Kila split off, running alongside with ferocious urgency. Of the two, Kilos was the most affected. He still couldn't withstand the opposing wind; his legs dragged behind, not for lack of will, but because of the resistance working against him. Yet, in contrast, he might have made an impressive run if conditions were favorable.
The sand blanketing the terrain didn't help at all. It got into his boots, slowed his steps, and exhausted his energy more than he expected. It was so harsh that Kilos started to feel the sting of failure creep into his chest. His breath came short, sharp, and disheartened. The thought of catching up with the wheeling minibus became less of a goal and more of a fading hope.
What disturbed him most, however, was the fact that the vehicle had vanished from his sight altogether. Panic gripped him. The bus might have crashed—just as the boys had planned. They knew this area too well, better than he did. Their familiarity with the terrain gave them every advantage and stripped him of his.
"What are you doing here, Kila? Go after the bus—rescue Le-an!" Kilos barked. His voice cracked, half from exhaustion and half from desperation. He regretted not saying that earlier. He should've thought faster.
Without hesitation, Kila doubled his pace. His form shimmered with ethereal speed as he left Kilos behind, pushing through the resistance like it didn't exist. He moved with such fluid grace that he seemed to be gliding rather than running, never once touching the sand beneath him.
And yet, despite that, the distance between Kila and the bus only widened. This confused Kilos. It didn't make sense. When they neared the water earlier, Kila had closed the gap quickly. Why was it different now?
Then the realization struck him with a bitter chill—Kila was part of him. A projection. A manifestation of his own essence. And therefore, he shared some of Kilos's weaknesses. Though Kilos had always believed in Kila's effectiveness, he also knew deep down that perfection was still a far-off destination.
As Kila finally sighted the water and the disappearing rear of the minibus, something shifted. His sprint began to falter. His limbs slowed against his will. It wasn't fatigue—it was restraint, as if some unseen force had tightened around him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move, summoning every reserve of energy left within. But the invisible shackles persisted.
Meanwhile, the minibus, rolling with a strange steadiness, reached the very end of the road. There, beyond that edge, was only air and a steep drop. It should've tumbled, flipped, and shattered upon impact below. Instead, its movement halted slowly—as if held back. Oddly, the speed regressed. It was unnatural.
"Kila, what's going on?" Kilos shouted again, fear clinging to his voice.
He reached out, trying to hold onto his double, but in that moment, Kila faded and merged back into his body.
"Something must have hurt my force," Kilos muttered bitterly, still moving forward. He couldn't afford to stop now. His mind was fixed on Le-an. He had to know what became of her.
With a heavy heart and slower steps, Kilos approached the edge. Despair weighed on him like armor. His eyes scanned the water's surface anxiously, hoping—pleading—for any trace of life. He watched closely for bubbles, for light objects floating, anything that could point to Le-an's survival.
Then he noticed a nearby wall—rugged and overgrown with shrubs and thin trees pushing skyward. There was an odd gap in it, barely visible. He decided to climb down, using a thick branch as his guide.
This terrain had a history. Excavators had once torn into it, leaving behind pits and ridges both large and small. Time and weather had shaped these into unpredictable paths. After several minutes of cautious descent, Kilos found something unexpected—a wide, hidden cavity within the rock wall. It was quiet, dim, and tucked away.
From where he stood outside it, he saw scattered clothing strewn across the floor.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
His curiosity overpowered his exhaustion. He stepped in cautiously. The atmosphere changed. The air was musty and stale, but filled with hints of recent activity.
Judging by the evidence—discarded cigarette butts, drug remnants, and bags that once belonged to women—it was clear this place was a secret hideout. Marauders, no doubt. Only they could have hidden a place like this from plain view.
He moved deeper, passing through to another section. There, tools of violence rested: axes, spears, and cutlasses lay in neat chaos. But something about this didn't add up.
"They can't be climbing in and out like I did," he thought. "There must be another entrance."
Further exploration proved him right. In another chamber, dimly lit by a skylight crack, a minibus hung suspended by ropes. The sight startled him.
His pulse raced. Could this be the same bus?
He moved closer, pressing his hand against the metal. It was warm. The engine had run not long ago. He crouched beside it and peered through the window, pushing the glass aside.
Le-an wasn't inside. He checked thoroughly—even climbed in—but she was nowhere to be found.
On the front seat lay a note. It was pasted down firmly. Kilos sat, unsure whether he had the energy to read it. But his eyes caught the words:
"You chased vanity, you caught vanity."
The meaning hit him like a blow. The minibus had been empty the whole time. They'd tricked him. He had chased the wind, and in doing so, exhausted himself chasing nothing.
Unknown to him, the boys had removed Le-an the moment they regrouped. They had planned this—planned for him to think she had perished, to break him emotionally and mentally.
And though he was devastated, he was also strangely relieved. Le-an wasn't dead. Somewhere, she was alive. That meant hope. That meant there would be another chance.
Meanwhile, Lucas entered the great hall where students had gathered many times to discuss serious matters. Today was no different. Except for the tension that thickened the air.
"I need a representative from every class," Lucas said with authority. "We should have five of you standing before me."
Normally, students would have jumped at the opportunity to represent their groups. Today, however, they moved slowly, as though dreading the moment. Each step forward was reluctant, every face marked with unease.
"Introduce yourself," Lucas ordered the closest student, a girl.
"Ria. Served under Captain Kilos Barber," she said, her tone defensive. A frown etched her brow as though bracing for disapproval.
The room rippled with laughter. Not mocking, but surprised. 'Captain' was not an official title given to any of the group leaders, yet Ria had used it without hesitation.
Lucas noted the respect—or reverence—in her tone. Still, he chose not to comment.
Fred came next. His body language screamed reluctance. He looked like a prisoner sent to speak on behalf of someone he didn't fully support.
"Lantern Monroo," he muttered, then added, "I represent him."
Then came Oligard for Garet. Ruba stepped up for Skule. Yaksa followed, standing for Niray.
These five had been chosen to describe their group leaders in one word—each word a reflection of character, principle, or value. What they didn't know was that these words would carry weight. A new leader was to be chosen. An overall student head, a bridge between staff and students.
Lucas nodded at Ria.
"The only word to describe Kilos is humility," she said confidently and stepped back.
"In one word, describe your leader," Lucas now turned to Fred.
Fred hesitated, looking around. Monroo had vanished, slipped away to who knew where.
"Tough and powerful," Fred said at last.
"You must pick one," Lucas reminded him.
Fred scratched his head, then said, "Tough-power," inventing a fusion of both words before stepping back quickly.
Lucas blinked, as if trying to process the absurdity. The students chuckled, but quickly stilled themselves when Lucas turned his stern gaze upon them.
"Strong," Oligard offered.
"Skilful," said Ruba.
"Special," Niray chimed.
Lucas nodded. Everything was being recorded, all of it part of a greater assessment.
Then he dropped the bomb.
"We have the handprint of Manny's killer—and a human witness to the crime."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall. A heavy silence followed.
"Professor Robinson has worked tirelessly to find the truth. And he succeeded. He will now address you."
Kilos froze. A cold sweat formed on his brow. Only Tiffany had been there. Only she could've known.
Robinson stepped forward slowly. In the front row, Kilos forced a half-smile, but it was short-lived. His expression darkened as Robinson approached.
"I lost Manny," Robinson said, breaking down in tears.
"Kilos Barber…" he whispered. The words were soft, but Kilos heard them. "Come to the front."
Kilos walked with slow, reluctant steps. He tried to avoid everyone's gaze. Almost stumbled.
"This boy has been instrumental… to…" Robinson's voice cracked, his words causing whispers among the students.
Just then, Garet stormed forward, grabbing Kilos by the collar, ready to hurl accusations.
But Kilos pushed him back hard—Garet crashed into others behind.
"No! I didn't mean to accuse Kilos," Garet protested, shocked by his own misunderstanding.
Robinson stepped forward, standing firm beside Kilos.
"Whoever touches Kilos Barber," he said, raising his voice, "will have to go through me."
A line had been drawn. A protector had risen. And the truth… was only just beginning to unfold.