"I think this is the first time we’ve been on a mission together" Propin said, brushing his hazel hair away from his face. He and Estelle stood atop a high platform, the city sprawling beneath them like a miniature world, its people reduced to tiny, scurrying dots. The masks of the two Monto concealed their faces, but even without seeing her expression, the young Aries could sense something different about his Cancer partner. There was a rare spark of enthusiasm in her demeanour. A departure from her usual restrained focus.

  Estelle always approached her missions with precision and efficiency. She was methodical, unflinching. Yet, that didn’t mean she excelled by choice or got any satisfaction from her work. Duty was a heavy yoke they all bore. Their instructions had come through yet another encrypted code, delivered by sheer happenstance. They knew what needed to be done, but the unspoken weight of it hung between them as the wind howled softly at their backs.

  Their mission was clear: to quell the New Justice Party riots without leaving a trace of evidence behind.

  "Let’s get started" Estelle said, her voice steady as she began to climb down the railing with deliberate care. Propin followed close behind, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. "I’ve got to say, you’re unusually motivated for this job. This isn’t like you at all"

  Anyone who knew her even a little would have noticed the difference, so his observation didn’t surprise her. After every mission, she returned with the same expression—emotionless, detached, as if each task weighed heavier than the last. The skyscraper they stood on wasn’t the tallest in the city, but it loomed high enough that a single misstep could mean death. Though this was their first mission together, they moved like clockwork, perfectly synchronised. The routine was ingrained—destroying documents, erasing evidence, wiping away traces of rebellion. It was just another day in their lives as Montos.

  Yet one thing nagged at Estelle. Why were these crates left exposed, so precariously placed on such a high building? Her brow furrowed as she worked. "Maybe we’re doing the right thing" she murmured, her gloved hands deftly sorting through another pile. Propin froze mid-task, his dark blue mask tilting slightly as he looked at her. His silence spoke volumes. An unspoken caution against trusting too easily. Perhaps it was naive to believe in the Prime Minister’s promises. But in the months since she’d been quietly testing his sincerity, he’d never faltered. Despite her scepticism, Estelle couldn’t help but hold on to a small, fragile hope that maybe this time was different.

  Patience. Perhaps that was all they needed, just a little more patience. Montos didn’t live for eighty short years like humans; they had time. Maybe now, at long last, the winds of change were finally stirring. If protecting the government and its promises of a new future meant risking everything, then she would do it. Whatever the cost, she would see it through. "I don’t know..." Propin muttered hesitantly. Like most Montos, he didn’t hold strong opinions about politics. Why should he? They didn’t even have the right to vote. What difference did it make to have opinions on a system that barely acknowledged them?

  "I haven’t seen any real changes for us yet" he continued, his voice tinged with a mix of scepticism and quiet concern. "It’s good to see you looking happier about it all, but... it worries me a little, the way your opinion shifted so suddenly"

  Estelle froze, her breath catching for a moment. She knew Propin was right. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed the change in her. Simon had picked up on it weeks ago, and the other officers had started watching her with an even sharper eye than usual. She’d tried to act as though everything was normal, to slip back into her usual routine, but no matter how hard she tried, it wasn’t working.

  “It’s the book, isn’t it?”

  The casual question hit her like a slap. People often dismissed Propin as an overly cheerful fool, but in this moment, he had cut straight to the truth. He had seen through her, through the fragile mask she had been clinging to.

  He was right. It was the book. She couldn’t escape its pull, couldn’t untangle herself from the myths, the sagas, the stories of the gods. Each word seemed to sink into her, taking root. It was intoxicating, a drug she couldn’t put down, no matter how hard she tried.

  And now a question haunted her—one that she couldn’t push away. Was this why belief in the gods and their legacy was so despised? Was it because the truth was too powerful, too tempting to resist?

  Her lips parted slightly as footsteps echoed through the space. Both Monto froze, rendered speechless by the sight before them. Just a few metres away stood a tall, slightly muscular young man. His jet-black hair framed almond-shaped, onyx eyes that held an unreadable intensity. Silence descended once more. Judging by his features, he appeared to be from Long Chao.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  A ripple of unease coursed through Estelle. What were they supposed to do now? Every misstep, every wrong move could cost the others their lives. Her gaze darted to the door behind him. There wasn’t much time to think, but an idea began to form. If she could push him through the door with her wind power, they might have a chance to escape without drawing further attention. Determined, Estelle raised her hands. But before she could act, her opponent seemed to anticipate her intentions. To her shock, he countered with a jet of water. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Propin’s astonishment mirrored her own.

  He was one of them. A Monto.

  Estelle’s gaze sharpened as she studied him more closely. At first, she had thought his scrutiny was rooted in curiosity, even wariness. But now she could see it—his expression wasn’t curious. It was cold, filled with contempt.

  Her stomach twisted in confusion. Why? Why was he looking at her like that? Before she could make sense of it, another stream of water surged toward her. Reacting instinctively, Estelle deflected it, using her own command over water. But her confusion only deepened. He was Monto, like her. So why was he attacking her?

  Another jet of water came hurtling toward her. Although Estelle managed to deflect it once again, she could feel the strain in her limbs. She knew she couldn't keep this up forever. The young man pressed closer, relentless, sending wave after wave of water in her direction. Slowly, she began to retreat, each step a battle against the oncoming tide. As she launched another jet of water back at him, her foot slipped. Panic flared for a moment as she fought for balance, but before she could recover, she heard the rush of fire.

  Propin.

  He had seen enough. In a desperate move, he shot a blast of fire at their assailant. Neither of them had ever been in a real fight, one where their elemental powers could be used to hurt. Fire against water. Both knew how this would end.

  In an instant, the man was upon them. Estelle didn’t quite understand what had happened. Everything happened so fast. She only heard it: Propin’s breath catching sharply in his throat, followed by the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground.

  Her heart stopped.

  Estelle sprang to her feet, her heart racing as she rushed to Propin’s side. She called his name over and over, but he barely reacted, his breath shallow and laboured, growing more ragged with every passing second. Panic seized her chest as she tore the mask from her face, and despair swept across her features like a storm.

  Fury ignited within her. She stood up straight, blocking the man’s path, and with a fierce determination, she unleashed a stream of fire towards him. Again and again, she aimed with precision, her hands and feet working in perfect synchrony. But it was clear—he was skilled. Too skilled. It seemed almost effortless for him to deflect her every attack, as if he had seen it all before.

  But there was one thing he hadn't anticipated.

  Estelle’s hand glowed with a brilliant purple light, crackling with the raw power of lightning. It took a moment for the young man to fully comprehend the threat before him. The blinding light illuminated her face, her expression deadly serious, and when she thrust her hand forward, a crackle of electricity filled the air.

  The man recoiled, his eyes wide with surprise, before he leapt backwards onto the roof, watching her with a mixture of intrigue and caution.

  "Interesting. Very interesting indeed..." he murmured, before vanishing into the shadows.

  She gripped her wrist, fighting to concentrate. The power surged within her, chaotic and uncontrollable. When the flash of light finally dimmed, she exhaled shakily, relief mingling with dread. There was no time to pause. Without hesitation, she dashed to Propin’s side and knelt beside him. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, met hers, his hand clutching his soul stone with a vice-like grip. A violent cough wracked his body, and as his eyes fluttered shut, the stone in his hand turned to dust. When the air cleared and the last remnants of his essence scattered, she knew.

  Estelle’s breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head in disbelief, her hand rising to cover her mouth. Propin, her dear friend, was gone. Her hand fell away from her face, trembling, and she gently stroked his cheek. The wind whispered around her, like a tender companion, and began to sing his mournful song.

  The souls of the dead fall silent.

  Become the song of the wind that carries us on.

  Shining brightly like the moon into the sea,

  And leaving no more traces.

  Warm tears slid down her cheeks, and before long, she could no longer hold back the sobs that wracked her body. She closed her eyes, the weight of her grief pressing down on her like an unending, suffocating ache.

  Eyes as dark as night, as clear as water,

  Leading us through the cold, lonely forest.

  A flame burns, but it cannot light the way.

  I am not alone. The dead are not dead.

  The forgotten are not forgotten...