It was finally the day—the day they would leave the fortress behind and step beyond the cold familiarity of their isolated world. Carla and Young were filled with excitement at the prospect of seeing other parts of the world. August, however, remained reserved. This place, in all its quiet desolation, had become more of a home to him than he cared to admit.
Sunlight streamed sharply through the large windows of the fortress as the three walked down the main corridor, dragging small luggage bags behind them. At the edge of the courtyard, Sir Lionel, Madame Li, Mask, and nine other Exalted stood waiting, gathered for a quiet farewell.
A military-grade aircraft had been dispatched to retrieve them—providing a direct flight to Chile, from where they would board a commercial plane to the United Kingdom. The route was deemed the most efficient and discreet.
"So, are you three ready?" Sir Lionel asked, his voice caught between pride and restraint. His eyes shimmered slightly, but he composed himself quickly. They were not leaving permanently—just for a few months, though it felt like far more.
He gave each of them a final word of advice: a stern lecture to Young on composure and discipline; a caution to August not to wander aimlessly or act like someone unfamiliar with the modern world; and to Carla, very little—she was considered capable enough to handle herself without instruction.
Madame Li embraced them one by one. Young lingered in her arms the longest, unsurprisingly—he had always been her favourite glutton. Mask gave a lazy wave before turning back inside, his steps light with mischief. The other Exalted offered their farewells as well—some with hugs, others with handshakes—but none approached August. He stood apart, silent and unmoving, his eyes empty as always.
Moments later, the low rumble of rotors echoed across the sky. A grey military aircraft—a modified VTOL—descended steadily through the cloud cover. Its hull bore faint emblems from an unidentifiable division, and its structure exuded a cold precision.
It landed on the icy strip with a heavy hiss, the hydraulic legs compressing slightly under its weight. The rear ramp opened slowly, revealing a dimly lit interior lined with reinforced seating and exposed mechanical fixtures.
No words were exchanged with the two heavily built men already onboard. Carla and Young turned back to wave goodbye, smiling. August merely nodded once to the group before stepping in.
His gaze swept across the walls of instruments and switches—curious but cautious. It was his first time seeing such a craft up close, but he was not foolish enough to touch anything. He observed in silence while the others appeared unfazed.
The aircraft lifted into the sky moments later, vanishing into the cloud layer and joining the high-altitude jetstream. The flight to Chile lasted roughly seven hours without any stops. Upon arrival, they were discreetly escorted through a secured terminal. No passports were requested. No questions were asked. Bureaucracy had seemingly been bypassed altogether.
Soon after, they boarded a commercial flight to the United Kingdom. They were seated in Economy Class—Carla and August in the same row, with Young sitting directly behind them. His seatmate, unfortunately, was a mother holding a wailing toddler. The child began crying each time her eyes met Young's, much to his irritation. In turn, he distracted himself by watching a looping advertisement on the seat-back screen—an ad that offered nothing of value to his already unusual understanding of the world.
The two men sat in the front row, reading magazines.
The plane taxied quietly along the wet tarmac, its wheels hissing against the rain-slicked surface. A voice over the intercom welcomed them to Heathrow Airport, but none of the three paid it much attention. They rose wordlessly and were escorted off the aircraft by the two men.
August glanced once more through the oval window before following.
They were truly in Britain. Grey skies, dense clouds, and an unfamiliar atmosphere. It was colder than expected—not in terms of temperature, but in its mood. Even the light seemed heavier here.
They passed through a private terminal. As in Chile, no formalities were required. No passport checks. No security screenings. Everything had been arranged through discreet channels that operated outside of public record. As they entered the arrival lounge, a man in a dark overcoat was already waiting.
He stood tall, pale-skinned, with slicked-back hair and a gloved hand holding a folded document.
A polite smile rested on his lips as he studied the three young travellers.
"Carla. Young. August," he said, offering a subtle nod. "My name is Mr Reeds. I'll be your handler during your time here."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking. The three followed instinctively.
Outside, a sleek black vehicle was waiting. They could not identify the model, but its civilian build and expensive design were obvious. The roads were wet, and the city moved around them with a strange quietness. The usual bustle was muffled by the glass.
Carla pressed her face slightly against the window, watching glimpses of London pass by: old architecture interwoven with modern steel, people in coats and suits holding coffee cups, others dressed casually, and the occasional red bus flashing past.
Young remained unimpressed, still mildly irritated by the toddler. He slumped in his seat with his arms crossed, muttering about how British children must come pre-programmed to cry.
August said nothing. He watched the passing signs and buildings—not out of wonder, but with calculation. This world, modern and mechanical as it seemed, still carried the scent of something hidden. It wasn't the structures or the vehicles that intrigued him, but the air itself.
This would certainly be a perfect place to test that skill again—[Soul Scan], he thought to himself.
After nearly an hour, they arrived at a tall, iron-gated estate situated quietly on the city's outskirts. It resembled an old university building—rectangular and formal—with stone walls draped in ivy and marked by faded crests.
"This will be your residence and operational base during your stay," Mr Reeds announced as they stepped out onto the gravel courtyard. "You'll be debriefed tomorrow. For now, get settled. Dinner is at 19:00. Your rooms are already prepared. Note the numbers: 767 for August, 567 for Carla, and 896 for Young. All are on the second floor."
With that, he disappeared into the building, leaving the three of them beneath the looming stone archway.
Carla smiled faintly. "Well… it's not a prison. That's a good start."
Young rolled his eyes. "Looks like it could be haunted. Brilliant."
August said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the crest above the door—an ancient symbol shaped like an hourglass wrapped in chains. Something about it stirred a faint memory in his bones.
Without a word, he stepped forward and entered the building ahead of the others, heading towards the second floor to find his assigned room.
The flight from Chile to the United Kingdom had taken just over thirteen hours. Including the time spent in transit, their journey had lasted more than twenty hours in total. When they finally landed on British soil, the skies were dull and grey, and the wind carried a foreign chill—a different kind of cold than the one they had known.
This place felt warmer in some ways, but the aura was different.
And surely, this was where the real fun would begin.
"That long trip really left me hungry enough to eat nineteen buckets of food—anything except faeces, obviously. We'll be having dinner soon anyway. Also, this place is a bit warmer than home. And did any of you notice how densely populated this area is?" Young rambled on, until the sound of two doors slamming shut interrupted him with a loud bam.
"...Oh. I suppose no one's interested in conversation, then."
***
Day One.
The three woke to the morning sunlight—brilliant, yet unforgiving. Eye bags hung beneath their eyes, particularly under Carla's and Young's. The environment—the bed, the room layout, the temperature—was unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable. Even two weeks wouldn't make it feel like home.
August stood by his bedroom window, gazing out at the landscape. There were only a few scattered trees and a dry, unfrozen terrain that stretched into the distance—quite unlike the icy, white expanse he was used to. Birds chirped faintly somewhere far off, the only sign of natural life. Apart from that, the whole area was unusually quiet, almost unnervingly so.
'So this is London? Quite a setup. Hmph. I get the odd feeling this place is crawling with a lot of corrupted souls—just as reported,' he thought.
A soft knock on his door broke his focus. He turned his gaze towards it.
"Hey, August. That odd porch man said we should meet him—or them—on the first floor. Obviously, after we've showered and had breakfast. I wonder where that meeting's even meant to take place…" It was Young, sounding indifferent. He yawned and walked off, a white towel over his shoulder—something he'd found in the wardrobe. He headed for the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Apparently, there was another one on the top floor.
This was the Lond Clan's abandoned base, located far from their main headquarters. It was a rather inconvenient location, especially considering that the three of them might be the only occupants of the large structure. As usual, August was already mentally mapping out which room he would turn into his training ground, or maybe outside would be a better location.
Young, on the other hand, had no specific plan—just a craving for breakfast and a vague memory of what Reeds had told them. He still found it amusing that Reeds had introduced himself with a formal title: "Mr Reeds."
Carla followed her usual morning routine: a good round of exercise before her shower. She sometimes forgot to do it, but given her discomfort with the unfamiliar environment, she opted to stay in her room this time.
In a short while, all three had bathed, though the experience was far from pleasant. The water wouldn't run cold—only warm—making it less refreshing than they had hoped. Dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, they found the morning oddly hot, especially compared to the freezing conditions they were used to back home in Antarctica.
Together, they made their way down the stairs to the first floor—a spacious living area with three couches, a digital fireplace (electric heating unit), modern white ceiling lights, a projector aimed at a large whiteboard, and Reeds already standing in front of it. He appeared unchanged from the previous day, still in the same outfit.
After greeting them, he gestured for them to sit, then retrieved nine hamburgers and three cups of coffee from two paper bags, handing them over.
"Apologies for the breakfast—we couldn't get proper meals and had to settle for this. It's good, though. Got it from the best place in Camden," he said, smiling as he waited for them to start eating.
The three bowed slightly in thanks. Carla, however, spoke her gratitude aloud:
"Thanks for the breakfast," she said, her tone neutral as she studied the burger in her hand. August mirrored her reaction, inspecting the food with quiet curiosity. Young, on the other hand, had already taken a bite and followed it with a sip of the sweet, milky coffee—flat white.
"Hmm, this is really good. I mean, I'd have preferred fish, but this tastes better," he managed with a mouthful. Carla cast him a disapproving look and shook her head.
"Hahaha. I presume last night's dinner was far better than this. A bit of a let-down that we couldn't arrange something more substantial for breakfast. We'll make it up to you at lunch," Reeds said in a light-hearted tone.
Indeed, dinner had been far more satisfying than breakfast. They had eaten grilled lamb with mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, a familiar meal they'd had back home—unlike the fast food this morning.
Carla glanced over at August and saw that he was eating slowly, almost as if he were analysing the taste. She looked back at her own burger and decided to give it a proper try. To her surprise, it was actually quite good.
Reeds watched them with a content expression, before turning his attention to the whiteboard and picking up a small remote.
"Well, while you enjoy your breakfast, I'll now begin your debrief—in a rather engaging way."
With a press of the button, the room lights dimmed, and the projector lit up the whiteboard with displayed information.