Legacy's Wake

The Chase Through the Storm

On the far side of Cascade Cradle, after the dust had settled from Hollow's confrontation, Temoshí, Shanya, and Stitch sprinted through the rain-drenched streets, desperately trying to outrun Desmond. Every second counted—their only hope lay with Dr. Hugo, the one man who might be able to save Chiaki's life.

But time was slipping away. The tranquilizer Stitch had used on Chiaki was beginning to wear off, and with each frantic step, their window to act grew smaller.

"We're never gonna make it in this storm!" Shanya shouted over the wind, her breath ragged as she ran just a few paces behind Temoshí. "It's slowing us down too much!"

Temoshí's grip tightened on Chiaki, his gaze fixed ahead, unwavering. "I don't care how bad the weather is! I won't let her die!" he shot back, his voice burning with determination. "I made a promise!"

Even as he spoke, he could feel it—the heavy, oppressive presence closing in on them. Desmond.

The man who had been immobilized just moments ago was now gaining on them with unnatural speed, his relentless pursuit unfazed by the storm or the obstacles in his path.

Through the maze of narrow alleyways and across the slick rooftops, he chased them like a phantom, weaving effortlessly between streets, taking shortcuts they hadn't even considered.

Then, in one fluid motion, Desmond launched himself into the air.

With inhuman agility, he used the walls of a tight alley as leverage, bouncing between them before soaring high above the city. Suspended midair, he scanned the landscape, his sharp gaze cutting through the rain-soaked skyline.

"Where are you hiding, pirates?" he murmured, almost amused, as his eyes scoured the city below.

Then, in an instant, he found them.

"There you are."

With a steady hand, Desmond raised his pistol, aligning the scope with his targets. But instead of firing directly at their backs, he adjusted his aim, setting his sights several feet ahead.

"One... Two... Three."

The gunshot rang out, piercing through the storm. The bullet cut through the downpour with uncanny precision, weaving between the raindrops as if guided by fate itself. In the blink of an eye, it struck the ground ahead—an instant later, a golden streak of light burst forth, following its trajectory with blinding speed.

Before Shanya or the others could react, Desmond materialized before them in a flash, his sudden arrival halting their escape in an instant.

"Huh? How did he—" Shanya barely managed to get the words out, her voice laced with disbelief. The realization hit her like a wave—he had caught up to them at the speed of light. The sheer impossibility of his movement sent a jolt of unease through the group.

Now standing in their path, Desmond remained composed, his piercing gaze never wavering. Behind him, the bullet he had fired dissolved into particles of light, fading into the storm.

"And where, pray tell, do you believe you are going?" His voice carried the weight of authority, smooth yet commanding, like that of a sovereign addressing his subjects. "It seems you fail to comprehend the gravity of your crime. The artifact you so recklessly destroyed was never yours to defile—it was meant to rest in the hands of Phalris alone."

His expression darkened, a flicker of disdain dancing in his eyes. "You are no longer honored guests. You are trespassers. Mark my words well, for they shall be the last you hear before fate delivers its judgment—you will not leave unscathed."

"We can't stop now! Time is running out!" Stitch's voice trembled with urgency, though the sweat beading on her brow betrayed the sheer weight of their predicament. Anxiety clawed at her, but she forced herself to swallow her fear, her fingers creeping toward her casket of needles—her only defense against the danger standing before them.

Facing the inevitable, Temoshí made a decision—one that placed himself directly in harm's way.

"Stitch..." His tone was calm, but there was an unshakable resolve behind it. "You said Chiaki's on a time limit. If we don't act fast, the wound will overwhelm her body and take her life." He inhaled sharply before continuing. "We barely know each other, but there's no other choice. I have a request."

Stitch straightened at his words, her eyes widening in surprise. They had exchanged few words, yet he was trusting her?

Temoshí hesitated for only a moment before pressing forward. "I don't know why I feel this way, but..." He met her gaze, firm and unwavering. "You seem like someone we can trust." He exhaled, his decision cemented. "You're the only one who knows exactly where that doctor is. So, I'm putting my faith in you and Shanya. Take Chiaki. Find the doctor. Save her. And when you return—bring back good news."

Saying the words lifted a weight from his shoulders. It was a leap of faith—entrusting someone he'd barely fought alongside. But there was something about Stitch that gave him confidence, something that told him she wouldn't let him down.

"Wha'— You're kidding! Burnsy, you seriously planning to fight this guy alone?!" Shanya shot back, glancing between him and Stitch, disbelief flickering across her face.

Stitch, however, let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. "You're either reckless or just plain stupid. You're trusting me? After everyone on this island has turned against you? After even Phalris herself became your enemy? What makes you think I won't do the same?"

Temoshí knew she had a point—most people they had met here had only led them into danger, betrayal lurking around every corner. But Stitch was different. There was an unspoken depth to her that set her apart.

Without shifting his gaze, he planted his stance, his expression hardening with certainty. "I'm not worried. You won't betray us." He smirked slightly. "And even if you did—you already know I'd come after you and make sure you paid for it."

His confidence caught her off guard, but he wasn't finished. "But you're not like them. So don't waste time arguing. Go. Do this for me, Stitch!"

It wasn't a plea. It was an order—one spoken with absolute trust.

For a brief moment, Stitch was stunned, her breath hitching as she processed Temoshí's unwavering trust. But hesitation was a luxury they couldn't afford. Gritting her teeth, she lowered her gaze, shut her eyes tight, and then—she ran.

"W-Wait up!" Shanya called, scrambling after her.

Behind them, Desmond's pistol was already aimed, his finger resting lightly on the trigger, ready to strike.

"Sorry, pal. Your target's right here!"

In an instant, Temoshí vanished.

Reappearing directly in front of Desmond, he yanked his arm behind his shoulders, flames igniting at his fingertips and spiraling outward in a brilliant orange blaze. The fire coiled around his fist, scorching the air, before he drove his knuckles straight into Desmond's face.

The impact sent Desmond staggering backward, forcing him off balance—but Temoshí wasn't done. He swung his leg sharply, dragging it across the ground in a vertical arc, and with it, a roaring wall of fire erupted around them.

A battlefield was born. A ring of flames, sealing them in.

Just in time, Shanya and Stitch leaped over the growing blaze, escaping before the fire towered skyward, splitting them from the fight.

Desmond, however, remained unfazed.

Even as the inferno encased them both, trapping him within its scorching grip, he simply stood tall, composed, and unmoved. His gaze met Temoshí's—steady, unwavering, regal.

Then, he exhaled softly, shaking off the lingering sting from the punch as he straightened his posture, adjusting his coat with an air of practiced grace.

"You are either bold or profoundly foolish, trespasser," he mused, his voice laced with calm authority.

"To encircle yourself in fire with me—do you truly grasp what that means? I am not some common soldier you can contain. I am Desmond of the Sovereign Guard, a sworn protector of Phalris and the Cascade Cradle. I have pursued fugitives across land and sea, crushed rebellions before they could take root, and silenced traitors who dared to undermine the rule of the monarchs.

He lifted his pistol slightly, its barrel gleaming beneath the glow of the flames. "I have fought men greater than you, warriors more powerful, more feared. And yet, none have escaped the fate that awaited them at my hands. Tell me, pirate—what makes you believe you will fare any differently?"

The flickering fire cast deep shadows across his face, yet his eyes gleamed with an unshaken confidence, one befitting a man who had never once considered the possibility of defeat.

To be continued...