Lira opened her eyes to a gray dawn spreading slowly over the broken plains. Her body ached, her lips were dry, and her arms were covered with soot. The battlefield around her looked dead, no creatures, no light, no sound except the faint whisper of wind across the stones. She turned her head and saw him.Kai lay only a few feet away, half-covered in ash, his sword still glowing faintly beside him. The air around him shimmered, as if heat still rose from his body, though the air was freezing. Lira crawled toward him, her heart pounding. “Kai.”She pressed her fingers against his neck. His skin was cold, too cold, but beneath that chill, a faint, steady pulse.He was alive. A sob escaped her throat, half laughter, half tears. “You idiot,” she whispered. “You did it. You actually survived.”Behind her, Darius groaned, pushing himself up from the dirt. His arm was wrapped in torn cloth, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was breathing. He spat blood into the dust. “I was hoping

Kai’s eyes opened to a blinding white ceiling. The light above was harsh, sterile, humming faintly like a wasp trapped in glass.He lay on a narrow table, his wrists and ankles bound in silver restraints that pulsed with soft blue light. Cold metal pressed against his back. His throat burned.He tried to move, but pain shot through every nerve, sharp and electric, like needles under his skin.“The subject is conscious,” a voice said flatly.Kai’s eyes turned toward the sound. A man in a white coat stood beside him, holding a small glowing tablet. The man’s expression didn’t shift, no anger, no pity, only calm precision. “Vitals stable,” the man continued. “Neural patterns intact. He’s survived full exposure.”Another voice, colder, answered from somewhere behind the glass wall. “Good. Then he’s ready.”Kai recognized that voice. His heart froze. He gritted his teeth, trying again to move, but the restraints tightened. The silver cuffs hummed louder, reacting to the faint red light th

The tunnels beneath Crest were older than the city itself. Once they had carried trains and energy lines; now they carried ghosts.Kai moved through the dark corridor with a slow, careful step. The walls were wet with condensation, and every sound echoed far away. Rhea followed behind him, her small flashlight sweeping across old graffiti and half-broken pipes.Neither had spoken for several minutes. Above them, the city still burned in places, red smoke twisting up into the gray sky. The destruction of the tower had shaken everything, and Crest’s government had answered with lockdowns, drones, and curfews.Kai had not slept since that night. He stopped at a rusted gate and knocked twice, then once again. A hidden lock clicked. The gate creaked open.A woman stood on the other side, holding a compact pistol. Her hair was short, silver at the tips. She looked both sharp and tired. “Name?” she asked.Rhea answered before Kai could. “Rhea Voss. Former systems analyst. And this is.”“I k

The tower that had once ruled Crest was gone, but its shadow still ruled everything. From the upper levels of the rebuilt Civic Spire, the city stretched like a scar of light. Drones moved in slow formations through the night sky. The lower streets glowed red with checkpoints and scanners. The people lived under curfew, and their silence was the empire’s new anthem. Inside the council chamber, silence had another meaning, fear.Six figures sat around a black table that reflected their faces like water. The walls hummed with soft blue light from the screens displaying surveillance feeds: the ruins, the tunnels, the movements of soldiers.At the head of the table sat Chancellor Eran Vale, once a diplomat, now a man with the posture of a dying king. His white suit was spotless, but his eyes were bloodshot.“Report,” he said.A woman in a dark uniform, Director Liane Holt, head of internal security, stood. Her voice was cold and steady. “We’ve confirmed activity in the eastern tunnels.

The convoy reached the Civic Spire just before dawn. The towers of Crest were still half-covered in smoke from the harbor strikes, but the Spire stood untouched, clean, white, and full of light. The streets around it were empty except for drones hovering silently above every intersection.Three armored trucks rolled across the square. The tires crushed pieces of broken glass that glittered in the weak sunlight. The lead truck slowed before the security gates, where lines of soldiers in black stood waiting.Director Liane Holt was already there. She wore her long dark coat and her eyes were hidden behind tinted lenses. Around her, the morning wind tugged at the edges of security banners, each one carrying the Crest insignia, a silver spiral against black. “Open it,” Holt said.The guards stepped aside. The trucks entered the inner yard of the Spire, their engines echoing against the marble walls. The gates closed behind them with a heavy metallic thud, sealing the world outside. Ins