Jane looked ahead and saw the cloaked man standing at the end of the corridor, firing his pistol at Noor. Her face went pale, agitation washing over her. She saw the danger closing in and knew she had to take cover—now.

Before she could steady herself and run, while Noor was shouting for her to get away, the stranger aimed his pistol at her and fired an electric bullet.

The bullet hissed through the air toward her. She froze, panic locking her in place. It struck, sending a violent surge of electricity ripping through her body. She convulsed, paralyzed by the current coursing through her, until her body finally went limp. She collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Noor stared in shock. His expression twisted—first with disbelief, then pain, then fury. The anger inside him erupted like a volcano long held in check. His voice tore through the air, raw and bloodshot.

"I will kill you for what you've done!"

He burst from cover, pistol raised, eyes burning with rage. He fired—again and again—but every shot veered away before hitting the target, as if an invisible field deflected the bullets.

The cloaked man strode toward him, unhurried, the silver, skull-like mask glinting in the sunlight as lead whistled past.

Click.

Noor's pistol was empty. He flung it aside and conjured a sword, lunging forward. The cloaked man sidestepped, knocking the blade from Noor's grip with a sharp strike to his wrist.

A sudden punch to the gut knocked the breath from Noor's lungs. He doubled over, coughing blood, the air trapped in his throat. He crumpled to the ground.

The cloaked man's voice was cold and deliberate.

"Do not mess with the Enix. You'd need a hundred years of training just to touch one of us. Now… I will take what I came for."

He bent down, lifted Jane's limp body onto his shoulder, and began to walk away.

Noor gasped, voice hoarse with pain.

"You… bastard… leave her!"

The cloaked man turned, eyes narrowing.

"We need her body—and her ability. Forget her. She will never return to you alive. I tell you this so you don't waste your life chasing ghosts. Finish your final test. Learn your role in these events. Friends, attachments… they're distractions. In this world, they'll get you killed. Goodbye."

Noor gritted his teeth, trembling, one hand pressed to the ground as he tried to rise. He crawled forward, reaching for the retreating figure, but his body refused him. Pain burned through his stomach. His vision swam.

"I will get to you," he rasped, "even if it takes me a hundred years!"

Darkness claimed him.

He awoke hours later. The memory struck first—Jane, the cloaked man, the helplessness. His heart pounded. He staggered upright, scanning the empty place.

Panic clawed at him. The air felt too thin. The world around him blurred, like a bad dream that refused to end.

But was he dreaming now?

Noor knew one thing—the world wasn't as it seemed. There were secrets buried deep in history, truths a handful of people guarded while the rest of humanity wandered blind, like sheep driven to food and water. Sheep who never wondered where their missing companions had gone—until the shepherd's knife found their own necks.

Noor felt that truth cut through him. He had nothing left—no family, no friends, no memories of who he had been. The mystery clawed at his mind. The sadness weighed heavy in his chest.

At last, tears came. They didn't stop.

When the crying drained him, he forced himself to move. He stumbled to the square, washed his face in the fountain, and drank. The reflection in the water made him pause. His eyes were red, his face pale, a stranger staring back.

Was this really him?

A dizzy detachment crept in—like he was watching someone else's life. Doubt gnawed at him. Doubt about himself. Doubt about the world.

"Why am I going through this?" he whispered. "What did I do to deserve it? Oh God… guide me, as You always have."

His thoughts drifted back to the scene of Jane's abduction. Maybe there was something—anything—left behind.

He crossed the square and entered the alley, replaying every moment in his head. When he reached the end, he stopped, staring at the empty spot. His mind refused to work, logic slipping away.

"Am I dreaming?" he murmured, lowering his head. "Did I really met Jane? Did she die here? Was she taken? Or am I losing my mind completely?"

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