Reaching the warehouse had been a long journey—one punctuated by moments of aspiration and corridors of doubt. The path Kilos Barber had taken to get here wasn't a straight line but a zigzagging trail of uncertainty, conviction, and strange encounters that blurred the lines between belief and disbelief. Entering a world so unexpected, meeting strangers who claimed existence long before his generation—it all forced him to tread carefully. This wasn't a storybook tale; this was his reality now.
Sitting beside Dr. Le-an, Kilos peered out through the misted window into the night, which draped itself heavily over the city like a woolen blanket soaked in rain. The world beyond the glass was dim, speckled with occasional bursts of light from headlights and neon signs blurred by droplets. The rain brought a biting chill that crept in through the cracks, numbing the skin and amplifying the silence inside the car.
Two cars followed closely behind, their beams steady and unwavering, like predators stalking prey with precision. Up ahead, a large truck maintained a deliberate, unyielding pace. No matter how fast or slow Le-an went, the formation remained tight. They were sandwiched in. Trapped.
A few other automobiles shared the road—lonely night drivers likely returning from late shifts, delivery runners, or people lost in their own urgent missions. The streetlights gave fleeting glimpses of their expressions—tired eyes, distracted hands on steering wheels, the glow of dashboard lights.
"What are you thinking about? You afraid?" Dr. Le-an asked abruptly, cutting into the thick fog of his thoughts. She had noticed his fidgeting, the way his leg bounced slightly, the tightness in his jaw. Her voice was soft, but layered with suspicion.
"No… Yeah," Kilos answered too quickly, his words tumbling out as if trying to shield the truth. His gaze was fixed on the rearview mirror, and he couldn't hide the tension in his shoulders. Something about those tailing cars bothered him.
He wondered why Le-an—so seasoned, so sharp—hadn't mentioned the vehicles trailing them. With her years of experience, surely she'd noticed. Was she ignoring them on purpose? Did she truly believe they were harmless? Or had she grown numb to threats over time?
"Do you care to share, huh?" she asked, raising one brow, her tone now firmer, more expectant.
Just then, the cars behind surged forward, their engines growling like wolves lunging for the kill. They flanked Le-an's car from both sides in a clear and coordinated maneuver.
"I thought you—" Kilos began, a foolish sentence forming, but he stopped himself. There was a certain innocence in Le-an's face—a calmness that didn't match the tension outside. He didn't want to accuse her, not yet.
Reacting swiftly, Le-an slammed her foot on the accelerator. The engine roared as the vehicle surged forward. Her hands moved expertly on the wheel, her eyes narrowing with concentration. She darted through the narrowing gaps with the poise of someone who had seen worse and lived to tell.
"They're just inexperienced drivers," she muttered under her breath, as if trying to convince both herself and him. But Kilos wasn't buying it.
"You didn't see them?" he asked finally, the words falling from his lips like a shattered truth, loud and irreversible. If she had noticed, why hadn't they acted sooner?
Le-an had outmaneuvered the attackers, slipping ahead with just enough distance to breathe. But the truck in front loomed like a metal wall, blocking any forward escape. The box trap was closing.
"Are they from the academy?" Kilos asked, his voice laced with urgency. "They're after me." He leaned forward, searching her face for an answer he already feared.
"No," Le-an replied with a grim tone. "I think you've just attracted more enemies." Her words weren't dramatic—they were a solemn warning wrapped in a whisper of dread.
Crashing into the truck would be suicide. Reversing would be an open invitation for ambush. Her mind raced, weighing risks, calculating chances.
"Stop," Kilos said suddenly, commanding her with a voice he didn't know he had. It was the first time he'd spoken to Dr. Le-an like that. Her status didn't matter now—survival did.
"I think they're going to abduct you," she said, her eyes not leaving the road. The sincerity in her tone struck him like a cold wave. She meant it.
Then, with a screech of brakes and a jolt that nearly threw them forward, she stopped the car.
The pursuing vehicles halted almost simultaneously. Their doors opened, men stepped out, and a silent search began. But the passenger seat was empty.
Kilos Barber had vanished.
The men scoured the area, exchanging no words with Le-an, who remained in the driver's seat, her hands shaking slightly. They were confused. Kilos had been there a moment ago—now, he was gone, like mist in the rain.
"What do you guys want from me?" Le-an asked finally, keeping her tone defensive yet calm. Her eyes moved from face to face. None of them answered. They wore berets pulled low, concealing half their faces. Intent was carved into their every movement—they had come for Kilos. And they had failed.
The truck ahead groaned, its engine revving again as if to signal defeat. The men returned to their cars, leaving Le-an untouched, unbothered—but deeply unsettled.
---
Meanwhile, within the dim, echoing expanse of the warehouse, Kilos Barber stood shivering.
"I'm back!" he called out, his voice trembling with a cocktail of fear and determination. "Small boy, where are you?"
The silence replied with only the drip of water from a leaky ceiling.
He stepped lightly, careful not to alert anyone—or anything. The last time he'd been here, mystery had chased him to the edge. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.
His eyes scanned the room, darting from pillar to pipe. He moved toward the chain he'd seen before—the one that somehow signaled more than just rusted metal. Taking it in hand, he gave it a gentle shake.
He waited. And waited. Hoping for the voice to speak again. That strange, guiding voice that existed somewhere inside him—but wasn't quite him.
On the floor, a pen lay—evidence of Lucas and his men. The past still left its traces.
Above him, an oil bottle—his own, dropped earlier. As he reached for it, his eyes caught a shape at the far end of the room.
The boy.
Still. Silent. Just as before.
Kilos was already halfway up a ladder before he noticed. From his higher perch, he shouted down.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, heart pounding.
But before his words could land, a voice rose from within him, asking the question first. That same voice—wise, insistent—beating him to the thought.
He waited.
"I need your help, and you need mine too," the boy said at last. His voice was shaky, like dust blowing through an old cave. "I've been here for centuries... looking for a match. No one came. Until you. I am Ensolete."
The name chilled him.
"You didn't die?" Kilos asked, descending slowly, eyes never leaving the boy.
Ensolete shook his head.
"But you're a spirit, right? Spirits don't die," Kilos offered, trying to make sense of it.
"I'm not a spirit," Ensolete replied, his words broken and aged.
"Yes, he's right. Spirits don't lie," the inner voice cut in, as if smug.
"Stop it," Kilos snapped. "I wanted you to speak earlier. Now let me deal with this."
A low grumble came from within, but he ignored it.
"You're not even wearing pants," Kilos said, trying to lighten the moment. "Even ancient boys wore something."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A breeze coiled around Ensolete like a serpent.
"I saw you raise those winds before, made me run—but not this time," Kilos said, squaring his shoulders.
"I don't mean to frighten you," Ensolete said. "Only to show you."
The wind roared—but remained localized. A test, perhaps.
Kilos didn't budge.
Then, with a sudden hush, the wind died.
And there stood Ensolete—transformed. Navy-blue suit, white shirt, silver watch, necklace, wristband. His face glowed like royalty. Civilization made flesh.
"Wow. Wow. Wow," Kilos breathed, stunned.
He stood there, awestruck, realizing this wasn't just some ancient ghost. This was someone with history, style, and purpose.
"I'm sorry, but…" he began, before stopping at the look in Ensolete's eyes.
Ensolete pointed silently toward a strange machine, half-hidden in shadow.
The night had only just begun to reveal its truths.