"If even monsters can listen, then what excuse do humans have?"
The outskirts of Tokyo Area were silent.
Not the stillness of peace, but the uneasy quiet before an eruption. Beyond the Monolith walls, the forests swayed like murmuring watchers. Rentarō crouched atop a derelict communications tower, high above the former quarantine zone, his eyes trained on the treeline through Varanium-scope binoculars.
Next to him, Hotaru held her breath. "There," she whispered.
Movement. Shadows shifting unnaturally between the trees. Gastrea—at least a dozen—moved in tight formation, too synchronized to be instinctual. A horned Stage Two paused and raised its head, as though sniffing the air. The others followed suit, then knelt.
Knelled. That was the only word for it.
Rentarō's fingers tightened on the scope. "That's not normal. Not even for them."
Then, from the brush, she appeared.
A child.
Barefoot, maybe ten years old, wearing a patched dress too thin for the forest chill. Her long black hair trailed behind her as she stepped into the clearing, eyes shut, lips moving.
The Gastrea listened.
Hotaru exhaled sharply. "She's not running. She's… leading them."
The girl paused beside the largest Gastrea—a serpentine Stage Three with silver-plated exoskin—and placed a hand gently on its snout.
The beast bowed.
Rentarō tore his eyes from the scope. "Get me a perimeter drone. I want audio."
"Already sent."
Seconds later, static-filled sound crackled in their earpieces. Then—softly—a voice. The girl's.
"...not yet. We wait. He's not the one."
Hotaru frowned. "Who is she talking about?"
Rentarō's pulse quickened. "I don't know. But she's not infected. And they aren't attacking her. That girl… she might be the key."
Two hours later, they were back in Civil Security HQ, footage streaming onto the main terminal.
"Her name's Koharu," Kisara said, arms crossed as she stared at the screen. "We found her registered as a missing child from District 15. Disappeared two years ago after a Gastrea breach. Presumed dead."
"She's not dead," Enju murmured. "She's something else now."
Tina appeared in the doorway. "I've seen eyes like that before," she said quietly.
Everyone turned.
"In the U.S., during one of Ayn's missions. A child who could walk into nests and never be touched. We called them Harmonizers—rare cursed children with deep psionic signatures. Not just emotion readers. Controllers. They don't dominate the Gastrea. They speak to them."
Rentarō's breath caught. "How many?"
"Only one confirmed," Tina replied. "She was taken by the New World Creation Plan. After that, we lost her."
Enju looked up. "Is that what Koharu is?"
Kisara's voice was grim. "We need to find her. Before they do."
Elsewhere, beneath the ruins of Old Ikebukuro, Shōma Nagisawa wiped blood from his katana.
The last of the rogue Initiators collapsed at his feet.
Around him, the subterranean corridor stank of ozone and decay. The modified Gastrea that had been pursuing the scouts lay dissected, its body unnaturally reinforced with metallic grafts—clearly someone's experiment.
Shōma sheathed his blade and activated his comm-link.
"Dr. Grunewald. Another variant neutralized. Unmarked."
"Understood," came the voice, smooth and cold. "Return to point Delta. Subject Lilith is en route. We begin integration soon."
Shōma closed his eyes briefly.
He didn't ask who Lilith was.
He never asked anymore.
Back in Tokyo, Seitenshi stood on the balcony of her private quarters, watching the sky flicker with lightning. The storm had not broken, but the air was heavy with tension.
Rentarō stood behind her.
"Another child," she whispered. "Another life twisted by the virus or the people who fear it."
"She's not a threat," Rentarō said. "At least not yet."
Seitenshi turned. Her expression was unreadable.
"You always want to believe the best in them."
"I have to."
She stepped closer. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then I'll be the one to stop her."
Their eyes met. A long silence stretched between them.
Seitenshi's voice dropped. "When you're with me… do you think of her?"
Rentarō looked away. "Seitenshi-sama…"
"It's alright," she said quickly. "I know. But sometimes, when the room is silent… I wonder if things were different…"
He said nothing.
She reached out, brushing his sleeve. "You carry so much. Let me help, Rentarō."
He stepped back gently. "I'm sorry. I can't."
She nodded once, face composed. But he saw the flicker of pain behind her eyes.
Meanwhile, in the remains of the Council's former laboratory, Grunewald examined a new data file.
It was Koharu's neural scan.
Her psionic frequency was irregular—chaotic. But beneath the noise was a pattern. A language not of humans or Gastrea, but something in between.
A bridge.
"She can synchronize with the Hive Core," he said aloud. "She doesn't need to control them. She is them."
He turned to the cryotube beside him, where Lilith floated in suspension.
"The Chrysalis was a prototype. But she..." He smiled. "She may be the vessel we've been waiting for."
He typed in a command.
INITIATE: CONVERGENCE PROTOCOL ALPHA.
Later that night, Rentarō sat alone in the darkness of the Civil Security office.
The city hummed outside. A lullaby of false safety.
Enju stirred in her sleep on the couch, mumbling something about curry.
Rentarō stared at the photo on his desk—of Kisara, Tina, Enju, even Shōma—before everything fell apart. Before the war. Before the betrayals.
He whispered to no one.
"What happens when the monsters aren't just outside the walls anymore?"
No answer came.
Just the sound of the wind—and somewhere in the distance, the mournful wail of a Gastrea.