They saw it.
Even from that impossible distance, where it should have been nothing more than a meaningless speck, they saw it clearly—Jonas's body falling.
It was too small to make out any details, too far to hear anything, yet there was no mistaking it. Their eyes locked onto that descending point as though the world had narrowed to that single moment.
Second by second, their lungs tightened.
They watched as flames swallowed him.
The fire spread hungrily, devouring what remained of the soldier, until even that faint speck became indistinguishable from the inferno. And then, as if to erase him completely, the advancing khaerix marched forward without pause, trampling over the ground where he fell, stamping out the last traces of the man once called Jonas.
'He's… dead.'
The thought surfaced in Ethan's mind without resistance, empty and absolute.
As he acknowledged it, something inside him went quiet. The storm of emotion that should have erupted instead vanished, leaving behind a hollow stillness. It wasn't peace—it was absence.
When someone close to you dies, the mind usually rebels. Memories rise unbidden, both trivial and profound, crashing into one another. The way they spoke, the smallest habits, the shared moments—you remember everything.
And then the emotions follow.
But for Ethan, that first wave never came.
He simply stood there, staring out, his expression unmoving.
He couldn't cry.
If he broke, Sylvia would break too.
That alone was enough to hold him together.
Behind him, seated at the cockpit, Sylvia was thinking the same thing.
For the first time since they had gained the ability to communicate mentally, she wished he wasn't there. She didn't want his presence in her thoughts. Not now.
Because she had seen it.
She had calculated it.
She had foreseen everything—and still let Jonas go.
The realization wrapped around her throat, tightening with every passing second. It wasn't just sadness that gripped her, but guilt—sharp, suffocating, inescapable.
And yet…
Even now, she wasn't certain she could have made a different choice.
'More like I can't. There was no better option.'
The conclusion came coldly, logically, as if her mind refused to allow anything else.
After everything—the training, the battles, the growth—she had believed she was different now. Stronger. Capable.
Strong enough to decide how she wanted to live.
But this moment shattered that belief completely.
She wasn't different.
She was still the same.
The same powerless girl who couldn't save her family.
The same girl who could only watch as everything was taken from her.
Was it arrogance, thinking she had grown strong enough to protect anything?
Was it wrong to want a peaceful life?
Was it wrong… for someone as weak as her to believe she could have one?
"Yes."
The word slipped from her lips before she even realized it.
To her, the truth was simple.
The only sin in this world was weakness.
Without strength, ideals meant nothing. Without power, even the desire to protect something was meaningless. You didn't get to choose how you lived—you only endured what the world allowed.
'That's right… I need to be strong.'
Not just for survival.
But to justify Jonas's decision.
To ensure that his sacrifice wasn't a mistake.
And to one day answer the question he left her with.
"What kind of person do you want to be?"
She didn't have a complete answer yet.
But for now…
'I want to be strong enough to protect what I care about.'
…
Surprisingly, the rest of their journey passed in silence.
Nothing attacked them. Nothing went wrong.
At some point, the faint outline of land began to appear on the horizon, breaking through the endless stretch of ocean.
"We're almost there," Sylvia said.
Her voice was steady, but Ethan noticed the way her hands moved—precise, controlled, deliberate. He turned away from the back of the plane and faced forward.
What greeted them was a wall.
A massive, metallic structure that rose into the sky, stretching so high it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves. Even from kilometers away, its scale was overwhelming.
It wasn't just large—it was colossal.
A creaking sound interrupted his thoughts.
Both of them looked around as the plane shuddered beneath them, its frame beginning to give way.
'It's falling apart.'
Sylvia noticed it too.
She would have preferred to land immediately, but they were still too far. Stopping now wasn't an option.
"Ethan," she called, her tone calm despite the situation. "If you fall from this height while carrying someone… will you be alright?"
Ethan didn't hesitate.
He thought about it for only a moment before nodding.
"Yes."
The answer came instinctively.
"Thanks."
Sylvia pushed the plane forward.
Faster.
Faster.
The machine groaned in protest, its structure failing piece by piece as it was forced beyond its limits. Metal tore, panels broke away, and the entire craft began to come apart.
Five minutes later, it was no longer flying.
It was simply moving—carried forward by the last remnants of its momentum, its trajectory fixed toward the ocean below.
"Now!"
Ethan didn't wait.
He grabbed Sylvia, held her close, and jumped.
The wind roared past them as they fell.
Then—
Impact.
His back slammed into the water, the force rippling through his body. It hurt, but he had braced himself. Compared to what he expected, it was manageable.
They sank beneath the surface for a moment before rising back up.
Behind them, the remains of the plane crashed into the sea with a deafening splash, already beginning its slow descent into the depths.
Ethan watched it for a brief second.
A flicker of sadness surfaced—but he pushed it down.
Instead, he turned to Sylvia.
She was breathing steadily, her condition stable. While she wasn't as physically resilient as he was, she had taken minimal damage thanks to him.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"We move forward," she replied. "They should have noticed us by now."
But whether anyone would come… that was uncertain.
Their bodies were strong, far stronger than ordinary people's.
But they weren't invincible.
They could still drown.
They could still freeze.
Thanks to Jonas's relentless preparation, they knew how to swim. Not perfectly, not efficiently—but enough.
Their strength and stamina would make up for the rest.
It would take time.
But they could reach the wall.
'I miss him.'
The thought appeared suddenly in Sylvia's mind.
She immediately shook her head, forcing it away.
Now wasn't the time.
Survival came first.
Without another word, the two of them began to swim.
Stroke by stroke, they moved forward, cutting through the cold water as they headed toward what they hoped was safety.
…
"Ma'am! Something has approached the wall."
Celeste stirred.
The book resting in her hands slipped slightly as she removed it from her face, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Her subordinate stood before her, tension evident in his posture.
For a brief moment, she considered ignoring him.
Then she sighed and stood.
"How far out is it?" she asked, slipping on her lab coat.
"Well… it seems to have crashed in the water," the man replied. "From the readings, it's likely the wreckage of a plane."
Celeste's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Then there could be survivors. Any human signatures?"
"Yes… but…" He hesitated.
Her gaze hardened.
"The energy levels are high," he continued quickly. "But the origin point is very small."
"How small?"
He swallowed.
"About the size of a child."
He paused.
"Two of them."