Chapter 82

Act 1 Island in the Sun 1 When the young man woke up, he found himself in a dimly lit room. He was wrapped in bandages. He lay on a hard, cramped bed that felt like an operating table, surrounded by foreboding machinery. It had to be a hospital room. It wasn’t compact, but it wasn’t spacious, either. The claustrophobic feeling came from the window, which was small and barred. It didn’t feel like a space meant to allow someone to enjoy the view outside. Instead, it felt like a peeping hole to watch a guinea pig. It was a cage. “Guh…” The man groaned when a burning sensation flared seemingly in each and every one of his cells. His body was not hot; in fact, it was cold as ice. Yet something in his core burned. He felt like someone was forcing gasoline into a corroded, abandoned machine. A violent headache hit him the moment he tried to remember why he was suffering like this. His thoughts broke into pieces, and any surfacing memories sank back into the pits of darkness. He fumed at the absurdity of it all. Anger. Hatred. Vengeance. The headache vanished as soon as he recalled those emotions. The heat burning in his cells retreated, and he fully regained consciousness. The airtight door to the room opened, and someone crossed the threshold. A woman wearing a lab coat stood there. She was white and had lustrous brunette hair. Her face was breathtaking, but her expression was so neutral that it appeared unnatural. From the way she walked to the way she blinked, it all seemed artificial. “Shigure. You’re awake,” the woman said in fluent and polite Japanese while looking down at him on the bed. “…Shi…gure?” he asked hoarsely, so faintly that he couldn’t believe the question had come out of his mouth. “Yes. Shigure Shindou. That is your name, correct?” “I…don’t remember…” “Not surprising. You just came back to life.” She nodded, unfazed. Shigure was unable to comprehend what she had just said. “Back to life?” he repeated. “Yes. You died. Torn to shreds. I hear it was an ordeal gathering your pieces and stitching them back together.” “How…?” “The Moujuu killed you.” “Moujuu?” “The general term for dead people who have transformed into monsters. You entered their colony, what used to be called the 23 Wards, and fought them.” “No… I’m asking how I’m alive if I was torn to shreds.” He tried getting up, but then he became aware of the deep wound carved into his arm. And not just that—his legs and chest, too; every body part peeking out of his gown was riddled with injuries. It was apparent that he had been sewn back together. “Because you are a Lazarus,” the woman informed him. Shigure frowned in confusion. “Lazarus?” “Put simply, you are immortal. No matter how lethal the wound, given enough time, you’ll come back to life. As you did just moments ago.” “That’s ridiculous…,” he refuted instinctively. The dead were dead. They could not come back to life, no matter what. A ludicrous immortal creature could not be considered a human, but a monster. She shook her head and smiled. “You don’t need to believe me right now. You’ll remember once your body heals completely. You can’t forget yourself.” “What…am I…?” Shigure groaned. He hadn’t forgotten only his name. He didn’t know what he was. All memories of his life were completely gone. She said he would remember it all in time, but there was no guarantee. He felt a terrible sense of dread, like he was standing atop a feeble sand tower. “You shouldn’t need the life-support system anymore.” The woman turned off the machines around his bed one by one. If it truly was a life-support system as she said, then that lent some credibility to the implication that he had revived. “I’ll get you food in the morning. You should be able to move more freely by then,” the woman in the lab coat said before walking back to the door. Shigure stopped her. “Wait. Who are you? You don’t seem like a doctor.” “Suria Almiron. You may call me Suria. Combat consultant for private military company Kyuos.” “And why’s a consultant taking care of me?” Shigure asked in confusion. Her expression became gleeful. “Because I am your employer, Lazarus.” “Huh…?” Suria left the hospital room and the shocked Shigure inside it behind. All he could do was stare at his arm as her words echoed in his head. 2 Land Hessen, the Federal Republic of Germany. Three people in matching coats ran across the crowded lobby of the Frankfurt International Airport. One girl and two boys. Asian—a race rarely seen in this city. The small tomboy ran at the front. She wore a beret on top of her short bob and carried a backpack too big for her small frame. She turned back to the two behind her. “Hurry up, Kyouta. We still gotta go through immigration after the security check.” “I know! But the luggage is too heavy! All because you buy souvenir after souvenir without thinking! And it’s your fault we’re late to the airport to begin with, Honoka!” retorted the impish boy. Their coats had a shield-shaped badge on the chest decorated with a book, a sun, and a dragon. It was the emblem of a famous boarding school in Switzerland. They were on a layover in Germany during their return trip to Japan. “C’mon, I couldn’t abandon that old lady in peril,” the girl, Honoka Togawa, defended herself. “What peril? She was just lost.” “Details, details. She was thankful for it, and that’s what matters.” “Honoka, Kyouta. You’re going the wrong way,” the other boy said calmly to the arguing pair. The boy, Kiri Hirohashi, was pretty and androgynous and had a bob cut. Honoka and Kyouta Kase became flustered and followed him. They were in sync at times like this, and not just because they had known each other for a long time. Although they didn’t share blood, they were siblings. In a sense, the intensity of their experiences had made them even closer than real siblings; they were a special family. “Looks like we’re just barely gonna make it,” said Honoka, short of breath as they reached the security checkpoint. It had been nearly three years since the Japanese people had been restored after the unprecedented J-nocide. Japan had recovered from its state of desolate ruin, but even now, there were few flights into the country. They would have to wait another week if they missed this plane. Even the strong-willed Honoka couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the possibility. “I’m pooped… This airport is way too big. You got any food on you, Kiri?” Kyouta asked. “Nope. That chocolate I gave you was the last of it.” “Dang. Then we gotta buy something after we’re through security.” “Don’t mind me. I’m not hungry,” Kiri replied indifferently. “Oh, what am I gonna do with you?” Kyouta sighed. “C’mon, man. Cheer up. You don’t have to be so sad just because we couldn’t go back with Rinka.” “I-I’m not sad…” “Yeah! Don’t be stupid, Kyouta!” Honoka yelled. “Why’re you getting mad?!” Kyouta took half a step back. They had been only nine years old when they left Japan; now they were twelve. They had graduated into middle school last year. They were taller and had lost some of their babyish features. They had reached an age where they were more conscious of age gaps. Kiri had a thing for Rinka Takio, who was three years older and like a sister to him. The two of them were close, thanks to their shared interest in fashion and beauty. But now, Rinka wasn’t accompanying them back to Japan. She had urgent business in North America. Kiri was down in the dumps because of that, and Honoka didn’t like it. Kyouta, who was fairly immature, didn’t realize it, and had stepped on a land mine. The trio stopped arguing at the security checkpoint as someone called out to them. “Whoa, wait, are those…? Hey, kids!” A Japanese woman with bleached hair waved from the next line. She seemed to be about twenty years old; she looked younger than her age, as Asian people tended to. A man, likely her boyfriend and also Japanese, was beside her. He had a serious look on his face. “It is you! Iroha’s kids, right? You remember us?” The woman pointed at herself with a grin on her face. Honoka was the first to react. There were few Japanese women who knew Iroha’s name. Even fewer knew the kids, too. “Ah…! Sumika?!” “Yup. Honoka, right? It’s been so long! How’re you? Other than taller!” “I see you changed your hairstyle.” “Yeah. I did some cutting.” Sumika Kiyotaka smiled bashfully as she touched the ends of her hair, which had been trimmed to her shoulders. It had been almost three years since they’d last met. Sumika was as pretty as always, but she had turned from a gaudy high schooler into a collected, refined woman. “Hello to you, too, Zen.” Kiri bowed to the man beside Sumika. “Hey.” Zen Sagara nodded curtly in response. Kyouta looked up at him and cocked his head before whispering to Kiri, “Who’s that?” “Zen and Sumika, the medium of the water dragon and her Lazarus…” “Ahh…! The jerks who kidnapped Ayaho!” “Don’t say that, Kyouta!” “A-ha-ha, it’s fine. It’s true. Sorry about that.” Sumika laughed his insult off, while Zen grimaced. Zen and Sumika had taken their sister, Ayaho Sashou, hostage, back when they were enemies, in order to lure Yahiro into a trap. That said, they hadn’t harmed Ayaho, and Yahiro had reconciled with them. Still, Kyouta remembered them as kidnappers. “You’re taking the flight to Tokyo, too?” Honoka smiled stiffly and tried to change the subject. “Yeah. You’re going back for summer break? Just you three?” “Our big bro and sis were supposed to come, but Giuli called them.” “Oh… Is it about Teotihuacan?” Sumika blurted out in response. “You know about it?” “The request reached us first, but I’m not in shape for it,” Sumika said. Honoka raised her eyebrows. “Why? Are you sick?” “Mmm, no, not sick.” She averted her gaze. Honoka observed the woman closely. She had felt something was off from the moment she first spotted Sumika. She was wearing flat shoes and a loose dress. And her cheeks were a bit puffy… “Sumika… Should I be saying congratulations?” Sumika’s eyes grew wide as Honoka’s question hit the bull’s-eye. “You’re sharp as ever, Honoka. I don’t think my belly’s showing that much yet, is it?” “Congratulations, Zen,” Kiri said. “Thanks,” Zen replied bluntly again, but with a hint of bashfulness. “So you’re traveling to give birth in Japan?” “Yeah. There’s no precedent for a dragon medium giving birth, after all. Who knows what will happen? We thought we better do everything we can and be prepared for the worst,” Zen said gravely. Sumika and Zen’s child—the child of a dragon medium and a Lazarus. The nature of Iroha’s birth was similar, but her body came from reincarnation, not the womb of a dragon medium. No one knew what sort of power Sumika’s child would inherit. The best place to prepare for anything that could rival a dragon’s power was, undoubtedly, Japan. Galerie Berith and Noah Transtech had left plenty of their troops there and continued research on the Relict Regalia. And there was no other country with mercenaries who had experience with dragons. “You’re so dramatic, Zen. Take it easy.” Sumika sighed, but one could tell she was happy to hear his concern for her. Meanwhile, one person had been left out of the conversation. Kyouta tilted his head. “What’s going on?” “Sumika’s having a baby,” Kiri whispered into his ear after a sigh. “What?! So that means they had sex?!” Kyouta shouted. “Keep it down, Kyouta!” “You moron!”