“And what did you feel in that moment, Joshua?”

  The question hung in the sterile air of the military psychologist’s office. Joshua shifted in the leather chair; its expensive comfort somehow more suffocating than the plastic folding chairs in the field. He stared at his hands, calloused and strong, yet in this room they seemed out of place, like weapons at a dinner party.

  “I felt...” He paused, searching for the right words. “I felt like something else was guiding me.”

  Dr. Clarke nodded; his expression neutral. Another question, always another damned question. That was Clarke’s way; never offering clarity, just digging, probing, like a surgeon who’d forgotten what he was looking for but kept cutting anyway.

  “Something else,” Clarke repeated, jotting a note on his pad. “Not someone?”

  Joshua’s brow furrowed. The distinction bothered him for reasons he couldn’t articulate. Another note, another fragment of his psyche dissected and labeled. How many notebooks had Clarke filled with his observations? How many sessions spent tearing open old wounds while pretending to heal them?

  “No. Something.” He leaned forward slightly. “Look, I understand why General Peterson ordered these sessions. The mission success rates, the ‘impossible’ shots, the... predictions. But I’m not crazy, Doc. I’m just... better at what I do.”

  Clarke set his pen down. “Nobody’s questioning your sanity, Major Williams. But when a soldier starts displaying abilities beyond normal human parameters, the military tends to take notice.”

  Joshua laughed, a sharp sound without humor. “So I’m what? A lab rat now?”

  “You’re a valuable asset.” Clarke’s voice remained even. “One we want to understand and support.”

  The words sent a chill down Joshua’s spine. Asset. Not a person, not a soldier. Asset. The word pulled at something in his memory, a conversation not quite remembered, a figure shrouded in light saying similar words.

  “You seem to be completely under the control of the bookkeepers and politicians?”

  “Major? Are you with me?”

  Joshua blinked, the woman’s voice fading. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “You were somewhere else just now.” Clarke’s voice probed with clinical precision. “This has been happening more frequently, hasn’t it? These... absences.”

  Joshua ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. “Just tired. The op tempo has been insane.” Always the questions, never any answers. That was the problem with shrinks; they drained you dry while offering nothing in return.

  “Tell me about your childhood, Joshua.”

  The abrupt change of subject made Joshua tense. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair’s armrests. Classic misdirection; lull him with questions about the present, then ambush him with the past.

  “Not relevant,” he replied, voice flat.

  “I think it might be.” Clarke’s tone was insistent, that familiar academic certainty that grated against Joshua’s nerves. “These abilities you’re developing... sometimes extreme talents emerge as responses to extreme circumstances. Particularly in childhood.”

  Joshua closed his eyes, trying to quell the sudden surge of anger. When he opened them, for a split second, the office was gone. In its place stretched a vast desert plain, blood-red sky above, and monsters charging across the sand. He blinked, and Dr. Clarke’s concerned face swam back into focus.

  “My father was a drunk,” Joshua said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Mean one. Army sergeant, two tours in Vietnam. Came back with demons; he drowned in whiskey.”

  Clarke nodded, waiting with that practiced patience that seemed more like a trap than comfort. Joshua sighed heavily and continued.

  “He’d come home late, reeking of cheap booze. If dinner wasn’t ready, he’d start throwing things. If it was cold, same deal.” Joshua’s voice had become mechanical, as if reading a report. “Micah, my little brother, he was just a kid. Scared of his own shadow. Dad would go after him for crying, for being ‘weak.’ So I stepped in. Every time.”

  The memory surfaced with vivid clarity: Twelve-year-old Joshua standing in the doorway of Micah’s room, blood trickling from his split lip, arms spread wide as his father loomed over him.

  “Shitty old man, pick on someone your own size!”

  “And what did that teach you, Joshua?” Clarke’s voice pulled him back to the present, that same analytical tone dissecting his trauma like a lab specimen.

  “Strength matters,” Joshua answered without hesitation. “Without strength, you can’t protect anyone. You’re just...” he searched for the word, “helpless.”

  The lights in the office flickered briefly, and in that moment of darkness, Joshua saw a woman standing behind Clarke. Tall, imperious, clad in armor of brilliant white gold, her face both beautiful and terrible. She smiled at him, a smile of approval and ownership, then vanished as the lights stabilized.

  “Joshua?” Clarke’s voice seemed distant. “Where did you go just now?”

  “Nowhere,” Joshua answered automatically. “Just remembering.”

  “You’ve been having dreams,” Clarke said, not a question but a statement. Always one step ahead, like he was reading from a script only he could see.

  Joshua stared at him. “How did you…”

  “Your file. Reports from your squad. You’ve been talking in your sleep. Sometimes in languages you don’t speak.”

  Joshua felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “What languages?”

  “Latin. Ancient Greek. Something else the linguists couldn’t identify.” Clarke tilted his head slightly. “Does that surprise you?”

  Before Joshua could answer, a knock came at the door. Clarke frowned, checking his watch.

  “We still have twenty minutes,” he muttered, then called out: “We’re in session.”

  The door opened anyway, revealing General Peterson’s aide.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s an emergency briefing. Major Williams is needed immediately.”

  Clarke looked annoyed but nodded. “We’ll continue this next week, Major.”

  “Sure thing, Doc.” Joshua stood quickly, relief washing over him at the interruption. As he reached the door, Clarke’s voice stopped him.

  “Major. One last question.” There it was again… the interrogator’s hook, baited and cast just as escape seemed possible.

  Joshua turned, hand on the doorknob.

  “The name ‘Aeternia.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The world seemed to freeze around Joshua. The name slammed into him like a physical blow, sending his mind reeling. Images flooded his consciousness: a throne room of impossible proportions, a woman in gleaming armor, his own hands gripping sword and shield that sang with power.

  “No,” he managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady. “Never heard it.”

  Clarke’s expression gave nothing away. “Very well. Until next week, Major.”

  The emergency briefing turned out to be a cover story, designed to extract Joshua from his therapy session without raising suspicions. General Peterson was waiting in a secure room three floors below the main complex, a reinforced bunker where the most sensitive operations were planned.

  “Major Williams,” Peterson said, not rising from behind his desk as Joshua entered. “Have a seat.”

  Joshua remained standing. “Sir, what’s this about?”

  Peterson studied him for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable. Finally, he pushed a file across the desk.

  “Your latest physical results.”

  Joshua eyed the folder but didn’t move to take it. “With respect, sir, I haven’t had a physical in six months.”

  “This wasn’t a standard physical,” Peterson replied. “We’ve been monitoring you, Williams. For your own safety, and for ours.”

  The implication wasn’t lost on Joshua. He was being treated as a potential threat.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Peterson waved his hand. “Go ahead.”

  “What exactly are you afraid of, General? That I’m too good at my job?”

  “Sit down, Major.” The order brooked no argument this time.

  Joshua sat, his body tense.

  “Three months ago, you were an exemplary officer with an outstanding combat record,” Peterson began. “Since then, you’ve become something else entirely. Your reaction times are beyond Olympic level. Your tactical assessments have proven correct with 100% accuracy. You anticipate enemy movements before they happen.”

  He opened the folder, extracting several photos. “And then there’s this.”

  The images showed Joshua during the last operation in South America. In one photo, clearly taken from a drone overhead, he was surrounded by six armed insurgents. The next frame showed the same scene a fraction of a second later; except Joshua had moved several feet, and two of the insurgents were already falling.

  “This camera captures images at 1/250th of a second,” Peterson said quietly. “No human being can move that fast, Williams.”

  Joshua stared at the photos, a strange sense of Deja vu washing over him. “I can’t explain it, sir.”

  “No, I don’t think you can.” Peterson leaned back. “But someone wants to try. Someone with a much higher pay grade than either of us.”

  Before Joshua could ask who, a door at the far end of the room opened. Colonel Katherine Hayes entered, her uniform immaculate, medals gleaming under the fluorescent lights. As head of Special Operations Command’s Psychological Operations division, Hayes had a reputation for being as brilliant as she was ruthless.

  “Major Williams,” she said, her voice carrying a natural authority that commanded attention. “I’ve been monitoring your progress with great interest.”

  Joshua stood automatically, military discipline overriding his confusion. “Colonel.”

  “At ease, Major. Sit down.” She took a seat across from him, placing a thin black tablet on the table. “General, that will be all.”

  Peterson hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He looked at Joshua. “Good luck, Williams.”

  Once the general had left, closing the door behind him, Hayes tapped the tablet. The lights dimmed, and a holographic display flickered to life between them.

  “Do you know what this is, Major?” she asked, gesturing to the 3D rendering of a human brain, certain areas highlighted in pulsing red.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “This is your brain, scanned during your last mission briefing.” She manipulated the display, zooming in on one of the red areas. “Specifically, these are parts of your brain that shouldn’t be active. At least, not all at once, and not at the levels we’re seeing.”

  Joshua stared at the image, a creeping sense of dread building in his chest. “What does that mean?”

  “It means, Major Williams, that you are changing.” Hayes’ eyes gleamed in the dim light. “The question is: into what?”

  As she spoke, the room seemed to shift around Joshua. The walls receded, and for a heartbeat, he wasn’t in the bunker anymore but in a vast, ornate hall. Hayes’ uniform had been replaced by a brilliant white armor, and behind her stood a figure of impossible beauty and terror, her features continuously shifting.

  “…listening to me, Major?”

  Joshua blinked, and the vision vanished. Hayes was staring at him, eyebrows raised.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Just processing what you’re saying.”

  “I said,” she repeated with a hint of impatience, “that we believe your condition is related to a phenomenon we’ve been tracking within certain soldiers. A small percentage of elite operators are exhibiting... capabilities that defy conventional explanation.”

  “Like who?” Joshua asked, curiosity overriding his caution.

  Hayes smiled thinly. “That’s classified above your level, Major. But suffice it to say, you’re not alone.” She shut down the holographic display. “What I want to know is whether you’ve experienced any unusual dreams or visions during these episodes.”

  Joshua thought of the woman in that resplendent armor, the one he’d seen behind Dr. Clarke. The name the doctor had mentioned: Aeternia. Something told him sharing this would be a terrible mistake.

  “No, ma’am. Nothing like that.”

  Hayes studied him for a long moment, her gaze penetrating. “I see. Well, if that changes, you are to report it immediately. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stood, adjusting her uniform jacket. “You’re being deployed again. Tonight. Details will be provided en route.”

  “Where to?”

  “Central Africa. A situation has developed that requires your... unique talents.”

  As Joshua rose to his feet, a wave of dizziness swept over him. The room spun, and suddenly he was elsewhere; a battlefield strewn with bodies, monsters charging across the sand, a woman with golden hair and a healer’s touch falling beneath razor-sharp claws.

  “Aurora!” he shouted, the name tearing from his throat unbidden.

  When his vision cleared, he found himself on his knees, Hayes standing over him with a mixture of alarm and fascination on her face.

  “Who is Aurora, Major Williams?” she asked softly.

  Joshua shook his head, confused. “I don’t... I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Hayes’ expression hardened. “I think that concludes our meeting. Report to the airfield at 2100 hours.” She paused at the door. “And Major? I’d recommend keeping these episodes to yourself. Not everyone would be as... understanding as I am.”

  After she left, Joshua remained kneeling on the floor, his breathing ragged. The name echoed in his mind: Aurora…. Aurora. A woman with beautiful hair and a warm smile; A woman he had failed to protect.

  But that was impossible. He had never known anyone named Aurora.

  Had he?

  That night, in his barracks before deployment, Joshua dreamed.

  He stood in a desert battlefield, beneath a blood-red sky. Before him knelt a man in a tattered suit, blood streaming from empty eye sockets. Despite his grievous injuries, the man exuded a strange aura of calm control.

  “You think you can get away with this, Joshua?” the blind man asked, his voice familiar yet alien.

  “I’m doing what needs to be done,” Joshua heard himself reply, though the words weren’t his own. “Humanity needs strength, not your manipulations and half-measures. I will be their shield.”

  The blind man laughed, a sound without humor. “You still don’t understand, do you? You can’t sacrifice people to stand at the top. You’ll just be left on a mountain of corpses.”

  Joshua felt rage building within him, a tsunami of fury that threatened to consume everything. He raised a gleaming sword Legion, his mind supplied the name unbidden, and brought it down in a devastating arc.

  But the blade never connected. Instead, purple strings erupted from the blind man’s fingertips, ensnaring Joshua in a web of light. He struggled against the bonds, but they only tightened, cutting into his flesh.

  “I’m sorry it came to this,” the blind man said, rising to his feet. “But you’ve left me no choice. I can’t let you continue down this path. Not when so many lives hang in the balance.”

  The threads constricted further, and Joshua felt himself being drawn into a darkness beyond imagination. Before the void claimed him completely, he caught a glimpse of the blind man’s face, now healed and whole.

  With a start, he recognized the features.

  Joshua awoke gasping, drenched in sweat. The dream clung to him like a second skin, refusing to dissipate with wakefulness. He stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. When he looked in the mirror, for an instant, he saw someone else staring back; a man in gleaming white armor, a crown of light upon his brow, and behind him, a woman of terrible beauty, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder.

  “You are mine, Joshua,” she whispered, her voice like the clash of steel on steel. “My chosen Archon, my champion. Embrace the power I have given you. Let nothing stand in your way.”

  “Who are you?” he whispered.

  Her smile widened, revealing teeth too sharp for a human mouth. “I am Aeternia, the Conqueror, and you are my sword in this world.”

  The vision faded, leaving Joshua alone in the bathroom, staring at his own haggard reflection. But the woman’s words lingered, echoing in his mind.

  You are my sword in this world.

  He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. When he opened them again, the mirror showed only his face, tired but resolute. Whatever was happening to him, whatever these visions meant, he couldn’t afford to fall apart now. His team was counting on him. The mission demanded his focus.

  As he turned away from the mirror, a strange certainty settled over him. These weren’t delusions or the product of combat stress. They were memories; fragments of another life, another time. A life where he had wielded power beyond comprehension, where he had stood as a champion of...what? Humanity? Glory? Something else entirely?

  The question lingered as he prepared for deployment, checking his gear with mechanical precision. Whatever the truth was, he wouldn’t find it here, in the sterile confines of Langley. Perhaps in the chaos of combat, where his strange abilities seemed strongest, answers would emerge.

  One thing was certain: he was changing, becoming something more than human. And there was no going back.