The night was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of burnt ozone and smoldering debris. The clash between Night Raid and the strange mercenaries had subsided, but the effects of their battle still lingered—shattered stone, torn banners, and the eerie silence of an abandoned battlefield. Faint embers glowed in the ruins, casting fleeting shadows that danced against the cracked walls.
Mine stood at the edge of the wreckage, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Pumpkin as her sharp eyes swept across the ruined landscape. It had been some time since the enemy's retreat, but something still gnawed at her instincts, a prickling sensation at the back of her mind that refused to fade. A lingering unease, as though unseen eyes were locked onto her from afar.
And then she saw it.
A lone figure stood atop a distant rooftop, bathed in the pale glow of the moon. The posture was familiar—calm, composed, yet completely out of place. The figure wasn't watching the battlefield, nor surveying for threats. No, they were watching her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Mine blinked, shaking her head. No. It's just your mind playing tricks on you. That's impossible.
But when she looked again, the figure was still there, unmoving, unwavering. The longer she stared, the more the pieces began to fit together. That stance. That silhouette. That quiet patience.
Her heartbeat quickened. It was impossible. She's gone. I saw it happen. I saw them take her away.
A gust of wind carried the scent of distant embers, ruffling her hair as she took an unconscious step forward. The figure moved. Not away, not toward her, but effortlessly slipping into the shadows, vanishing from sight as if it had never been there at all.
Mine didn't think. She acted.
She darted forward, weaving through the alleyways of the compromised hideout, her boots barely making a sound against the cracked stone. Her breath came in steady, measured exhales, but her thoughts were anything but calm. Who are you? What do you want? A part of her already knew the answer. A part of her feared it.
Every corner she rounded, every rooftop she glanced at, the figure remained just ahead, never too far, never too close. Always just out of reach. It wasn't running from her. It was leading her.
The chase continued, winding through the labyrinthine ruins of their former hideout. The moonlight flickered between the rooftops, stretching elongated shadows that concealed the figure's movements. Mine clenched her teeth, frustration and anxiety intertwining. She wanted to call out, to demand an answer, but her throat tightened at the possibility that she might be right.
Then, abruptly, the figure stopped.
At the edge of an abandoned courtyard, standing in the dim light cast by the moon, the shadowed form waited. Mine slowed her approach, her grip tightening on Pumpkin. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she hesitated at the threshold.
A cloud drifted past the moon, darkening the world for a brief moment before the light returned. And when it did, the figure finally turned.
Mine's breath hitched. Her eyes widened.
There was no mistake. The pale glow illuminated familiar features, ones she had sworn she would never see again.
Sheele.
The woman who had vanished that fateful night. The friend who had been stolen from her. The ghost who now stood before her, watching in silence.
Mine finally stepped out and called her name.
"Sheele?!"
Sheele stopped but didn't turn around immediately. Her posture remained still, composed, as though she had anticipated this moment. A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with emotions Mine couldn't begin to name.
When Sheele finally turned, her expression was unreadable—calm, calculating. There was none of the warmth Mine remembered, none of the gentle clumsiness that once defined her.
Mine hesitated before stepping forward, her fingers twitching slightly against Pumpkin's grip. Her heart pounded in her chest, a painful mix of hope and uncertainty.
"It's really you… isn't it?" Her voice was softer now, almost afraid of the answer.
Sheele simply nodded. No words. No explanations. Just a simple, silent confirmation that shattered everything Mine thought she knew.
Mine felt her stomach tighten, her emotions warring between disbelief and relief. Her mind screamed that this wasn't real, that it had to be some kind of trick—but her heart refused to listen. This was Sheele, standing before her, alive. Yet… something was different.
Gathering her courage, she took another step forward. "What happened to you?" she asked, voice trembling despite her best efforts.
Sheele didn't respond immediately. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if assessing Mine. Her eyes, once soft and kind, were now sharp, filled with something Mine couldn't quite name. Not malice, not hatred—something colder. Something detached.
Finally, Sheele spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "You should go back, Mine."
Mine stiffened. That wasn't the response she expected. "Go back? I—Sheele, I thought you were—! We all thought you were—!" Her voice cracked, frustration breaking through her initial shock. "Where have you been?! What did they do to you?!"
Sheele's fingers twitched at her sides, a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent a chill down Mine's spine. There was something calculated about her now, something deliberate. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke. It wasn't the same Sheele who had always been a little clumsy, a little absentminded, but fiercely loyal.
It wasn't the same Sheele at all.
Mine's grip on Pumpkin tightened. "You're not just going to walk away," she said, planting her feet. "Not after all this. Not without telling me the truth."
Sheele exhaled softly, the faintest shadow of something—regret?—flickering across her features. Then, with a swiftness that caught Mine completely off guard, she moved.
In an instant, Sheele was behind her.
Mine barely had time to react before she felt the cold press of metal against her temple. Her breath hitched, her body freezing in place.
The Ambassador.
Sheele's voice was barely above a whisper. "You're not ready for the truth."
A long, heavy silence filled the wooded clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves as a faint breeze whispered through the trees. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting fragmented shadows on the forest floor. Mine could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears. The scent of damp earth and lingering embers from the earlier battle mixed in the cool night air, grounding her in the reality of the moment. She had trained for battle, had fought against impossible odds before—but this was different. This wasn't an enemy. This was Sheele.
Or at least, it was supposed to be.
Sheele pulled back at the last second, striking Mine with the butt of her gun instead. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through Mine's skull, her vision flashing white for a split second before darkening at the edges. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as her legs gave out beneath her, her balance completely unraveling. She stumbled backward, arms flailing uselessly, before her body hit the cold, unforgiving stone with a dull thud.
Her ears rang, an unbearable high-pitched hum drowning out every other sound. The world around her spun wildly, the dim moonlight overhead twisting into warped, disorienting streaks. Her breaths came in short, panicked bursts, her fingers twitching against the ground as she fought to push herself up. But her body refused to cooperate. The weight pressing against her chest was unbearable, her limbs heavy and sluggish.
Through the blur, a dark figure loomed over her. Sheele stood motionless, her expression unreadable, the silver glint of the Ambassador still tight in her grasp. No words were spoken, no hint of hesitation in her demeanor. She simply watched, as if studying her, waiting for something Mine couldn't comprehend.
Mine struggled, gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain in her skull, willing herself to move—to fight back—to do something. But as the oppressive darkness crept further into her vision, swallowing her whole, all she could hear was the whisper of the night breeze and the faintest, almost regretful murmur from above her.
"I'm sorry, Mine."
A final glimpse of Sheele's expression—calm, unreadable—was the last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her whole.
Mine wakes up later, her head throbbing and her limbs aching from the fall. The cold night air prickled against her skin, and the scent of damp earth filled her senses as she groggily pushed herself upright. Her heart pounded in her chest, remnants of the confrontation still vivid in her mind. She pressed a hand to her temple, wincing at the lingering pain. "Sheele… she wasn't trying to kill me. But why?" she whispered, the weight of confusion and unease settling heavily on her shoulders. The memory of Sheele's precision, her eerie calmness, and the way she had simply disappeared without a trace gnawed at her, leaving more questions than answers.