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  Ever since the initiation of Project Aether, everything had spiraled into chaos.

  First came the abrupt redirection of research efforts—all funding and personnel were forcibly diverted to satisfy the President’s insatiable greed. Then someone, some idiot, initiated unauthorized testing on Subject 716. That was the breaking point. That brought the heavens’ wrath.

  As if the emergence of demons wasn’t already a nightmare, Subject 716—who was supposed to be neutralized by the failsafe kill switch—survived. Worse, it mutated. What was once human became something far worse. A progenitor of monsters. An origin point for plague and ruin. Now, months later, Elira Kaine was still trapped inside the facility, isolated and desperate.

  Alongside her colleagues—what few remained—they had been trying to undo the catastrophe wrought by the President’s private goons. But it was too late. Subject 716 had evolved, and now it spawned parasites, monstrous swarms that corrupted every living thing they touched.

  Elira was lucky to find refuge in the Core Security Backup Room, along with the only two survivors of the human experimentation wing—Lian and Mara. Just kids. Barely clinging to what was left of their childhoods.

  She had almost given up hope. Then, through the flickering security feeds, she saw him.

  A young man, Possibly in his teens

  Alone.

  Bleeding, limping, and stumbling into the facility.

  She cursed aloud at the time. Didn’t everyone know to avoid the surface? Especially near this hellhole? He should have never made it this far.

  But he had.

  She watched helplessly, powerless to warn him, as he approached the lower levels. At first, she expected to see another death—another tragedy—but what followed shocked her.

  The young man survived an encounter with one of the corrupted priest of Subject 716. He didn’t just survive—he killed it. Then two Kalrachs. Gone. Slain in brutal combat.

  She rewound the feed again and again, trying to understand how.

  The cams were grainy, black-and-white, and cracked in places. But they clearly showed it: arcs of lightning bursting from the boy’s outstretched hand. The power surged through the frame, frying the Kalrachs with unnatural precision.

  She remembered the words burned into her memory—the final decree from the Heavens.

  “Foolish mortals. You have trespassed upon the sacred law.

  For this arrogance, your dominion is revoked. The world shall be unmade.

  You are no longer of the Chosen.”

  “But the One True Voice offers a path to endure.

  One day, a Chosen One will appear—

  Who will decide what will be your history.”

  The Chosen One.

  Could it be him?

  She couldn’t look away as he continued his journey—his struggles, his pain, his refusal to fall. She watched him take down a behemoth. Watched him save a man she recognized—Captain Dorian of Spec Ops.

  And then… the Prototype Lab.

  “Wait… no—no, no, no… why there! c’mon.”

  Elira Kaine leaned forward, eyes locked onto the low-res feed of the Deck Lab. The only active camera flickered, the dagger visible for just a moment in the boy’s hand.

  Then came the alarms.

  Every surviving system in the facility lit up in panic. Red warnings blazed across her console like a firestorm.

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  She slammed her palm against the control panel.

  “You reckless little bastard,” she hissed. “You just pulled the pin on every nest on this floor.”

  She spun in her chair, her abrupt movements opening up previous wound, gritting her teeth she shouted. “Lian! Get up here!”

  The boy appeared instantly, wild-eyed, already alert.

  Elira nodded. “I hate to ask you of this, but take the tunnels. Intercept them near the south sub-vent…” Her voice faltered. “And stay safe out there, remember no heroics.”

  Lian tilted his head, unconcerned. “Yes! Big Sis, I’ll be careful”

  “…Then hurry,” she whispered.

  …

  Thirty long minutes passed before she heard the low whirring of the gates beginning to open. Elira straightened in her chair, ignoring the sharp pain that flared in her side as she did. Her fingers gripped the armrests tightly, her breathing slow and controlled.

  Mentally, she put over the cold veil she had worn so many times before. She braced herself.

  The confrontation with Dorian would not be pleasant. She had calculated that he wouldn’t kill her outright—probably. Maybe a few hits. That she could endure. After all, she had been one of the lead researchers in this cursed facility—the same place that had helped usher in the world’s downfall.

  The door hissed open.

  There they were.

  The Chosen One and Captain Dorian.

  Both of them looked worn. Bloodied. Exhausted. Yet they stood tall.

  Her eyes locked with the boy’s first—Cassian. His gaze flicked over her with suspicion and guarded curiosity. Not hostile, but far from trusting. She could work with that.

  Then her eyes met Dorian’s—and just as she’d predicted, his expression was furious. The years hadn’t softened him. They had honed him into something sharper. Meaner. Deadlier.

  “YOU!” The word cracked through the room like a gunshot.

  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t reach for any hidden weapon. Didn’t move. She didn’t try to explain herself, either. She simply sat there, calm and still, meeting his fury with a quiet, frozen resolve. If Dorian had wanted her dead, she would’ve been bleeding on the floor already.

  It was the chosen one who stepped forward and broke the tension. “Dorian,” he said firmly, placing himself between them, “shut up and calm down. There are kids here.”

  That stopped him.

  Elira saw the war unfold across Dorian’s face—grief, rage, the weight of memories too heavy to bear. And underneath it all… betrayal. Deep, bone-cutting betrayal.

  When he finally lowered his weapon, his hand still trembled.

  …

  It was only Dorian and her in the room.

  The air between them was thick and tense. Dorian stood across from her, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his body coiled as if expecting her to say the wrong thing at any second. His expression was a mixture of resentment and restraint, the kind that doesn’t simmer so much as burn cold and slow.

  Elira remained seated at the terminal, posture composed, hands folded calmly in her lap.

  She didn't flinch. She didn’t break eye contact. She didn’t apologize. Because he wouldn’t believe it if she did. for now her cold persona would do.

  Dorian clenched his jaw, eyes hard, but he said nothing.

  So she spoke first. She always did. “I take it you’re not here to reminisce.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Fine.

  “Then let’s skip the history,” she said. “I know you hate me. Let’s assume I deserve it. But like it or not, we’re in the same room now. So let’s focus on not dying in the next thirty hours and helping him”

  Dorian’s gaze didn’t shift, but his lip twitched. A subtle reaction.

  “You say that like you’re not half the reason we’re dying in the first place,” he muttered.

  Elira inclined her head. “Half? That generous? You’re softening.”

  The glare he shot her could’ve curdled blood.

  “Don’t mistake practicality for forgiveness.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  A long silence followed. Just the hum of the machinery behind them and the faint vibration of Cassian’s footsteps echoing somewhere down the corridor. The world outside was burning—but inside, here, it was just the two of them.

  Two survivors. Two ghosts of different kinds.

  “How much of it did you know?” he asked finally, voice quieter now.

  Elira didn’t pretend to understand. She didn’t dodge the question. “Enough.”

  That landed. Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his arms relaxed, just barely. “Then you knew my team was being set up. You knew the moment we stepped foot on this floor, we were being fed into a machine.”

  Elira exhaled, steady and low. “Not at first. By the time I realized it, half your squad was already dead.”

  Dorian’s fists clenched. But he didn’t interrupt.

  “They were using you to stabilize the test field,” she continued. “You were bait. Your deaths weren’t just accepted—they were counted on. Predicted. The entropy signature from your slaughter was enough to mask the energy resonance”

  “So we were just a distraction.”

  “To them? Yes.” She looked up at him then, voice flat.

  He looked away for a moment. Not because he was hurt—but because he was weighing her. Deciding what kind of monster she was. Maybe deciding if she was one he could use.

  “And now?”

  “Now the machine’s broken. The thing we built underneath is waking up. Cassian may be the only one who can touch it without being devoured. That puts us on the same side—for however long that lasts.”

  Dorian exhaled through his nose and stepped closer. Just one pace.

  “You talk like a scientist. Still using clean words for dirty things.” Elira offered a thin, bitter smile. “It’s easier than admitting I helped end the world.”

  They stood there in the half-lit room, both of them exhausted in different ways. Dorian scratched at his beard, finally breaking the stare.

  “Let’s get something straight,” he said. “We don’t have to like each other. I don’t need your redemption arc. You help us finish this, and then—maybe—you get to walk out of here alive.”

  Elira nodded. “Understood. You get to point the gun again once the Mother’s dead.”

  Then—

  “YES! YES! HOLY SHIT!”

  The shout cracked through the wall like thunder.

  Both Dorian and Elira froze mid-sentence.

  “…Is he always like that?” Elira asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Dorian exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m just saying,” she muttered. “You could’ve warned me the chosen one was a kid”

  “Trust me, you haven’t seen half of the crazy stuff he does” Dorian muttered, “but he’s growing on me.”

  They turned back to the console as Cassian, likely still rolling through cards in the next room, muttered something about “floating swords” and “gacha gods finally smiling.”

  ...

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