The neon cables of Arctar’s suspended bridge shimmered against the dark canal below, their glow mingling with the scattered reflections of streetlamps. The night air was cold and crisp.

  Bozo was already waiting when Rosalyn and Sir Vu arrived at the bridge as scheduled. Sir Vu had parked his Jaguar farther down the street -parking here wasn’t allowed -so they crossed the bridge on foot.

  Sir Vu did most of the talking, particularly cheerful tonight. Rosalyn smiled and replied when needed, but her mind drifted elsewhere, still in the Abandoned Gardens, still beside Lightveil.

  When they reached Bozo, he greeted them with only a curt nod before turning away.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Straight to the point, Mr. Wisdom.” Sir Vu smirked. “I’m certainly curious where those secret training grounds of yours are. It’s not like something like that can be hidden in the middle of the city.” He paused dramatically. “Wait. Don’t tell me it’s the stadium.”

  “They’re in Arctar’s slums.” Bozo replied evenly.

  Sir Vu’s grin faded. He glanced away, forcing a light laugh.

  “…Oh.”

  Bozo’s gaze shifted to Rosalyn.

  “This won’t be safe territory. In the future, never come there alone, unescorted.”

  She nodded. Bozo then looked at Sir Vu, particularly at his styled magenta hair.

  “You’ll stand out wildly.” Bozo said flatly.

  He reached into his pocket and tossed him a plain black beanie. Sir Vu caught it.

  “Thinking I’ll get robbed?” he asked with a fanged, dangerous smile.

  “Better not to end up on any mob’s list. They’re ruthless. And patient, if they sniff out worthwhile prey.”

  “Don’t you have a mask too though? Might as well hide my face while we’re at it. Not to brag, but it is plastered on a fair number of billboards in Arctar and I suspect those mobs can actually read.”

  “Just refrain from grinning and avoid eye contact.”

  “Sure. I can be broody.” Sir Vu muttered, stuffing his bright hair beneath the beanie and arranging his face into an exaggerated expression of melancholic sadness.

  Rosalyn bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  Without another word, Bozo turned and led them North-West of the bridge.

  Gradually, as they advanced, the city started to change.

  The sleek metal-and-glass skyscrapers gave way to older concrete towers. The dark gray-blue tiles beneath their feet grew worn and cracked, sometimes replaced by completely mismatched patches, as if Arctar’s maintenance crews rarely came this far. Streetlamps became scarce, leaving long stretches of the streets in shadow, while the number of questionable bars steadily increased.

  A group of broad-shouldered men stood outside one of the bars, talking. They glanced at the trio as they passed. They knew Bozo. A few gave brief nods of recognition, which he returned. Their eyes, however, lingered on the two walking behind him.

  Rosalyn felt their gazes slither over her body and shivered slightly, though she kept her eyes fixed ahead on the road. Sir Vu moved a little closer to her in a quiet protective gesture and murmured:

  “Take my arm, sweetheart.”

  She did. It felt safer this way.

  After a while, Bozo turned down a more isolated street. There were no bars here. The area was eerily quiet. The buildings looked largely abandoned, their concrete walls streaked with age. Exposed pipes ran along them, and cables sagged between towers overhead.

  At the far end of the street stood a single lamp post before a massive, crumbling warehouse. Its light flickered weakly, as though on its last breath. The warehouse walls were mottled with moss, and most windows had been shattered long ago.

  Bozo approached a wide sliding garage door, its paint almost entirely worn away, leaving only a few stubborn patches clinging to the metal. He pulled it open and stepped inside.

  Rosalyn and Sir Vu followed.

  A vast, hollow space opened before them. The cracked concrete floor stretched across the warehouse, flanked by old conveyor belts and loading rails along the sides. Several roof panels had collapsed, leaving jagged openings through which daylight would fall during the day. Rusted metal catwalks creaked faintly high above. The space was surprisingly clean though for being supposedly abandoned.

  Bozo turned to face them.

  “Here we are.”

  Sir Vu glanced around slowly.

  “Pleasing aesthetic.” he muttered.

  “It’s isolated, far from unwanted eyes. And it’s large enough to provide ample space for training.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it safe from unwanted eyes.” Sir Vu replied, turning toward the now-closed garage door. “This looks like the perfect hangout spot for all those charming individuals we passed on the way here. And I doubt this door would keep them outside. Those rusted hinges look ready to surrender at the slightest push.”

  “This warehouse is under my protection.” Bozo said calmly. “Therefore it’s safe.”

  “Oh?” Sir Vu smirked, tilting his head. “Could this be yet another manifestation of your Wisdom powers?”

  “Anyone who approaches this warehouse within a thirty-meter radius is already known to me because of my foresight. I know who they are and when they arrive.”

  Sir Vu folded his arms.

  “Alright. And once they’re in your ‘observation territory’ and keep advancing here, what do you do about it?”

  “I jam or barricade the door so that they can’t get in.”

  “That’s… surprisingly simple.”

  “Wisdom usually is.”

  That said, Bozo took off his jacket and tossed it onto the nearest conveyor belt before walking to the center of the open arena-like space. He stood straight, watching Rosalyn and Sir Vu. Taking the cue, they removed their coats as well and set them aside for more comfort. They stepped forward, stopping about a meter from him.

  “Tonight will be your first training session,” Bozo declared. “The purpose will be to activate your blooms and hold their power without faltering despite fear or interruption. Sir Vu, you already know how to activate your bloom. You used it during the Memorial. It manifests as a cane. Rosalyn, your bloom will transform into a veil.”

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  Rosalyn blinked.

  “A veil?”

  Bozo nodded once, then ordered:

  “Activate your blooms.”

  Both Rosalyn and Sir Vu opened their right palms and spoke the word:

  “Show.”

  Instantly, a crystallized trumpet flower appeared in each of their hands. Sir Vu’s was pale pink. Rosalyn’s was pale blue.

  Sir Vu flicked his wrist with a focused expression. Instantly his bloom began elongating and thinning until it transformed into a long cane of pink quartz. He grinned, satisfied.

  Bozo gave an approving nod before turning his attention to Rosalyn, who was staring at her bloom. She flicked her wrist repeatedly, trying to imitate Sir Vu, but nothing happened.

  “Your mind is too agitated,” Bozo said calmly. “Your heart is too uneasy. Exhale. Brush unnecessary thoughts aside. Stabilize your breathing.”

  Rosalyn forced herself to slow down.

  “This is only training.” Bozo continued. “You are safe. Focus on the bloom. Tell it to activate. Then move your wrist in the trigger gesture.”

  Rosalyn listened intently and followed his instructions. After a few seconds she flicked her wrist again. Her eyes widened as her bloom’s shape started shifting. Its crystalline petals softened, stretching into a thin rectangular sheet of fabric that spilled gently over her hand.

  She touched it with both hands.

  The material was incredibly thin, almost transparent, like the finest batiste. Tiny blue quartz crystals shimmered within the threads, scattering light across its surface and giving the delicate fabric the appearance of a priceless, sparkling veil.

  Rosalyn stared at it in awe.

  “It’s… beautiful.” she whispered, brushing it carefully with her fingers.

  “What does it do?” Sir Vu asked curiously.

  “It makes the wielder invisible to Morter -his systems, his waves, and those corrupted by him.” Bozo’s gaze settled on Rosalyn. “You will be able to cross zones no one else can. The veil conceals you. You will become undetectable to his sensors, allowing you to operate where others cannot.” He paused briefly. “You will also be able to redirect attention from strategic points elsewhere. A misdirection technique. As you can see, it’s not a flashy role. But it is essential, fitting Humility.”

  “Flashy is my part, isn’t it?” Sir Vu’s lips curled into a playful, fanged smile.

  Bozo turned his eyes to him.

  “You’ve already discovered one of your abilities. Your cane can neutralize brainwashing. But that is not all. Your cane can also dissipate despair, restoring a person’s inner agency and their will to continue fighting.”

  Sir Vu twirled the cane slowly between his fingers.

  “Additionally, you will be able to create safe havens, areas that shield those inside and temporarily amplify the powers of the Chosen.”

  Sir Vu’s grin widened.

  “Nice.”

  “However, you will burn out the quickest. Your stamina will drain faster the more people you protect.”

  Sir Vu’s expression flattened for a moment.

  “We will work on your endurance later.” Bozo declared then crossing his arms, he stepped back.

  “Good. Let us begin.”

  His voice echoed slightly in the vast warehouse.

  “Activated blooms consume large amounts of energy. You will begin to feel drained very soon. For them to remain effective, your state of mind must stay steady and focused despite interruptions. Small moments of fear or hesitation are acceptable as long as you recover quickly. Your will must remain strong.”

  His eyes shifted upward toward the rusted metal catwalks hanging high above the arena floor.

  “Your task tonight is to complete seven parkour laps along those catwalks and staircases while keeping your blooms activated. The number of laps will increase during future sessions.”

  Rosalyn and Sir Vu both looked up at the questionably stable structure. Bozo added calmly:

  “From time to time I will also drop debris toward you. Recover quickly. Do not falter.”

  Rosalyn blinked. Sir Vu frowned.

  “Hey… are you actually trying to kill us?” he asked.

  Bozo remained perfectly composed.

  “I control the trajectory of the falling objects. I can also control the path of your fall if necessary. This is mild compared to what awaits us once Morter awakens.”

  Sir Vu scoffed.

  -----------------------------

  Light from the many bar windows spilled across the dim streets, accompanied by smoke and bursts of drunken laughter drifting into the night. A few intoxicated patrons staggered toward their flats. From time to time, the sharp crash of breaking glass echoed through the district, followed by shouting, running footsteps, or the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh. The deeper the night grew, the darker and louder the neighborhood became.

  A lone tall figure moved calmly through the streets, his black boots making no sound on the cracked pavement. He was dressed entirely in black, a hood pulled low over his head.

  A man stepped outside one of the bars. He appeared to be a waiter taking a smoke break. Leaning against the exterior wall, he exhaled slow loops of smoke while staring absentmindedly at the night sky.

  The hooded figure stopped in front of him. The waiter glanced down.

  “Yeah?”

  The figure spoke quietly, asking for directions. The waiter squinted, thinking.

  “Two men and a woman? One guy that looked like some emo pretty-boy model?” he said with a short laugh. “Yeah, I saw them. Two… maybe three hours ago.”

  He pointed lazily down the street.

  “Went that way. Straight, then right.”

  The figure walked past him without a word. The waiter pushed himself off the wall and dropped his cigarette, taking on a menacing posture.

  “Hey.”

  The figure didn’t stop. The waiter blocked his way.

  “What, you think directions are free? Hand over your wallet.”

  No reaction. The waiter grabbed his shoulder violently. A low chuckle escaped the hooded figure then. The waiter’s eyes widened at the sight of the man’s face.

  “Hey… what are y-”

  He never finished.

  In a blur of unnatural speed, the figure’s hand shot forward and closed around the man’s throat. The waiter’s feet left the ground instantly. He clawed at the iron grip around his neck, his face turning red… then purple as the air vanished from his lungs.

  The hooded figure watched him struggle and kick helplessly in the air, his amused chuckle a nauseating accompaniment.

  Then-

  CRACK.

  The sickening sound of a neck snapping cut through the night. The body went limp. The figure released his grip.

  The corpse dropped to the ground like discarded cloth, landing in a twisted heap. The waiter’s final expression remained frozen in raw horror.

  For a moment, the figure simply looked down at the body.

  A nearby lamppost flickered. For a split second, its weak light illuminated the figure’s profile. A deep scar ran through his left eye, down to his cheek.

  He turned and resumed his calm walk. As he stepped away, he spoke softly:

  “Thank you… for the information…”

  His voice was eerily low and distorted. He continued toward the warehouse.

  -----------------------------

  Training had finally ended.

  Rosalyn and Sir Vu stood catching their breath, sweat glistening on their foreheads. Bozo remained where he was, arms folded, observing them quietly.

  For a first session, it had gone reasonably well.

  Sir Vu, used to catwalks, had handled the first parkour laps with surprising ease. He chose to ignore the constant groaning of the rusted catwalks beneath his polished shoes as though they might collapse at any moment. A few times he jumped when Bozo sent loose tiles crashing down from the roof, the objects wrenching free as Bozo’s eyes flashed briefly with gold. But overall he adapted quickly.

  That was until the third lap.

  The exhaustion hit suddenly. Bozo’s warning about his bloom burning through stamina proved accurate. By the final lap Sir Vu was barely standing, his legs trembling slightly under him.

  Rosalyn, meanwhile, was not as physically drained. She had worn the Veil and moved at a slower pace, her steps careful. But her heart had hammered relentlessly at the height and the falling debris. Several times her bloom deactivated when fear overtook her. Each time Bozo calmly guided her through regaining control.

  She finished the laps, but without much satisfaction. Mentally she felt far more exhausted than physically.

  Bozo looked down at their blooms. They had both returned to their crystallized trumpet-flower forms, now resting in their palms.

  “They are your visible measure of progress,” Bozo explained. “At the moment they remain pale.” He gestured slightly toward the tip of each bloom. “But look closely. The color at the edges has already deepened.”

  Rosalyn leaned closer, noticing the faint change.

  “Once you fully master your powers,” Bozo continued, “the bloom will blaze with color. It will no longer be pale.”

  Sir Vu wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Like yours?” he asked between breaths.

  “Yes.” Bozo replied then added after a pause “Good job.”

  The praise was simple but it felt unexpectedly satisfying. Rosalyn smiled faintly. They both began putting their jackets back on, preparing to leave. Sir Vu soon returned to his usual cheeky composure. While smoothing his lapels he glanced at Bozo and said lightly:

  “So where do you retire after guiding our spiritual enlightenment? Surely not-”

  “I live here.”

  Both Rosalyn and Sir Vu paused.

  Silence fell. Bozo slipped his hands into his pockets and glanced up at the warehouse roof, his expression distant for a moment. Then his gaze lowered to Rosalyn.

  “I was David’s first victim. Six years ago.”