The battlefield stretched before John, a wasteland of ruin and despair. Smoke coiled into the dim, ash-choked sky, obscuring the horizon in a haze of gray. The ground beneath his feet was blackened and cracked, scorched by fire and fury, with faint embers flickering in defiance of the snow all around them. The air thrummed with the oppressive hum of cursed energy, a low, residual vibration left in the wake of the explosion.
John staggered forward, a figure barely held together by sheer will and the lingering effects of the Black Flash. The moment of perfect cursed energy synchronization had faded, leaving behind a fragile, flickering echo of its potency. It coursed through his shattered body, the only force keeping him upright. Blood trailed in uneven streaks down his arms and face, his cursed energy sputtering like a dying flame. Each step jarred his battered frame, threatening to pull him under.
Ahead, Marian's motionless form lay amidst the charred wreckage. She was a distant silhouette, barely discernible through the haze, but she was his anchor. His vision blurred and refocused with every agonized step, his mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The world around him wavered like a mirage, the ground shifting beneath his feet as though it too were trying to drag him down.
His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one searing his lungs. His legs dragged as if weighted with lead, his knees trembling under the strain. Every nerve screamed at him to stop, but the faint echo of cursed energy left by the Black Flash pushed him onward. Without it, he knew he would already be on the ground, swallowed by the void of unconsciousness.
Then, he felt it—a hand on his shoulder.
He turned sharply, expecting to see one of his comrades. Instead, he found himself staring into Echo's cold, lifeless eyes. Her face was pale and distorted, her features twisted in mockery. Standing beside her was Cinder, her smile a gash across her face. The air around them warped, their bodies flickering like images on a fractured screen.
"Do you really think this makes you a hero, John?" Echo's voice was soft, almost tender, but her words were razors. "Saving one person doesn't erase the bodies piling at your feet."
The battlefield melted away. He was no longer standing in smoke and fire but drowning in icy water. The current dragged at his limbs, dark and suffocating. Corpses drifted around him, their faces frozen in silent screams. A young girl's face emerged from the depths, her eyes locking onto his. Blood seeped into the water around her, staining the void. Her features blurred, her face morphing into Marian's.
"You couldn't save her," Cinder hissed, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "Just like you couldn't save any of them."
The corpses' hollow eyes turned toward him, their mouths opening in unison. Their voices echoed through the water, a chilling chorus of condemnation.
"You let us die." "Your strength wasn't enough." "Hero? You're a tool, nothing more."
He tried to scream, but the water pressed into his lungs, stealing his breath. His vision flickered, the faces of the dead overlapping like a fevered dream. Echo's hand tightened on his shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh as if to pin him in place.
"You thought power would give you control," she whispered, her face inches from his. "But what did it change? You were powerless then, and you're powerless now."
The dark water surged, pulling him deeper. The young girl's face reappeared, now fully Marian's. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her expression was empty, accusing. His heart clenched as her image shattered into shards of light, scattering like broken glass.
Cinder leaned closer, his smile widening grotesquely. "The clan was right about you. A tool. A weapon. That's all you'll ever be."
"No," John rasped, his voice trembling but defiant. "I'm—"
"What?" Echo cut in, her voice laced with venom. "A savior? A protector? What kind of protector lets people die?"
The corpses surged around him, their hands reaching out, cold and clammy against his skin. The girl's voice rose above the din, clear and piercing.
"You'll never save anyone."
John's chest burned as he tried to break free, his cursed energy flickering weakly. The water grew colder, sharper, biting into his skin. His vision swam, and he began to sink, his strength ebbing away.
Through the chaos, a faint sound broke through—soft, gentle, and undeniably real. A voice, warm and familiar, cut through the cold.
"Commander!"
The hand on his shoulder loosened, the corpses dissolving into the dark water. He turned his head toward the voice, his breath hitching.
"COMMANDER!"
The icy water began to fade, replaced by the scorched battlefield. Echo and Cinder's mocking forms flickered and dissolved into smoke. The hand on his shoulder vanished, leaving him kneeling in the ash. Marian's figure lay ahead, her presence pulling him back to reality.
He dragged himself forward, his body screaming in protest. The shadows at the edges of his vision darkened, and he collapsed beside her, his bloodied hand brushing hers before the world went black.
The world came back to John in fragments: the muffled rustle of movement, the faint scent of antiseptic, and the dull ache coursing through his body. He blinked against the dim light, his vision struggling to make sense of the room around him. Each breath felt heavy, and every small shift of his muscles sent a ripple of protest through his battered body, his skin pulling tight against bandages that seemed to cover every inch of him.
The first thing his gaze settled on was Marian. She lay on a bed nearby, her form still and fragile, her chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms. Soft light played over her pale face, giving her an almost ethereal stillness that tightened something deep in John's chest.
There were no monitors beeping, no wires humming. Just the sound of his own labored breathing filling the quiet space between them. She seemed peaceful, unnaturally so, and it filled John with equal parts relief and unease. A flicker of memory—of explosions, of screams, of her face frozen in anguish—flashed through his mind, making his pulse spike.
"Hey, he's awake!" Neon's bright voice shattered the silence, her energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. She bounced toward him, a mix of excitement and relief on her face. "Took you long enough! We were starting to think you were out for good."
John groaned and shifted slightly, every muscle screaming in protest. "I feel like hammered shit," he rasped, his voice hoarse and dry. He attempted to sit up but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot through his ribs.
"Don't push yourself," Rapi said, stepping closer. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed concern. "You're in terrible shape, please rest commander."
Anis smirked from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Yeah, no kidding. Between the fight and the explosion, it's a miracle you're still breathing. Guess you're tougher than you look."
John gave a faint, dry chuckle. "Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
As John adjusted his position slightly, a sharp pang lanced through his ribs, forcing him to stifle a wince. His gaze shifted, landing on three unfamiliar figures standing apart from the Counters. They carried themselves with quiet authority, their presence commanding even in silence. Their watchful eyes assessed him, their expressions guarded yet intense.
"Who…?" John began, his throat dry and voice raspy. "Who are they?"
Rapi, standing near his bedside, straightened her posture. Her tone was composed, formal. "Pioneer Squad. Snow White found us after the explosion and brought us to their meeting point. They've been aiding us since."
The woman closest to him stepped forward, her white cloak brushing against her armor as she moved. Her sharp gaze met his, white hair framing a face hardened by countless battles. "I am Snow White," she said simply, her voice steady and deliberate. "I found you and your team amidst the wreckage. I was the one who shot Nihilister during your battle against her."
The second figure stepped forward, a nun with warm, kind eyes that softened her otherwise commanding presence. Her voice was gentle, almost soothing, as she clasped her hands together. "I'm Rapunzel. It's good to meet you, Commander," she said, offering a small smile. "Your team has spoken highly of you."
The final figure leaned casually against the doorframe, her long, gray hair cascading over her shoulders. A faint smirk played on her lips as she addressed him. "Mine name is Scarlet," she said, her voice laced with an antiquated cadence. "Thou dost carry the air of one who hath danced with death and yet returned. 'Tis not a common feat."
John let her words hang in the air as his attention flickered back to Marian, lying motionless on the nearby bed. Her stillness was unnerving, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow of golden strands of Rapunzel's hair coiled around her. The strands shimmered faintly, radiating a strange, almost protective energy that set John on edge.
"She's going to be okay, right?" John asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with unspoken worry.
Snow White's expression darkened slightly, her eyes shifting toward Marian. "She's stable," she said after a moment. "For now. But unresponsive."
John clenched his fists. The heavy weight in the room seemed to press down on him as he tried to process her words. "Why… why did you save her?" he asked, his tone laced with tension. "You didn't have to bring her back."
Snow White's gaze remained steady, her expression unreadable. "I'll be honest," she began, her voice low but firm. "I hesitated. She's… by many standards, a heretic. What she became, what she represents—it goes against everything we fight for. I questioned whether saving her was the right choice."
John's jaw tightened, his knuckles white against the bedsheets. "Then why did you?"
Snow White's gaze softened slightly, her composure cracking just enough to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability. "Because someone made the case for her," she admitted, her eyes flicking toward Anis, who leaned against the far wall with a casual smirk. "Your friend here is surprisingly persuasive when it comes to matters like this."
Anis shrugged, her smirk growing wider. "What can I say? I have a way with words." She paused, then added with a playful tone, "And people tend to realize I'm right."
Snow White glanced briefly at Neon, who hovered near the edge of the room. "And your team. They vouched for her in ways that mattered."
Neon raised her hands defensively, her wide-eyed expression a mix of nervousness and sincerity. "Hey, I barely know her. But I trust Rapi and Anis, you as well master. If they believe she's worth saving, then so do I."
Snow White nodded, her attention returning to John. "And, above all, you. I saw how you fought for her, risked everything to protect her. Someone willing to do that…" She trailed off, searching his expression. "Maybe she's not as far gone as I thought. Or maybe she can be brought back."
John exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as he let the tension drain from his body. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "For giving her a chance."
Snow White inclined her head. "Let's hope it wasn't misplaced."
The silence that followed was heavy, stretching long enough for John to shift uncomfortably in his bed. Pain flared in his ribs, forcing him to stifle a groan. He pressed a hand against his side, his breath coming shallow and uneven.
"You shouldn't move yet," Rapunzel said gently, stepping closer to check his bandages. The faint shimmer of her hair caught the light, an ethereal glow that seemed oddly alive. "Your body's been through enough."
John chuckled softly, though it was strained. "Seems I'm always the one flirting with death," he muttered, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. "Not exactly the kind of habit I wanted to pick up."
Neon, standing nearby, hesitated before stepping closer, concern flickering in her bright eyes. "Master…" she started, her tone uncharacteristically subdued. "Rapi also—"
"Neon." Rapi's voice cut through the room like a blade, firm and decisive. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable, and placed a hand on Neon's shoulder. Her gaze shifted momentarily to John before returning to Neon. "Not now."
Neon blinked, her lips parting to say more, but the quiet intensity in Rapi's eyes stopped her. Reluctantly, she nodded, stepping back, her usual energy subdued.
Rapi turned to John, her expression softening slightly. "You need to rest," she said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that wasn't lost on him. "There's no point in pushing yourself. I'll get some water."
John tried to read her face, his brows furrowing, but she didn't linger. Without another word, Rapi turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
The quiet returned, broken only by the shuffling of feet. John exhaled slowly, his hand dropping back to his side. "Something tells me I'm missing more than I realize," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Anis, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, glanced at him. "You are," she admitted, her usual casual demeanor absent. "But you've done enough for now. Just focus on resting."
Scarlet, standing near Snow White, tilted her head slightly, her voice calm but thoughtful. "Thou hast endured much, yet the trials thou takest upon thyself seem endless. Rest is a necessity, not a weakness."
John closed his eyes briefly, absorbing their words. "Rest," he muttered, a faint trace of weariness in his tone. His thoughts churned, weighed down by the heaviness of the moment. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his voice barely audible. "I just hope what I've done so far is enough."
The quiet returned, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. Each person in the room seemed lost in their own thoughts, the tension lingering as they waited for what came next.
The soft sound of water dripping into the cup echoed gently in the quiet room. Rapi stood at the large dispenser, her reflection faintly visible in the metallic surface as she filled her cup. Her hand trembled slightly, but she quickly steadied it, her focus fixed on the task at hand.
"You shouldn't even be on your feet," a calm yet firm voice came from behind. Rapi didn't need to look to know it was Snow White.
"I'm fine," Rapi replied, her voice even but guarded. She glanced over her shoulder as Snow White approached, the faint light catching the pristine white of her cloak.
"I doubt that." Snow White's gaze swept over Rapi, sharp yet laced with subtle concern. "When I found you, you were overheating to the brink of total system failure. You would have sustained brain damage if I hadn't intervened."
Rapi stiffened but remained silent, her grip tightening around the cup.
Snow White continued, her tone quieter but insistent. "Your core generated so much heat I had to submerge you in ice just to stabilize you. And when I carried you…" She paused, narrowing her eyes. "You were far heavier than a Nikke with a single core should be."
Rapi's hand faltered for a fraction of a second before she carefully set the cup down. "What are you implying?"
Snow White crossed her arms, her expression steady and unreadable. "I'm not implying. I'm saying you have two cores. That isn't normal, Rapi. Someone designed you that way—for a purpose."
Rapi's silence was deafening. Her gaze dropped for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usual composure before she straightened. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters," Snow White pressed, stepping closer. "And I think it connects to something else. Tell me, Rapi. Do you know Red Hood?"
Rapi's shoulders went rigid, her eyes snapping to Snow White. She hesitated, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the air. Finally, her voice came, softer and tinged with something fragile. "She was… my mentor. My friend."
Snow White's usually stoic expression shifted, her features momentarily betraying a flicker of something akin to grief. She opened her mouth to ask another question but hesitated, her gaze faltering.
The tension was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Rapunzel entered the room, her serene demeanor weighed down by a somber air. She glanced between Rapi and Snow White, her soft voice breaking the silence. "Red Hood… She was part of Goddess Squad. With me, Snow White, and Scarlet."
Snow White's head snapped up, her sharp gaze narrowing. "I remember. Even through the mind switches, I remember her. She was… unforgettable."
Rapunzel's expression softened as she stepped closer to Rapi. "She wasn't just a squadmate. She was our friend. Her presence shaped all of us in ways that never really faded."
Rapi's gaze dropped again, her hands tightening into fists. "I wouldn't be here without her," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper.
Rapunzel's faint smile carried warmth and understanding. "And she would be glad to see that her spirit endures."
Rapi blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Rapunzel stepped closer, gently placing a hand on Rapi's shoulder. Her voice was calm yet resolute. "From what little I've seen, even in the short time we've been together, I can tell she would be proud of you. You've taken the power and the lessons she gave you, not to serve yourself, but to protect those you care about. That's who she was—someone who fought for others. You're doing the same."
Rapi's brow furrowed, her confusion clear. "But I'm not her. I don't even know if I'm doing things the way she would have wanted."
Rapunzel shook her head gently. "It's not about copying her. It's about embodying the ideals she stood for. You're honoring her by living those values in your own way. And I believe she'd be happy knowing that."
Rapi stood still, the weight of their words settling over her. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her expression remained contemplative.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice steady but laced with emotion.
Rapunzel offered a kind smile, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "Let's go back. There's still a lot ahead of us."
The room was quiet, bathed in the faint glow of lanterns casting elongated shadows against the stone walls. The air was heavy with the faint scent of herbs and smoke from a small brazier near the corner, its wisps curling lazily upward. Marian lay motionless, her still form wrapped in light blankets, while faint golden strands of Rapunzel's hair glimmered faintly, spiraling like a protective cocoon around her. The effect was almost otherworldly, as though the air itself vibrated faintly in their presence.
John lingered near the doorway, his hand brushing the rough stone frame as he hesitated. The surreal sight of Marian—her chest rising and falling so faintly it was barely noticeable—held him in place for a moment. Then his gaze shifted to Rapunzel, standing quietly beside the bed, her hands gently resting over the strands of hair that seemed to pulse softly, as if alive. Her serene demeanor, framed by the ethereal glow of her golden locks, only added to the strange sanctity of the scene.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Rapunzel, can I, uh… examine you?"
Rapunzel turned abruptly, her calm expression breaking into startled surprise. Her wide eyes blinked at him, her cheeks beginning to glow faintly with color. "E-Examine me?" she stammered, clutching a strand of her hair instinctively as though shielding herself. "Commander, I… I didn't know you were so forward."
"What?" John's eyebrows shot up, thoroughly caught off guard. "No! Not like that!" His hands flew up defensively, and he took a step back. "I meant your hair. The strands you're using to keep Marian in stasis—they're not… ordinary. I'd like to take a closer look, that's all."
"Oh!" Rapunzel's blush deepened, and she quickly turned her face away, fidgeting with a loose strand of hair as if to hide her embarrassment. "I-I see. My mistake." She let out a soft, nervous laugh, brushing the hair back over her shoulder. "Of course, go ahead."
John stepped closer, cautiously navigating the tight space between the bed and the wall. His boots scuffed faintly against the worn floor as he stopped just beside her. "Thanks. This might feel a little strange," he said, his tone more careful now.
Rapunzel nodded, tilting her head slightly to offer him better access. John gently lifted one of the golden strands, his fingers brushing against its warm, silky texture. It wasn't like anything he'd felt before. Despite its delicate appearance, it carried a faint pulse, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.
"This is… different," John murmured, his brow furrowing as he focused. Activating Ruinous Gambit, cursed energy flared in his eyes, sharpening his vision. Under his enhanced perception, the strands shimmered, their fibers revealing intricate, flowing patterns that spiraled down their length. The runes, faint but deliberate, seemed etched into the very essence of the hair, glowing faintly with energy. They pulsed in unison, almost as though they were alive.
"Runes," John said aloud, his voice tinged with surprise. "Latin, maybe? No… not quite. I can't read them."
Rapunzel tilted her head curiously, her embarrassment giving way to genuine intrigue. "Runes? Truly?" She reached up to touch her own hair, but her expression remained puzzled. "I've never noticed anything like that before."
"You wouldn't," John replied, his voice distracted as he examined another strand. "You wouldn't see it unless you examined it using a microscope, or can enhance your vision. These runes… they're not normal. This isn't something I'd expect from engineering. Were you ever… a sorcerer?"
Rapunzel blinked at him, startled by the question. "A sorcerer? No. Not as far as I know." Her gaze dropped briefly to Marian's still form, then back to John. "This power… these strands… they only manifested after I became a Nikke. Whatever I am now, it's tied to that."
John let the strand fall gently, his frown deepening as he pieced together his observations. "Runes in your hair, cursed energy manipulation… This doesn't feel like standard tech. It feels like something else entirely." He crossed his arms, his tone growing more thoughtful. "Do you know much about the process that made you a Nikke?"
Rapunzel hesitated, her serene demeanor faltering slightly. "Not much. I only remember fragments from before… and even less about how I was created. My expertise is limited. What little I know, I learned from others who've… speculated."
"Speculated?" John asked, his voice low, almost as though he were speaking to himself.
"Yes," Rapunzel replied softly, her voice steady but introspective. "We've all wondered about what's been done to us. But some answers feel… unreachable."
John's fingers brushed the edge of his belt absentmindedly as he stepped back, his gaze lingering on the faint glow of her hair. "Whatever this is… whatever was done to you, it's more than engineering. There's something deeper going on here."
The cozy corner of the Pioneer lounge hummed with activity, but one conversation stood out like a beacon. Neon sat forward in her chair, brimming with her usual enthusiasm, while Rapunzel clutched a teacup so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't shattered. Anis leaned against the wall nearby, her drink in hand, watching the interaction unfold with mounting disbelief.
"So, Rapunzel," Neon began, her voice bright and eager. "What's your preference? Big and powerful or smaller and faster?"
Rapunzel froze, her face instantly turning crimson. She blinked rapidly, her grip on her teacup tightening as she stammered, "P-pardon me?"
"You know," Neon said, waving her hands animatedly. "Do you like something with a lot of heft? Or maybe you prefer something light and quick? Personally, I think it depends on the situation, but I always lean toward something that hits hard."
Rapunzel nearly dropped her teacup. "I... um... I suppose it d-depends on the moment?" she murmured, her voice quaking.
Anis raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her drink as she watched in quiet astonishment. "No way this is happening," she muttered under her breath, her tone low enough not to interrupt.
"Exactly!" Neon exclaimed, clearly oblivious to Rapunzel's increasing discomfort. "Like, when you're in the thick of it, you need something that feels right, you know? Something solid, reliable. It's all about finding what works for you."
Rapunzel's blush deepened as she adjusted her seat, her hands trembling slightly. "I... I suppose that makes sense. Experimentation is... important," she squeaked out.
Anis looked like she was witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion. She glanced at her drink, then back at the two, shaking her head in silent disbelief.
"And don't even get me started on maintenance!" Neon continued, her eyes sparkling. "If you don't take proper care of it, it's going to jam up or stop working when you need it most. That's just basic stuff!"
Rapunzel blinked rapidly, her earlier embarrassment giving way to a spark of understanding—or so she thought. "Y-you're absolutely right!" she said, her voice rising in fervor. "Maintenance is critical! Neglecting it could lead to... disastrous consequences."
Neon beamed. "Exactly! I knew you'd get it! You've gotta keep everything in top shape, whether it's for the long haul or just a quick, intense burst of action."
Rapunzel nodded vigorously now, her blush still there but her enthusiasm rising to match Neon's. "Yes, yes! You need to be prepared for anything, no matter how unexpected! That level of care shows dedication and respect!"
Anis stood silently, her jaw slightly slack as she watched the two women grow increasingly animated. "I can't believe this," she muttered, taking another sip. "They're actually feeding off each other."
Neon leaned in conspiratorially. "So, tell me—what's your favorite? Come on, you've got to have a preference."
Rapunzel hesitated for just a moment before she straightened her back and set her teacup down with a newfound determination. "I... I must admit, I admire something with true strength. Something that leaves a lasting impression every time it's used!"
Neon grinned, slapping her knee. "That's what I'm talking about! Big, powerful, and unforgettable!"
Rapunzel nodded, her hands clenched into fists of conviction. "Indeed! And it must be handled with precision, with care, to ensure its full potential is unleashed!"
Anis slowly set her drink down on a nearby table, turning toward the door with a resigned sigh. "I've seen enough. I'm out."
Neither Neon nor Rapunzel noticed as she left the room. They were too deep into their fervent discussion, their voices rising in agreement as they continued to praise their shared dedication—each for very, very different reasons.
The flicker of candlelight danced along the bottles in the small alcove John had stumbled upon. A stash of spirits, neatly arranged and unmarked, caught his eye immediately. He reached for one, uncorking it with a soft pop, and gave it an experimental sniff. His brow furrowed slightly at the distinct aroma of sake.
"Ah, thou hast discovered mine humble collection," came Scarlet's voice, smooth and playful. She leaned casually against the doorway, her crimson hair cascading over her shoulders as she watched him. "Doth it not captivate thine curiosity?"
John glanced at the bottle in his hand, then back at Scarlet, raising an eyebrow. "It's... interesting," he said diplomatically, tilting the bottle slightly to examine the liquid inside. "You made all this?"
"Indeed," Scarlet said, stepping into the room with an air of pride. "Every step, from fermenting to bottling, was executed by mine own hand. A noble craft, steeped in tradition."
John gave the sake another cautious sniff before taking a small sip. His expression remained neutral for a moment before he swallowed, his brow furrowing slightly. "It's… unique," he offered, careful with his words.
Scarlet's eyes sparkled with amusement. "A fine way to avoid insult, though I sense thy tongue holds back. Speak freely, Commander. Dost thou find it unworthy?"
John hesitated before setting the bottle down gently. "It's not bad, just... not my thing. I guess I'm used to something a bit different."
Scarlet tilted her head, intrigued. "Pray, what dost thou consider a fine drink, then?"
John shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. "Honestly? I prefer something straightforward. A good whiskey or even a strong vodka—something that doesn't try to impress, just gets the job done."
Scarlet raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Thou wouldst champion such crude spirits over the elegance of mine sake? Truly, thy tastes are most peculiar."
"It's not about being crude," John replied with a faint smile. "It's about simplicity. Something that doesn't overcomplicate what it is—a drink that's honest."
Scarlet regarded him for a moment, her expression softening as a small chuckle escaped her lips. "Honesty, thou dost say. Perhaps thou art not entirely misguided. Yet, I stand by mine craft. There is beauty in tradition, even if it is not to thy liking."
John nodded, his tone turning thoughtful. "I get that. And honestly, the fact that you're doing this at all—brewing in the middle of all this chaos? That's impressive."
Scarlet's eyes glimmered with a mix of pride and warmth. "It is a respite amidst the storm, a means to preserve something of the world that was. A quiet rebellion against despair."
John gave her a small, sincere smile. "I can respect that."
Scarlet inclined her head slightly, a playful spark returning to her eyes. "Respect is welcome, yet I shall not be satisfied until thou dost sing praises of mine sake. Mark my words, John—I shall craft a brew so fine that even thy steadfast tastes shall falter."
John chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll look forward to it, Scarlet. But I make no promises."
Scarlet's laughter was light and genuine, filling the room with a rare moment of levity. "We shall see, Commander. We shall see."
The soft murmur of voices faded into silence as the sun began to set, leaving the room steeped in a heavy stillness. The faint scent of smoke and antiseptic clung to the air, a constant reminder of the chaos that had brought them here. John remained near the edge of the room, leaning heavily against a table, his body a tapestry of exhaustion and pain. Every movement, no matter how small, was a reminder of his battered condition, yet he refused to succumb to the weight pressing down on him.
Across the room, Marian lay still on the bed, her fragile form wrapped in light blankets. Rapunzel's golden strands spiraled around her, shimmering faintly like an otherworldly cocoon. The gentle pulse of the strands was mesmerizing, as though they carried a life force of their own, and the soft glow bathed Marian in a light that seemed almost sacred. For a moment, John simply stared, the quiet rhythm of her shallow breathing the only sign that she was still with them.
The quiet sound of deliberate footsteps drew his attention. Snow White approached, her presence commanding despite the understated elegance of her movements. Her white cloak caught the faint light, casting sharp angles and shadows across the room as she came to a stop a few paces from him.
"John," she said, her voice steady and low, each syllable precise, almost surgical. It was the kind of voice that immediately cut through the fog of exhaustion clouding his thoughts. Her sharp gaze darted briefly to the others, ensuring their distance before her attention settled entirely on him. "I need a word. Privately."
He straightened, suppressing a grimace as the motion sent a ripple of pain through his ribs. He gave a brief nod and followed her toward a quieter corner of the room, his boots barely making a sound against the worn floor. Snow White turned to face him, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. The sharpness of her gaze left little room for ambiguity; she was weighing him, judging every detail.
She didn't waste time. "I need to ask you something," she began, her tone direct but measured. "Are you absolutely certain about Marian? That she's not a heretic?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. John met her eyes without flinching, though the weight of her words coiled tightly in his chest. He let out a slow breath, steadying himself before responding. "I'm sure," he said firmly, his voice carrying the quiet steel of conviction. "And even if she is... I'll bring her back."
Snow White's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in her eyes—a faint glimmer of something unreadable, perhaps respect or perhaps the shadow of doubt. She studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them. Finally, she reached into her cloak and withdrew a sleek pistol. Its design was elegant yet practical, the faint gleam of its surface catching the dim light. She held it out to him, her hand steady, her movements deliberate.
"This," she said, her voice quieter now but no less commanding, "is loaded with Vapus. A single round. It's designed to fight heretics. But there's only one shot."
John stared at the weapon, the weight of her words sinking in even before he reached for it. When his fingers closed around the pistol, it felt heavier than it should, a physical representation of a choice he didn't want to consider. He turned it over in his hands, the craftsmanship precise and efficient, but the purpose behind it cold and absolute.
"I'm not the best with gunpowder weapons," he said after a moment, his voice low but resolute. He extended the pistol back toward her.
Snow White's hand moved to intercept his, gently but firmly pushing the weapon back toward him. Her sharp gaze softened just slightly, her tone carrying a quiet intensity. "Keep it," she said. "Especially if you're going to wake her. You need to be prepared for anything."
John hesitated, his grip tightening around the pistol as her words lingered in the air. His thoughts churned, flashes of Marian's descent and death playing on an endless loop in his mind. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded, slipping the weapon into his holster.
"If it comes to that," he said, his voice quieter but carrying a distinct edge, "I'll stop her.
Snow White's gaze lingered, her sharp features softening ever so slightly, as if the unyielding steel of her demeanor allowed for a moment of humanity. Approval flickered in her eyes—a brief but unmistakable acknowledgment of his resolve. "Good," she said simply, her voice carrying a warmth so faint it was almost imperceptible. "I hope you're right."
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her movements deliberate and composed, her white cloak sweeping softly behind her like a whisper of winter wind. Her departure left a hollow stillness in the room, one that wrapped around John like a shroud.
John swallowed, his hand running through his disheveled hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. His eyes flicked toward Rapunzel, who stood quietly near the doorway, her posture calm but her expression weighed down by unspoken emotions. Her hands rested lightly against the edges of her white robe, fingers fidgeting with the fabric.
"Rapunzel," he called softly, his voice steady but tinged with weariness. "When the time comes… when I'm sure… will you remove the barrier?"
She turned to him fully, her golden strands catching the faint light as her gaze met his. Her usual serenity was intact, but there was a shadow of hesitation in her eyes—a weight she carried silently. "If you're certain, I will," she replied, her voice almost a whisper, as if the stillness of the room demanded reverence. "But you must be ready, John. Whatever happens."
John nodded, his jaw tightening. "I'll be ready," he said, his tone firm, though the faint tremor in his hand betrayed the inner storm he fought to suppress.
His steps grew slower as he reached the chair beside Marian's bed, lowering himself into it with a sharp exhale. His body sagged into the seat, exhaustion washing over him in waves. Despite his weariness, his movements remained careful as he reached out, his hand finding hers. Her skin was cool beneath his fingers, her delicate frame almost unnaturally still.
The pistol at his side felt impossibly heavy, its weight a stark reminder of the choice he might have to make. The sleek metal dug into his side, a cold, unyielding presence that matched the storm brewing in his heart. He glanced at it briefly, the threat of the Vapus round within like a cruel taunt, before turning his attention back to Marian.