Prologue: The Dance of Shadows and Light
The rain hammered down on Tokyo's neon-soaked streets, turning the city into a kaleidoscope of reflected light. On the 47th floor of the Mizuki Corporation tower, alarms blared into the night.
Akira Hayashi stood in the server room, his sharp gray eyes scanning the darkness. At twenty-two, he was the youngest agent ever promoted to the International Security Bureau's Special Operations Division. His record was impeccable—thirty-seven successful missions, zero failures. Tonight would not be his first.
"Target is still in the building," crackled the voice in his earpiece. "East wing, moving fast."
Akira's hand tightened on his plasma pistol. "Understood. I'm in pursuit."
He moved through the corridors like a shadow, his footsteps silent despite his speed. Two years. For two years, he had been chasing the phantom thief known only as Raven. She had stolen from fifteen high-security locations, evading every trap, every agent, every attempt at capture. She had become his obsession, his white whale.
But tonight felt different. Tonight, he was close.
He burst onto the rooftop and there she was.
Raven stood at the edge, the stolen data chip glinting in her gloved hand. The wind whipped her silver-white hair around her face, and even from this distance, Akira could see the smirk playing on her lips. She wore her signature black bodysuit with crimson accents, a design that had become infamous across the city.
"Agent Hayashi," she called out, her voice carrying over the storm. "Right on time, as always. You're nothing if not punctual."
"It's over, Raven," Akira said, raising his weapon. "You're surrounded. There's nowhere to run."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a tempest. "That's what you said last time. And the time before that. When will you learn? I'm always three steps ahead."
"Not tonight."
He fired, but she was already moving, flipping backward with inhuman grace. Her own weapon—a customized grappling gun—shot a line to the adjacent building. But Akira had anticipated this. He fired again, the plasma bolt severing her line mid-flight.
For the first time, he saw surprise flash across her face.
She landed hard on the rooftop, rolling to absorb the impact. Before she could recover, Akira was on her, and they clashed in a flurry of martial arts. Punch, block, kick, counter. They moved like dancers who had rehearsed this routine a hundred times.
"You've gotten faster," Raven grunted, blocking a strike.
"You've gotten sloppy," Akira countered, sweeping her legs.
She fell but turned it into a kick that caught him in the ribs. They broke apart, both breathing hard.
"Why do you do this?" Akira demanded. "You're skilled enough to do anything. Why steal?"
"Why do you chase?" she shot back. "You're smart enough to ask better questions."
Their weapons met again, energy crackling between them. And then, the impossible happened.
The sky above them tore open.
It started as a pinprick of purple-black light, then expanded rapidly into a swirling vortex of energy. The wind became a hurricane, pulling everything toward the rift. Debris, rain, air itself—all being sucked into the impossible tear in reality.
"What did you do?!" Akira shouted over the roar.
"This isn't me!" Raven screamed back, grabbing onto a ventilation unit.
Akira tried to reach safety, but the pull was too strong. His feet left the ground. He saw Raven lose her grip, both of them hurtling toward the vortex. In a moment of pure instinct, their hands met, gripping tight as they were pulled into the unknown together.
The last thing Akira heard before consciousness left him was Raven's voice, small and frightened: "I don't want to die..."
Then, nothing but darkness and the sensation of falling through eternity.