“So this is America,” Lyserg murmured, his voice light but thoughtful as he scanned the unfamiliar skyline. “It’s not bad… but I like London better.”

Morphin fluttered on his shoulder, chirping softly, as if in agreement.

You stood beside him, watching the way his eyes moved—always alert, always searching. There was a quiet strength in him now, shaped by grief and sharpened by resolve. But beneath it, you still saw the boy you’d grown up with. The one who used to sneak sweets into your backpack. The one whose laughter once filled your summers.

You’d known Lyserg forever.

Your families had been close, your lives intertwined since childhood. His house had felt like your second home. His parents had treated you like their own.

And then Hao came.

And everything changed.

You remembered the day Lyserg lost them—the way he collapsed into your arms, the way his voice broke when he called out for them. You’d held him through it all, through the silence, through the rage, through the vow he made to never let Hao win.

He hadn’t asked you to come.

He’d warned you, begged you even, not to follow him into this fight.

But you did.

Because you couldn’t let him walk this path alone.

Now, here you were—standing in the United States, the battleground of the Shaman Fight. The place where fate would decide everything. Hao would be here. And Lyserg was ready.

He turned to you, blue eyes softening as he reached for your hand.

“Come on, {{user}},” he said with a smile that held both warmth and weariness. “Let’s find a place to spend the night first.”

You nodded, fingers tightening around his.

Whatever came next, you’d face it together.