It had been three days since the warehouse.
Three days since she watched her allies die.
Cyrus hadn’t slept well since. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Elise staring back at her—blank-eyed and smiling.
That was supposed to be a one-time anomaly.
But now? Another sighting. Another anomaly.
This time, not in a crumbling port warehouse, but the forested outskirts west of Bastion. Not a necromancer.
A girl.
The report was simple:
“Unregistered adventurer killing monsters on the fringe. Doesn’t miss. Might be using illegal magic. Rumored to be in possession of firearms.”
Firearms.
In the Shatterplanes, that word wasn’t casual. Guns were relics. Too rare. Too unstable.
Expensive to the point of being unattainable, even for nobles.
No one under Level 40 was supposed to have access.
But this girl? Level 7.
Class: Gunner.
No guild. No origin.
Name: Nozomi
Cyrus didn’t wait for backup.
She grabbed her spear and walked.
The sun was low when she found her.
A ruined courtyard, overgrown with moss and dandelion spires. The remnants of a shrine—half-collapsed, sunken, unimportant.
Monsters lay scattered in a wide arc. Ashen. Smoking.
Some had holes through their skulls. Some had limbs twisted by precision strikes.
Cyrus stepped through the mist and saw her.
She sat on a broken stone bench, cross-legged. A massive rifle was leaned beside her—thick-barreled, modified, sleek in black and chrome.
Another, smaller sidearm rested on her hip. She wore a tan cloak, and held a metal thermos in one hand.
She was sipping coffee.
Just... sitting.
Eyes closed. Like none of this mattered.
Cyrus didn’t announce herself. She didn’t have to.
The girl opened her eyes, slow and half-lidded.
"...You're not a monster." The girl spoke.
Cyrus frowned. Her grip tightened on the spear.
"You're Nozomi?"
"Sometimes." Nozomi replied.
She blinked. Didn’t stand. Just tilted her head and took another sip.
This wasn't a fight.
Not yet.
But it was something else.
Cyrus stepped forward, eyes narrowed.
"You're not from here. Just like the girl from the warehouse."
Nozomi looked up at her for the first time. There was no fear. No surprise. Just the kind of quiet confusion one has when they’re only half-listening.
"Miren?"
Cyrus’s stomach tightened.
"You know her?"
"Yes."
"We’re not working together."
"She’s... doing her own thing."
Another sip.
"Himeko gives me tasks. I shoot things. That’s it."
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Cyrus moved.
Not with rage.
With purpose.
Her spear hissed to life, fire trailing behind the silver tip as it lit like a flame. She blurred forward—twenty years of training narrowing to a single motion.
"Then you’re part of it."
She struck.
Nozomi didn’t flinch.
The air rippled.
She vanished.
A pulse of mist hung in the air where she had sat.
Cyrus twisted, spear raised—
Too slow.
A deafening crack tore through the courtyard.
The shot missed—but only just.
Mist Step. A water blink technique that most gunners couldn’t learn until at least Level 30.
She was using it at 7.
Nozomi stood across the garden now, holding her massive rifle one-handed. The barrel hissed smoke. Her thermos still steamed gently in the grass beside her.
"You’re really fast," she said.
"Not faster than a bullet, though."
Cyrus launched again.
A blur of fire and steel—sweeping arcs and jabs meant to press, control, eliminate range.
Nozomi didn’t run.
She walked.
And the world bent around her.
Time folded.
Suddenly, Cyrus’s breath caught in her throat. Her swing—so fast a second ago—felt dragged. Like her arms had slowed but the world had sped up.
Half Stasis.
Nozomi moved like she’d already seen the fight.
She holstered the rifle mid-step, drew the smaller pistol, and fired twice.
The first grazed Cyrus’s leg.
The second went through her shoulder plate.
Cyrus screamed, stumbled, rolled, planted her spear into the ground to stay upright.
She looked up—
Nozomi was already gone.
Mist.
Another blink.
She was above—on the ruined archway—rifle loaded again.
"You're not like the others."
"You’re stronger. I like that."
Cyrus hurled her spear like a meteor.
It spun, fire trailing like a comet.
Nozomi Mist Stepped again—midair—and landed softly on the other side of the garden.
The spear clattered uselessly behind her.
Cyrus knelt, breathing hard.
She was bleeding. Her head pounded. Her limbs still moved like the air was heavier than it should be.
And Nozomi just stood there. Not gloating. Not angry.
Just… watching.
"You're not weak," she said softly.
"But you're not ready, either."
Cyrus looked up, fury and confusion battling in her chest.
"What *re you?"
Nozomi blinked. Thought for a long moment.
"I'm tired."
Then she vanished into mist.
Cyrus sat there until nightfall.
Level 7.
One gun. One trick. One win.
Cyrus clenched her teeth, gripping her wounded shoulder.
Miren hadn’t beaten her in a fair fight.
But Nozomi had.
And if this was Level 7?
She needed to do something.
Or she was going to die.
[Bastion] // CH.02: Nozomi
I picked the gunner class because it felt funny.
When the system menu opened, blinking softly like the sky trying to remember itself, I didn’t even look through the rest. I saw GUNNER, thought yeah, okay, and hit confirm.
I didn’t know that would upset her.
“You picked what?”
Himeko’s voice could melt steel if she wanted it to. And right then, I think she wanted it to.
I was still in the process of manifesting. One foot in this world, the other somewhere else. Hair half-brushed. Still drinking coffee.
I told her again:
"Gunner."
She stared like I had spat in the scripture.
"We don’t use gunner. No one uses gunner. The weapon economy here is non-existent. Ammunition crafting is arcane-adjacent. You will be level-locked and gear-starved and—"
"Sounds fun."
I have never seen Himeko like this...
Then—because she’s nothing if not consistent—she ordered something impossible into existence.
Three days later, she handed me a long case with silver inlay and no receipts.
LRR-BFG
A relic firearm meant for royal military honors.
Ammunition: conjured
Barrel: blessed
Owner: Me
The PP9 came after, like an apology she refused to phrase.
"I’m not doing this because I approve," she muttered.
"I'm doing this because you are not going to embarrass me."
Now I shoot things. Because Himeko told me to.
“Grind your levels,”
“Clear the fringe,”
“Don’t cause a political incident.”
Two out of three. So far.
This world’s monsters are polite. They charge when I appear. They scream when I shoot. They die without getting personal about it.
Today I cleared a vine-beast, two ferals, and what I think used to be a bird with human fingers.
I sat on a stone bench afterward, sipping my coffee.
The sun was low.
The mist was soft.
I was halfway through my third cup when the footsteps arrived.
She came with fire in her lungs.
Taller than me. Built like someone who had survived too many fair fights. Spear like a cathedral spire lit with molten silver.
She stopped when she saw me.
I didn’t move.
"You're Nozomi?"
"Sometimes."
She stiffened.
People keep doing that.
She asked about Miren.
I didn’t lie. I said I know her, but we weren’t working together. I said Himeko gave me orders. I shot what moved. That was it.
She didn’t believe me.
The fire turned into motion.
She didn’t scream this time. Just acted.
Clean. Trained. Fast.
I moved before thinking—Mist Step fired on instinct.
She cut through the mist I left behind like it insulted her.
The first shot grazed her.
The second tagged her shoulder.
She didn’t stop.
We danced a little.
I let her get close once, just to see if I could time my Half Stasis skill over a physical charge.
I could.
She moved like molasses while I reloaded.
I drank more coffee.
Eventually she landed a hit.
Scorched my sleeve. The smell of burnt cotton is always nostalgic.
I stepped back and looked down at it.
"...Okay."
"I’ll stop holding back."
I didn’t mean it like a threat. Just a fact.
She threw her spear. It burned. It spun. It missed.
I left.
I don’t hate her.
She’s good at what she does.
But I’m not here to fight heroes.
I’m here to finish a to-do list.
I returned to the checkpoint near Bastion’s edge and filed my log into the fake ledger Himeko insists I keep. I marked Cyrus down as a “non-lethal incident.”
I added a note:
[Recommend observation: Shows potential. Needs therapy.]
Himeko will ignore it.
She’ll ask if I leveled up. She’ll ask if the guns jammed.
She’ll never ask if I had fun.
I didn’t.
But I like the way the recoil feels in my bones.