The living descendant of the Maghis was still alive.
But right now, that truth couldn't help the wounded soldiers lying in the medical chamber. Their breaths were shallow, their bodies shaking, and time was slipping fast. If something wasn't done—and soon—they'd start losing them, one by one.
Inside the lab, Z-12 worked like a machine possessed. His fingers flew across flickering screens, sifting through fragments of ancient texts, half-broken scrolls, and even dusty old books that most had forgotten. Blue light from a cracked panel flickered against his tired eyes. His back ached, but he didn't care. He hadn't slept, eaten, or even taken a proper breath since the moment those strange wounds had shown up.
Everyone was depending on him.
Then came the sound—measured, heavy boots tapping the floor.
General Marcus entered the lab, arms behind his back, eyes scanning the cluttered workspace. He moved with quiet power, stopping near a half-lit screen etched with old glowing symbols.
"Any updates on your research?" he asked, voice calm but pressing.
Z-12 didn't look up. "Still working, General. I'm checking through everything... legends, maps, bloodlines, weapon records."
Marcus stepped closer and stared at the data. Tony pushed this to him"You might already know this," he said in a low tone, "but have you heard of the Maghis reign? That ancient kingdom… they once ruled Abergdon. Powerful. Feared."
Z-12 blinked but kept scrolling.
"Maghis?" he asked, curious.
The General gave a slow nod. "Yes. Their blood ran deep with power. But they didn't just vanish... not fully. There were whispers of betrayal—The people of Bracadis, if I remember right.
Z-12 finally looked up. His eyes were weary but sharp. "I've come across their name. But not much is left. Just pieces... legends."
Marcus nodded again and leaned in slightly. "So how does this connect to the wounded soldiers?"
Z-12 stood a little straighter, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"The sword that struck them… it's not ordinary. It's called an Oparsin blade. It was crafted during the Maghua era—fused with dark essence, bathed in dragon breath. Medesha's, to be exact. A blade like that leaves wounds that won't respond to our medicine.
He turned fully toward the General.
"They can only be healed by someone of Maghis blood; or something the book didn't reveal."
A long silence followed. Then Marcus's eyes narrowed.
"The girl. The one who escaped. She had a sword. Looked strange. Unique. You don't think… she could be a descendant?"
"I can't say for sure yet," Z-12 replied, voice thoughtful but tense. "But I've started digging into old family trees, ancient markings, anything that might link her blood to the Maghis. If she is... then she's not just lucky. She's the cure."
Marcus studied him a moment longer.
"When did you begin this search?"
Z-12 hesitated. "Yesterday. Right after I saw the first soldier's wounds."
There was something unreadable in the General's face.
He stepped closer again and leaned in, his tone suddenly slow and sharp. "How did you know all this? That she would be important? That she would have the answer? I never told you anything about her."
Z-12's heart skipped. A cold prickle touched the back of his neck.
"She's an escapee," he said quickly. "I made guesses. Patterns. And that boy with her… he couldn't even hold a sword right. He didn't seem like a trained fighter, so obviously she would ."
Marcus leaned back slightly, and then, to Z-12's surprise, smiled faintly. "Relax. I didn't come to accuse you. But we need those soldiers alive. I know how brilliant your mind is. Just don't keep anything from me."
"I won't," Z-12 said softly. "I'll do my best."
As the General turned and walked out, Z-12 stood in silence, watching the door close behind him. The lab fell quiet again, except for the low hum of machines.
He suspects something...
Z-12 turned slowly back to his screens.
Because the truth was—he had helped them escape.
Gabby. Tony. Her student. Elsie.
And now, that one choice might destroy everything.
..
Meanwhile, deep inside the cave…
"Those neet candies… where would you even get them?" Elsie asked Skyler, eyebrows raised.
"There's no place here," Skyler replied with a tired sigh. "I'd have to prepare them myself. But it's tricky without the right tools or heat source. Ugh… Still, I'll try. I won't let Tony down."
She stood still for a moment, mentally running through materials, her arms folded tight. The cave air was heavy, filled with dust and quiet echoes. They were stuck. Cut off from the world.
"We need to get out," she muttered. "Don't think I would get the needed material in this cave" And if we don't find help or do something..."
Her voice trailed off.
Gabby sat beside Tony, her hand resting on his arm. His breathing was shallow, skin pale. The sight alone squeezed her chest.
Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Wait… I think I remember something."
She stood, moved past the others, and walked into a dim side area a different apartment of the cave. Her boots crunched against debris. Hidden beneath dust and limestone was a strange rectangular shape—a sealed box, barely visible.
"Get me a hammer!" she shouted.
Elsie didn't ask why. She darted off and returned, panting, hammer in hand.
Gabby took it without a word. "Stand back."
She raised it high and slammed it down. Once. Twice. A loud crack echoed through the cave.
The stone casing shattered, dust flying everywhere.
Beneath it was a chest—metallic, smooth, wrapped in faded cloth. A strange symbol shimmered faintly on top.
Gabby crouched low and brushed off the rest of the dust.
There—right in the middle—was a small keyhole. But not just any keyhole. It had a shape carved into it… something familiar.
"Get me my two swords," she said, eyes focused.
Elsie backed up quickly. "You go," she whispered to Skyler. "I'm scared of blades."
"I'm scared too," Skyler admitted, "but okay." She ran off.
Gabby waited, eyes glued to the lock.
A minute later, Skyler returned with both swords, arms trembling slightly.
Gabby picked up her favorite—the one that had been gifted to her when she was younger. Its handle had a strange shape. Not just for show.
She slowly pushed it into the keyhole.
Click.
The chest unlocked with a soft hiss, and the top lifted open with a slight creak.
Inside, wrapped in soft black cloth, was something glowing faintly.
Series of vials.
Sealed scrolls.
Behind them, Tony let out a faint groan. Time was running out.
They all stared at the opened chest.
Could its contents save Tony?
Or was he already slipping—lost forever, drifting through a broken timeline, with no way back?
THE JOURNEY OF TONY TRAVELER