The silence of SolThanor was not peaceful; it was predatory.

  It wasn’t just the absence of noise—no birdsong, no rustling of small animals in the underbrush—it was the weight of it. The wind didn't howl through the skeletal remains of the buildings; it whispered, passing through shattered windows and hollow doorways like a secret being kept from the world.

  "Woah..." Neiva breathed, the sound of her own voice seeming too loud in the stillness. She peeked through the rot-eaten frame of a residential home. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the gloom, illuminating furniture that sat exactly where it had been left over a decade ago. "It’s... it’s all still here. Just rotting."

  They moved deeper into the necropolis of wood and stone. They passed a shopping center, its signage faded to illegible gray, and a municipal building that loomed over the street like a tombstone for the town’s leadership.

  "Whoa!" Neiva’s eyes widened, her fear momentarily eclipsed by the surrealism of it all.

  "What’s your problem?" Red snapped, his patience fraying at the edges. "Stop gawking at the freaking wreckage! It’s a graveyard, not a tourist attraction."

  Neiva flinched, then let out a nervous, airy giggle. "Sorry. I can’t help it. It feels like I’ve glitched into one of those post-apocalyptic video games. I keep expecting a zombie to jump out."

  Sol didn't answer. He was walking with his head down, his silver eyes scanning the pavement, the buildings, the very layout of the decay. "It is strange, though..."

  "Define 'strange'," Blue prompted, his tone even.

  "The preservation," Sol muttered, gears turning visibly behind his eyes. "Everything is mostly intact. Structural damage is minimal. Weathering is consistent with time, but... surely, after a few years, scavengers would have come. Squatters. Desperate people looking for shelter."

  "I wouldn't," Angelo countered, scanning the rooftops. "We’re in the middle of nowhere. Lei-whatever is the closest civilization, and that’s a hike. This place is dead for a reason."

  "I’m with Angie-boy," Red grunted, poking Angelo in the shoulder only to have his hand swatted away. "Too much effort for too little loot."

  "I wonder..." Sol stopped, turning to Neiva. He hesitated, the question heavy on his tongue. "Neiva, remember the bandits near MountShade? They were living in a cave, correct?"

  Neiva looked away, unable to meet his gaze, or Angelo's. The memory was a bruise that hadn't quite faded. "Y-Yes. That’s right."

  "Then," Sol continued, his detective's instinct overriding his social tact, "if bandits are willing to live in damp caves, why wouldn't a group—any group—make a home here? A ready-made town? It’s prime real estate for the lawless."

  "What is your hypothesis?" Blue asked.

  Sol looked up. His silver eyes were burning with a cold, deductive light. "I’m willing to bet the killing never stopped."

  The statement hung in the air, colder than the wind. The group halted, tension snapping taut like a wire.

  "My theory," Sol said, gesturing to the empty streets, "is that people did try to come back. Scavengers, drifters, maybe even former residents. And they were eliminated. Deleted. Systematically removed for over a decade to keep this place empty."

  "But..." Neiva swallowed hard. "By who?"

  Sol shook his head grimly. "If no one has lived to tell the tale, there is only one suspect." He turned to face them, his voice dropping to a whisper. "GHOST. This is it. They are here. I can feel it in my bones."

  Blue adjusted his imaginary tie, a flicker of respect crossing his face. "To deduce the presence of a phantom organization from the mere absence of vandalism... Remarkable."

  Sol smirked, tapping his temple. "It’s elementary, my blue friend."

  "Alright, Shelly, put the pipe away," Angelo cut in, grounding them. "Even if you're right, we have no idea where to look. This town is a maze."

  Sol crossed his arms, his grim expression returning. "Technically, we don't need to look."

  "What?" Red did a double-take. "Did the altitude mess with your ears? We came here to hunt."

  "You heard me. If my theory holds, they are territorial. If we stay, they will come to us. All we need to do is loiter long enough." Sol scanned the horizon. "Though, ideally, we should be the hunters, not the bait."

  "Doesn't matter!" Red cracked his knuckles, a spark of crimson energy arcing between his fingers. "If they come, we beat them into the dirt. Simple."

  Sol turned to Red, his voice dropping an octave. "Yeah? Even if they strike before you know they're there? What if there’s a sniper on that mountain ridge right now, lining up a shot on your thick skull?"

  The temperature in the street seemed to drop ten degrees. Neiva shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. "You... you think they’d just assassinate us? Without a fight?"

  "Why wouldn't they?" Sol replied. "Their entire shtick is non-existence. They operate in the shadows. They don't duel; they delete."

  A heavy silence descended as the reality of their enemy sank in. They weren't fighting brawlers; they were hunting ghosts.

  "But," Sol added, a glint of anticipation returning to his eyes, "we have something no one else has ever had against them."

  "What's that?"

  Sol grinned, a wolfish expression full of confidence. "A freak show of the special variety. A walking anomaly that defies the laws of Auron logic."

  The Trio exchanged glances.

  Red chuckled, a low, guttural sound. "You know, I usually hate being called a freak. But I’ll allow it. Just this once."

  "And," Sol continued, "we have one other advantage. REM."

  Red’s face twisted into a diabolical smile. "Sweet. Delicious. REM."

  Sol clapped his hands once, the sound echoing sharply. "Alright. Here is the play."

  Meanwhile, aboard the Flying Scorpion

  The hum of the airship’s engines was a constant, vibrating drone beneath the floorboards. In the command center, Kirren and Sienna stood before Prosecutor Maxwell and Vera Holt, delivering their report with the casual demeanor of tourists discussing a day trip.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "And that’s the gist of it," Kirren concluded, leaning back against a bulkhead.

  Maxwell hummed, his fingers stroking his mustache in thought. Vera sat beside him, her tablet in hand, her eyes sharp and calculating.

  "Very interesting indeed," Maxwell mused. "I am also curious about the two companions you mentioned. Our intelligence suggested the Ashworth boy was traveling alone."

  "What can I say?" Kirren shrugged. "Life’s full of surprises. Maybe he picked up some strays."

  "And were you able to ascertain their objective?" Maxwell pressed, his tone shifting from curiosity to interrogation. "Why have they traveled to this desolate region?"

  Kirren and Sienna straightened, exchanging a quick, panicked glance.

  "We..." Sienna started, then faltered. "No. Apologies, Max. We were so focused on assimilation and maintaining our cover that we... It slipped our minds..." She looked genuinely embarrassed.

  "Yeah!" Kirren jumped in to cover her. "That Red guy? Total psycho. He’s got crazy intuition. And the silver-haired dude is sharp as a tack. It felt like we were playing a constant game of 'Spot the Spy.' We barely had room to breathe."

  Sienna shivered, the memory of Red still clinging to her. "He is deeply unsettling. I always felt... exposed standing near him."

  "And Blue?" Maxwell asked. "The logical one. Do you believe he could be persuaded to turn on the others? For the sake of the law?"

  Kirren looked at the ceiling, then the floor, finding the rivets in the metal plating fascinating. "Dunno."

  "You 'dunno'?" Maxwell repeated, his voice flat.

  "Yeah. Guy barely talks. He’s like a robot. We’d need to get way closer to crack that shell."

  Maxwell sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He was about to reprimand them when Vera suddenly stepped forward, her intensity spiking.

  "I have questions about the companions," she said, her voice tight.

  "Yeah?" Kirren asked.

  "Details," Vera demanded. "Names. Descriptions. History."

  "Uh, sure," Kirren said, blinking at her intensity. "So, the girl... Neiva... Neiva Vine?"

  "Wines," Sienna corrected.

  "Right. Ginger, green eyes, uh..." Kirren rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s nice enough. Seems harmless."

  "Yes," Maxwell noted. "I recall seeing her in the gallery during the trial. A minor player."

  "Then there was the silver-head," Kirren continued. "Sol... Throne."

  "Thron," Sienna corrected automatically. "Sol Thron."

  The blood drained from Vera’s face so fast it looked like she’d been struck. She staggered back a step, her hand grasping the edge of the table for support.

  "Did... did you just say... Thron?" Her voice was a whisper, sounding as if she were about to be sick.

  "Yeah," Kirren said slowly, eyeing her with concern. "Why?"

  Maxwell’s eyes widened as the connection snapped into place. He turned to his partner. "Vera. You don't think..."

  Vera nodded slowly, her eyes unfocused, seeing a ghost from a decade ago. "Sol Thron... Son of David Thron." She said the name like a curse.

  Kirren blinked. "I’m lost. Who?"

  "Do you know anything, Miss Holt?" Sienna asked, her voice losing its teasing edge.

  Vera looked down, accepting the weight of the past crashing into her present.

  "I always blamed myself for his disappearance," she whispered. "David... he was investigating GHOST. He told me in secret."

  "Who?" Kirren asked again, louder.

  "Later, Kirren," Maxwell snapped, his gaze fixed on Vera. "Continue, Detective."

  Vera swallowed, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "I was the lead on a murder case. A bad one. We were running out of leads, dead ends everywhere. I couldn't let the killer walk. I was desperate. That’s when I heard David was working an angle that might overlap with my suspect."

  She took a shaky breath. "I begged him. Over and over. Finally, he cracked. He told me he couldn't say much, or it might tip GHOST off. I thought it was rubbish—conspiracy nonsense. But I took what he gave me. I used his lead to secure a testimony. It was weak, but it was something."

  Tears began to track through the lines of her face. "It was the biggest mistake of my career. The testimony backfired in court. The murderer walked free." She looked up, her eyes haunted. "And the next day, David vanished. Without a trace."

  She walked to the viewport, staring out at the passing clouds. "Chances are slim... but my gut says the kid has picked up the glove. He’s chasing the monsters that took his father." She looked back at them, exhausted. "They are on a suicide mission. They are hunting GHOST."

  Creeaakk.

  Sol pushed open the door of yet another dilapidated building. He had lost count of how many rooms he had cleared. He wiped sweat from his brow, his fingers brushing against the Forged Trinergy shoulder guard he now wore.

  A few streets over, Neiva was doing the same, wearing a shimmering hairband of Forged Energy as she swept a dusty living room. Nothing. Just dust, neglect, and the heavy silence.

  The Trio, however, were not searching. They were building a web.

  They moved through the town with military precision, creating permanent Forged Energy marbles and affixing them to key vantage points—corners of buildings, lampposts, signs. Just as they had done in MountShade to catch the bandits, they were turning the ghost town into a surveillance hub. Even Blue was exerting himself, calculating the optimal angles for coverage.

  But their surveillance network wasn't limited to the town.

  Miles away, back in the motel in Leilani, a bellboy paused in the middle of an empty hallway.

  He stopped pushing his cart, a frown creasing his forehead. He felt... a lack.

  "Hm?" He patted his sleeve, searching for the hard, marble-like object he had slipped inside earlier. "I’m certain I put it here..."

  Realization hit him like a physical blow. His face twisted from confusion to cold, professional rage. "The caster..." he hissed. "One of the guests? Did they dispel it remotely?"

  His eyes darted around the hallway. "No. Impossible. I passed no one using active Aura today. What kind of trickery is this?"

  He took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow. Calm down. Analyze. "The most logical explanation is that the construct withered. The caster likely turned off their Aura."

  He nodded to himself, resuming his walk. "Yes. Just a stray bit of energy."

  He walked for exactly ten seconds before stopping again.

  "I don't like this," he muttered, his hand gripping the handle of the cart until his knuckles turned white. "My gut is telling me something is afoot. And my gut is never wrong. Why would someone leave bits of their ability in the first place?"

  He closed his eyes. Images of the recent guests flashed through his mind—the loud one, the quiet one, the redhead.

  "The crimson substance... it appeared only after that group checked in." He opened one eye, the iris dark and calculating. "I better keep a close watch on that lot."

  Back in SolThanor

  The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the ghost town in shades of bruised purple and blood orange.

  Sol and Neiva made their way back to the town square, the designated rendezvous point. As they approached the central fountain, they heard the distinct sound of strained groans.

  "What the...?" Sol muttered.

  They rounded the corner and stopped.

  "C’mooonnn...!" Angelo gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his neck. He was clad in a full suit of Forged Trinergy armor, his hands pressed forward against an unstable mass of energy.

  Opposite him, Red mirrored the stance, also armored in Trinergy plate, snarling as he pushed back. Between them, a sphere of chaotic energy roiled and hissed, leaking sparks like grenade frozen mid detonation.

  Hovering a few feet away, a calm blue sphere observed the process—Blue, utilizing REM from a safe perch on a nearby roof, analyzing the structural integrity of the fusion.

  "What are you guys doing?" Sol asked, stepping up to the dried-out fountain.

  "Baking a cake! What does it look like?" Red shouted as he fought to keep the energy from detonating. "We're training!"

  "You finished mapping the town?" Neiva asked, eyeing the volatile sphere warily.

  "No," Angelo grunted, not breaking eye contact with the energy mass.

  "Then why—"

  "We mapped a good chunk of it, alright?" Angelo cut Sol off. "We didn't see any activity. Zero. Nada."

  "That doesn't mean Sol is wrong," Neiva urged. "Maybe they're just hiding better than we are looking!"

  "Even so," Red strained, "we can finish tomorrow. We needed to burn off some steam. Lei-whatever was too crowded for this kind of output. This place? Perfect."

  Angelo made a sharp gesture as the mass spiked, wrestling it back under control. "Exactly. Better training ground."

  Sol sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But how long do you intend to keep this up?"

  "Yeah," a voice said. "How long? I'm curious myself."

  The voice was casual. Light. Completely unfamiliar.

  Sol and Neiva felt their hearts drop into their stomachs. They spun around in alarm.

  There, sitting on the edge of the fountain not three feet away from them, was a man.

  Engulfed in a crimson aura, he wore a white jacket with the hood pulled up, casting his face in deep shadow. Only a few strands of brown stubble on his chin were visible. But it was what lay within the shadow of the hood that froze the blood in their veins.

  Two glowing red eyes.

  He had arrived instantly. There had been no sound of footsteps, no displacement of air, no flicker of Aura. One moment the fountain was empty; the next, he was simply there, as if he had been part of the conversation all along.

  "What?" Angelo breathed, his focus shattering.

  BOOM!

  The concentration broke. The sphere of chaotic energy between Angelo and Red detonated with a concussive blast, sending both of them flying backward into the dust.

  The stranger didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. His smile just widened, sharp and terrifying in the twilight.