From the Ashes

"The cracks are where the light gets in."

- Leonard Cohen

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Seele's eyes dart across the ravaged landscape of Boulder Town, her hand gripping the communication device tightly. The once-familiar pathways now lie in ruins, but amidst the devastation, a flicker of hope burns bright. Wildfire troops scurry about, their movements purposeful as they erect medical tents throughout the town and its outskirts. The air thrums with a newfound determination. Just hours ago, chaos had ruled this place - now purpose fills every movement, every breath.

"Looks like we're finally getting somewhere," she mutters, her gaze tracking the movements of Automaton Hounds and Beetles traversing the town. These mechanical allies, once their enemies, now work tirelessly alongside the survivors. Seele's lips quirk into a half-smile as she recalls Xander's parting gift - Svarog's Data Chip, the key to commanding these automatons.

"Trust him to leave us an army when he steps out."

In the distance, she spots a handful of Direwolfs and Grizzlys, their imposing forms dwarfing the Wildfire personnel they assist. Together, they dig through the rubble, unearthing trapped civilians with surprising gentleness. Scouts dart between the ruins, their cans of spray paint leaving bright marks where survivors await rescue.

"Easy there, easy," a gruff voice calls out as Burian Aronov guides a group of survivors toward the nearest medical tent. He pauses near Seele's position, wiping sweat from his brow. "These automatons of yours work faster than my sous chef. Though their bedside manner could use some work." His weathered hands glow with a soft verdant light as he tends to a child's scraped knee. "Just like cooking - sometimes you have to improvise with what you've got."

"Keep that healing energy flowing, old man," Seele quips, a hint of approval in her sharp tone. "And maybe save some of that famous soup of yours for later - we're going to need it."

She turns her attention back to coordinating efforts, raising the communicator to her lips. "Sampo, you there? What's the situation up top?"

"Ah, if it isn't my favorite Babochka," the man's voice crackles through the device, his tone light despite the circumstances. "Things are... interesting up here, to say the least."

Before Seele can press for details, she notices Bronya running towards her, having just finished conferring with Oleg, Luka, and other Wildfire agents. Bronya's eyes are wide with anticipation as she silently mouths, "Is that Sampo? What about Pela?"

Seele nods, then directs her attention back to the communicator. "Sampo, did Pela see the video? Does she believe it?"

There's a brief pause before Sampo responds, "She did, and let's just say it was... convincing. Our dear Pelageya Sergeyevna is currently directing Silvermane Guards, positioning them as per our common friend's instructions. It seems your little home movie worked its magic."

Bronya's shoulders sag with relief, and Seele finds herself mirroring the sentiment. She quickly updates Sampo on their progress below, her words punctuated by a thunderous crash that makes both girls flinch. They look up to see Dan Heng's azure water dragon demolishing a massive chunk of debris plummeting from the distant ceiling above Boulder Town. Cheers and applause erupt from the crowd as the dragon roars triumphantly before resuming its vigilant patrol.

"Tch," Seele clicks her tongue, "That damn Stellaron must be trying to bury us alive. The debris falls are getting worse."

Sampo chuckles, his voice tinny through the communicator. "Maybe our one-armed wonder decided to leave us to fend for ourselves after all—" He cuts off abruptly, his attention seemingly caught by something on his end.

Suddenly, a sound pierces reality itself - as if some cosmic architect had struck the very foundations of existence with a hammer forged from starlight. Seele's eyes widen in shock, but Bronya's expression shifts to recognition - Qlipoth's hammer, heralding the beginning of the 2158th Amber Era. The otherworldly resonance stops everyone in their tracks, a mix of confusion and hope spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

"Seele," Sampo's voice returns, uncharacteristically serious, "Check your messages. Now. Managed to compress the video as much as I could."

Frowning, Seele pulls out her phone, curiosity piqued. As she opens the message, her eyes widen, and she quickly turns the screen towards Bronya. "Look at this!"

On the screen, a short video plays - a golden shooting star streaks across the dawn sky, its trajectory aimed directly at Belobog. Bronya's eyes fill with tears, a grin splitting her face, while Seele can't help but smirk.

"Looks like you should get ready down there," Sampo's voice crackles through the communicator. "Reinforcements are here at last. Everything's about to accelerate."

Seele lets out a laugh.

"Reinforcements, huh? Bastard sure knows how to make an entrance."

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Kilometers away from the city of Belobog, the air crackles with tension as Fragmentum monsters roam the desolate landscape. Flamespawns and Frostspawns dart through the sky, their elemental energies leaving trails of fire and ice in their wake. On the ground, Blaze Out of Space and Ice Out of Space creatures clash in a chaotic dance of destruction, their crystalline forms shattering and reforming in an endless cycle of combat.

Suddenly, as if struck by an unseen force, the battling monsters freeze. Their attention collectively shifts skyward, drawn to a rapidly approaching golden meteor. Some of the smaller creatures scatter, instinct driving them to seek shelter. But the larger, more formidable Blaze and Ice entities stand their ground, unleashing torrents of flame and frost at the incoming object.

Their attacks prove futile. The golden streak plummets through their barrage, unimpeded and unyielding. It strikes the mountainside with earth-shattering force, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground. The impact kicks up a massive cloud of snow and debris, momentarily obscuring the crash site from view.

As the dust begins to settle, an unexpected sound pierces the eerie silence – a string of colorful profanities erupting from ground zero.

"Fucking hell!" a voice bellows from within the crater. "That goddamn parachute was about as useful as a chocolate teapot! Hey, you glorified cancer cell, how about speeding up the healing process before I end up as a Xander-flavored pancake?"

The golden glow emanating from the impact site pulses rhythmically, as if in response to the crude request. A moment later, the voice pipes up again, this time with a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"Yeah, that's the one – no, not like that, you cosmic idiot! MOTHER OF – argh!" The curse devolves into a pained groan. "I swear, if I didn't need you to keep me alive, I'd be tempted to carve you out with a rusty spoon."

Curiosity piqued by the strange commotion, a few brave Flamespawns and Frostspawns cautiously approach the crater. They hover at its edge, witnessing an peculiar sight: a man of platinum and gray hair, covered in soot and snow, dusting himself off with an air of annoyed nonchalance.

Xander, for that is indeed who has made this dramatic entrance, takes a moment to inspect his prosthetic arm. "Well, at least I didn't land on you," he mutters to the mechanical limb. "Small mercies, I suppose."

Noticing his avian audience, Xander looks up with a lopsided grin. "Hey there, pretty birdies. Any chance you could point me in the direction of Belobog? I seem to have missed my stop."

In a bizarrely comical twist, the elemental creatures turn as one, their bodies orienting towards a distant, barely visible cityscape on the horizon.

"Well, aren't you helpful!" Xander exclaims, his tone caught between amusement and disbelief. He takes a limping step forward, wincing as he puts weight on his injured leg. "Ow, ow, ow – note to self: femurs and orbital drops don't mix well."

As if suddenly remembering their nature as Fragmentum monsters, one of the Flamespawns darts towards Xander with alarming speed. Without missing a beat, his hand shoots out, catching the creature by what passes for its neck. He holds it at arm's length, regarding it with mild annoyance.

"Listen here, you overgrown spark plug," he addresses the squirming Flamespawn. "I just broke my femur falling from space like some discount Superman. My mom would tan my hide if she knew about this stunt. So how about we call a temporary truce, yeah?"

The other monsters hover nearby, their crystalline forms betraying what could almost be interpreted as bewilderment. They watch, transfixed, as Xander continues his limping journey, captive Flamespawn still in hand.

"Hey, cosmic roommate," Xander calls out to his internal Stellaron. "How's that healing coming along? Because let me tell you, superhero landings are not all they're cracked up to be in the movies."

His chest pulses with golden light, the glow seeming almost indignant. Xander rolls his eyes in response. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your metaphysical panties in a twist. Just fix me up before I end up as Fragmentum chow, alright?"

Xander's witty retort is cut short as a distant flash of golden light catches his attention. His expression sobers instantly, humor replaced by a grim determination as he gazes towards the faraway glow.

"I see you, Cocolia," he mutters under his breath. "You and that parasite. But you'll have to wait your turn – I've got a city full of people who need saving first."

With a casual flick of his wrist, Xander releases the Flamespawn. The creature rockets away, clearly eager to put distance between itself and this strange, indestructible human.

As the monster flees, Xander's eyes begin to glow with an otherworldly light. Flames and embers dance across his skin and clothes, leaving him miraculously unburnt. He addresses his Stellaron once more, his tone now deadly serious.

"Alright, partner. Let's reinforce those broken bits while you finish patching me up. No objections? Good."

The Stellaron pulses in affirmation, its golden light intensifying. With a satisfied nod, he vanishes in a blur of motion. The only evidence of his presence: a trail of scorched footprints melted into the snow, leading towards the distant city walls.

Ahead, beneath the towering dome, citizens fight for survival, unaware of the approaching storm. The golden trail blazes through the wasteland like a comet's tail, while those who glimpsed that falling star clutch their memories of the descent, holding it close like a flame against the darkness.

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The pungent smell of smoke and dust fills his nostrils. Around him, devastation has claimed every corner of Belobog. Aleksandr Yahontov grits his teeth as he heaves another chunk of concrete aside, his muscles screaming in protest. He pauses, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy hand to survey the scene.

"Yahontov! We need a hand over here!" a fellow Silvermane Guard calls out. He nods, jogging over to help lift a fallen beam. As they work, his mind drifts to earlier days.

"Never thought I'd be doing this when I joined the Guards," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

The older guard beside him, Viktor, chuckles darkly. "None of us did, kid. But here we are, picking up the pieces."

"Remember when our biggest worry was keeping the peace during festivals?"

A grunt answers as they shift the beam. "Aye, and you were greener than spring grass. Kept tripping over your own feet during drills."

A small smile tugs at Aleksandr's lips despite the grim situation. "Captain Gepard was patient, though. Gave me a chance when others might not have."

Their work is interrupted by a commotion near one of the makeshift medical tents. Through the haze, he spots a familiar figure hunched over a malfunctioning automaton, frustration evident on his face.

"Come on, you blasted thing!" Andrei growls, smacking the side of the robot. "Work!"

Aleksandr approaches, curious. "Having trouble?"

His friend looks up, face streaked with grease and sweat. "This damned Hound unit won't respond. We need it operational to help with triage, but it's being stubborn."

A nearby Silvermane Guard scoffs. "Fat lot of good these machines are doing us now. We should focus on what works – our own two hands."

"These 'machines' have saved countless lives!" Anger flashes in Andrei's eyes. "If I can just—"

A shout from the perimeter cuts through the air. "Movement at the gates!"

Aleksandr's hand flies to his rifle, muscles tensing. Through the haze, a figure approaches. His blood runs cold as the shape materializes – not a person, but an Ice Out of Space.

"Take cover!" The words barely leave his mouth before the creature unleashes a barrage of icy projectiles.

He dives behind a pile of rubble, heart pounding. Peering out, he lines up a shot and fires. The bullet strikes true between the creature's eyes, yet it barely flinches.

"Damn it," he mutters, adjusting his aim for another shot.

A searing pain rips through his shoulder as an ice shard finds its mark. His cry mingles with the clatter of his fallen rifle. Through the haze of pain, Andrei's triumphant shout rings out.

"Got it! Medik, go!"

The automaton whirs to life, darting between debris and fallen soldiers with unexpected agility. It approaches within meters of Aleksandr's position, its core emanating a soft blue glow as it begins healing him from afar.

The reprieve proves short-lived. The air grows frigid, ice crystals forming on every surface as the Ice Out of Space activates its Freeze Point ability.

Aleksandr struggles to his feet, grasping his rifle with numbing fingers. He takes aim once more, knowing this shot might be their last chance. A blur of motion catches his eye.

In an instant, the Ice Out of Space is cleaved in two, its ethereal form dissipating like mist. The bone-chilling cold vanishes, replaced by a wave of comforting warmth.

A figure materializes beside Andrei, causing him to yelp in surprise. The newcomer's hair shimmers platinum and gray, his eyes holding an otherworldly golden gleam. A peculiar metallic limb protrudes from beneath his draped cloak.

"Fascinating." The stranger examines the Medik unit with keen interest. "The maneuverability on this unit is impressive. Your own creation?"

Andrei fumbles for his sidearm. "Who—who are you?"

The stranger's gaze shifts to Aleksandr, ignoring the question. "Your automaton needs adjustments if it's to heal at longer distances. Do you have healing powers yourself?"

Aleksandr raises his rifle despite his injured shoulder. The other Silvermane Guards follow suit, weapons trained on the mysterious figure.

The stranger sighs, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not a threat. Also, your comrade needs medical attention. Do you have healing abilities or not?"

Something in the man's tone, a quiet authority, draws a hesitant nod from Andrei. "Y-yes, I do."

"Good. Walk with me. We'll heal your friend here properly."

The Guards shout warnings as the stranger approaches, yet his calm demeanor never wavers. Aleksandr's grip remains firm on his weapon, the barrel pointed squarely at the newcomer's head.

"You've got me in your line of sight," the stranger states matter-of-factly. "You can pull the trigger whenever you'd like."

Aleksandr's finger hovers over the trigger, his training warring with curiosity. The throbbing pain in his shoulder intensifies, warm blood seeping through his uniform. The white-haired man steps closer until the rifle's barrel nearly touches his forehead.

In a swift motion, the stranger's left hand settles on the injured shoulder. The contact sends an odd, tingling sensation through Aleksandr's body. A strange mechanical glove adorns the man's hand, whirring softly like some alien device from childhood science fiction.

"Andrei," the stranger calls out, eyes fixed on Aleksandr. "I need you to begin healing his shoulder on my mark. Three... two... one..."

Warm hands hover near the injury as Andrei's familiar healing energy begins to flow. The device on the stranger's hand activates, filling with crimson liquid – his own blood, Aleksandr realizes with a start.

A cascade of sensations follows. Golden light mingles with soft green, seeping into the wound. Aleksandr bites his cheek, stifling a gasp as muscle and tissue knit together at an alarming rate. The experience defies description – simultaneously comforting and disconcerting.

The glow fades after mere seconds. An experimental rotation of his shoulder reveals no trace of pain, as if the injury never existed.

Murmurs of astonishment ripple through the gathered Guards. Andrei's face reflects equal parts shock and fascination.

"What... what did you do?"

A small smile plays across the stranger's lips. "My blood has some rather unique regenerative properties. But I need a Pathstrider of Abundance to support the healing process. Otherwise, well... I'd just be giving people cancer."

Color drains from Aleksandr's face. His mind races with implications, fears of lethal exposure, thoughts of his girlfriend's family—

The stranger's chuckle interrupts his spiral, accompanied by a pat on his newly-healed shoulder. "No need to fret. It's fortunate your friend was present. Though I did have a med-pack at hand as a last resort."

Something familiar nags at Aleksandr's memory as he studies those strange eyes. The operation at the Starlight Café surfaces in his mind – the band member they were ordered to capture alive.

"Xander?" The name escapes as barely a whisper.

A wry smile confirms his suspicion. "So you remember. I imagine I seem rather changed. The silver hair and everything else. My sincere regrets if any of my bullets found you or your men that day. I made every effort to aim away from critical spots."

Aleksandr's grip tightens on his rifle. "You escaped. We lost track of you. Where's Commander Bronya? Is she alive?"

Xander's expression grows grave. "She's safe. She's with allies in the Underworld. I know that might be hard to believe, for obvious reasons. But right now, old divisions need to be set aside if we're to have any hope of survival. Who's your current superior?"

"Officer Pelageya Sergeyevna," Andrei answers, still bewildered. "Captain Gepard is missing, and there's no sign of the Supreme Guardian."

A frown crosses Xander's face at the mention of Gepard. "You'll take me to her after this. I surrender myself to your custody, but we must hurry."

"You... you'll surrender yourself?" Aleksandr's voice steadies despite his uncertainty. "Why? What's really going on here?"

"The situation is far more complex than you realize. Belobog faces grave danger beyond the physical damage you see. I have information – and abilities – that could be crucial in saving this city and its people."

Training demands skepticism, yet something in Xander's eyes – a depth of emotion, a weight of responsibility – gives pause. It mirrors the look Aleksandr sometimes glimpses in Captain Gepard's eyes before difficult decisions.

The Guards exchange uncertain glances. Before anyone can respond, Xander's eyes begin to glow with unearthly golden light. Flames wreathe his body, driving the Guards back in alarm. His left hand slams into the ground, unleashing sparks of black and white that melt away snow and ice.

A panicked shot rings out. The bullet ricochets off an invisible barrier around Xander, sending sparks and flames flying at the point of impact.

Ignoring the commotion, he crouches down and pulls an unconscious person from the newly exposed ground. "There are five more buried here," he states calmly. "We're getting them out first. Andrei, start healing this one."

As Andrei moves to comply, his hands glowing with healing energy, Aleksandr stands frozen. Duty wars with the undeniable truth before him – this potential enemy saves lives even as rifles remain trained on his position.

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Lexie Orlov shivered, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. The main furnace's failure had stripped away Belobog's artificial warmth, leaving its people to face Jarilo-VI's true cold. She huddled closer to her fellow Silvermane Guards, Nikolay and Yury, seeking warmth as they waited outside the survivor's post.

The grand circular plaza now served as a makeshift triage center. Emergency supplies and huddled groups of survivors obscured its Art Deco flourishes and sweeping geometric patterns. Toppled chrome and brass lamp posts lay scattered, their decorative metalwork shattered on impact. Broken glass from surrounding buildings glittered like frost across the ground.

The buildings rose around them, bearing deep scars from the disaster. Massive windows of reinforced glass, once stretching upward in elegant vertical lines, gaped open to the elements, frames twisted and bent. A nearby facade had partially collapsed, its ornate copper and steel patterns falling away to reveal the building's steel skeleton. Several levels of elevated walkways hung precariously, their graceful arcs cracked and unstable. The intact ones sheltered the displaced beneath.

Pain and fear filled the air. The injured received treatment while worried conversations mingled with the occasional groan of settling debris. Emergency blankets created a sea of silver against cracked tilework as portable heating units fought the encroaching cold. Through gaps in the surrounding structures, the massive cylindrical towers of Belobog's core stood visible. One listed to the side, compromised, while debris continued to fall from their upper levels into the swirling snow above.

Her hands itched to help, to heal, but Officer Pelageya's orders kept her rooted near one of the plaza's remaining support columns. Impact marks scarred its geometric relief patterns, its weather-worn brass inlays stripped away by flying debris. The traditional rail track system lay buckled and twisted along the plaza's perimeter, its sleek station's partially caved roof sheltering the wounded beneath.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, flexing her fingers to keep them from going numb. "We should be out there, helping. Not standing around like statues."

Yury nodded, his young face creased with concern. "I don't understand why we're just waiting here. It's been what, 45 minutes since Officer Pela told us to stay put?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Nikolay shrugged his broad shoulders. "I may have more years under my belt, but that doesn't mean I've got any insider information."

Her frown deepened as she scanned the area, noting a conspicuous absence. "It's strange that Captain Gepard has just... vanished. Has anyone seen him since the quake?"

A nearby guard, his face haggard from hours of rescue work, spoke up. "I heard from a friend of a friend that he was seen entering Belobog, totally ignoring requests for orders. Just walked right past everyone like nothing was wrong."

"That's bullshit," another guard spat, but the first one persisted.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Turns out he's just like his sister after all."

The words ignited something in Lexie. She lunged forward, ready to defend Serval's honor. A strong hand held her back, but the guard continued, unfazed.

"Look at you, so hypocritical," he sneered. "Defending a woman who smeared the name of the Architects and Cocolia, long after you cut ties with her yourself."

The accusation landed like a physical blow. She had abandoned Serval when the rumors became too much, choosing safety over loyalty. The truth of it burned.

Officer Pelageya's sharp voice cut through the air before she could respond. "Is this what you've resorted to in my absence? Petty squabbles and gossip?"

The guards snapped to attention. Pelageya fixed her gaze on the guard who had spoken about Gepard. "This situation is far more complex than any of us can comprehend. Now is not the time for baseless speculation or disrespect."

The chastised guard mumbled an apology. "What are our orders, ma'am?" Yury asked, stepping forward.

Pelageya's attention shifted to someone behind her. Lexie's eyes widened as she recognized Sampo. The notorious con artist's presence sent whispers through the assembled guards.

"Is he coming?" Pelageya asked. Sampo nodded in confirmation.

"I scouted ahead. He's on his way."

Moments later, a group of Silvermane Guards appeared, led by Aleksandr and Andrei. They escorted a man whose presence commanded attention. Sun-kissed skin, piercing golden eyes, and a shock of gray and platinum hair drew every gaze. But the mysterious prosthetic arm caught Lexie's focus - unlike anything she had ever seen.

The newcomer surveyed the area, eyes glowing with otherworldly light. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Something about him seemed familiar, yet utterly changed.

His voice confirmed her suspicions as he addressed the Officer. "Miss Pela, it's been a while."

"Could it really be you... Xander?" Pelageya's voice wavered, composure cracking. "You're... you're so different now."

Lexie's mind reeled. This was Xander? The same man she had last seen fleeing the Starlight Café with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard, whole and unscathed?

What had happened to transform him so completely?

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Pelageya Sergeyevna stood rigidly, her breath misting in the frigid air as she watched the approaching figure. The musician she had played with not long ago emerged transformed—silver hair caught the dim light, a gleaming prosthetic replacing his right arm. Each step closer stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her: relief at the prospect of help, wariness from recent betrayals, and persistent curiosity about this enigmatic man who might hold their salvation.

Xander's pleasant smile caught her off guard. "I owe you an apology, Pelageya," he said, voice heavy with regret. "Had I been more trusting, less blinded by my own demons, perhaps this whole situation could have been avoided. We might have been playing smooth jazz as originally planned, rather than... well, everything that transpired."

Her mind flashed back to their confrontation, the ensuing chaos. She swallowed hard, pushing the memory aside. "I've seen Sampo's video of Commander Bronya in the underworld. I know the Commander. If she had truly been captured, she would have found a way to signal for help, perhaps using morse code. But her words... they proved the recording genuine."

A ripple of surprise passed through the group at the mention of Bronya being alive. Andrei and Aleksandr exchanged relieved glances—an interaction she filed away for later consideration.

"Is it really all true, then?" Her gaze pierced his.

"All my revelations regarding how the Stellaron tainted each generation of Supreme Guardians in the Rand dynasty are accurate. The Commander's own words in the recording, provided you watched it through to the end, would validate these claims."

The world shifted beneath her feet. She prided herself on composure, but this truth threatened to overwhelm her. Everything she had fought for, believed in... had it all been built on lies? Her neutral expression wavered, and something in his eyes suggested he saw through it entirely.

He reached out, taking both her hands in his. The unexpected gesture brought strange comfort. "I'm truly sorry," he said, voice low and sincere. "But I need your strength now more than ever, if we're to help all of Belobog."

She took a deep breath, centering herself. "You've truly come with help, then?"

"Your soldiers here have briefed me about what they consider most critical for streamlining aid and recovery efforts throughout the surface - restoring power to Belobog's central heating system. Would you agree with their assessment?"

"I would. Restoring warmth to the city would significantly aid the first-aid rescue procedures and medical teams in their work."

His brow furrowed in thought. "I'll need a team of enforcers with specialties in healing when I eventually move to the underground."

"I'll offer my best recommendations," she promised, noting how quickly suspicion had yielded to cooperation. But if he truly could help their city...

"Did you follow the logistical procedures Bronya laid out in her video?"

She nodded sharply. "Yes. Everyone's ready."

He gestured for Sampo to follow toward the plaza's center. His gaze fell on Lexie, shivering at the group's edge, hands trembling against the cold.

Pelageya watched him approach the young scientist. The bone-deep cold had settled into every gathered soul, evidenced by subtle tremors running through the crowd.

"May I borrow your hands for a moment?" His voice carried gentle authority.

Lexie hesitated before extending her hands. He took them in his own, flesh and gleaming prosthetic stark in the dim light.

"What's your name?"

"Lexie Orlov, sir. Medical Division, 27th company." Her eyes traced the intricate design of his artificial limb with unmistakable fascination.

A small smile played at his mouth. "We'll be working together soon, Lexie. And I promise you, no one here will be left feeling the bite of this cold for much longer."

Small flames began licking at his skin and clothes, yet he showed no discomfort. His voice took on a resonant quality as he addressed the air itself.

"Qlipoth, your people suffer in this chill. Grant me the power to lend them warmth."

A wave of heat emanated outward like an invisible blanket, seeping into bones and chasing away the persistent cold. Around them, shoulders eased and shivers subsided.

"This should suffice for now," he said, moving to join Sampo in the plaza's center.

The plaza stretched before them, ringed by Silvermane Guards whose lines formed a protective barrier into nearby streets. At regular intervals, these lines led to shelters where civilians huddled, receiving what meager aid they could.

His eyes began to glow brilliant gold. She recognized the signs of his extraordinary speed from their earlier confrontation. What followed defied expectation.

He darted around the plaza in a blur of motion. Enormous metal containers materialized in his wake, each appearing before a line of guards. The dimensions registered in her mind - roughly 40 feet long, 8 feet wide, and 10 feet high. Twenty such containers stood in formation by the time he stopped.

A metallic knock from his prosthetic hand set Sampo into action. Wind-powered daggers arced through the air with impossible precision, striking each container's locks. As doors swung open, her heart skipped a beat.

Inside lay supplies beyond imagination: water purification equipment, medical supplies, food, shelter materials, and more. For a moment, she forgot to breathe, overwhelmed by the magnitude of aid that had appeared like magic.

The plaza erupted in surprised gasps and joyous exclamations. He appeared at her side before she could process it all, his movements too quick to track.

"You know what needs to be done," his voice carried urgency. "I'll leave you with more supplies once we've restored power to the furnace, but I could use some assistance."

Tears welled in her eyes, rare emotion breaking through her composed exterior. "Help," she whispered, the word catching. "We have help." She blinked rapidly, forcing herself back into her role. "What do you need from us?"

His expression softened momentarily. "I need to locate the Landaus - Gepard and Serval. Have you seen or heard from them?"

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Gepard Landau's hand trembled as he lifted the vodka bottle to his lips, the stinging burn of alcohol doing little to numb the pain radiating through his cracked ribs. The semi-destroyed bar surrounded him, its wreckage matching his shattered world.

He took another swig, welcoming the familiar burn. Anything to escape the searing agony of his thoughts, the relentless parade of failures marching through his mind. The faces of those he'd sworn to protect flickered before his eyes - his father, cold and lifeless; Lynx, broken and unresponsive; the countless citizens of Belobog, buried beneath the rubble of their proud city.

His fingers tightened around the bottle, knuckles white with barely contained anguish. He had stood paralyzed by loyalty and disbelief as Cocolia unleashed hell upon their home. The woman he had followed unquestioningly for years, the Supreme Guardian he had sworn to protect, had become the architect of Belobog's destruction.

The memory of the Engine of Creation's devastating strike tore through him anew. He could still feel the ground quaking beneath his feet, hear the horrific groaning of metal and stone as buildings toppled like children's blocks. And he had done nothing to stop it.

"Some captain," he muttered bitterly, taking another long pull from the bottle. The alcohol burned a path down his throat, nothing like the warmth of purpose that once filled him.

His mind wandered back to the Landau estate, to finding his family huddled together amidst the chaos. His mother, Felina, hands glowing with healing energy as she fought desperately to save Lynx. His sister, usually so vibrant and full of life, now still and silent, teetering between life and death. And there, amidst the rubble and devastation, his father's cold, lifeless form.

Gepard's chest tightened, a sob threatening to break free. He had carried his father's body, ignoring the screaming agony of his own injuries, and buried him in front of their home. The last act of a son, the final duty he could perform before his world crumbled.

He took another drink, hoping to drown the memory of Lynx's vacant eyes, the terrifying possibility that she might never wake up. The bottle grew lighter, but the weight on his soul showed no signs of lifting.

Outside, the city's suffering had become a constant, mournful backdrop. Cries for help, the groaning of unstable structures, the frantic shouts of rescue workers - all blended into a cacophony of misery he could no longer bear to face.

But now, something changed. New voices cut through the din, different from the desperate pleas he'd grown accustomed to. These voices held... hope? Curiosity? His brow furrowed in confusion, his alcohol-addled mind struggling to make sense of the shift.

"...summoned all those containers?" a voice drifted through the broken window.

"A friend lent me a special kind of dimensional pouch," came the reply, tugging at Gepard's memory. "It allows for transport of incredibly large amounts of cargo equipment."

His hand tightened around the bottle. That voice... it couldn't be.

"And you're certain Captain Landau is in here?" another voice asked, tinged with skepticism.

"Chronosurge enhances my senses. I can detect his presence."

The door creaked open, and Gepard found himself face to face with an unexpected group. At the forefront stood a stranger whose appearance commanded attention - platinum hair, a prosthetic arm unlike anything he'd seen before, and eyes holding an otherworldly weight. Behind him, familiar faces from the Silvermane Guards - Andrei, Aleksandr, Lexie, Nikolay, and Yury - all wore expressions of shock and disappointment at their captain's state.

Nikolay strode forward, fury etched into every line of his face. He grabbed Gepard by the collar, hauling him to his feet. "What the hell is this?" he snarled, voice thick with anger and grief. "I've lost someone in this disaster, yet here I am, doing my duty. And you? Our captain, wallowing in self-pity and vodka?"

The response came weak, barely more than a slurred mumble. Nikolay's fist drew back, ready to strike, only for the silver-haired stranger to catch his arm.

"That's enough," the man said quietly, gaze never leaving Gepard's face. He turned to Lexie. "I need you to heal him while I do this."

Before Gepard could process what was happening, the stranger's left hand - encased in a strange alien glove that colored crimson at his command - came to rest on his shoulder. As Lexie's hands glowed emerald, warmth spread through him. The fog of alcohol lifted. The pain in his ribs vanished, leaving him clear-headed for the first time in hours.

And then the man's fist connected with his jaw.

The blow sent him staggering, more from surprise than pain. He blinked, studying his attacker through newly sobered eyes. The platinum hair, the golden eyes, the strange prosthetic - suddenly the pieces clicked into place. This was the man they had pursued at the Starlight Café, now transformed almost beyond recognition.

"You?" Gepard managed, the word barely a whisper.

The man's - Xander's - eyes glinted dangerously. "Been a while, Gepard. Tell me, where is your rage?"

Confusion swirled through his mind. "What are you talking about?"

A cruel smile twisted Xander's lips. "Don't you get it? I'm the one responsible for all of this. I'm the reason Cocolia unleashed the Engine of Creation. I'm the reason your precious Belobog lies in ruins."

Each word was like a dagger, stoking the embers of anger. Xander continued, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Poor, loyal Gepard. Always following orders, never questioning. How does it feel to know your blind faith led to this?"

The rage that had been simmering beneath grief and self-loathing finally erupted. With a roar, Gepard lunged, his fist connecting solidly with Xander's face. The head snapped to the side, but the body remained unmoved.

Slowly, Xander turned back, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He was... smiling? "Good," he said, sounding almost relieved. "Bronya was right, then. The Engine of Creation really was used against Belobog." His expression hardened. "Now you're ready to talk."

Gepard stood there, chest heaving, as reality slowly sank in. Xander hadn't been gloating - he'd been provoking him. But why?

"Lexie," Xander said calmly, "heal the bruise on his face, please."

As she complied, the Captain's mind raced. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Why are they listening to you?"

Nikolay stepped forward, earlier anger replaced by grudging respect. "He's been helping Belobog. Saving people trapped under rubble, healing the injured, providing supplies..."

"The containers he summoned..." Aleksandr added, surveying the bar's remains. "It's unlike anything we've seen before."

Gepard's world tilted on its axis. The man he had hunted, believed to be a threat, now hailed as a savior? He turned to Xander, who declined Andrei's offer to heal his face.

"Why were you looking for me?" Gepard asked, voice hoarse.

Xander's expression grew serious. "I need you and Serval to help me in the Underworld. There are people trapped down there, buried under the rubble. We need to save them."

The weight of responsibility settled back onto Gepard's shoulders, familiar yet somehow different now. "But why me?" he asked, shame of his earlier behavior creeping back in. "Why not someone else?"

The otherworlder's gaze pierced through his defenses. "Because you're the Captain of the Silvermane Guards. Because your people need you. Now tell me, Gepard Landau, why are you here, drowning your sorrows, when there's work to be done?"

The question hit like a physical blow. He sank back onto his barstool, the past hours crashing over him anew. "I..." his voice cracked. "I failed them all."

And so, surrounded by the rubble and watchful eyes of his subordinates, he began to recount the nightmare. He spoke of following Cocolia to Everwinter Hill, of her descent into madness as she summoned the Engine of Creation. He described the horror of watching helplessly as she turned their greatest defense into a weapon of unimaginable destruction.

"I should have stopped her," he whispered, voice thick with self-loathing. "I had the chance, but I... I couldn't bring myself to act against her."

He told them of his return to the city, of finding his home in ruins. The words came faster now, tumbling out in a torrent of grief and guilt. "My father... he was already gone. And Lynx..." His voice broke. "She might never wake up. My mother's been using her healing powers non-stop, but we don't know if it will be enough."

Gepard looked up, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I buried my father in front of our home. And then I just... I couldn't face it anymore. I couldn't bear to see the destruction, to know that I had played a part in it. So I came here, trying to numb myself to it all."

The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of his confession and the enormity of Belobog's tragedy. Xander stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The Captain looked up, and what he saw made him pause, the tumult of his own emotions momentarily forgotten. In Xander's eyes, two powerful forces warred with each other: deep, abiding regret and an urgent, driving purpose.

"Where is Lynx right now?"

The question caught him off guard. He blinked, mind struggling to shift from self-recrimination to the present moment. "She's... she's still unconscious. At our family estate."

Xander's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something - determination? hope? - passing across his face. "Take me to her," he said, the words more command than request.

A surge of defensive anger rose within Gepard. Who was this man to give orders about his own sister? "Why?" he demanded, a hint of old authority creeping back into his voice. "Our mother, Felina, has been laboring since sundown to mend her wounds. While the critical danger has faded, she remains out cold, unreachable. What makes you think you can do what she could not?"

As the words left his mouth, he felt the weight of helplessness settle over him once more. He had stood by, useless, as his mother poured her strength into Lynx, unable to do anything but watch and pray.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The air grew thick and heavy, laden with the scent of lime and the warmth of a forge. Gepard's eyes widened as flames engulfed Xander's body, the heat palpable even from where he sat. Before he could react, Xander's hand shot out, grasping him by the scruff of his neck.

"Then we'll heal her," Xander said, voice resonating with power and certainty. The flames danced around them, but Gepard felt no pain, only an intense, almost overwhelming warmth. "And then, you're going to help me dig out those trapped under the debris - victims of our shared carelessness."

Something shifted within the Captain at those words.

"You... you can heal her?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. The possibility was almost too much to hope for, and yet...

Xander's grip on his neck loosened, but the intensity in his eyes didn't waver.

"I can try. But I need you with me, Gepard. Your sister needs you. Your city needs you."

————————

Serval's fingers traced circles on Lynx's cold hand. She blinked hard against the exhaustion, acrid smoke stinging her eyes. Or maybe they were tears. She couldn't tell anymore.

A soft groan broke the silence. "Mom?" She turned to see Felina stirring, face grey with fatigue. "Don't try to move. You need rest."

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. Electricity crackled between her fingers as she lurched to her feet, positioning herself between the door and Lynx's bed. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, making her pulse race with fear and anticipation.

The door burst open. Gepard. Relief flooded through her for just a moment before rage took its place.

"Where were you?" The words tasted like ashes in her mouth. "Hours, Gepard. Hours I've been sitting here, watching our sister die by inches, while Mom—" She gestured sharply at Felina's exhausted form. "While Mom nearly killed herself trying to save her. Where. Were. You?"

"Serval, I—" He wouldn't meet her eyes. His shoulders slumped, the usual military bearing completely gone. The sharp smell of alcohol clung to him as he gripped the doorframe for support, knuckles white.

"No!" Electricity sparked between her fingers. "You're supposed to be the responsible one, aren't you? The great Guardian Gepard, protector of Belobog. But when your own family needed you—" Her voice cracked. "When Lynx needed you—you just disappeared!"

"I couldn't—" His voice broke. He swayed slightly, redness around his eyes visible through the dust-covered face, tracks of dried tears marking his skin. "I couldn't watch her die. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just... I couldn't..."

"So you left us to face it alone?" The words came out as a whisper, heavy with hurt. "You—" She stopped abruptly as she finally registered the figure standing behind her brother. A stranger, tall and imposing, with silver hair catching what little light remained in the room. Something about him made her skin crawl—a mechanical arm pulsing with inner light, the way he held himself like a coiled spring.

"Who is this?" She shifted her stance, keeping herself between the newcomer and Lynx's bed. "Gepard, what were you thinking, bringing someone here? Now? With everything that's happened?"

Golden eyes met hers, burning with otherworldly intensity. Something nagged at the back of her mind—something familiar about the stance, the angle of his jaw. But transformed by silver hair, that mechanical arm...

"I don't..." She squinted, trying to place him. Then recognition hit like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs. "Xander?"

Sparks danced more frantically between her fingers as she took an involuntary step back. "No. No, you stay right there. Don't come any closer." Her gaze darted between him and Gepard. "Have you lost your mind, brother? Bringing him here, after everything he—"

"Serval." Xander raised his hands slowly, voice steady. "I can help Lynx."

"Help?" She barked out a bitter laugh. "Like you helped by lying to all of us? About who you are, why you came here?" Her voice cracked. "I trusted you. I actually thought—" She cut herself off, jaw clenching against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"Sister, please." Gepard pushed himself off the doorframe, voice steadier now. "Just listen—"

"Listen?" Her laugh was brittle, sharp enough to cut. "That's what Cocolia always said too. 'Listen to me, trust me, I know what's best for Belobog.'" Her fingers curled into fists. "That's what Father said for years, while he—" She choked on the words. "And now here you are, bringing another liar to our doorstep."

"I never meant to hurt you." Xander's voice carried through the room like a physical force despite its quietness. "Everything I did, every lie I told, was to—"

"Don't." Electricity crackled around her hands. "Just don't. I'm so tired of people claiming they lied for our sakes. I can't—" Her voice broke. "I can't keep doing this. Opening my heart only to have it shattered again and again. And now you're here, promising to save Lynx?" She shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. "How am I supposed to trust that? How am I supposed to trust anything anymore?"

"You're right not to trust me." He took a step forward, then stopped when she tensed. The golden light in his chest pulsed softly. "But I swear to you, Serval, on the memory of my father—" His voice caught. "On the memory of a man who taught me that even in a world determined to show its ugliness, we must protect those we can. Who spent his every breath making me promise to help others, even after what they did to him." The light in his chest flickered like a heartbeat. "I can help Lynx. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not even asking you to believe in me. Just... let me try. Please."

The raw pain in his voice made her falter. Something in the way he spoke of his father—like an oath carved into his very being—rang true in a way his other words hadn't.

"Serval?" Felina's weak voice drew all eyes to her. She had managed to push herself up to sitting, one hand pressed against the wall for support. Her face was ashen, but her eyes were sharp as they fixed on Xander. "This man... you know him?"

"He's—" She started, but her mother cut her off.

"Can you really save my daughter?" Felina's voice trembled. "I've tried everything. Poured every drop of power I have into her. Prayed to Qlipoth until my voice gave out. But she's slipping away, and I can't—" A sob caught in her throat. "I've already lost Lev. I can't lose her too. Please..."

Xander approached slowly, movements careful and deliberate. "Mrs. Landau, I can help, but I'll need your assistance. Your healing powers, combined with mine—it might be enough. I know you're exhausted, but if you could find just a little more strength..."

"Mother, don't listen to him," Serval pleaded. "He's been lying since the day we met him. How can we—"

"Because he came back." Gepard's quiet words cut through her protest. "He could have run, Serval. After everything that happened, he could have left us all to die. Instead, he's been out there for hours, saving everyone he could find. Pela vouches for him. I've seen what he can do." His gaze met hers, steady despite the redness around his eyes. "I wouldn't bring him here if I wasn't certain. You know that."

The conviction in her brother's voice made her hesitate. Her eyes caught on something—Xander's cross pendant hanging openly against his chest on the geomarrow chain she'd made him. The warm, golden glow of the metal pulsed with its own life. He'd always kept it hidden before, tucked away like so many of his secrets.

She looked at Lynx, still and pale on the bed, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. Her sister who'd shown her the beauty in starlight, who'd dragged her from her workshop to marvel at some new flower or creature...

"If you're lying about this," she whispered, finally stepping aside, eyes lingering on the pendant, "if this is another deception—"

"It's not." He moved to Lynx's bedside, the mechanical glove on his left hand gleaming with intricate patterns. "Mrs. Landau, if you're ready?"

Felina nodded, determination breaking through her exhaustion. She placed trembling hands on Lynx's arm, and verdant light began to pulse beneath her fingers.

"Keep healing, no matter what you see or feel," he instructed quietly. His left hand positioned above Lynx's forehead, the glove whirring to life, tiny needles extending into his skin. Serval watched, transfixed with horror and fascination, as a mix of crimson and golden blood filled the device's transparent chambers.

As his blood began to glow, something extraordinary happened. The golden light from his hand merged with Felina's healing energy, creating an aurora of intertwining colors. Tiny embers danced through the air, and warmth began to seep back into the room. The perpetual chill in Serval's bones slowly melted away.

His voice, soft but clear, broke the silence. "Lynx, you can't leave yet. There's a whole world out there waiting for your wonder." The words carried gentle passion that made Serval's chest tighten. "Think of all the flora you haven't cataloged, all the fauna you've yet to discover. The mysteries of nature still calling for your keen eye."

Color gradually returned to Lynx's ashen face as he continued speaking. "What would your family do without your quiet wisdom? Who would drag Serval from her endless tinkering to watch the stars? Who would remind Gepard that not every problem needs a military solution?" A hint of warmth crept into his voice. "You have so much life ahead of you. So many wonders to see. Please, come back to them."

For a moment, the room held its breath. Then—miracle of miracles—Lynx's eyelids fluttered.

"Gepard? Serval? Mom?" Each word grew slightly stronger. "Who... who's that with you?"

Joy exploded through Serval like a supernova. She threw herself forward, barely aware of her mother doing the same. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed it against Lynx's shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of her sister's heart. Alive. She was alive.

Through her tears, she saw Xander step back, giving them space. His face was drawn with exhaustion, but something else lived in his expression—quiet contentment as he watched their family reunite, tinged with what might have been longing.

Gepard moved to embrace him, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. Thank you for—for everything."

Serval remained frozen, torn between lingering anger and staggering gratitude. She watched as her mother approached him, trying to express their gratitude through tears.

"Please," he interrupted gently. He reached into his dimensional pouch, producing sealed water bottles and clean cloths. "For your faces," he offered, holding them out to Serval and Felina. "And... I apologize, but I need to ask something of you all."

The relief in the room shifted to tension as he explained the situation in the Underworld. Thousands trapped beneath rubble. Bronya coordinating rescue efforts with locals. The desperate need for Gepard and Serval's help.

"But the people here—" Serval started, wiping her face with the cloth.

"Resources are already in place," Gepard interjected, voice steadier now. "Xander's made sure of that. We restore power to the main furnace first, then head below. Teams are waiting for us, Serval. We can help them."

Felina looked up at Xander, eyes still bright with tears. "Can you truly save Belobog? All of it?"

He met her gaze unflinchingly. "I'll give my life for it if that's what it takes."

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver down Serval's spine. She looked at Lynx, now sitting up with their mother's support, then to Gepard's determined face, and finally to Xander. The man who had lied to her, yes—but who had also brought her sister back from death's edge.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "Alright," she said, voice stronger than she felt. "Let's save our city."

As she gathered her gear, she caught one last glimpse of him. The gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable, but something else flickered beneath it—regret? Longing? Before she could decipher it, he turned away, already discussing logistics with Gepard.

She shook her head, pushing aside the confusion. There would be time to sort through her feelings later. For now, there were lives to save. Despite everything, a cautious spark of hope flickered in her chest. He had brought Lynx back when all seemed lost—but saving an entire city? She glanced at the cross pendant gleaming against his chest, remembering the earnest man who'd first walked into her workshop. Could that person, underneath all the lies and transformations, really perform another miracle?

The stairs creaked under their feet as they descended to the entrance. Smoke-tinged air rushed in as Gepard pushed open the door. Her breath caught at the sight before her. A group of Silvermane Guards stood waiting, their uniforms dusted with debris, faces grim with determination. Some were strangers, but others—her eyes fixed on one figure in particular, and recognition felt like a punch to the gut.

"Lexie Orlov?" The name escaped her lips before she could stop it, old memories surging forth—late nights discussing medical reforms, shared dreams of a better Belobog, all those possibilities that had crumbled into dust.

————————

I trudge through the debris-strewn corridor, my boots crunching on shattered concrete and twisted steel. Frost mingles with the acrid scent of scorched ruins in the heavy air. Our group moves cautiously through the space - Gepard leads with Andrei, while Serval walks beside me. Lexie keeps close to Nikolay and Yury behind us, with Aleksandr guarding our rear.

"You kept it," Serval says suddenly, her voice cutting through the eerie silence.

I turn to her, confused. "Kept what?"

Her eyes flick to my chest. "The necklace. I didn't expect you to."

My hand finds the cross pendant hanging around my neck. The metal holds the warmth of my skin, offering strange comfort against the corridor's biting cold.

"Of course I kept it," I reply, my voice softer than intended. "It's my most prized possession."

Her eyebrow arches slightly, curiosity breaking through her guarded expression.

I take a deep breath, feeling the pendant pulse with familiar heat against my palm. "My mother, Mary, gave me this cross. It's... it's all I have left of her now." Our breath clouds in the frigid air between us. "And the chain... that was from you."

She doesn't respond, but her steps falter for just a moment. Around us, our companions maintain a respectful distance, pretending not to listen.

"I'm sorry," I say after a while, the words feeling inadequate. "About your father."

Her breath catches, almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry, too," she whispers, barely audible over the distant rumble of shifting rubble.

We lapse into silence, each lost in our own thoughts as we make our way towards the furnace core. The space between us fills with questions neither of us is ready to ask.

The path grows more treacherous around the corner. Gepard signals for caution, and I instinctively reach out to steady Serval as she navigates an unstable section of flooring. Our eyes meet briefly, and in that moment, I glimpse the connection we once shared.

But it vanishes quickly, replaced by the wary determination that's become her default expression since everything changed. We press on through the cold, eight people in a broken city, following the dim hope that we can still make things right.

————————

Yury Gusev's boots echoed on the debris-strewn floor as he followed the group through the winding corridors. The air pulsed with tension, each step bringing him closer to lives that might soon depend on his medical skills. His supply bag weighed heavily on his shoulder.

"Watch your step," Gepard called from the front, posture rigid with determination. "The structural damage gets worse ahead."

His gaze followed the captain's form, searching for any trace of the man they'd found drowning his sorrows not an hour ago. The others - Serval, Lexie, Andrei, Nikolay, Aleksandr, and the enigmatic Xander - moved with purpose tinged by apprehension. At least Gepard walked straight now, whatever healing he'd received seeming to have worked.

Movement caught his attention as Lexie and Serval unconsciously drifted further apart while walking, the space between them growing like a physical manifestation of their discomfort. Lexie's fingers twisted the hem of her uniform, a nervous habit he'd noticed during their medical training days.

"The environmental stabilization research," she finally managed, voice barely above a whisper. Her shoulders hunched forward as if bracing for impact. "Do you ever think about it?"

Serval's footsteps faltered, her jaw clenching visibly before she responded. "Hard not to, given everything." The words came out clipped, brittle as frozen glass.

"I never thought we'd be in this situation." Lexie's eyes darted to Serval's face and away so quickly it seemed to pain her, like looking at something too bright. Her next step brought her closer to Nikolay, as if seeking shelter.

"Life's full of surprises, isn't it?" Serval's laugh held no humor, the sound dying in the frozen air between them. Her hand moved reflexively to her tool belt, fingers drumming an agitated pattern against the metal.

Yury winced internally at the awkwardness. He'd heard rumors about their falling out, but witnessing it firsthand carried its own weight. Their unity would prove crucial in the days ahead.

The massive entrance to the furnace core loomed as they rounded the corner. His breath caught in his throat.

"Sweet mercy of the Architects," Andrei whispered. "The training diagrams didn't do it justice."

"It's incredible," Aleksandr breathed. "Look at how it stretches up into the shadows."

The cavernous space towered above, its peak barely visible where the now-dormant furnace sat cold and silent. Below, a winding staircase led to a cable car station, its cars frozen beside a gaping elevator shaft that plunged into darkness.

"Ten years," Yury murmured, staring at the sealed passage. "Ten years since they cut off the Underworld."

"I was there that day." Nikolay's gravelly voice carried old pain. "Watching families tear themselves apart, trying to decide which side of the city to stay on. Some of us wanted to refuse the order, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"How many families were split apart?"

"I lost count after the eight hundred and forty-three," he answered with the precision of someone who'd never stopped counting. "The numbers just kept climbing after that."

A sudden commotion near the entrance interrupted their conversation. A group of Silvermane Guards surrounded a lone figure, voices rising in anger.

"What's going on here?" Gepard strode forward.

"Sir," one guard explained, clearly flustered, "this soldier is deserting. He's trying to access the Underworld against direct orders."

"Someone has to help them!" the man shot back. "You can't just leave them to die down there!"

"Your name, soldier?" The question held more curiosity than anger.

The man bristled. "Why should I tell you?"

Gepard stepped closer, studying the defiant guard's face in the dim light. Recognition dawned in his features. "Garrett Steiner. I should have known. Your reports always stood out - dedicated to your duties, but never afraid to question our actions regarding the Underworld."

Garrett's posture relaxed slightly, eyes remaining fierce. "That's right. And I'm done standing by while our people suffer. I'm going down there to help, whether you approve or not."

"Seems we're not the only ones who couldn't wait for official orders," Yury said with a slight smile. "Though we've got approval now, at least."

"Another set of hands won't hurt," Andrei noted, adjusting his tool belt.

"The more medical support we can bring down there, the better," Aleksandr added. "We don't know what we'll find."

"About time we opened these passages again." Nikolay's voice carried the weight of memory. "Should've happened years ago."

Lexie turned to Serval, voice low but urgent. "The stabilization techniques we developed—we could use them to secure pathways through the debris."

"If we can find the right type of Geomarrow down there," came the reply, professional focus cutting through their usual tension. "The composition needs to be exact, but it could work to temporarily reinforce unstable areas."

The moment shattered as Xander moved with startling speed, grasping Garrett's arm. The guard's eyes widened, body tensing. His defensive strike met an invisible barrier, flames erupting at the point of contact.

"I can feel the path of the preservation flowing through you," Xander said, eyes flickering with otherworldly light. "You're a shielder. You're coming with us."

"I..." Garrett's shoulders relaxed slightly, eyes remaining sharp. "Alright. But I'm not here as a Silvermane Guard. I'm here for the people."

Xander nodded, then addressed the other guards. "The furnace. What's its current status?"

An older guard from the maintenance crew stepped forward. "The eternal flame is our lifeblood," he explained, gesturing toward the massive structure above. "It's not just about heat—it's about balance. The Preservation Pathstriders from the circle of the Architects tend to it in cycles, their flames dancing with the ancient mechanisms."

"The timing has to be perfect," another added, voice reverent. "Every month, they gather here. The procession starts at dawn—"

"Been working these halls for fifteen years," a third guard interrupted, running a weathered hand along the wall. "Never seen them miss a cycle. Until now." His face darkened. "The earthquake hit right when they were supposed to arrive. The flame's been dying ever since."

"The timing matches what Bronya told me," Xander murmured, then raised his voice. "Show me to the control room."

The maintenance guard led them through reinforced doors bearing intricate Architects' patterns. Yury checked his medical supplies again as they entered the furnace room. The massive chamber hummed with dormant energy, its walls lined with complex mechanisms that pulsed even in their inactive state.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Pride filled the older guard's voice. "Even after all these years, I still find new details in the engineering. See those conduits there? They channel the Pathstriders' energy through the whole system."

"The engineering is remarkable," Xander said, running a hand along a nearby panel. "How long has it been keeping Belobog warm?"

"Since the city's founding," Nikolay answered. "Though I've never seen it this close before."

"But how are we going to turn it on?" Andrei asked, frowning at the complex machinery.

"Are you dumb?" Aleksandr's voice cut through the air. "We have Xander's flames!"

The silver-haired man walked to the chamber's center, footsteps echoing in the vast space. Emergency lamps caught the metallic sheen of his prosthetic as he reached into his dimensional pouch.

"What exactly are you planning to do?" Serval's voice carried concern.

Instead of answering, he produced several small containers with strangely gleaming contents. With practiced precision, he arranged them in a specific pattern.

"Chemical compounds?" Yury asked, scientific curiosity piqued.

"Stand back," came the command as Xander mixed the substances with swift, sure movements.

The resulting explosion brought more flash than force, leaving a small, flickering flame dancing in his palms. His brow furrowed as he studied it, eyes beginning to glow golden.

"That's not right," he muttered. "The ratios were perfect. Something here is interfering with the reaction..."

Then, to everyone's amazement, he cupped the tiny flame in both hands, raising it toward the dormant furnace. "Come on, Alexander," his voice resonated through the chamber, barely above a whisper. "One more time. Please."

His next words carried almost reverent weight: "The flames of the Preservation haven't died yet. And they won't—not today."

For a moment, silence held. Then the small flame began to grow, swirling and expanding until it wreathed his entire form in a brilliant corona of fire. Embers danced through the air like fireflies, casting warm, golden light across awestruck faces. The flames licked at clothes and skin but left him untouched, his smile visible through the curtain of fire.

The furnace above roared to life, ancient mechanisms humming as heat began to flood back into the city's veins. Yury felt the warmth begin to spread, but his mind raced ahead to the challenges below. He tightened the strap on his medical bag.

"Alright, team," Xander's voice cut through the mesmerizing display. "Let's move out. We've got work to do."

————————

Wind howled across the desolate expanse of Everwinter Hill, whipping snow into ghostly spirals between towering ice formations. The ancient monuments of the Architects lay half-buried in endless drifts, barely visible through the perpetual storm that raged against a sky dark with promised violence.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing golden with cosmic power.

The being that had once been Cocolia floated above the snow-swept ground, transformed beyond recognition. Crystalline structures like jagged ice adorned her form, creating a regal yet menacing silhouette against the storm. Her skin rippled with the vastness of space itself - a living nebula of dark colors shot through with starlight patterns. Sharp, spiked crystals armored her limbs and torso, their edges catching what little light penetrated the storm.

A crown of crystalline spikes rose from her head like an icicle tiara, platinum blonde hair flowing behind her in impossible lengths that terminated in ethereal blue points. Spectral, ribbon-like extensions of pure energy writhed around her form like living cloth, while crystalline constructs orbited her body, their edges promising both beauty and devastation.

"The abomination returns," the Stellaron hissed through her lips, its voice a symphony of broken glass and cosmic winds. "That pitiful excuse for a vessel dares to set foot on Jarilo-VI once more."

Her transformed body ascended higher, reality bending around her as waves of dark energy pulsed from her form. The orbiting crystals spun faster, resonating with her growing rage.

"And the simpering Aeon of Preservation," cosmic disgust infiltrated every word, "bestowing its worthless blessings upon them. As if that could change anything. As if that could stop the inevitable."

With movements that flowed like liquid nitrogen, she raised the Lance of Preservation. The ancient weapon hummed with corrupted power, its original purpose twisted by the cosmic parasite that now commanded its strength.

"Rise," the command echoed across the frozen wasteland. Her gaze fixed upon the Engine of Creation, its colossal form bearing the scars of its previous rampage. The corrupted guardian's crystalline additions sparkled with malevolent purpose as snow swirled around her floating form. "If they believe they can act with impunity, let them face the consequences of their arrogance."

The Engine groaned, its frame cracked and sparking from the recent cataclysm. Metal screamed against metal as the massive construct forced its damaged components into motion, each movement sending showers of broken machinery cascading to the ground.

"The Destruction awaits," proclaimed the entity wearing Cocolia's transformed visage, her ethereal ribbons writhing with anticipation. The smile that crossed her face held no trace of humanity, only the cold promise of annihilation.

"And this time, there will be no salvation."