Luk ran toward the direction the sound was coming from.The entire corridor echoed with a desperate scream.It was close.The screams came from behind a closed door, clawing at his ears.What he had heard about the zealots flooded his mind. “A child.”His breathing quickened.

  He took one of the gas masks from his belt and pulled it over his face, not to be recognized.

  Nerida’s child.

  That thought silenced everything inside him.He didn’t stop in front of the door.He didn’t plan.He didn’t think.

  He raised his foot.

  The door shattered under the kick.

  Luk stepped inside.

  The moment the First Son Nikolas turned around, Luk saw the darkness.

  Nerida’s child was on the floor.Her hands were bound.Her mouth was stuffed with a piece of cloth.

  Nikolas was standing right beside her.

  Everything inside Luk locked in place. He was frozen on what he saw, until his eyes shifted slightly.

  Luk and Nikolas’ gazes met.

  The expression on Nikolas’ face collapsed in an instant.

  He stepped back. “Guards—” he tried to shout, but the sound was cut short.

  Luk’s fist slammed straight into his mouth.

  Nikolas was thrown back, crashing into the table.

  Luk didn’t speak.

  He walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps.The sound of his boots echoed alone in the room.

  As Nikolas tried to shield his face with his arms, another punch landed.

  He tried to say something, but after the blow, no sound came out.

  Even behind the gas mask, he could see Luk’s eyes bulging with rage.

  That look strangled the words before they could leave his mouth.

  “Ple—”

  Luk grabbed Nikolas by the hair and smashed his face into the table behind him.

  He didn’t stop.

  Then again. With every strike, the rage inside him didn’t quiet—it grew.

  He didn’t know how many times he hit him. Each blow drowned out the last.The table was completely wrecked. With every impact, the sound of cracking wood filled the room.

  When Luk finally stopped, the table, the walls, his mask—everything was drenched in blood.Despite everything, Nikolas was still alive. One of his eyes had burst, his nose was shattered, his teeth scattered. Even in that state, he tried to say something, but all that came out were broken, incomprehensible sounds.

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  Luk drew the pistol from his belt and aimed it at Nikolas’ head.Nikolas tried to speak again, but the only thing he could produce were faint, pleading whimpers clawing their way out of his throat.

  Bang.

  Luk crouched beside the child.

  His hands were shaking, but no sound came from him. He reached for the child’s bound wrists, then noticed his gloves—soaked in blood from what he had done to Nikolas. He wiped them on the cloth covering the table.

  As he reached for her hands again, the child recoiled.

  She was locked onto the blood-covered mask on Luk’s face.

  He slowly removed it, trying to force a warm smile onto his cold, expressionless features.

  In the child’s eyes, fear slowly gave way to silent resignation.

  When he reached out again to untie the ropes, he saw that she was still trembling. She was still wary of him—but he had saved her from Nikolas.

  Once the ropes were undone, she couldn’t move for a moment. It was as if what she had lived through wouldn’t leave her eyes.

  She tried to stand, swayed, and collapsed back down. On trembling knees, she tried to crawl toward Luk.

  When she reached him, she suddenly clung to him and began to sob uncontrollably. Her sobs were so raw that even a man as numb as Luk felt something break inside him.Maybe, even in this rotting world, humanity wasn’t completely dead.

  The child cried for minutes. Luk didn’t stop her. He didn’t try to silence her. He already knew what had happened. He only gently stroked her head. But they couldn’t stay here any longer.

  He had spilled the blood of a First Son. For the zealots, this was a crime greater than insulting their god itself.

  If they were caught, they wouldn’t just be butchered—they would slaughter everyone in the stations connected to them.

  By chance, the grand ritual would begin in a few minutes. While the crowd’s attention was elsewhere, there was a slim chance to escape.

  When the child’s sobs finally eased, Luk gently tried to lift her to her feet. But her legs were shaking so badly that she could barely remain on her knees, let alone stand.

  Realizing there was nothing else to do, he tried to pick her up. But the child still flinched at every movement he made. As he walked toward the door, the way the little girl’s eyes trembled, scanning everything in fear, seeped into his bones.

  As they moved through the corridor, his mind flicked back to the crates of explosives. They might come in handy. He decided to take a few.

  As he reached out with one hand to open a crate, he noticed a bag leaning against the wall. The moment he let go of the crate, the noise startled the child in his arms, and she wrapped herself tightly around his neck.

  He paused.

  This time, he knelt slowly and opened the bag instead. It was filled with explosives. Without hesitation, he slung it over his back and continued down the corridor.

  At the end of the passage stood a black, rusted steel door. Bracing it with one hand, he pushed with all his strength. The door opened slowly, screeching as it revealed a massive chamber packed with zealots.

  One of them shouted:

  “Speakers will address us. Silence. The First Sons have words for us.”

  The enormous crowd froze instantly.

  A robed figure wearing a skull on his head stepped forward with several others and addressed the assembly.

  “Brothers, our ritual will begin shortly. Everyone put on your gas masks and begin praying to God.”“May God forgive our sins.”

  Luk moved slowly toward the darkness near the tracks and set the child down. She had recovered a little—her knees were still shaking, but she could stand with support from a column.

  He knelt and pulled a gas mask from his belt, fitting it over her face.

  After putting on his own mask, just as he took a step forward to see what was happening, the child grabbed his hand.

  Luk hesitated, then turned back and knelt again. The child was gripping his hand tightly, as if letting go would drag her back into the darkness she had escaped.

  Her mouth moved slightly, as if she was afraid even to speak. Luk leaned in to hear her.

  “Lili…”“My name is Lili.”

  Luk couldn’t believe it. Maybe, just a little, she had calmed. It was the first time she had spoken.

  “You’re Uncle Reis’ child, right?”

  Luk nodded.

  For the first time, a small smile—like the faintest sign of hope—appeared on Lili’s lips.

  But—

  All of that relief was cut short by a heavy silence.