Ren remembered the sensation with perfect clarity, not because it had been unique, but because it had happened too quickly for his mind to interfere with instinct.
One heartbeat he had been beside Nora, close enough that he could have reached out and touched her shoulder, and in the next the world had simply ceased to exist beneath his feet.
There had been barely any warning, only a gradual unraveling of reality and an abrupt collapse of everything familiar as gravity reclaimed him.
Cold crimson light swallowed his vision as the blood-red moon stretched endlessly beneath him, and the wind roared against his ears while his body tumbled through open air.
His first thought had not been about himself, nor about the impossible landscape racing upward to meet him.
It had been Nora.
His neck twisted sharply as he searched through the countless falling figures scattered across the sky, desperately hoping to catch sight of her unmistakable silhouette. Instead, he found only strangers, dozens upon dozens of awakened descending like scattered stars across the crimson heavens.
Nora was, unfortunately, nowhere among them.
Even amid the chaos, however, Ren's sharp eyes caught details that many others might have overlooked. Several of the awakened falling nearby wore uniforms and equipment that weren't belong to Vale.
Their appearances, their weapons, even the subtle differences in their attire immediately marked them as foreigners.
His memory, trained through years of careful observation, sifted through old faces until recognition surfaced. Two figures stood out among the rest. One possessed a relatively relaxed posture and unmistakable blue hair that Ren remembered from nearly a year earlier during the Vytal Tournament. If he wasn't mistaken, this was Sun Wukong's teammate.
Neptune.
Together, the two of them had fought and lost against Jaune and Pyrrha during Vytal.
Not far from him fell another man whose features Ren likewise recognized from those same international competitions.
Rajah.
They had never truly fought alongside one another, nor had they spoken more than a handful of words in the past, while Rajah was in Vale, but faces tended to remain with Ren once he had committed them to memory.
Seeing them now, on the same impossible battlefield, erased any lingering uncertainty about what had transpired.
The conclusion had come to him with remarkable speed.
See, throughout the years, there had been countless theories which were discussed within LUCID regarding the eventual plans of the Sleepless.
Hypotheses constructed from fragmented intelligence reports, intercepted communications, and the increasingly aggressive behavior of Grimm throughout the Dream Realm.
None of those theories had predicted what was now unfolding before his eyes, yet the evidence arranged itself into an unmistakable picture.
Sleepless had finally begun whatever apocalyptic scenario they had been preparing for all this time, and this transportation appeared to be indiscriminate. Rather than targeting individuals or kingdoms, some enormous teleportation phenomenon had randomly scattered awakened from every nation onto this colossal crimson moon.
The realization carried with it a strange sort of reassurance. If everyone had been taken randomly, then neither he, nor Nora had not been singled out.
She was simply somewhere else on this moon.
The landing itself hadn't been violent. It was easily manageable for someone of Ren's physical prowess. Being a Rank 2, he simply absorbed the impact through practiced movement, allowing momentum to carry him into a smooth roll before rising almost immediately to his feet.
Around him, others performed similar recoveries while Grimm, drawn by the sudden arrival of so many awakened, already surged across the scarlet landscape.
There was no luxury for lengthy introductions, yet familiarity brought efficiency. Ren approached the two men he had recognized during the descent without hesitation, offering each of them a respectful greeting as they rapidly assessed their surroundings.
Neither Neptune nor Rajah seemed particularly surprised to see another familiar face. Under the current circumstances, familiar faces were simply one more variable to account for.
Rajah, however, carried history beyond the tournament itself. Ren knew far more about the distance rune user than their brief acquaintance would normally justify—largely because LUCID had circulated reports following the Shadow Realm Expedition that Jaune and Pyrrha had participated in so long ago.
During that operation, multiple LUCID personnel had reportedly fallen victim to a sophisticated form of mental manipulation orchestrated by another Vytal competitor, Emerald.
Her Meta Rune, Psyche, if Ren was remembering correctly, had proven horrifyingly effective, infiltrating minds, and twisting perception, loyalty, and memory itself.
The incident had nearly spiraled into catastrophe, but supposedly, the Rank Three of Menagerie, dubbed the strongest in the world, Velik had somehow navigated the situation, ultimately emerging not only victorious but significantly stronger as a consequence.
Ren had learned quite a bit of the classified detail of what had transpired during that expedition from Pyrrha, but there were still some parts which were confusing.
Still, Rajah's subsequent imprisonment had become well known among awakened circles. Until LUCID could verify that Emerald's influence had been completely eradicated, containment had been considered the safest course of action.
Looking at Rajah now, standing freely upon the crimson moon with weapon in hand, Ren quietly wondered how much of that ordeal still lingered beneath the surface.
"How are you feeling? I didn't get a chance to speak to you after the whole Shadow Realm debacle." he asked simply, allowing genuine concern to show in his otherwise composed expression.
Rajah answered with a slight grimace that conveyed far more than his words did.
"You're asking about that girl's rune right? Well, I'm fine now. The influencing power disappeared a few months ago."
Ren could hear the hesitation hidden behind that reassurance, and Rajah did not attempt to conceal the remaining complications.
LUCID technology had succeeded several months earlier in neutralizing the lingering influence of Emerald's Meta Rune. Whatever mechanisms they had developed had cancelled the psychological control itself, freeing his mind from her direct influence.
Unfortunately, undoing the control had not been the same as repairing the damage. Emerald's intrusion had left scars that no machine could simply erase. Certain memories remained fragmented or incomplete and entire stretches of his past occasionally slipped beyond reach before resurfacing unpredictably.
He functioned normally in combat, but his own mind no longer felt entirely reliable. Ren offered a quiet nod of understanding. There was little comfort to be given in circumstances like those. Some wounds healed with time.
Others simply became burdens one learned to carry.
He turned toward Neptune next, exchanging a brief greeting before all three simultaneously shifted their attention toward the rapidly approaching Grimm. Conversation had already consumed more time than their enemies were willing to grant.
Fortunately, luck had favored them in at least one respect. There were no newly awakened Rank Zeros scattered within their immediate vicinity.
Every awakened who had landed nearby possessed sufficient combat experience to survive independently, meaning there were no inexperienced fighters requiring immediate protection. The difference transformed what might otherwise have become a desperate defensive struggle into an organized offensive campaign.
Once their small group united, they met the converging Grimm head-on, carving efficient paths through creature after creature with disciplined coordination born from years of battle experience.
Ren's precision complemented Neptune's fluid liquid aggression while Rajah manipulated space through his Distance Rune to disrupt enemy formations and create advantageous openings. None of them wasted movement. None of them squandered aura.
The battle became strangely repetitive as time stretched onward. Grimm emerged in relentless waves, drawn ceaselessly toward concentrations of awakened, only to be systematically destroyed before another wave replaced them.
Minutes blended into one another until Ren gradually lost track of individual encounters. The fighting continued for what he estimated to be roughly an hour, measured less by any visible sun than by instinct and accumulated fatigue.
During that time something encouraging began to occur. Lone awakened survivors continued emerging from every direction. Individuals who had landed separately gradually discovered one another through the sounds of battle, converging naturally into larger formations.
Rank Ones arrived first, followed by increasingly numerous Rank Twos whose experience allowed them to integrate seamlessly into the growing force. Every new arrival strengthened the group's ability to endure the endless assault, until what had begun as three isolated fighters slowly evolved into a respectable army of awakened drawn from multiple kingdoms.
Their momentum shifted decisively when an even more familiar figure entered the battlefield. The appearance of a Rank Three immediately altered the atmosphere surrounding the assembled awakened, confidence spreading almost as rapidly as the Grimm's fear. Ren recognized him instantly. General Ironwood of Atlas.
Ironwood did not remain long enough for formal introductions or lengthy strategic briefings. His attention remained fixed upon the wider battlefield, clearly evaluating dozens of engagements simultaneously.
Even so, he provided concise instructions with the authority of someone accustomed to commanding armies rather than squads. T
hey were to make a slight detour toward another section of the battlefield where an additional force of awakened had gathered. Once both groups merged, they were to continue advancing together toward the moon's core.
According to Ironwood, the majority of the Rank Threes had already concentrated there, engaging the strongest Grimm in what was evidently the decisive front of the entire conflict.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Ironwood departed. A colossal Grimm of comparable Rank Three strength had emerged nearby, and without hesitation he intercepted it, disappearing into another titanic clash before anyone could ask further questions.
The assembled awakened obeyed without objection. Ironwood's reputation alone made his judgment difficult to question, and the logic behind concentrating their forces remained obvious.
As they altered course, Ren observed more and more familiar faces joining the swelling formation. Some were awakened he had encountered during previous LUCID operations and others had served alongside him during small joint expeditions, investigations, or training exercises over the years.
Different kingdoms, different organizations, different allegiances suddenly mattered very little.
Survival demanded cooperation.
Yet despite the reassuring growth of their numbers, one concern lingered quietly within Ren's otherwise disciplined thoughts.
Nora remained absent.
He trusted her abilities completely.
In many respects, there was little reason for him to worry.
If the situation were measured solely through direct offensive capability, Nora actually surpassed him. Her relentless aggression, overwhelming physical power, and instinctive battlefield presence allowed her to dismantle enemies with terrifying efficiency.
Even before acquiring her third rune she had been formidable. Afterwards, the gap in sheer assault capability had only widened further.
Ren's own third rune had narrowed that difference considerably, expanding his versatility and allowing him to compete in situations that once favored Nora exclusively, but she too had grown stronger.
Her third rune had reinforced what already defined her fighting style rather than redirecting it. Everything in her collection pointed toward one singular philosophy.
Pure lightning power.
Where Ren specialized in control, precision, battlefield manipulation, and long-range engagements capable of dictating the flow of combat itself, Nora embodied overwhelming force concentrated into devastating bursts of electrical destruction.
If he controlled the battlefield like flowing water finding every available path, Nora shattered it like a thunderbolt striking without hesitation.
They complemented one another perfectly because their strengths occupied opposite ends of combat doctrine, but when measured purely by destructive assault, Ren knew exactly where the advantage lay.
Logic therefore suggested she would survive but... logic, offered surprisingly little comfort.
Until he saw Nora standing before him with his own eyes, alive and smiling beneath the impossible crimson sky, a quiet corner of his mind would remain restless no matter how many Grimm fell before his blades.
The detour was not particularly long, and before too much time had passed, another large concentration of awakened gradually came into view through the endless tide of Grimm.
They had clearly been fighting just as relentlessly, their formation holding firm while corpses of blackened Grimm littered the scarlet earth around them, slowly turning into ash.
As the two forces finally merged into one, familiar faces immediately began recognizing one another, greetings being exchanged wherever old comrades reunited after believing they had been scattered across an entire world.
Ren's eyes swept across the crowd, cataloguing faces almost instinctively. Then they settled on one that immediately made his shoulders loosen.
Mocha Fiore.
A quiet wave of relief washed over him.
She was alive.
For a brief moment, the crimson moon, the endless Grimm, and the uncertainty surrounding Nora all seemed just a little less suffocating. Perhaps it was due to her... dare he say it—comic relief nature?
In any case, Mocha had always possessed an oddly calming presence despite her eccentric interests. and seeing one of his closest friends standing among the survivors brought with it the reassuring reminder that not everyone had been lost.
He found himself smiling as he walked toward her.
"Mocha."
She didn't seem to notice him at first. Only as he drew closer did she slowly lift her head. That was when Ren's smile faded.
Something... was terribly wrong. The first thing he noticed was her eyes. They were bloodshot. Not from exhaustion.
From crying.
The redness surrounding them was unmistakable, but it wasn't merely the tears that unsettled him. It was the expression behind them. The usual warmth and playful curiosity that always seemed to accompany Mocha's gaze had vanished, replaced by a hollow stillness that made her seem strangely distant, as though part of her had simply... stopped.
Then Ren felt it.
Her Aura.
His senses had always been particularly sharp, and Mocha's aura pressure immediately struck him as wrong.
Stronger.
She had become a Rank Two.
Ren's brow furrowed.
Just yesterday, Mocha had still been Rank 1. She had been making steady progress towards advancement. But by every estimate Ren could remember, she had still been another month, perhaps even two, away from reaching the threshold of comprehension in her second rune.
Ranks rarely appeared overnight. Not without a reason and something forcing that final breakthrough. Usually in the form of a deadly battle.
And it was clear that Mocha had been through such a battle.
His expression gradually shifted from relief to concern.
Something had happened—something unimaginably bad. He stopped in front of her, his voice quieter now.
"Mocha... I'm glad to see you're alright, but..." His eyes searched hers, hoping he was mistaken. "Did something happen?"
For a second, she simply stared at him seemingly looking past his face, as if he weren't there. Then, recognition slowly surfaced.
"Ren?"
A tiny smile appeared on her lips. It was heartbreakingly small.
"I think... I have some bad news for you. she whispered. The fragile smile trembled, threatening to fall apart at any moment. Her voice barely held together as the words finally escaped.
"Oscar is... dead."
Ren remained perfectly still as Mocha's words settled over him like an unbearable weight. For several long seconds, his mind simply refused to process what he had just heard.
It was as though the sounds had reached his ears, yet never truly arrived within his thoughts. Around them, awakened continued regrouping, commanders continued shouting orders, and the endless battle across the crimson moon carried on without pause, but all of it seemed to fade into a distant blur.
The world itself grew strangely muted, every sound becoming muffled beneath the impossible sentence that echoed over and over inside his head.
'Oscar is... dead?'
No.
That wasn't right.
It couldn't be.
His breathing became shallow as he instinctively took a step backward, then another, his balance suddenly betraying him. His heel caught uneven ground, forcing him to stagger before he finally caught himself.
The calm composure Ren had cultivated through years of disciplined training fractured in a way very few people had ever witnessed. His eyes widened with naked disbelief as they remained fixed upon Mocha's face, desperately searching for some indication that she had misspoken, that exhaustion had caused him to misunderstand and that somehow there existed another explanation.
"C-could you..." His voice faltered before he swallowed hard, forcing the words out despite the growing tightness in his throat. "Could you repeat that?"
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"I'm afraid that I—I think I heard you wrongly."
For a fleeting moment, Mocha simply stared at him. Then the fragile restraint she had somehow managed to maintain finally collapsed.
Fresh tears welled within her already bloodshot eyes before spilling freely down her cheeks, tracing silent paths through the dried streaks left behind by countless earlier cries. She didn't even try to wipe them away anymore.
"Oscar's dead," she whispered, words emerging with painful certainty as her lips trembled violently.
"He died... protecting me... and a bunch of other Rank Ones."
Ren looked into her eyes. The grief was obvious and the sorrow, immeasurable.
But beneath it...
There was something else.
Hatred.
Not the kind directed toward an enemy. It was hatred turned inward. A crushing, relentless self-loathing that had rooted itself deep inside her heart. She looked like someone who blamed herself for every drop of blood that had been spilled.
Ren slowly lowered himself onto one knee. The movement wasn't entirely intentional. It simply felt as though the strength had left his legs.
A hollow sensation spread through the center of his chest, expanding with frightening speed until it seemed to swallow every steady rhythm his heart had once possessed. His breathing grew uneven as his hands began trembling ever so slightly, something so unlike him that under any other circumstance he would have immediately forced the motion to stop.
Instead...
He reached forward and his shaking hand came to rest gently upon Mocha's shoulder.
"Oscar..."
The name itself almost caught in his throat.
"You... you're sure he's dead?"
The words sounded foolish the instant they escaped. Ren closed his eyes briefly.
"I-I'm sorry. Of course you are, but I..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Because some irrational part of him still refused to accept it. Oscar couldn't be dead.
Not Oscar.
Not the boy who always seemed capable of finding optimism in situations where none should have existed. Not the boy who constantly pushed himself to become stronger despite the odds. Not the boy Ren had watched grow over the years.
His thoughts drifted backward without permission. Back to when both he and Nora had only recently become Rank Ones.
Those had been simpler days.
More dangerous in many ways, yet somehow easier.
Back then, LUCID had assigned Oscar to their Dream Realm operations squad. Ren could still remember their earliest patrols together, learning one another's fighting styles while navigating Grimm-infested streets and ruined districts beneath endless dark skies.
Oscar had lacked experience, but he had never lacked determination. Every mistake became another lesson. Every defeat became another reason to improve.
Then Jaune had joined and the three of them had become four. What had begun as an assigned squad had gradually transformed into something much closer to family.
Countless operations and countless battles. Countless conversations while resting between expeditions.
Oscar had laughed with Nora's endless enthusiasm, debated strategy alongside Jaune, and quietly trained with Ren until late hours whenever opportunities arose.
Somewhere along the way... without Ren consciously realizing it, Oscar had stopped being merely a teammate.
He had become a friend and perhaps even more than that. Ren had never possessed siblings in the traditional sense, yet over the years he had begun thinking of Oscar as something remarkably close.
Like a younger brother. Someone he instinctively wanted to guide and someone whose successes quietly filled him with pride.
He had simply assumed that Oscar would always continue walking beside him.
Now...
That future had vanished.
Mocha's voice gently pulled him back into the present.
"I have his body with me, Ren."
Her words were barely louder than the wind sweeping across the crimson plains and she hesitated before asking softly,
"Do you... want to see him?"
Ren couldn't answer. His throat had completely closed.
Instead...
He simply gave the smallest nod. Understanding immediately, Mocha raised one trembling hand. Soft ripples spread through the air as her Inventory Rune activated.
The space before them distorted ever so slightly before something slowly emerged from within the impossible storage space.
Oscar's body.
It came to rest upon the crimson white with surprising gentleness, as though Mocha had taken every possible care to ensure he would not suffer even the slightest indignity after death.
Ren stared and his breathing stopped. Oscar's clothes were soaked with dried blood. His entire body bore the unmistakable signs of an unimaginably brutal battle.
Two enormous wounds immediately drew Ren's eyes. One gaping hole pierced directly through the center of Oscar's chest and another tore through his abdomen with equal violence.
Neither injury could possibly have been survived.
Around those catastrophic wounds, countless smaller punctures riddled his flesh, each one telling the story of attacks that had come before the fatal blows. His body looked less like someone who had simply been killed and more like someone who had stood his ground against impossible odds until there was nothing left to give.
Ren remained motionless.
He had seen death before.
Death itself was not unfamiliar.
But this was different, because this wasn't an operative or merely another casualty. This was Oscar, his friend and his brother.
His eyes slowly traveled upward until they reached Oscar's face.
There...
Amidst all the blood and torn clothing, Ren noticed something that almost made his heart ache even more.
The faintest trace remained frozen upon his features.
A smile.
Small and peaceful.
Final.
Somehow, in his final moments...
Oscar had smiled.
The realization shattered the last fragment of composure Ren still possessed. Warm tears silently escaped the corners of his eyes.
He made no attempt to wipe them away. They simply rolled slowly down his cheeks as he continued looking at the face of someone who should have still been alive.
Someone who had been laughing beside him only yesterday, who had still possessed years of dreams left to chase and someone who now would never speak another word.
Ren drew in one long, trembling breath before releasing it as a slow sigh that seemed to carry every ounce of grief trapped within his chest.
He swallowed.
Gradually, the trembling in his breathing subsided. Not because the pain had lessened but because years of discipline slowly reasserted themselves.
Purpose returned.
Ren carefully rose to his feet without taking his eyes from Oscar for several more seconds. Finally, he turned toward Mocha.
The devastation within his expression had not disappeared.
Yet his gaze had changed, becoming extraordinarily focused. Every ounce of emotion was now directed toward understanding.
His voice emerged low and steady—controlled only through immense effort.
"Tell me what happened, Mocha."
His eyes met hers.
"Everything. From the beginning."