After the soul-binding ritual concluded, the room seemed to exhale a long breath. The spiral light and emptiness on Serise's skin faded into a thin sheen; the residual heat from the sigil transformed from painful to warm. Fitran slumped in a metal chair near the altar; his old wounds stirred memories of pain that felt almost familiar. Yet beneath the fatigue that enveloped him, his spirit felt a sense of calm—an unfamiliar peace he had only discovered tonight.

  Serise took a deep breath, donning her ritual robe, still imbued with magical aura. She looked tired, but the lines of determination on her face remained sharp like the edges of a shield. She gazed at Rinoa, who lay in the isolation bed, the Harmony Lattice graph leveling off in a pattern she had memorized long ago: in, out, consistent.

  Fitran looked at Serise with hopeful eyes, his voice trembling. It emerged softly from his dry throat. “Take care of her… protect Rinoa more than anything you have ever shielded. She’s not just the key to your project—she’s the only reason I choose to stand in this world.”

  “I understand,” Serise replied, her voice firm yet gentle. She stepped closer to the bed, carefully checking Rinoa's vital signs with utmost attention. Tilting the pillow slightly, that small movement sparked a glimmer of renewed hope. “From now on, I promise as the mother of your child and as the holder of the contract: Rinoa is also a part of my family. I will not let the world touch her without your permission.”

  “Thank you,” Fitran said, his voice low as if lifting a heavy burden that was slowly starting to slip from his shoulders. He felt a surge of new energy from Serise's words, as if reigniting the light within him. He paused for a moment, then added with a firm tone, “That promise is written in the Mirror-Law—not just on my tongue.”

  Serise nodded slowly, her spirit vibrating with the weight of that trust. “I will protect her, Fitran. She deserves a bright future.”

  Gently, Fitran stroked Rinoa's hair; his fingers stopped at her temple, as if he were crafting a prayer without naming anyone. “Hold on,” he whispered lovingly. “I have to go. A war awaits me that needs to be ended. There is someone I must find—Irithya. I will not return until this world finds its true meaning.”

  Serise looked at him with empathetic eyes. “You will come back, right? After all this is over?”

  “Yes,” Fitran replied firmly, calm radiating from her voice. “I promise.” With heavy steps, she left the room, leaving Serise and Rinoa in a silence filled with hope.

  Fitran gently brushed Rinoa's hair, her fingers coming to a stop at her temple—as if weaving a prayer without questioning whom it was for. “Hold on, Rinoa,” she whispered with hope. “I must leave. There’s a war I need to end. Someone I need to help—Irithya. And I won’t come back until this world discovers the new meaning that awaits.”

  Serise turned abruptly; her surprise wasn’t a protest but rather a deep calculation. “You’re determined to find Irithya? After everything Zaahir has done and what happened in the biolab?” Her voice was firm, though doubt lingered behind her words.

  Fitran smiled, a lopsided and bittersweet grin, yet her eyes shone with deep awareness. “None of us are truly free. I once harbored hatred for her, but she is merely a pawn forced to move across a board that isn’t hers. And she holds one secret—a route, nodes, and names—that could sever Zaahir’s power over the lives of many.”

  “So, if I have to choose who deserves to be saved after this war,” she continued confidently, “I'll start with those who are still trying to hold on to their humanity.”

  “Very well,” Serise said softly, her voice carrying a tone of determination. “In that case, we will execute the protocols that have been established. You will serve as the anchor. Rinoa is in Phase 2; the Lattice is stable, but the window can close at any moment.”

  Fitran gazed at Rinoa with a deep look, his heart agitated and uncertain. “How long can I be away without letting her fall again?” he asked anxiously, as if the question reflected a deeper doubt.

  Serise hesitated as she explored the panel. Before her, the closed Omega Path icon showed a new option: Anchor Echo. “The ritual we performed earlier has left a resonance trace that we can project,” she explained as she carefully tapped the screen. “There’s a node within me; we need to add a reliquary—a lumen shard bound, also known as silence—so that the resonance can drip into the Lattice while you’re out there.” She looked at Fitran with a serious expression, “This is not a substitute. Time and distance have clear limitations! You understand, don’t you?”

  “Serise,” Fitran replied, clasping his hands behind his back, looking tense. “I’m willing to do anything to ensure this succeeds. How long do we have before the echo starts to fade?”

  Serise nodded, slowly conveying the important information. “A radius of thirty kilometers from Leviathan. Maximum within eighteen hours. It’s clear—if the echo drops below the set threshold, the alarm will sound—you need to return, or I’ll have to bring you back in a way you might not appreciate.” She fixed a sharp gaze on Fitran, trying to ensure the message got through. “We definitely don’t want that to happen.”

  Fitran shook his head, lost in thoughts of the dire scenarios that could unfold. “Can we set this signal to respond quicker? We can’t allow things to go awry.”

  “Yes, we definitely can,” Serise said, confidence igniting a spark of determination within her. “Everything will be woven together, secured and protected. But we need to move quickly! Every second counts.”

  Fitran stood up, gripping the chair until the metal creaked, drawing the attention of everyone present. “Alright. We’ll seek permission from command,” he asserted, then released the chair grip and prepared himself for the challenges ahead.

  On the observation deck, the night hung, half-frozen behind the glass, transforming into a mystery. Commander Maera Quill stood in front of a holographic map of the winding river. “Tonight seems calm, doesn’t it?” she asked, her voice soft yet clear. Her eyes were fixed on the image, lost in thought, is this decision right?

  Auditor Mirror-Law stood beside her, holding a shimmering crystal scroll that reflected pulsating data. “Calm, yes, but don't let this tranquility trap you, Commander. We all know how quickly things can turn.”

  Captain Ilin, the security officer, was adjusting the perimeter through a small screen on her wrist. “If anything suspicious occurs, we will know right away,” she said while examining the security settings. Security is the priority, always.

  Dr. Neris waited, like a clock that needed no battery. She finally nodded, “Very well, we must be prepared when that moment arrives. There can be no mistakes.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Serise halted just an inch from the table, her eyes sharp as she stared at Commander Quill. “I request the Anchor Release Permit,” she stated firmly, unwilling to allow any doubt in her voice. “I’ve linked the details to Mirror-Law: a radius of thirty, eighteen hours, resonance enhancers are in the carrying case, reliquary active.”

  She took a deep breath, preparing her words, “Our objective is to retrieve the priority civilian target—Irithya—who holds the keys to the Zaahir network.” In the corner of the room, Ilin furrowed her brow, her expression reflecting confusion and concern. “A civilian target? That proves to be dangerous, Serise. We need to devise a very tight plan.”

  “I understand the risks, Captain. However, we can't let her slip away. This is our responsibility,” Serise replied, her tone filled with strong conviction.

  Quill stared at her for a long moment, his gaze shifting to Fitran, who stood resolutely behind. “Are you really sure about the timing?” he asked, his voice indicating deep curiosity.

  “There’s no right time for a situation like this,” Fitran said, his voice steady, signifying determination. “There’s only a time that may be no worse than any other. And right now, that time is now.”

  Scribe Tovel unfurled a scroll, his voice soft as the legal symbols began to emerge. “Let’s ensure all these documents are ready. We must not leave any gaps.”

  Quill regarded him again, weighing each word carefully, before his gaze returned to Fitran, who stood tall before him. “Are you absolutely certain about the time we have?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of undeniable doubt.

  Fitran furrowed her brow, her voice remaining calm and steady. “There’s no good time for an event like this,” she stated firmly. “There’s only time that's less bad than the others. And right now, that time is now.”

  Scribe Tovel opened the scroll hesitantly, the legal symbols shimmering like stars in the night sky. “The Vigil Charter allows for limited anchor release if: one, Phase-2 is stable; two, the bearer is willing to serve as a support; three, the reliquary is active; four, external risks are substantially greater if the anchor remains,” she explained, looking at each face one by one. She paused momentarily, assessing the signs present. “All conditions have been met.”

  Dr. Neris nodded, her mind fully focused. “The patient indicators show improvement,” she said confidently. “I agree to a limited release, as long as the return route is clear and there are no duels by the riverbank.” She emphasized the word ‘clear’, highlighting how critical a well-thought-out plan is for all of them.

  Captain Ilin glanced at Quill, her gaze sharp and attentive. “I will send two teams—one for the far perimeter and another for close range. We will use flare nets, non-lethal.”

  Quill exhaled, feeling as if no one noticed how exhausted she was. “Permission granted, Ilin. We have eighteen hours. A thirty-mile radius. If the echo starts to drop, we’ll pull you back. Come back in one piece!” She emphasized that last word, stressing the urgency of the situation. “Or don’t leave at all if there’s any uncertainty.”

  “Understood,” Fitran replied, bowing his head slightly—not as a sign of respect, but as a genuine expression of understanding. “We all recognize the risks that lie ahead of us.”

  Scribe Tovel gently tapped the end of the scroll; a tiny light flickered, brushing against the backs of Serise and Fitran’s hands. “Addendum Vigil Charter: autonomy for the bearer. Operational immunity for the anchor, dual-key access for the patient. This is important to note, right?” His face displayed deep seriousness, underlining how vital every detail was. “Additional note: the in vitro pathway remains scheduled after the safe window.”

  Quill nodded in agreement and then added, “Signed.”

  “And signed,” Serise reinforced, her tone firm and clear, her voice vibrating with conviction.

  Fitran delivered a statement filled with resolve, his voice crisp yet steady. “And if the patient screams, all ranks must be on alert!”

  “The order to carry out the operation,” Quill replied, firmly tapping the table with the tips of his fingers. “Make a note of that, Ilin.”

  “Noted immediately,” Ilin responded, her hands moving swiftly across the paper.

  Back in the isolation wing, the dim lights surrendered to the soft glow of Lattice. Rinoa took a deep breath, feeling the weight pressing on her chest more intensely. “Are we going to be alright, Serise?” she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

  “We’ll definitely make it!” Serise replied with enthusiasm, her gaze reflecting confidence. “Keep your focus, Rinoa. Our plan has to go smoothly.”

  Serise sat in a chair by the window, her hands resting in her lap, waiting for Dr. Neris’s arrival, as if time were moving slower than usual. “Dr. Neris should have been here by now. I hope she’s not delayed.”

  “Shaking?” Neris asked sharply as she finally entered, her eyes sharp and attentive, as if she could see right through to the soul.

  “Just enough to steady myself,” Serise answered, trying to reassure herself, as if that confidence could be visible on her tense face.

  Fitran stood in the doorway, holding back from entering, reminding everyone in the room just how critical the situation was. “I’ll be back before the reliquary becomes just ordinary stone,” she said, her eyes scrutinizing the atmosphere with the meticulousness of a researcher.

  “Make sure that’s not the last sentence you say,” Serise stated, her tone flat yet firm, hinting at unspoken risks. “And remember: what you’re seeking isn’t just your own safety.”

  She looked at Rinoa once more, her palm pressed against the glass, as if trying to feel the presence of the friend trapped behind it. “Hold on. I will seal up that gaping hole,” Serise urged, her spirit unyielding even in the face of uncertainty.

  Rinoa fell silent—she knew there was no need to respond. The monitor displayed lines that no longer indicated danger around every turn. Yet, tension still hung in this enclosed space.

  Fitran walked forward with determination, the door closing slowly behind him, leaving a series of unanswered questions suspended in the air.

  The Leviathan corridor, a few minutes later, had transformed into a place filled with silent sounds: the rumble of machinery, the hum of light, the whispers of metal. In a shadowy corner, Oda Nobuzan leaned against the wall—motionless like a statue delaying a word. In the quiet, she whispered to herself in a soft voice, “This moment… why does it feel so painful?”

  She inserted the device into her collar, then let out a heavy sigh and said, “It seems the passive acoustic veil won't be of any help to me this time. Bravery without strategy is just foolishness.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, “The only way to catch a note is to give your full attention when the door opens. Just a split second…”

  Suddenly, the sound of the door's horn echoed through the silence, and Fitran's voice sliced through the atmosphere, “So this is your ambitions” The urgency in his tone made Oda's heart race as she listened. " Pretending to be friends with us."

  "What do you understand about it. The fragment of world memory."

  “I understand, Fitran! But…,” Nobuzan murmured anxiously, “I need to ensure that we’re not just rushing into darkness. There’s too much at stake.”

  “Blood, essence, and the spiral curse–void,” she pondered, her voice steady even though the weight of the situation pressed down on her. If this news leaks out, these two kingdoms will certainly plunge into a war we’ve never recorded before. Oda felt that burden grow heavier. “That’s what I’m most worried about,” she added, more to herself.

  She raised her head, gazing at the ceiling for a moment; a faint smile crept across her face. “Isn't it?” she said, with a note of uncertainty. “This isn’t just about winning… it’s about survival.”

  Oda continued, whispering to herself, her gaze sharp. “For now... let me observe. That kind of blood isn’t worth recklessly fighting over. True strength lies in patience, waiting for the right moment when all opponents are out of breath.” The voice in her mind resonated, emphasizing how crucial it is to be patient.

  Nobuzan stepped gracefully out from the shadows, her presence leaving the corridor as pristine as it had been upon her arrival. The stillness around her was palpable; there were no calls to disrupt the tranquility, nor alarms to shatter the quiet. "A peaceful evening," she murmured softly, her gaze lifting to the vast expanse of the night sky, where stars twinkled like distant gems. "I haven't stolen anything tonight—except time." She paused, a brief flicker of tension weaving through her, pulsing with each heartbeat, a reminder of the night's charged potential.

  "Fitran," Nobuzan whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a secret carried by the night breeze.