A thick, suffocating tension hung over the Brightspire District.
The rattling roar of gunfire echoed continuously through the air, shattering the illusion of peace that had long defined the area.
Each burst of gunfire reverberated against the polished walls of luxurious mansions, sending waves of unease through every corner of the district.
Fear and panic gnawed at the hearts of its residents.
Many of the wealthy inhabitants, n and won who had lived their entire lives insulated from danger could not help but tremble within the comfort of their fortified hos.
For most of them, this was the first ti they had ever heard gunfire at such close proximity.
It was not distant.
It was not contained.
It was here.
"Lock all gates!"
"Double the guards!"
"Don’t let anyone in!"
Orders were barked across private compounds as elite security teams scrambled into position.
Ard guards took up defensive formations, scanning the streets with tense expressions, fingers hovering over triggers.
The once lively roads of Brightspire were now completely deserted.
Pedestrians had vanished.
Luxury vehicles sat abandoned along the roadside, their owners having rushed back into their hos in fear.
Phones rang endlessly as residents called the Federation Police, their voices laced with desperation.
"What is happening?!"
"Send reinforcents imdiately!"
"We’re under attack!"
It was as if the entire district had transford overnight into a battlefield.
Inside the Federation Police headquarters, communicators rang without pause.
Operators scrambled to respond to the overwhelming flood of distress calls. Officers exchanged uneasy glances, struggling to piece together the situation.
Reports ca in fragnts.
Gunfire.
Screams.
Unknown attackers.
At the sa ti, within the military command structure, similar chaos unfolded.
Calls poured in from influential figures, demanding imdiate intervention. Orders were requested, questioned, and delayed.
To anyone unaware of the truth, it would have seed as though the city was once again at war with abyssal beasts.
But this was different.
Inside the General’s quarters, however, the atmosphere stood in stark contrast.
The General stepped out of his private room, a faint smile lingering at the corners of his lips.
There was a lightness in his step.
A clarity in his gaze.
He could feel it.
The changes in his body were undeniable.
Though the world had advanced in dicine and technology, there were still countless diseases beyond the reach of conventional treatnt.
The ergence of mana had only complicated matters further, bringing with it strange and deadly disease that modern science could not cure.
Only potions from the abyss held the power to nd such injuries.
And now, thanks to the healing potion Thoren had given him.
He was whole again.
The persistent ache that had plagued his spine for years, ever since his battle against abyssal beasts, had completely vanished.
The stiffness in his joints, the lingering fatigue, the dull pain that had beco part of his daily life all gone.
He flexed his fingers slowly, then rolled his shoulders, a satisfied expression crossing his face.
For the first ti in years, he felt... alive.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A sudden, urgent knocking broke his thoughts.
His expression darkened slightly.
"Co in," he said, his tone sharp.
The door opened, and a young major stepped in, saluting imdiately.
"What is it?" the General demanded coldly.
"Sir, we’ve received urgent reports from the Brightspire District," the major said quickly.
The General’s brows furrowed.
Brightspire.
That was where his family lived.
A flicker of concern crossed his eyes.
"Report," he ordered.
The major relayed everything, the gunfire, the chaos, the suspected involvent of a newly returned awakener.
As the information settled, the General’s expression slowly shifted.
The tension in his face eased.
Then, unexpectedly he relaxed.
"Ignore the calls," he said calmly.
The major blinked, stunned.
"Sir?"
"You heard ," the General replied firmly. "Ignore them."
Though confusion lingered, the major snapped to attention and saluted.
"Yes, sir."
Without another word, he turned and left the room.
Once alone, the General let out a low snort.
"They had it coming," he muttered, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
He was not ignorant.
Far from it.
He knew exactly what those powerful families and shadow organizations had been doing behind the scenes, the exploitation, the corruption, the countless lives ruined for profit.
For years, he had wanted to act.
To purge them.
To bring justice.
But he couldn’t.
Not because he lacked the will but because he lacked the power.
In a world where strength dictated authority, his position as a General ant little compared to families backed by awakeners.
None of his own children had ever returned from the abyss.
He had no such backing.
No leverage.
At any mont, those powerful families could strip him of his rank and replace him without consequence.
But now, Thoren had done what he never could.
And for that...
The General felt no sympathy.
Only satisfaction.
"Besides," he murmured, "I owe the boy a favor."
Even if Thoren were not an awakener, he would not interfere.
And now that he was, there was even less reason to act.
Shaking his head lightly, the General cast aside the matter and returned his focus to his rejuvenated body, a faint smile once again appearing on his lips.
anwhile, inside the Federation Headquarters, the atmosphere was far more tense.
Two old n sat across from each other in a private chamber.
One of them, Mr. Silas, the owner of the Hollow Trust looked visibly shaken.
His usual composed deanor was gone, replaced by a grim, strained expression.
"Councilor," he said, his voice tight, "you’re the only one who can save ."
The man opposite him, the Councilor remained silent.
He observed Silas with sharp, calculating eyes, like a predator studying its prey.
Under that piercing gaze, Silas did not look away.
He held his ground, his desperation barely contained beneath the surface.
Of all the connections he had cultivated over the years, this man was his last hope.
A sudden vibration broke the silence.
Silas quickly pulled out his communicator.
His eyes flickered with confusion when he saw the caller ID; his chief security officer.
Why now?
A bad feeling crept into his chest.
Still, he answered.
"...Hello?"
After a few second.
"What?!" he shouted, shooting to his feet.
His face drained of color.
"What happened?" the Councilor asked, his brows knitting together.
Silas’s hand trembled violently as the communicator slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor.
His mind reeled.
The words echoed again and again.
His ho.
Under attack.
That awakener had co for him.
"Councilor... please..." Silas said, his voice shaking. "Help ."
"Explain," the Councilor demanded.
"My residence is under attack," Silas said, struggling to steady his voice. "The awakener... he’s there."
He swallowed hard.
"Please. You have to do sothing."
His thoughts raced.
His grandchildren were inside that estate.
If anything happened to them—
"I can’t lose everything now," he added desperately. "You know what we’ve done together. You can’t let fall."
The Councilor leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.
Then, after a brief pause, he spoke.
"I can help you," he said calmly. "But the price will be steep."
Silas clenched his fists.
"I’ll do anything," he said without hesitation. "Just help ."
The Councilor’s lips curled faintly.
"Very well," he said. "You will give up the mine."
Mr. Silas froze.
For a mont, he said nothing. Then his jaw tightened.
’This greedy old bastard...’
He had known.
For years, he had known the Councilor coveted that mine. It was the foundation of his wealth, the source of his power.
To give it up...
Was to lose everything.
But right now, none of that mattered.
Not when his life and his family were on the line.
Silas closed his eyes briefly, then took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, his decision was clear.
"...Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I agree."
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