Naya could hear her own heartbeat—loud, fast, frantic.
Each thump echoed in her ears like a war drum, drowning out even the sound of the engine humming beneath her.
She tried to move fast, her limbs trembling with urgency, but panic had sunk its claws into her.
Every movement was jerky, rushed—fear was written in the twitch of her fingers, the tightness of her jaw.
She was crouched low in the backseat, one knee digging into the leather, fingers stretching toward the metallic casing that held her card. Just a few more inches.
Then she saw it.
From the corner of her eye—through the window—a glint. A sheen. Something unnatural.
A flicker of gold.
A blinding, golden-yellow flare, like sunlight distilled into rage.
Her breath hitched. Her pupils contracted.
A fireball—no, a ball of flame—came roaring from the sky. Massive. Fiery. Furious. It blazed toward them, its heat licking the glass even before it landed.
It was large enough to blanket half the road, and it was coming straight at them.
The guard in the driver's seat froze for a split second, instincts overridden by shock.
His eyes widened, unable to adjust to the sudden glare. He lifted an arm to shield his face, swerving blindly as the world outside turned into a fiery hellscape.
He slammed his foot on the brake.
Screeeeehhhhh—!
Tires shrieked in protest, the sound tearing through the night.
The wheels locked, dragging across the asphalt as the vehicle tried to stop—too late.
BOOM!
The explosion was violent. It didn't just shake the ground—it rattled reality.
The car was hurled into the air like a toy, twisting mid-flight in a grotesque ballet of destruction.
It flipped once—twice—before gravity pulled it back with cruel indifference. Streetlights nearby shattered from the blastwave, sparks cascading like fireworks across the pavement.
Naya didn't scream.
She gritted her teeth, lungs burning as the world spun. Her fingers scraped desperately against the casing.
'Just a little more.' Her mind chanted. 'Come on. Just a little—'
Cold.
Sudden.
Unnatural.
A gust of wind blasted against her face, sucking all warmth from her skin.
The fire vanished.
The explosion halted—frozen in place.
The car stopped mid-air, suspended like a crystal sculpture. Frost spread in rapid tendrils across the metal, turning a death trap into a towering ice fountain.
Then—shards.
Lances of ice shot forward, summoned by something, someone. Sharp, cold, fast—they targeted the source of the attack with perfect precision.
A figure emerged from the scorched alley beyond the explosion.
Tall. Calm. Smoldering.
He stepped out as if the chaos around him were an inconvenience—something beneath him. His suit, a sharp black Dormeuil blend, gleamed in the faint light, tailored perfectly to his lean frame. Flames still flickered lazily around his shoulders, reluctant to leave him.
His name was Nathan.
He didn't smile. He didn't gloat.
His expression was tired. Frustrated.
And deadly.
One hand remained in his pocket, casual. The other gripped a lance of ice that had managed to reach him—now melting away like wax against his burning skin. Steam curled from his fingertips.
'You won't run forever, Naya!' he bellowed into the freezing air. 'Seven days! That's all you've got! And believe me, I'm not dying with you!'
He knew she was gone.
He could feel it—her aura, her scent, her presence—it had all vanished the moment that ice had struck. She was fast, always had been. But this was the second time she'd slipped through his fingers, and it was starting to gnaw at his pride.
Nathan scanned the street, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
A breath escaped him—more a growl than a sigh. 'You're not even on my level,' he muttered, almost to himself. 'So why… why is this so damn hard?'
His fist clenched.
It wasn't just about pride. It wasn't even about the mission anymore.
It was desperation.
Time was running out. The True Dream loomed, and he had no intention of spending three days trapped in that place again—sweating, hallucinating, screaming. Every time it came for him, it took more than sleep. It took pieces of his soul.
And now, Naya had what he needed.
Her card.
He had to get it. No matter the cost.
No matter how many buildings burned.
No matter how many bodies dropped.
He looked around the ruined street, flames crackling against frost, and exhaled.
'X will clean it up,' he said flatly. 'They always do.'
He didn't understand them. No one did.
The group was everywhere and nowhere—burying murders, silencing witnesses, covering tracks like ghosts. Even when they killed, the world looked the other way.
What other force could pull strings that deep?
Nathan stepped back into the shadows, vanishing without sound.
---
Blocks away, Naya staggered down a narrow alley, the weight of adrenaline and exhaustion crushing her lungs.
Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, blood dribbling down her arm from cuts she barely felt.
'That bastard…' she muttered, slamming her boot into the ground in frustration.
She didn't stop running.
She couldn't afford to.
Nathan wouldn't find her, not now. Her speed had always been her edge. She knew the alleys, the rooftops, the paths only ghosts used. And right now, every step she took was borrowed time.
Still—her thoughts whirled like a storm.
'He attacked me in the open… just like that. No warning. No fear.' Her gut twisted. 'He doesn't care anymore.'
She slowed under the cover of a derelict building, leaned against the wall, and looked at her hand.
Glass had embedded itself deep in her palm—shards from the car window. Blood oozed between her fingers, thick and dark. She winced as she dug into the wound, yanking one piece out with a sharp cry that echoed faintly in the silence.
Nathan wanted her dead.
That much was clear.
Not just out of obligation—but out of necessity.
He was afraid.
Not of her—but of what she had.
Naya's fingers brushed over the card in her pocket. She pulled it out slowly, her gaze softening for the first time.
The back shimmered, black like obsidian, etched with golden patterns that danced in the dim light. The front bore a crown—not delicate like a tiara, but heavy. Royal. Powerful. It looked like it belonged in a king's tomb.
It didn't just look real.
It felt alive.
The aura pulsed beneath her skin. Like it knew her. Like it was watching.
'I have to deal with him,' she whispered, clutching it tightly. 'And I have to do it fast. There won't be a next time.'
She looked to the dark street ahead.
Deeper shadows waited. So did the answers.
But Naya didn't flinch.
She straightened her spine, tucked the card close to her chest, and vanished into the night.
Things were about to get darker.
She could feel it in her bones.
---