The cliffs of the lower Fjellkross Ridge, south of Bjørnevika, were quiet—too quiet.
Tormod "Runesetter" Iskesson crouched beside a frost-covered boulder, his gloves off, fingertips glowing faintly with ink-like light as he pressed them to the stone.
Each touch sizzled with purpose. Intricate rune patterns flared into life—circular sigils laced with jagged defensive lines, a language of power etched across the mountain's skin.
"Reinforcement."
"Shock Absorption."
"Quirk Dampening."
"Rebound Seal."
One by one, the glyphs spread outward, forming a protective lattice between boulders, tree trunks, and sheer cliff faces.
Behind him, drones hovered, scanning the sigils and logging their parameters.
Maja, crouched a few meters away, scouted with her plasma-rifle arm extended, scanning for early signs of Mikal Thorne.
"How long before it's ready?" she asked.
Tormod didn't look up. "The runes will be active in one hour. If he gets here sooner, we improvise."
Meanwhile – Government Safehouse, Bjørnevika
Inside the quiet warmth of the cabin, Laurick stood in his room, door shut, curtains drawn. He stared at himself in the mirror—hair tousled, eyes darker, not with sleep deprivation, but with focus.
He tightened the straps of a makeshift combat vest beneath his hoodie. Not professional gear, but something reinforced—something he'd been assembling piece by piece in secret.
Something is coming, he thought. And if I can't stop it… I can't protect them.
He turned to his nightstand, where the Dreamcatcher rested in its charging case, glowing faintly with a soft silver-blue pulse.
His fingers brushed it, and for a moment—
—Flash.
[Flashback – Inside the Dreamworld]
The dream was war.
Laurick and the Dreamcatcher stood on an open plain of blackened glass. All around them, the dream-sky roared with chaotic color—like oil and fire mixing under pressure.
The Nightmare Monsters were not attacking directly this time.
Instead, they sent wave after wave of twisted minions—melting creatures with dagger limbs, half-formed beasts, and silent stalkers. Snipers shimmered from jagged spires in the distance, unleashing beams of dread energy that forced Laurick to dive and dodge between cover points.
The Dreamcatcher spun and danced through the chaos, her silver glow like a lighthouse in the storm, deflecting energy blasts and obliterating wave after wave with elegant flicks of her hand.
But Laurick—he was slowing down.
His breathing ragged, eyes wide. No matter how hard he fought, more came. Endless.
The Dreamcatcher stood beside him, panting slightly, still smiling—though her glow had dimmed.
"They're adapting," she whispered. "They're not trying to kill us this time. They're trying to exhaust us."
In the smoke and fog, a voice rang out.
Smooth. Mocking. Familiar.
"You can't stay protected forever, Laurick."
From the darkness emerged the Detective, flipping one of his infamous paralysis mines in his palm like a coin.
But this time, he didn't throw it.
He smiled beneath his hat.
"What if I gave you a way out? A deal. I lend you a little of our power. Just enough to fight back. Borrow it. Bit by bit."
Laurick hesitated.
"Why would you help me?"
The Detective grinned wider. "Because, Laurick… you're finally starting to act like one of us."
The Dreamcatcher narrowed her eyes, stepping between them.
But the seed had been planted.
And behind the Detective, several of the Nightmare Monsters—The Wizard, the Man with Long Green Hair, and even the Pteranodon—stood at a distance, watching. Not fighting. Waiting.
Back in the Real World
Laurick snapped out of it.
He was still staring at the Dreamcatcher device—still alone.
But his pulse was racing.
And his hand hovered just above the device, as if expecting it to whisper back.
You need strength, the memory whispered.
And we can give it to you.
The wind howled low over the white ridge, bending the trees like they were bowing to something greater.
In the clearing just outside Bjørnevika, the snow had been cleared away, revealing frost-bitten grass and hardened dirt. The cold bit into the air, sharp and metallic.
Standing in the center of the perimeter were three heroes—each ready.
Hilde Akselsen, Hero Name: Flammejenta, bounced on her heels, her fists glowing faintly red as the heat in her blood built with each heartbeat.
To her right, Vegar Magnus, Hero Name: Destalio, crouched low, dark gloves already pulsing with the stored weight of his runes and gadgets hidden in shadowed pockets of black.
To the left stood Brynjar Paul Oliverson, Hero Name: My Gig, shaking out his hands, cracking his knuckles with a grin.
"All right," Brynjar said, "when this starts going sideways—and it will—I've got an air-cannon version of a troll's warhammer with this guy's name on it."
Hilde glanced at him, amused. "Try not to overcompensate, Brynjar."
"Please, I am the definition of proportional response."
Vegar interrupted, calm and direct.
"Hilde is point offense. She engages Thorne in a 1-on-1. I stay support with rune-pulse anchors if he gets in too deep. Brynjar, you flank wide and stay mobile—draw attention the moment Hilde is displaced."
They all nodded.
From down the trail, a deep quake rolled up the earth—like something had just stepped into the world's foundation.
He was coming.
Meanwhile – Deep in the Mountains
The snow-covered valley was silent but for the occasional crackle of melting ice. Another cabin stood—small, half-sunken into a hillside, hidden from the main roads.
Its door creaked open.
Pringelina and Elias stepped inside.
And there, in the dim warmth of a dying fire, was Bengt Allamann.
He was curled in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees, the J-09 Command Beacon pushed into the farthest corner of the room as if he didn't want to even look at it.
Tears streaked through the soot on his face. His body trembled. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.
"I don't know what to do anymore."
His Destructive Darkness quirk flickered faintly across his fingertips, like it still had breath—still waiting for next week's curse to begin anew.
Elias stepped forward first, cautious but concerned.
"You finished the quest, didn't you?"
Bengt nodded, swallowing hard.
"That one, yeah. But next week? What if it's worse? What if it tells me to hurt someone? Or worse… what if I say no and lose everything again?"
The air grew still.
Then a new voice spoke—smooth and unsettling.
"Then perhaps it's time you stop waiting to be told what to do."
From the shadows, Mr. X emerged, adjusting his gloves, his presence impossibly forgettable even as he stood directly before them.
"We've been watching your progress, Bengt. All of you. You've proven yourselves… valuable. The A.W.S.A. welcomes such potential."
He held out his hand.
"Return with me. We'll give you purpose. Structure. Safety from the ones hunting you."
Bengt looked at the offered hand.
And slowly, shook his head.
"No more crimes. No more orders. I'm done."
Mr. X didn't seem angry. Just amused.
"Then I won't ask again."
His eyes shifted toward Pringelina, who had been quiet until now.
She stood with arms folded, calm but firm.
"I don't need a headquarters," she said softly. "Or a new purpose."
She looked directly at Bengt, and then Elias.
"I already know what I have to do."
Elias stiffened. "What… what do you mean?"
Pringelina's face didn't change. Her voice remained flat.
"I have to destroy Laurick's Dreamcatcher."
The silence that followed was thick and immediate.
Bengt looked away, guilt flickering in his expression.
Elias's mouth opened—but no words came.
He closed it again, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why…? Why would you—?"
Pringelina didn't answer.
She just turned back to the door.
"I'm going. With or without you."
The wind whispered through the cracked wooden frame of the cabin as Pringelina stepped outside, her breath rising in sharp white clouds.
Her injuries still ached. Each step felt like dragging lead through snow. But her pace never wavered.
She didn't look back.
Inside the cabin, Elias stood frozen.
Still too stunned to follow.
Still too hopeful to give up.
"Laurick… she's going after Laurick."
His fists clenched by his sides, not in rage—but in confusion, helplessness, sorrow. The boy he remembered from all those years ago, the one quietly trying to make friends in that support group… was now the target.
He turned toward the spot where Mr. X had stood moments ago—only to find nothing.
No shadow.
No footprints.
No scent of presence.
Nothing.
What was I just thinking about…?
Outside, just beyond the cabin's treeline, Mr. X walked calmly through the snow, his coat untouched by the wind.
He didn't hum. Didn't smile.
But his eyes flicked once toward the cabin behind him.
Elias is... interesting.
For a brief moment, his hand hovered toward the interior of his coat—where a thin, silvery blade rested, concealed and silent.
I could kill him now. He wouldn't even realize he was dying. No one would remember I was ever there.
But then he lowered the hand.
"No," he whispered. "Let's see how this plays out."
With that, he vanished between the trees.
Behind him, everyone except Pringelina forgot the encounter.
Even Bengt, now leaning back against the wall, stared blankly ahead.
"Where… was I?"
Meanwhile – Bjørnevika Perimeter
The first tremor was subtle.
The second one cracked the ice on the nearby stream.
Mikal Thorne stood just below the ridge line, steam rising from his skin as he gritted his teeth and let out a deep, primal breath.
In his hands, the broken remains of his quirk suppression collar lay scattered in the snow.
"Finally."
His veins pulsed visibly, his body vibrating with stored tension, as though the very earth was responding to his release.
The stones beneath his feet began to tremble—not crack—but resonate, like a tuning fork pressed to the bones of the world.
Quirk: Vibration Manipulation – Active.
Mikal raised his hands, flexed his fingers, and smiled.
"Time to see if the rumors about Laurick Andersson are true."
He took one slow step forward.
Then another.
And the forest itself began to tremble.
Elsewhere – On the Edge of the Forest
Perched on a low, snow-covered ridge, Simon—still in the guise of a harmless hiker—watched the house through high-grade optical lenses.
His focus was still on Laurick.
Still watching. Still studying.
He adjusted his scarf slightly, eyes narrowed.
He's changing.
Not because of the Dreamcatcher... but because of what's inside.
Then, from the corner of the lens, he caught the faintest motion—the ripple of trees responding to something unnatural.
A vibration.
Simon pulled the lens back slightly, eyebrows furrowing.
Here we go.
Snowflakes drifted lazily across the gray sky, but Laurick Andersson wasn't looking out the window.
He sat silently in the middle of his room, legs crossed, eyes half-closed. The Dreamcatcher pulsed softly from beneath his palm—calm, steady, warm.
And yet—
His chest tightened.
His breath hitched slightly.
Something's wrong.
There was no sound, no alarm, no announcement.
But a feeling crawled along the back of his spine like a cold shadow.
It wasn't fear.
It was certainty.
His mother used to say she could "feel it in her stomach" before bad things happened. A creeping instinct that always ended up right. Her quirk—Gut Feeling—was subtle, unflashy, and rarely wrong.
Laurick had never thought he inherited it.
Until now.
His hand tightened around the Dreamcatcher.
"Someone's coming."
Ridge North of Bjørnevika
Mikal Thorne surged forward, each step pounding like a drumbeat into the crusted snow. His body thrummed with barely contained energy, the very ground vibrating beneath him.
Every tree he passed quivered in his wake. Snow burst from branches as if recoiling from his presence.
He wasn't running.
He was carving a path—a seismic spear pointed at Laurick.
"I'm going to meet you," he growled. "I'm going to break you open and see what kind of monster they're protecting."
Suddenly—
Crack!
A railgun thwip echoed from the south.
Mikal's shoulder jolted backward—not pierced, but the force slammed him sideways, tumbling him into a snowbank.
Steam rose from the melted snow around the impact.
He snarled, rolling to his feet.
From the ridge above, a figure stood tall—one arm shifted into a long, smoking rail-cannon.
Maja "Våpenhånd" Gjertsen.
She called down, voice steady and authoritative:
"Wrong direction, Thorne. Try the other way."
Mikal narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, I'm heading exactly where I want."
Another shot rang out.
Mikal dodged it—barely. The kinetic force snapped a tree trunk behind him like dry spaghetti.
"You're trying to herd me," he growled.
He looked left—and spotted the rune sigils beginning to light up across the valley path.
Runes hidden in snowdrifts. Anchors on rock. Some glowing faintly now with quark-based suppression energy.
A trap.
He grinned.
"That's cute."
Maja's next volley came fast—two blasts in succession.
Mikal sprinted sideways, letting one pass, letting the other strike a boulder beside him—which shattered into powder from the force.
"Stop playing guardian," he barked. "I'm not here for you."
From her perch, Maja adjusted the cannon, now re-forming into a long-range electro-lance launcher.
"That boy doesn't need to face another disaster. He's lived through enough."
Mikal gritted his teeth, vibrations already humming up his legs into his spine.
"Then why is he the center of everything wrong in this country?"
He slammed his hand into the ground—and a shockwave erupted in a tight, concussive blast, launching boulders toward Maja's position.
She jumped back, mid-air, arm reshaping into an anti-air cannon and firing a vertical blast to redirect her fall.
Below, Mikal landed hard, sending another shockwave through the snowpack and rupturing more of the hidden rune markers.
They flared once—then failed.
"I'm coming, Laurick," he muttered.
"And I'm going to shake the truth out of you."