It started the same way it always did.
Aiden stood in a space that wasn't real, though it felt like it should be. A flat, quiet place filled with light and colors that bled together like water over paint. No ground, no sky, but enough solidity to stand. A dream, or something worse.
He had been here once before, when he unlocked the first fragment. That time, he had been little more than a passenger in his own head. Now, it felt different. Clearer. Sharper.
The space folded around him, and the colors receded like fog peeling from a windshield.
The memory began.
He didn't fall into it. It grew around him.
The sky overhead was bleak. A thick overcast pressed low above a sprawling military base. The outer walls were concrete, reinforced with dull plating. Turrets lined the corners, as two men walked side by side along the gravel path that led toward the inner compound.
Both wore long coats. Not dress uniforms, but not field gear either. Rank emblems marked their shoulders, faded but distinct.
Their conversation was already in progress.
"I've seen raw potential before," the taller one said, voice rough from years of command. "But this one... he's different. He pulled an armored frame off a buried track during orientation. With one hand. His Blessing's not just powerful. It's off balance."
"That's not potential," the second man said. He was broader, older, and slower in speech. "That's a hazard. Blessings that strong don't behave cleanly."
"He's not even from one of our training units. Came in alone."
"I read the report. No listed background. Just a capture note. They found him near one of the dead zones."
"He wasn't hiding. He was... operating."
"Operating?"
"Took out multiple fringe camps. One of them through food poisoning, two others through direct assault. Solo."
The older man frowned. "You think he was working for someone?"
"Or hunting them on his own. We don't know. That's the problem."
"And you think training him is the answer."
"It's the best shot we have at control."
They continued down the gravel path.
"What exactly we know about his blessing?"
"It's unstable. You saw the scan results."
"I saw them. But I also saw his control tests."
The taller one paused beside a gate, waiting for a retinal scan. The device clicked, and the steel doors opened with a mechanical hiss.
They stepped through into a quieter section of the base. Smaller buildings dotted the courtyard, most with reinforced shutters. A few soldiers crossed their path but didn't engage. One nodded in respect.
"So what do we do with him?" the older officer asked.
"He's young. Still moldable. We recruit him."
"And if he breaks something? Or someone?"
"Then we contain it. But right now? We build it."
They approached a smaller facility near the far wall. A rectangular structure with frost on the windows and a humming generator tucked behind a steel mesh fence. A small plaque on the wall read MED-BAY 03.
The taller man reached the door first and keyed in a short code. The lock clicked.
"He's in here?"
"Waiting."
The door opened into a cold, sterile room. Inside were two beds, a diagnostics table, and a single figure sitting upright on the edge of the mattress.
A teenager.
Red hair, short but unkempt. He wore a black undershirt and reinforced pants, his boots resting on the floor. A medical band was strapped around one bicep, light blinking slowly.
His expression was neutral, but his eyes tracked both men the moment they entered.
He didn't look afraid.
"That's him," the older officer said, quieter now.
"Yes."
They stepped forward.
The boy said nothing.
"Do you know why you're here?" the taller man asked.
The teen shook his head once.
The taller man glanced at the diagnostics pad beside the bed. "You've tested above active spec in every category. Strength, endurance, responsiveness. Off the charts."
"And that's a problem," the older one added.
The red-haired boy looked between them. Still silent.
"You're not in trouble," the first officer said. "But we're deciding what to do next."
The boy finally spoke. "You're going to send me back."
The men exchanged a glance.
"No," the older one said. "Not if you cooperate."
The boy leaned back slightly, as if weighing that answer.
"You're going to train me."
It wasn't a question.
The taller officer nodded. "If that's something you want."
The teen looked down at his hands. "Yes."
The window beside him reflected just enough to show his face from another angle. There was a long, faded scar beneath his right eye.
Aiden stared at it.
The red hair. The scar. The voice.
He didn't remember it.
But it felt like his.
The scene lingered there, the officers stepping aside to check equipment, speaking in hushed voices. One of them picked up a medical tablet, scanning through Aiden's readings while the other muttered about placement options. Then, without much fanfare, they exited through the same door they entered, voices fading down the hall.
Not long after, the door opened again.
A girl stepped in. She looked around Aiden's age, maybe a year older. Her blonde hair was tied back loosely, and she wore casual tactical gear: dark pants, boots, a standard issue base undershirt. Her gloves were tucked into her belt.
When the boy looked up and saw her, his expression shifted barely, but enough. A hint of familiarity. Relief, even.
"They poked you again?" she asked, stepping toward the bed.
"No needles this time," he replied, voice quieter than before.
She leaned against the diagnostic table beside him. "Progress."
There was a short silence.
"I've been thinking about changing it," she said.
He blinked. "What?"
"My hair. Dyeing it. Not all of it. Just the ends maybe. Black, or blue. Something less boring."
He tilted his head slightly. "Wouldn't suit you."
She grinned. "You don't know what suits me."
"I know what doesn't."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. Then her tone dropped, just a little.
"They still don't know why you were doing it."
He looked away. "Doesn't matter."
"Maybe not to them. But it does to me."
He didn't respond right away.
"You're the reason I'm here," he said quietly.
"You make it sound like I dragged you in."
"You kind of did."
She nudged his leg with her boot. "You weren't going to stop. You know that."
He gave a small nod. "You didn't have to mention my actions, and you didn't have to speak for me."
"Of course I needed to. Who else was going to make you talk to people like a human being?"
He almost smiled.
She reached for his hand.
"Come on. I want you to meet the others. They're just as clueless as you. You'll fit in."
He looked at her hand, then took it.
The scene faded as they stepped through the door together, her voice echoing in the corridor ahead.
Aiden remained behind, silent.
He didn't remember her name.
But something about the way she held his hand made the memory feel real.
This wasn't just any soldier.
This was him.
Or at least, the version before he was transported to the other world.
From the look of it, he was older than he was in the first memory, but his face, expression, nothing matched.
What could have happened to finish here?