High above the storm-ravaged coastline, in a tower of glass and steel that shimmered against the rain-swept night, the upper echelons of the Hunter Association gathered in hushed urgency.
It had been mere minutes since they'd lost contact with Astralis—humanity's brightest beacon in the endless war against the anomalies.
The initial confusion in the control room had turned to tense silence, though a few anxious murmurs still carried through the space.
Monitors flickered with static-laced feeds of the Cyprus operation.
Analysts stood behind rows of consoles, their eyes bloodshot from sifting through near-incomprehensible data. Maps of Paphos glowed in shifting hues, dotted with ominous red clusters indicating anomaly sightings. At the head of the room, the Leader of the Hunter Association—an imposing figure in a tailored suit—stared at a large screen displaying a single message:
CONNECTION LOST – ASTRALIS (CLASSIFIED) – STATUS: UNKNOWN
He cleared his throat, and the assembled staff froze. A hush fell, as though they expected his next words to determine the world's fate.
The Leader's face was carefully neutral, his voice level.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room, "we have… lost track of Astralis."
A pin-drop silence followed.
"There is no retrieval signal, nor any sign of his body."
A ripple of shock and confusion spread through the crowd. One of the top-ranked hunters stepped forward, his uniform stained with fresh soot from a recent skirmish elsewhere.
"But, sir… he's Astralis. Isn't there a chance—?"
The Leader lifted a hand, silencing the question.
"There is no chance. Our best sensors detected a catastrophic energy signature… and then nothing." His tone sharpened, every syllable weighty. "He is gone."
The announcement landed like a sledgehammer. A collective intake of breath followed, as though every soul in that chamber had momentarily forgotten to exhale.
Astralis.
The champion among hunters. The unstoppable force of hope the world needed.
"The public cannot learn the truth of this," the Leader continued, steel behind his words. "Panic would spread like wildfire. We must do what is necessary to protect society—what Astralis would have wanted us to do."
It was a clever invocation of the fallen hero's name.
Heads nodded, some willingly, others with reluctant acceptance. They all knew the consequences if the masses discovered their greatest protector was no more.
Governments and private corporations were always eager to capitalise on weakness. They would tear the Hunter Association to pieces.
Somewhere near the back, a faint voice spoke up.
"Sir, we… we can't just replace Astralis. He's more than just a name. The people revere him as a legend."
The Leader's dark gaze flicked to the speaker—a rookie officer with trembling hands.
"Legends can be built," he replied quietly, "and they can be replaced."
Then, raising his voice, John Buckler said, "We will train another. Someone who can wear Astralis's mantle. The world need not know the difference."
Those words hung in the charged air, electric with unspoken implications.
Within a few seconds, an assistant stepped forward.
He was a tall, lithe man with sharp features and an unnerving calm—an A-ranked hunter.
His eyes glinted with too much ambition.
"I can do it," he said simply, his voice laced with confidence. "If that is your will, Mr. Buckler."
A murmur rippled through the room.
The mage's features—angular jaw, pale complexion, and short, dark hair—bore a vague resemblance to Astralis's public persona.
Another tailor-made mask and a well-told story… It might just be enough to fool a population desperate for hope.
After a moment's pause, the Leader inclined his head.
"Very well. Begin the preliminary evaluations at once."
He cast his gaze over the staff again, sending them back to their consoles with a silent command. Then, turning to the new 'Astralis,' he spoke in a softer tone.
"You realise what this entails. You will be bound to secrecy. If you fail, there is no mercy. Understood?"
The mage bowed low.
"Understood."
An uneasy quiet followed. One of the intelligence directors—an older woman with silver-streaked hair—hesitated, then asked the question on everyone's mind.
"Who was he… truly? Behind the mask?"
Her words lingered, echoing off the sterile walls.
Every set of eyes fixed on the Leader. In a sense, they all believed he must have known something—anything—about the man the world hailed as its saviour.
After all, someone must have let the man inside their organisation.
Yet the Leader's face offered no revelation. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips—cold and condescending.
"No one knows." The syllables were clipped. "And that's how it shall remain."
A wave of goosebumps rippled along the arms of those present, though they couldn't say precisely why.
Then the moment passed. He pivoted away, barking fresh orders to train their new hero and bury the mission reports.
In the background, screens continued looping the last known footage of Paphos.
Black shadows, stuttering lights, and swirling rain…
But no sign of Astralis's body. No sign of him at all.