Kenji stood in the makeshift common area of Hana's compound. The faint glow of emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows.
He saw his sister, Hana, giving orders to a group of engineers. Her movements were sharp and efficient.
His heart ached with a familiar, painful desire to close the gap between them. His system was quiet for once. The Corruption Influence meter glowed a steady, terrifying red.
Yet, inside him, turmoil roared. He needed to know. He had to know.
"Hana," he said, his voice quiet, almost hoarse,
"we need to talk. About… about everything. About Mom and Dad."
Hana stiffened, her shoulders tensing. She didn't turn. Instead, she carefully adjusted a power conduit that connected to some communication relays. Her voice was clipped, devoid of warmth.
"You want to know? Fine. But don't expect a reunion with fireworks, Kenji. We… we lost everything. Everyone. Not everyone gets to come back… changed."
The last word hung in the air, thick with unspoken accusation, a direct hit to the Shadow Brand burning on his wrist.
Kenji flinched, but held his ground. He could feel the eyes of the other Resistance members on them, curious, wary.
He had to push.
"I know it's hard. But I need to hear it. From you."
He took a step closer, but stopped as she subtly tensed.
Hana finally turned, her face grim, eyes a shade darker than he remembered.
"It was… chaos. The day the blight truly hit the city. It wasn't a slow creeping. It was a burst. Like something tearing through the sky and just… bleeding poison. The air turned foul, Kenji. Thick, with that metallic stench you know so well. The streets started to twist, buildings buckling, turning organic."
She closed her eyes for a moment, a single, sharp breath escaping her lips.
"Mom and Dad… they tried. You know how Dad always had a plan, a contingency for everything. He immediately sealed us in the old family shelter, the one under the garage. He said we'd weather it. Mom just… she held onto us, tried to keep us calm."
Hana's voice started to lose its clipped edge, a tremor entering it. Kenji saw her hands clench, white-knuckled.
"We heard the screams from outside. The groans. The changes. It was just a thin layer of concrete between us and… them."
She opened her eyes, and they were filled with a raw, visceral horror.
"Then… the ground above us buckled. The concrete began to crack. Not from an explosion, but… like something was pushing from below. Something vast. And a… a Harvester burst through. Not one of the small ones. A truly massive one. It just… ripped through the garage like paper. Dad… he fought. He always did. He put himself between us and it. He tried to shield us, even as it reached for him."
Hana's voice broke, becoming a thin, reedy sound. She gulped, trying to regain control.
"Mom… she just kept trying to pull me, pull me away from the doorway, even as it… as it took them. They didn't even have a chance to turn. They were just… gone. Absorbed. Just… gone."
Kenji felt it like a physical blow. The air rushed from his lungs. His vision blurred, not because of tears, but from a sudden wave of grief and guilt that hit him hard.
His Shadow Brand burned, an agonizing fire, a mirror of the churning pain in his gut. He had been away.
Fighting his own battles. While they… he clenched his eyes shut, trying to fight back the wave of despair.
The Heart of the Eclipse pulsed, not with anger, but with a chilling empathy.
This made his internal control even more unstable. He remained silent, letting her words sink in, unable to offer comfort, unable to find his own voice.
Hana took a ragged breath, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance.
"I ran. Just ran. Through the sewers, through the undercity. Days, maybe weeks. I found others. Scared. Lost. Like me. We learned. We adapted. We fought."
Her voice hardened again, regaining its steel.
"I watched our world burn, Kenji. I watched people… change. I saw heroes fall, and cowards rise. I learned quickly that trust is a luxury we can't afford. And power… power always comes at a price. What was yours?"
Her gaze pierced him, still hinting at the core of her profound distrust.
Elara stepped forward. She reached out her hand, which gave off a quiet warmth. It pushed back against the cold bitterness in the air.
She didn't touch Hana, simply let her Lumina light bathe the space between them.
"She's suffered, Kenji. We all have. Her strength… It's born from unimaginable loss."
Kaito felt the heavy moment. He cleared his throat and slid a crumpled piece of paper across the table.
"Hana, this blight… It's good at breaking things. People, too. But the fact you're still standing, still fighting? That's… that's something. Something we can build on. We've got their operational data from the Nexus now. We can make a plan. A real one. A way to hit back. For them."
His voice was softer than usual, with a genuine respect for her resilience in his tone.
Hana looked at the paper, then at Kaito, a faint flicker of recognition in her eyes.
"Kaito. You were always too optimistic."
But her voice held less bite. She took the paper, her fingers tracing the crude map.
Kenji, still fighting the crushing grief, finally spoke, his voice raw.
"I didn't trade anything, Hana. I control it. Every painful, terrifying second of it. This… this is a weapon. The only one strong enough to fight him. To avenge them."
He looked at her, his eyes blazing with a grief-fueled resolve.
"I'm not weak. Not anymore. I'm just… what's left."
Hana finally met his gaze. The pain stayed, along with distrust. But there was more – a hint of recognition.
It wasn't the old Kenji, but the shared, heavy burden they both felt. She didn't offer comfort, but she didn't pull away either. A fragile understanding passed between them.
It was a silent nod to their broken memories and the deep grief for their lost family.
"Reyes," Hana said firmly, using Kenji's new title and skipping the personal touch.
"Show me your combat projections for the northern sector. We have a district to reclaim."
She turned and walked to the main holographic map. Her posture was still stiff, but she seemed less distant now.
The personal wound stayed, still raw and unhealed. Yet, the shared cause created a fragile but strong bond.
The war and their fractured family continued.