The trio lay sprawled on the ground, catching their breath, their bodies still buzzing with the adrenaline from their close encounter with the Tyton. As the dust settled and the silence of the wasteland closed in, they finally pushed themselves upright, all three of them feeling the weight of the night’s events in their bones.


    Sabir reached down to pick up the briefcase that had once been his motorcycle. His eyes scanned it with curiosity, a mix of confusion and irritation bubbling up. “Why did this thing turn back into a briefcase?” he muttered, flipping it in his hands and giving it a shake, as though the machine might suddenly decide to transform back on command.


    Warren, who still looked a bit shaken, rolled his eyes. “The eridium crystal must’ve run dry,” he said, tapping the briefcase as if it were a stubborn piece of machinery. “It needs replacing if you want to use it again.”


    Sabir sighed, gripping the briefcase under his arm with a touch more force, his face twisted with the quiet frustration that came from a night’s worth of exhaustion and the still-burning sparks of adrenaline. He’d hoped the briefcase-turned-bike would be forgotten, that he could pass it off as something that just… happened. A small part of him believed he could take another step and simply leave the conversation behind.


    But Zabo had other plans. His gaze lingered on the briefcase, suspicion and curiosity pooling in his eyes. “Wait, a second. How’d you even get this bike in the first place?”


    Sabir’s pulse quickened. “Oh, you know,” he said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance that felt as heavy as lead. “Just… found it.” He made a move to walk, his eyes forward, trying not to betray any emotion, but the silence that followed settled over them, thick and ominous.


    “No one just finds a bike out here.” Warren’s voice was firm, his tone darkening with each word. He wasn’t buying it. He fixed Sabir with a stare sharp enough to slice through his attempted indifference. “So, Sabir, really—how’d you get it?”


    Sabir’s shoulders slumped. There was no sidestepping this. With a slow, defeated sigh, he stopped, the silence between them expanding like the shadows creeping across the wasteland. His gaze drifted downward, as if he could somehow disappear into the sands at his feet. He could feel Warren and Zabo’s eyes boring into him, filled with questions and doubts.


    “Alright,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I got it from Frederick.”


    For a moment, Warren and Zabo simply stared, their eyes widening with shock. Frederick’s name hung in the air, charged like a live wire, the surrounding silence somehow louder than any answer Sabir could give.


    “Frederick?” Warren’s voice was a mix of disbelief and shock. “Like the butler? The one who vanished? Where is he now?”


    Sabir’s jaw clenched, the weight of the truth pressing on him like a stone. His voice dropped, low and cold, a hollow echo in the dark. “He’s dead. I killed him.”


    Zabo’s breath caught. His eyes flashed, darting between Sabir and the briefcase with something akin to dread.


    “What…?” Warren’s face drained of color. He staggered back, nearly tripping as he grappled with the words. “That… that’s impossible.” He looked at Sabir, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes—fear, disbelief, maybe even awe. “Frederick was a former hunter. And you’re…” He hesitated, his voice trailing off as he fought to find the words. “You’re… a dud, Sabir. How could you—?”


    But Sabir’s stare was unwavering, steady, hardened by whatever he had gone through. The gravity in his eyes silenced whatever else Warren had been about to say, the reality of it washing over them like a wave of ice.


    As Warren’s stunned words lingered in the air, Zabo suddenly halted mid-step, his eyes narrowing, sharp and searching. His face shifted, the usual lightheartedness draining to reveal something darker, a flicker of apprehension flashing behind his gaze. He turned slowly, his focus narrowing on Sabir with a look that bordered on suspicion… and a hint of something close to fear.


    Zabo’s eyes scanned Sabir, drifting down his frame, as though picking up on something invisible yet undeniable. His jaw tightened, a silent calculation working behind his eyes, and then—without warning—he lunged forward. His hands gripped Sabir’s shoulders, fingers digging in as if bracing for some hidden danger.


    “Sabir,” Zabo’s voice was a tight, urgent whisper, a tremor of alarm threading through his tone. “How did you do this?” His eyes were wide now, the intensity almost unnerving as he held Sabir’s gaze, unblinking, almost as if he was staring into something only he could see. “What the hell did you create?”


    Sabir looked baffled. “What are you talking about, Zabo?”


    Zabo’s gaze narrowed, as though he were seeing Sabir for the first time. “It’s... too big. What’s in your chest—it’s not a normal aurasphere. It’s tangled, messy, like it doesn’t belong.”


    Warren frowned. “Aurasphere? What’s that?”


    Zabo let go of Sabir and turned to Warren, trying to explain as simply as he could. “An aurasphere is... like a core, something that stores our aura within our bodies. Every Esper has one; it’s what gives us our abilities.” He looked back at Sabir, studying him with something close to disbelief. “And right now, Sabir has something like that inside him.”


    Sabir glanced down at his chest, only now beginning to understand the strange sensations he’d been feeling since his encounter with the old man. “Oh,” he said, a realization dawning on him. “So that’s what he gave me... an aurasphere?”


    Zabo’s eyes widened further. “He?”


    Sabir pulled up his shirt, exposing his chest, which was no longer marred by dark veins. The strange wound that had caused him such agony was gone, and even the veins seemed to have faded entirely. Warren and Zabo looked at him, both amazed and disturbed by the transformation.


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    “Yeah, some old man,” Sabir said, his voice casual though he knew how strange it sounded. “He healed me. I think he... I think he gave me his aurasphere.”


    Zabo’s face twisted with confusion, and he shook his head, rubbing his temples as if trying to process it all. “Wait, wait. It’s... theoretically possible to give someone your aurasphere, but it’s tied to your very essence. Giving it away would mean...”


    “Death,” Warren finished for him, his tone skeptical but tinged with awe. He turned back to Sabir, scrutinizing him like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “So, this old man just... handed you his aura whatever and then vanished into the night?”


    Sabir shrugged. “He said little. Mostly because I needed to save you guys. He just helped me, then... he let me go. No idea why he was out here in the wasteland in the first place.”


    Zabo let out a deep breath, raking a hand through his dreads. “Too much for me to think about right now,” he muttered, clearly overwhelmed. “Let’s just say you’re healed, and we’re happy to have you back. Deal?”


    Warren shook his head, still clearly not entirely convinced. “Your story is strange, Sabir, but... maybe we’ll just count our blessings for now.” There was a touch of gratitude in his voice, though his eyes held questions that would remain unasked—at least for tonight.


    Together, they followed the faint trail left by the bike, making their way back to where the rest of the group would be. After all, they’d gone through, exhaustion had finally caught up with them, but they pushed on, desperate to reach some semblance of safety.


    As they arrived back at camp, they found the others sprawled on the ground, deep in sleep. The quiet breaths of their companions mixed with the night’s soft breeze, creating a stillness that felt like a welcome lull after the chaos they’d just endured. The gentle sound of Violet, the griffin, sleeping in the shadow of a nearby rock added to the peaceful scene.


    Zabo’s gaze fell on the slumbering beast, and he huffed, a note of irritation in his voice. “Of course you’re sleeping,” he muttered. “We could’ve died back there, and you didn’t even lift a claw to help.” He took a step closer to Violet, lifting his foot as if considering giving the creature a gentle kick.


    Warren caught Zabo’s arm, his expression stern. “Leave her be,” he whispered, bringing a finger to his lips to keep the peace. Zabo shot him a look but relented, grumbling as he moved away from the griffin and settled onto the ground.


    Sabir, Warren, and Zabo each found a spot on the sandy ground, the fatigue in their muscles overwhelming any discomfort. The stars above shimmered, their light casting a gentle glow across the wasteland as the night deepened. The trio lay down, their bodies sore and bruised but finally at ease, drifting off to sleep with the weight of their journey, pressing them down into the earth.


    The last thing Sabir saw was the faint outline of the Tyton’s carcass on the horizon, a silent reminder of what they’d survived. And as his eyelids grew heavy, he thought of the mysterious old man, of Frederick, of all he had left behind and all that lay ahead.


    For now, though, he let himself rest, the mystery of the aurasphere and all the dangers of the wasteland fading into the background.


    ***


    Sabir’s eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented, as a distant chorus of raised voices filtered into his mind, growing sharper with every passing second. He blinked, confusion fogging his thoughts as he tried to grasp where he was. Shouting echoed across the camp, the urgency of it setting his instincts on edge.


    “Get back, Elektra! Just calm down!” Warren’s voice rang out, strained and breathless.


    “Don''t tell me what to do!” Elektra shouted. “Something happened between him and Frederick!”


    Sabir’s mind snapped into focus as he recognized her voice. He pushed himself upright, still feeling the ache in his body from the previous night’s ordeal, but he knew he had to move. Before he could even fully register what was happening, Elektra broke past Warren and Zabo’s restraint. Her fierce gaze locked on him.


    “Sabir!” she yelled, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint as sparks danced across her fists. In a flash, her foot was arcing down toward him, charged with crackling electricity that illuminated the night air. She wasn’t here to talk.


    Sabir’s survival instincts took over as he rolled to the side, her electrified kick landing a hair’s breadth from his face and sending a sizzling arc of energy into the ground. Dirt and debris flew from the impact, the shockwave hitting him even as he dodged, the smell of singed earth filling his nostrils.


    He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through him, and barely had a moment to steady himself before Elektra lunged again, fists blazing with electric currents that buzzed in the air. Sabir ducked and twisted, his muscles taut with tension as he narrowly avoided her strikes. She was relentless, each swing of her fists a torrent of precise fury, her movements a chaotic blur of light and speed.


    “Frederick…” she spat between blows, her voice seething with rage. “He was like family. You got him killed, didn’t you!?”


    Sabir’s chest heaved as he blocked her next punch, his own arms jolted by the residual charge. He staggered backward, feeling the electric burn where her fist had grazed him. But he met her furious gaze head-on, something cold and defiant flashing in his eyes.


    “You think he didn’t try to kill me first?” Sabir shot back, his tone steely. “Frederick made his choice. And I made mine.”


    For a split second, they paused, each gauging the other, their breaths heavy in the tense silence that crackled with lingering energy. But the moment was short-lived. Elektra launched herself at him again, every movement faster, more aggressive, her strikes bearing the weight of fury and grief.


    Sabir braced himself, dodging left, then countering with a swift jab that Elektra deflected with ease. They clashed her raw energy against his steady determination, their blows a dance of survival and anger. Each hit, each step, sent tremors through the ground, their sparking clash the only light in the encroaching dawn.


    But just as Sabir’s stamina faltered, Zabo sprang into action, throwing his chains forward. The iron coils wrapped around Elektra, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled, fury lighting her face as she fought against the chains, but Zabo held tight, his expression strained.


    “Enough, Elektra!” Zabo grunted, the tension in his voice clear as he kept his grip firm. “You need to stop.”


    Before Elektra could retaliate, Warren stepped forward, positioning himself firmly between her and Sabir. He held out his hands, his gaze steady and calming. “Listen to him, Elektra. There’s more going on than you think.”


    Elektra’s chest heaved as she looked from Warren to Zabo, then back to Sabir. The weight of her rage simmered behind her eyes, but for a moment, reason seemed to slip in as she stopped struggling.


    Then her voice cut through the silence, sharp and unforgiving. “What happened to Frederick?” Her tone was low, trembling with barely contained fury.


    Sabir met her gaze unflinchingly. “I killed him,” he said, his voice firm, unapologetic.


    Elektra’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face. But before she could speak, Sabir’s own voice darkened, a hint of resolve hardening his tone. “And you’ll join him soon.”


    The air went still, the tension between them thick and taut, as the promise of Sabir’s words hung in the quiet, shifting everything in its wake.