Barten arrived with a heavy stride, his arms full of materials scavenged from a nearby cave. Ores and minerals clinked against each other as he dropped them onto the makeshift workbench with a thud. Among the haul were some decent-quality metals for crafting better gear and enough stone to expand the house. Agorix leaned casually against the wall, his blade in hand, sharpening it with a quiet focus. Meanwhile, Barten began sorting through the materials, his mechanical arm moving with precision as though it had always been a part of him.
I lingered by the doorway, my thoughts still spiraling around what I'd seen earlier. The Angel's face remained a blur, and I could barely recall any features of the Hopper with her—except for the blindfold. It felt like the details were slipping away, even though they were burned into my gut.
Barten worked quickly, his arm making short work of the tougher ores. He was already so at ease with the replacement limb, but it only deepened my curiosity. Barten wasn't the type to make mistakes—certainly not the kind that would cost him an arm. What had happened out there?
He spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts, his voice low but purposeful.
Barten: Hey, let's see if we can rebuild that machine from the last dimension we worked together. Having more resources here would make things way easier.
I blinked, reorienting myself to the moment.
Asellus: You mean the one I set up in the underwater base? Yeah... Yeah, I guess we could try finding what we need for it. You coming with us, Agorix?
I turned toward Agorix, who was adjusting the straps of his pack. He paused, considering my question for only a moment before shrugging.
Agorix: Uhh, no. I saw this area earlier that I couldn't get to. Gonna check it out.
Asellus: All right. Got enough food for the trip?
Agorix: Somewhat. I'll find more on the way. See ya in a while.
With that, he swung his sword over his shoulder and walked off without another word. I exchanged a glance with Barten, both of us raising an eyebrow. Agorix's abruptness was uncharacteristic—it felt off, like everything else about today.
Barten: Okay. Anyway... Do we have food?
I thought back to the stash I'd tucked away in the house, vaguely remembering how much was left.
Asellus: I think so. Let me check while you finish up the gear.
Turning toward the house, I hesitated, catching sight of Barten tinkering with the ores. The question that had been gnawing at me all day surfaced again.
Asellus: Hey, Barten.
He didn't look up, too focused on reshaping the raw materials into something useful.
Asellus: You ever heard of an Angel coming down to these dimensions?
That got his attention. He stopped cold, setting the ore down carefully as though it might shatter under his grip. His gaze met mine, and for the first time in years, I saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes—something sharp and dangerous.
He knew exactly what I was talking about.
Barten froze mid-motion, the clinking of tools and ores ceasing entirely. He turned his head toward me slowly, his face unreadable. But there was something unmistakable in his eyes—a glimmer of recognition, mixed with unease. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
Barten: ...Yeah.
His voice was low, almost reluctant, as if the word itself carried weight. He shifted his mechanical arm, resting it carefully against his side like it was something fragile, even though it was anything but. His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment, his expression tight with thought. When he looked back up, he wiped his hands on his shirt, his movements deliberate.
Barten: Why do you ask?
I hesitated, weighing how much to say. But there wasn't much point in holding back—not when the question had clearly struck a chord.
Asellus: One was here earlier. Took out another Hopper and disappeared.
The air between us grew heavy, the silence stretching as Barten processed what I'd just said.
Barten: Took out?
His voice was sharper now, the casual edge he usually carried gone.
Asellus: Yeah. It happened fast—too fast to make sense of. The Hopper was wearing a blindfold. He had wings too. Mechanical ones.
Barten's jaw tightened, his hand clenching into a fist.
Barten: Things must be getting serious...
His tone was distant, like he was talking to himself more than me. I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
Asellus: You know something about this?
He glanced at me, and for a moment, I thought he might deflect. But then he sighed, running a hand through his brown hair.
Barten: Sort of. A while back, they came to me. The Higher-Ups. Wanted to know if I'd interacted with a man wearing a blindfold.
That hit me like a punch to the gut.
Asellus: And? Had you?
Barten: I told them no. But they didn't seem to believe me.
His gaze drifted toward the forest, where the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees.
Barten: She was... insistent. And then she left. Just like that. No explanation, no follow-up. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now...
He trailed off, his expression darkening.
Asellus: Is that what happened to your arm?
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he flexed the mechanical limb, his movements precise but unnervingly mechanical.
Barten: They're taking out Hoppers. Something must be going on, either we've become expendable or something's up.
I felt a chill run through me, the weight of his words sinking in. The Higher-Ups were always cryptic, their motives shrouded in secrecy. But for them to target one of our own—and send an Angel to do it—it had to be something massive.
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms as I watched Barten pick up his tools again, though his movements were slower now, less certain.
Asellus: So, what do we do?
He glanced at me, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Barten: What we always do. Keep moving. Stay alive. And hope we don't end up on their list.
I paused, letting the weight of the situation settle. But the thought of fighting back gnawing at me, more persistent than anything else in my mind.
Asellus: You wouldn't fight back against them?
Barten turned his head sharply, giving me a look that could cut through steel. It wasn't just disbelief—it was the kind of stare you give someone who's just suggested setting themselves on fire to stay warm.
Barten: You wanna end up dead?
There was no softness in his tone, no room for debate. And maybe he wasn't wrong. No one had ever fought back against the Angels. They were untouchable, invincible. It would take an Angel to take down another Angel, and even then, the fallout would be catastrophic.
But the fire in me didn't care about logic.
Asellus: Well, I'd rather die fighting than die a coward.
His lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable as he turned back to his work. He grabbed the tools with more force than necessary, the sound of metal against metal filling the air again.
Barten: Do whatever you want. Just know it's suicide to fight against them.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken tension. Before I could respond, the sound of footsteps broke through it like a shard of glass.
Both of us snapped our heads toward the source, our postures tensing instinctively. The figure emerging from the trees wasn't what I expected.
It was a woman.
I glanced at Barten, who raised an eyebrow, mirroring my confusion. She walked toward us casually, as if this was a friendly visit, her green hoodie slightly frayed at the edges but otherwise clean. Her hair—a natural red, not dyed or faded—caught the light. But it was the star-shaped mark under her left eye that stood out the most, like a symbol of something I couldn't quite place.
She raised her hand in a peace sign, her expression open and unbothered, as though we hadn't just been on edge about Angels and death sentences.
Asellus: Hi?
The word slipped out, more question than greeting.
I scanned her quickly. No gradient hair, no glowing halo. She didn't fit the description of an Angel in the slightest. But if she was a Hopper, then the question remained—why? We didn't need more backup here. Hoppers weren't assigned to dimensions randomly, and the Higher-Ups weren't known for redundancy.
Something wasn't adding up. This dimension was already a mess of unexpected variables. And now her?
She smiled, an easy, confident gesture, and spoke in a voice that carried a quiet kind of authority.
Stella: Name's Stella.
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