INT- LUX VILLA -ERION'S PAD 3:03 AM
Evah pushed herself up, slowly, painfully. Erion stepped forward instinctively to help her—but she shoved his hands away. He didn't flinch. He expected that.
Is he going to confirm it? Or will he lie?
"Are you going to kidnap me now? Because of what I saw? You know I don't have any money for ransom," she snapped, eyes sharp.
Erion didn't answer right away. He didn't want to pressure her further. She had been through enough.
"Listen, Bunny..."
He sighed and walked closer, kneeling at the side of the bed. "I'm sorry you had to witness those things. No one should ever have to. It's too cruel."
His voice trembled, nearly cracking. It sounded real. But she convinced herself it was another mask.
"You did well. Rest up, okay?"
He reached out and gently patted her head. Evah flinched violently.
Pain exploded through her chest, and she instinctively grabbed whatever she could from the nightstand, preparing to throw it at him.
"Shut up! It was you, wasn't it?! You're the only one it could be. Another Major General? That doesn't make sense!" she shouted.
In that moment, his expression changed. The same look from the Office—the eyes full of pain and sadness—flickered, then were quickly replaced with calmness.
She wasn't done.
"That's why you never answered!"
Her voice was accusing. Breaking. Searching.
Erion looked away for a second, then turned back. It was like watching him switch into another version of himself. He sat next to her on the bed, a smirk barely forming.
"I thought you'd figure it out on your own, Bunny. I know you're a genius."
Is he mocking me now?
Evah narrowed her eyes.
"Just say it!" she demanded.
"The gray uniform is worn with the crest of a General. I'm sure you saw it. What did it look like?"
His tone wasn't defensive. He wasn't trying to clear his name—he wanted a lead. A truth.
He didn't want to press her for details, not in her state. But if she wanted answers, he had to ask too.
Evah's memory pulled forward. That morning. That sun. The crest shining.
A momentary silence reigned the room before Evah broke it.
"I-it was circular."
The words came out slowly, her voice shaking.
"Circular," Erion echoed, more disappointed than relieved.
"There are three Major Generals who wear circular crests. Can you remember any more details, Bunny?"
But his question fell into silence. Because guilt had returned like a tidal wave. It wasn't Erion.
She looked down, her expression stunned. How could I...miss that.
"I did all this to him, and..."
Her thoughts trailed into silence. Her face reflected horror and disbelief.
"Hey, Bunny. You okay?"
Erion was in front of her now, waving a hand gently in front of her face.
"Just rest now. I won't ask any more questions," he said softly, almost apologetically.
I should be the one apologizing.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"I'll take care of some things. Stay here and rest. Just, please—don't hop around sneaking on me again," he added, trying to lighten the mood with a smile.
That did it.
"I'm sorry!"
Her voice cracked as she wailed, covering her face, the apology repeating like a broken record.
She nearly collapsed from her unstable sitting position, and Erion caught her by the shoulders.
"Hey, Bunny. It's fine," he said awkwardly, holding her steady. "You're not supposed to be stressing yourself more. That's why I didn't bring it up."
He exhaled heavily. "I thought you'd figure it out. You wore my crest, after all."
Then he smiled faintly. "And maybe I just didn't feel like proving myself to anyone. My bad."
Evah stopped crying just long enough to glare at him—but this time, it wasn't anger.
"It's definitely the latter, you prideful jester."
Zone 5: Ar'sia – The Island of Tradition
Nestled in the heart of the vast southern seas lies Ar'sia, a remote island nation shrouded in mist and mystery. Known as Zone 5 in geopolitical terms, Ar'sia stands apart from the modern world—not only by geography, but by philosophy. Unlike the other zones led by presidents or centralized governments, Ar'sia is ruled by a council of Lords of the Land—hereditary leaders who govern expansive territories and uphold centuries-old traditions passed down through generations.
Ar'sia is deeply loyal to its roots. Agriculture, cultural rites, and seasonal festivals are the lifeblood of its people. Every citizen has a role, from tending vast rice terraces to preserving sacred dance and music, ensuring that the soul of the country remains untainted by outside influence. Thanks to these practices, Ar'sia has become the world's foremost supplier of natural, organic produce—rich in flavor, untouched by modern genetic modification, and coveted in foreign markets.
Fifty years ago, Ar'sia was a paradise for travelers. Its untouched landscapes—lush rainforests, crystal-clear lagoons, and tiered farmlands carved into hillsides—made it a top destination for those seeking beauty and peace. But paradise came at a cost. Tourists, unaware of the delicate balance of the ecosystem, caused irreparable damage to both nature and tradition. Temples were desecrated, rare plants were trampled, and sacred customs were mocked or misunderstood.
In response, the Lords made a resolute decision: Ar'sia would close its gates to outsiders. Since then, no foreigner has set foot on its soil. Tourism is not just discouraged—it is forbidden. This radical move preserved the island's beauty and purity, reinforcing the nation's independence. Trade continues, however, thanks to Ar'sia's abundant natural resources—from rare medicinal herbs to exotic fruits and artisanal crafts—that are exported across the globe.
Beyond the main island lie hundreds of smaller islets, where life moves even slower. Villages thrive in harmony with nature, untouched by electricity or modern machines. Here, people live traditionally, but not in poverty. Their lives are full—rich with community, rhythm, and purpose.
Ar'sia remains a mystery to most of the world, a living museum of heritage, and the only land where time seems to have respectfully paused.