps to follow suit.
"What the?!"
Although caught off guard, everyone either got down as I did or got behind cover.
"Haaah~ what a disappointment"
I heard the boss mutter just before I covered my ears, his voice cool, almost bored. I looked up just in time to see him—still standing—calm and immovable as a blinding light engulfed the platform.
"!!!"
I flinched and squeezed my eyes shut.
*CLANG!*
A thunderous metallic impact rang out—loud, sharp, unmistakable. Not the crack of an explosion, not yet...this sound was different, familiar.
*BOOM!*
Then came the blast, rumbling like distant thunder—farther away than it should've been.
"Huh?"
When I opened my eyes, smoke and sparks drifted lazily down from the sky. The boss stood exactly where I left him, unmoved, his glaive now hoisted across his back. Flame hissed off its edge, evidence of what had just been batted away like a fly.
(Did he just...deflect the explosion?!)
No matter how many times I saw it, the old man's power never stopped being both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
"We're under attack, battle positions!"
I shouted before my brain could even finished thinkingthinking, my voice slicing through the confusion as instinct and training took over. There was no time to be all doe eyed and gape in awe at the boss's impossible display, we were under attack.
*Shing!*
My legs moved on their own, bolting toward his side as I drew my trusty gun and blade, scanning the area for hostiles.
"What's going on?!"
"AAAAAHHH!"
"Run!"
All around us, startled workers and civilians scattered like frightened birds. Some screamed, others dropped what they were carrying—bags, crates, equipment—and sprinted toward whatever exits they could find. Within seconds, the loading platform was empty except for us: Corvus. Our unit stood as the only ones left, the only ones trained not to run.
*RRRRRAAAAA!!!*
A deafening roar rang out—high, mechanical, and furious. The sound of something terrifying throttling up above us.
"That's...!"
My gaze shot skyward.
Perched atop a steel support beam like a demented gargoyle was a hooded figure, barely visible through the drifting smoke and glint of distant firelight. She twitched with excitement, arms spread in a manic display of theatricality.
In her hand was a weapon so ludicrous it looked like a madman's fever dream made real. The best way I could describe it: two roaring chainsaws coiled around twin gun barrels, each mounted at opposite ends of a long steel shaft. The whole thing was strapped together with industrial clamps and arcane wiring, with a worn, grease-slicked trigger fixed dead-center like some kind of hellish staff.
It screamed impracticality to the highest degree, but if this was who I thought it was then there's no doubt she could turn it into an artform on the battlefield.
"Kihehehehehe! What a treat this is, Lord of Crows!"
The voice was unmistakable—shrill, feminine, laced with glee and bloodlust.
"I can finally see why Pops is so fond of you!"
(When did she—?)
I hadn't sensed a thing. No presence, no pulse of Mana, nothing. One second she wasn't there, the next, she popped into existence.
"Haaa~..."
The boss did another long sigh, already squaring his shoulders as weary recognition clicked.
"I was expecting the Ogre himself to come greet me, not his brat.."
He sighed, voice dry and disinterested like this was a paperwork error rather than an ambush.
"Is this some kind of vague insult I'm supposed to get?"
He asked, unamused by her antics.
"Kihehehe~!"
Another mad giggle. She yanked at her cloak with both hands and—
*WHOOSH!*
—tore it from her body in a single motion. The fabric unfurled like shed skin from a snake, fluttering to the floor, revealing the person beneath in all her twisted glory.
"Rabid Shireen…!"
I hissed her name through clenched teeth, like the taste of poison I was forced to swallow, just saying it made my jaw tighten.
"Kihehehe! Long time no see, huh? Did ya miss me? Aw, who am I kiddin'—'course ya did!"
Her voice scratched across the air like rusted wire dragged over metal, each word punctuated by that signature shrill laugh—grating, high-pitched, and impossible to forget.
She grinned from ear to ear, wide enough to look unnatural, flashing a perfect, porcelain row of teeth that only made her madness seem more surreal. That smile wasn't a gesture—it was a bad omen.
Shireen Gravante, more famously known by her moniker "rabid Shireen". One of the many leaders of of the Crusading Corsairs as well as the daughter of it's current head, the "War Ogre", Loic Gravante.
Just saying her name felt like inviting madness into the room.
She stood tall and lean, her figure wiry and athletic, all sinew and sine wave, like something that couldn't stand still even if nailed to the floor. Her long, platinum-blonde hair was wild and windswept, cascading like tangled gold down to her waist with no attempt to tame it. Every strand danced like it had a life of its own, catching the glow of fire and steel alike. And then there were her eyes—blood-red, gleaming with unfiltered mania and joy, the kind that made you feel like a bug pinned under glass.
Her outfit was a twisted mockery of a military uniform—if a military uniform had been tailored by a blood-drunk harlequin. A cropped combat jacket hugged her frame, unzipped just enough to expose the crisscrossing belts of magazines strapped snugly around her chest like a bandolier designed for war and fashion. Beneath that, a reinforced black combat corset provided both mobility and protection, lined with hooks for grenades and cartridges. Her skirt—if you could call it that—was little more than shredded fabric strips over thigh-high tactical boots laced up with mismatched cord. A large portion of her was layered in utility belts, ammo pouches, and knives she clearly didn't need but carried just to feel them clink.
Across her exposed midriff and shoulders were streaks of soot, smudged blood—some hers, some not—and burns that looked like they had been licked by a flame instead of treated. Tattoos in strange glyphs, possibly runic or maybe just gibberish only she could understand, spiraled up her arms like winding scars.
And through it all, she smiled—always smiling. That perfect, deranged grin full of immaculate teeth.
Shireen didn't walk into places, she infected them.
"..."
I raised my gun and took aim, the barrel tracking the demented gargoyle in the guise of a adolescent girl perched above us. My finger began to tighten around the trigger—no hesitation, no second thoughts. But just before I could fire in Shireen's direction, a hand came down firmly over mine.
The boss' hand.
"?"
I glanced over, confused, only to meet his gaze. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. That hard, quiet stare was more than enough—it was an order to stand down.
"Grrr!..."
Gritting my teeth, I slowly lowered my weapon, but my eyes never left her.
"What do ya want, little cub? You here just to pick a fight or are ya under the Ogre's orders?"
His voice was as flat as a drawn blade, unimpressed and unmoved by the chaos that had just unfolded. Shireen's wild grin only widened.
"Kihehehehehehe!"
That high-pitched, nails-on-glass laugh of hers echoed around the station, setting nerves on edge. Then, with a sudden stillness that made her even more unsettling, her eyes locked onto the boss with a giddy kind of focus.
"Why so serious, Lord of Crows? Did you not like my little present?"
Her shoulders trembled with restrained glee, like a child waiting for their prank to land.
The boss didn't flinch.
"As much as a fireball spell for a greeting pisses me off, I ain't here to talk about that. Answer the damn question!"
His voice turned cold, flatlined. Business mode.
"Awww~ Boooooring!..."
She slumped theatrically, drooping like a puppy that just had it's favorite chewtoy cruelly ripped away from it.
"But fine, fine. I guess as much as I hate it, I'm here today on business, not for pleasure"
With a mechanical whirr, the monstrous weapon in her hands wound down, the teeth of its twin chainsaws slowing to a stop. She let the weapon rest casually on her shoulder, as if it were no more threatening than a broom.
"Pops said he's sorry he couldn't show up at your little homecoming. Sounded like it would've been a blast!"
Her words dripped with mockery.
"Is that so? Well, I'll admit—I was hoping to run into him there. Where's the old Ogre and your merry little band been, anyway? I thought you lot didn't like venturing outside of Irkalla. Did a lucrative deal come your way?"
The boss kept it casual, but I could see the very overt probing in his voice, I'd be an idiot not to.
"Kihehehe! Times are changing, old man. We Corsairs can't rely on the Famiglia's payroll forever, especially now that their little Cartel's been relatively peaceful. Jaegers don't get many jobs in peace time. But that's beside the point"
She spun her weapon in one hand like a child with a toy baton.
"The point is...Pops wants to make it up to you"
That annoying, sh*t-eating grin, it widened extensively.
"Oh?"
The boss's voice grew wary. Around us, the rest of the corps shifted slightly. Every hand near a weapon. Every foot ready to move. She noticed, of course—her eyes flicked from face to face like a predator tallying prey.
"So he said he'll be waiting for you guys. You know that village you lot always stop by on the way to Fanoshia? Hassel, wasn't it? We'll be waiting for you there"
She extended her hand in mock invitation, as if she were offering us a seat at a banquet.
"What?!"
The boss's voice cracked with fury.
"Hassel? No. You wouldn't—"
I choked back a gasp as images of the village flashed in my mind. Quiet homes, laughing children, kind elders who always welcomed us with warm bread and warm smiles. Faces, names, lives.
"What did you do, you wretch?!"
Zofia's voice rang out, sharp and furious. She stepped forward, fists sparking with barely restrained energy.
"Kihehehe! Nothing much. Just thought we'd have a fun ol' reunion party"
Shireen's red eyes gleamed. She looked positively ecstatic.
"Why you—!"
"Z, no!"
Leon was faster, grabbing her by the shoulder before she could leap.
"See you there! It'll be so much fun! Kihehehehe!"
*Click!*
My eyes widened.
"Flash!"
I barely had time to shout the warning before the world erupted into white.
*Boom!* *EEEEEEE!*
A searing burst of light flooded my vision, followed by the screech of metal and the rapid retreat of boots.
"Ugh..."
By the time I blinked the light away, she was gone.
"Damn it!"
*Slam!*
Zofia punched a support beam so hard the metal groaned in protest. Sparks flew from her gloves. Around us, the corps slowly rose from defensive stances, tense and angry.
Leon cursed under his breath. Garren was silent but had already begun checking his gear. Others were scanning the rooftops, just in case.
"This ain't good..."
The boss' said what we were all thinking, his voice was low, guttural. Like stone grinding against stone.
"..."
I didn't need to ask what he meant.
This was a trap, it was so obviously a trap that it wasn't even funny.
But the worst part wasn't that we knew it was a trap.
The worst part was...we had little choice but to walk right into it.