They cut through the sky, the ruined plateaus shrinking far behind them.

  Ziraiah floated stiffly, clutching her bandaged hands. Her voice was sharp with fatigue.

  “You didn’t have to go that hard on us. I’ve lost… fingers, Pungence.”

  The Titan of Hope glanced her way, expression calm.

  “If you walk away smiling, then it wasn’t training. It was warm-up. The limit isn’t where you stop — it’s where training finally begins Besides—” his lips tugged into a faint grin, “—you’ll regenerate. No need to worry.”

  She scowled, but said nothing.

  As they neared Heful, the sight of the city’s mountains rose like guardians. One in particular caught their attention — a colossal peak, cleaved clean through, the wound still smoking.

  Pungence slowed midair, eyes narrowing.

  “…It can’t be. Eryndor’s attack… reached all the way here?”

  They landed before the enormous gate of Heful — the entrance to the capital’s barrier. The barrier itself shimmered like glass stretched across the horizon, an unbroken dome of translucent force.

  Two armored guards stood watch. They straightened immediately.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pungence!”

  The Titan only tapped his ear, shaking his head. No sound penetrated the dome.

  Across the barrier’s surface, glowing letters etched themselves into being:

  WHAT IS THE PASSWORD?

  Pungence’s fingers moved fluidly, weaving through a series of sharp hand signs. The guards nodded. Taking up a long ceremonial pole, they pressed it against the dome. The barrier rippled, parting with a slow hiss to reveal a narrow opening.

  The group stepped through. The instant they were inside, sound returned like the rush of wind after surfacing from water.

  One of the guards bowed. “Sir… something struck the barrier today. Multiple times. We thought it was an attack.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pungence said easily, waving the concern aside. “That was me — just testing its durability.”

  Inside the city, the golden glow of late afternoon painted the streets. Heful bustled as though unaware of the battle raging just beyond their walls.

  Ziraiah winced as she flexed her mangled hand.

  “When are you going to give us the healing elixirs?”

  “Not yet,” Pungence said firmly. “I want to know exactly how long it takes you to recover on your own. And I’m taking you to the hospital so your wounds don’t get infected.”

  Her brow furrowed. “We’ve… never been to a hospital before. Not once. Well—except Val. That one time he got shot.”

  Pungence’s laugh rumbled low. “I don’t share your regenerative gifts. I’ve been to hospitals plenty of times.”

  Ziraiah blinked. “…You? What could possibly put you in a hospital?”

  His gaze softened, voice carrying weight.

  “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this. As a child… I was bullied. The others were jealous — I was the only rarebreed. My father often found me broken in hospital beds.”

  Her anger faltered, replaced by sympathy. “I’m sure your parents would be proud of the man you are now. And those bullies… they’d beg forgiveness if they saw you today.”

  Pungence’s smile was small, almost bitter. “They can’t. They’re dead. So are my parents.”

  Ziraiah stiffened. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, Pungence.”

  He shook his head, tone steady. “It’s alright. They died of old age. They lived full lives.”

  “…Even the bullies?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re not—”

  “Old?” Pungence chuckled, his laugh rolling like distant thunder. “Trust me, Ziraiah. I’m older than you think.”

  She stopped walking, staring up at him. “Do we live… a very long time?”

  “I can’t speak for you,” he said, grinning. “But I certainly have.”

  She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe it.”

  “How long?” she pressed.

  His only answer was silence.

  “Come on, Pungence. You can tell me.”

  Instead, he raised a brow. “Shouldn’t you be crying from the pain? Six broken ribs. A dislocated shoulder. Sprains everywhere. I’m surprised you’re even walking.”

  Her glare could have cut glass. “You’re not funny.”

  He laughed again, unbothered, and kept walking.

  At last, they arrived at Heful’s grand hospital — a towering structure of polished stone and crystal windows, the largest healing center in the city.

  Inside, an old man in white robes looked up from a desk. His brows shot up in surprise.

  “Pungence. I never thought I’d see you here.”

  “I need you to look at them,” Pungence said simply.

  The doctor blinked, glancing at Ziraiah’s mangled form, then at the unconscious weight of Valerius still slung over the Titan’s shoulder. His eyes widened.

  “By the gods… they look like they were run over by a train.”

  “Just take care of them,” Pungence said.

  Behind the desk, the young female receptionist nearly squealed. Her eyes went wide as she spotted Pungence — her cheeks flushing, hands gripping her quill. A nervous, starstruck smile broke across her face.

  The old doctor motioned to a nurse.

  “Take them to a room.”

  Moments later, Valerius lay unconscious on a hospital bed, his chest rising in shallow breaths. Dried blood streaked his lips, teeth missing from his battered jaw.

  Dr. Glenard leaned over him, frowning. “Are you not going to tell me what happened?”

  Pungence, seated against the wall with arms folded, replied calmly, “Do you need to know?”

  Glenard’s eyes narrowed, but he shook his head. “Not really, no.”

  Across the room, Ziraiah sat upright on another bed, thermometer in her mouth. She pulled it out and tilted her head.

  “So how do you know Pungence?”

  “My family has been treating him for generations,” Glenard answered, his tone dry but tinged with familiarity. “I come from a long line of physicians. Some were healers.”

  Ziraiah raised a brow. “Are you a healer yourself?”

  The old man sighed. “No. It skipped me, and my father as well. But my grandson has the gift.”

  “I’m Ziraiah,” she said softly.

  “Call me Dr. Glenard.” He approached her bedside, raising a hand. “May I see your hand?”

  Reluctantly, she showed him.

  His face hardened at the sight. “Tch… for a pretty girl like you to lose fingers. Truly unfortunate. Regeneration of bone is beyond most healers. People with that gift are vanishingly rare.”

  He moved on to Eryndor, who lay pale and silent, chest rising raggedly. With steady fingers, Glenard tore open the young man’s shirt. A livid, blackened handprint sprawled across his ribs.

  Glenard’s eyes flicked toward Pungence, silent but accusing.

  He reached for a device on the tray — a small, crystalline scanner with a glowing screen. He passed it slowly over Eryndor’s chest. The runes flickered, forming the image of cracked bone.

  “All his ribs are cracked,” he muttered. His brow furrowed deeper. He turned to Pungence, raising one eyebrow. “What exactly did you do to them?”

  “Just a little training,” Pungence said evenly.

  “A little training?” Glenard barked. He gestured sharply at the beds. “Cracked ribs. Severed fingers. Missing teeth? This isn’t training — this is butchery!”

  Ignoring Pungence for the moment, he turned back to Ziraiah. “Take off your shirt and lie back.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Uh—what?”

  “You’ve got something underneath, haven’t you?” Glenard asked bluntly.

  Ziraiah huffed, muttering, but removed her top, leaving her bra.

  The old doctor leaned in, eyes grim. Another dark handprint marred her chest, deep enough to bruise through muscle.

  He gave Pungence a long look, suspicion heavy in his gaze. Then he lifted the scanner again. Runes flared as they passed over her torso.

  “…Broken ribs. Several. Internal bruising. She needs surgery.”

  “No,” Pungence said firmly. “Just disinfect the wounds. They’ll heal on their own.”

  “Pungence, this is serious,” Glenard snapped. “Broken bones don’t just—”

  He pulled out a sterile needle, holding it up for the nurse. “We’ll sedate her and prepare for rib reconstruction—”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The needle touched Ziraiah’s skin.

  SNAP.

  The steel bent sideways as though it had struck stone.

  The nurse gasped. “What—”

  Dr. Glenard froze, staring at the twisted metal in his hand. “…How is this possible?”

  Pungence’s voice was low, steady. “I told you. Surgery won’t work. They aren’t normal.”

  Glenard’s eyes narrowed. “I know they’re Elvhein. But even Elvhein skin doesn’t reject steel like this. Well except for you.”

  Silence thickened in the room.

  Glenard looked at Ziraiah not as a patient, but as something far rarer — something beyond his charts and tools.

  And Pungence just leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

  Pungence rose from his chair, his frame towering. “I’m going for a walk,” he said simply, and left the room.

  The silence lingered in his wake until Ziraiah spoke, her voice soft but carrying a trace of pride.

  “You know… we fought him. And I actually managed to push him back. I’ve gotten stronger.”

  Dr. Glenard paused, then chuckled under his breath. It was not the laugh of amusement — but of disbelief.

  “You? Pushed Pungence back?” He shook his head, muttering, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  His eyes hardened as he leaned closer, his tone sharpening like a blade.

  “If you survive a fight with him… it isn’t because you were strong enough. It’s because he let you live.”

  He leaned back, still muttering. “‘Pushed him back,’ she says…” His laughter deepened, hollow and edged with scorn. “The day you truly manage that… I’ll die by eating shit.”

  Ziraiah bristled, but Glenard’s next words cut like thunder:

  “Don’t compare yourself to him, girl. Pungence isn’t measured. He is the measure. Do you even understand what you were standing against?”

  His voice grew lower, almost reverent.

  “When we speak of strength, it is because he has shown what strength is. When we speak of endurance, it is because he has endured more. He is the weight against which all others are weighed.”

  His eyes narrowed, his tone dropping into awe.

  “Even the Binding Hand doesn’t ask, ‘How strong is Pungence?’ They ask, ‘How far are we from him?’ That is the gulf he has carved into this world. That is why he cannot be measured. He is the one who measures.”

  Glenard’s gaze drifted, memory flashing across his lined face. “My wife witnessed his power once. I’ll never forget what she said: ‘Power wears Pungence’s name like a signature.’”

  He exhaled slowly, his gaze hard as stone. “So do you understand, little girl?”

  ---

  Hours later, Valerius stirred. His head was swathed in thick bandages, only his eyes left uncovered. He tried to speak—

  “AAAHH!” His cry was muffled by pain.

  Ziraiah winced. “The doctor said you won’t be able to talk for a while.”

  Valerius blinked, his thoughts racing. What? I was speaking fine during the fight. Must’ve been the adrenaline keeping me going.

  His body was covered in fresh wrappings, every limb bound, every breath a labor.

  Beside him, Eryndor pushed himself upright. His face was pale, lips dry, his body trembling with fatigue. “This marks the second occasion I have been utterly depleted—drained to the very dregs of my essence.” he muttered, voice raspy. Bandages wrapped his chest and arms, his ribs tightly bound.

  ---

  Night fell.

  They stepped out of the hospital, the air cool, the street alive with lanterns and bustling citizens. People moved about in clusters, vendors shouting, laughter and chatter filling the night.

  Dr. Glenard followed them to the doors, his tone softer now. “I don’t know how Pungence expects you three to recover from injuries like that… but I hope you do.”

  The siblings gave faint nods before stepping into the flow of the street.

  Then Valerius stopped.

  At the far end of the street, a man stood. Still. Silent. His eyes locked directly onto Valerius.

  Valerius blinked.

  The man was gone.

  The world froze.

  Every sound cut to silence. Every lantern flame froze mid-flicker. Every pedestrian locked mid-step, suspended in eerie stillness.

  Valerius’s pulse spiked. Speed mode…

  He turned his head sharply, using Sentinel, his awareness stretching through the frozen air. His vision swept the street in fractions of a second.

  Then—

  A prickle ran up his spine.

  He spun right.

  There. The man stood again, unmoved by the frozen world, his gaze fixed on Valerius.

  Unblinking. Watching.

  The street was empty but for the two of them.

  The man bolted.

  Valerius didn’t hesitate. His body blurred, as he tore forward.

  WHOOM.

  They shot through the city streets at Mach 4.4, the world fracturing around them. Windows shattered. Roof tiles ripped free. Airwaves detonated like cannon fire with every stride.

  They twisted through the labyrinth of Heful’s streets, sharp turns snapping like whiplash. Each corner they carved sent shockwaves rattling through walls. Stone cracked. Lanterns burst in sparks. Dust chased them in their wake.

  Valerius closed the gap — his eyes narrowing. Now they were side by side.

  Their arms pumped so fast they vanished, the air around them tearing into ribbons. The other man’s head turned slightly, golden eyes glowing like molten suns. His skin was bronze, his hair wild and white like wool, and his clothes — sleek, alien, futuristic — shimmered in the fractured air.

  He smiled.

  Then, in an instant, he accelerated.

  Valerius growled, the pressure slamming against his chest. I can go faster… but if I push here, the city will collapse.

  His teeth clenched. Then the realization struck. Fortify it.

  His Bravo surged outward, a lattice of force spreading beneath the ground and buildings. Streets solidified. Walls braced. The city itself hardened against him.

  BOOOOM.

  He exploded forward at Mach 50, the air screaming behind him. The city held — fortified by his will.

  They neared the sea, waves crashing in the distance. Valerius reached, his hand stretching toward the man’s shoulder—

  The man stopped dead. The water rippled from the sudden void of speed.

  He turned slowly, folding his arms. His golden eyes burned into Valerius.

  When he spoke, his voice was a nightmare — crackling like broken time, doubled and distorted, buzzing with static menace:

  “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN.”

  Then he was gone.

  He bolted across the ocean itself, water splitting apart in walls on either side of his wake. Each stride thundered like a storm, the sea flattening beneath his feet.

  The man slammed into Heful’s barrier—

  and tore straight through.

  The dome screamed like shattering glass, light fracturing outward in a cascade of sparks. For a heartbeat the breach hung open, raw edges rippling to seal—

  —but Valerius was already there.

  His body blurred emerald as he cut through the gap before the barrier could heal itself, chasing the golden phantom into the night.

  Valerius roared and gave chase, unleashing everything. His body blurred into a green streak, surging across the waves at Mach 5000. The ocean detonated in his trail, geysers rising like mountains.

  He was close. So close. His fingertips reached for the phantom just ahead.

  The man turned his head, still smiling. His voice ripped through the storm again:

  “SEE YOU SOON.”

  Then—

  He vanished.

  His speed exploded tenfold, breaking into the impossible. The horizon swallowed him in a single blink.

  Valerius skidded to a halt on the endless ocean, waves towering around him. His chest heaved, lightning flickering around his body.

  His emerald eyes widened.

  …Damn.

  The sea rumbled. The night sky stretched silent. And Valerius stood alone, staring at the horizon where the golden-eyed phantom had vanished.

  ---

  To Be Continued...