The interrogation room smelled of antiseptic and burnt coffee. Lyra sat stiffly in the metal chair, her fingers tracing the fresh bruise on her temple where the debris had struck her. The Syndicate emblem on the wall—a silver helix wrapped around a sword—seemed to pulse under the flickering lights.
"Explain again," Commander Veyra said, leaning across the table. His breath smelled of stim-tabs. "Why were you in Sector Seven during the breach?"
Lyra kept her voice steady. "Routine maintenance check on the tertiary conduits. The alarms went off before I reached—"
"Bullshit." Veyra slammed his palm on the table. A data-pad skittered to the floor. "We pulled your access logs. You diverted from your assigned route three minutes before the rebels hit."
A drop of sweat slid down Lyra's spine. She saw it then—the way his fingers twitched toward his sidearm. The slight dilation of his pupils. They'd drugged his coffee. This wasn't just an interrogation; it was a prelude to execution.
She made her choice.
"I followed a thermal anomaly," she lied smoothly. "Thought it might be a leak. Then I saw them—three rebels near the Core chamber. I engaged." She rolled up her sleeve, showing the burn marks along her forearm. "One carried something. A device."
Veyra froze. "Describe it."
"Blue orb. Silver filaments. It..." She let her voice catch. "It vaporized Enforcer Jax when he got too close."
The commander's nostrils flared. He believed her. Of course he did—the part about the Resonator was true.
"Did you get a good look at any of them?"
Lyra hesitated. Saw Kael's face in her mind—older now, harder, but still the boy from the lab. The one who'd shared his bread with her when the guards forgot her meals.
"No," she said. "Their masks obscured their features."
The memory came unbidden as she walked the empty corridors toward her quarters.
Seven years ago. Lab Six.
Little Lyra with her diagnostics tablet, pretending not to see the pale boy in Cell Four.
His whisper through the bars: "They took my brother today."
Her slipping him half her nutrient bar when the guards weren't looking.
Lyra shook her head, dispelling the image. The past was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not with what she'd just set in motion.
Her wrist-comm buzzed. A priority message from Central Archives:
Access granted: Project Helix - Batch 17
Lyra's breath caught. The file she'd risked everything to steal during the chaos. She ducked into a maintenance closet, pulling up the holographic display.
The first image made her stomach lurch.
Two boys, maybe ten years old, strapped to examination tables. One dark-haired and screaming. One blond and eerily still.
Kael and Seth Draven - Subject Pair 4X
The report scrolled beneath:
Subjects demonstrate unprecedented Aetherium compatibility. Recommend immediate progression to Phase Three neural conditioning. Note: 4X-K shows alarming resistance to memory wipes.
Lyra's hands trembled. She'd known Kael was a Helix subject, but this...
A noise outside the door. Footsteps.
She killed the display just as the handle turned.
Kael woke choking on blood.
The Scar's medical bay swam into focus—cracked ceiling tiles, the stench of antiseptic barely masking the rot beneath. His arm still glowed faintly, the veins pulsing blue under his skin.
"Welcome back," Ryven said, pressing a cold compress to Kael's forehead. The medic's goggles were smeared with something dark. "You've been out two days. The others thought you might not wake up."
Kael tried to sit up. White-hot pain lanced through his ribs. "The chip?"
Asha stepped into view, holding up the data crystal Lyra had given them. "Oh, we looked. Your engineer friend delivered quite the present."
The hologram flared to life above the med-bay table. Kael's breath caught.
It was him. Younger. Strapped to a table. Screaming.
And beside him—
"Seth," Kael croaked.
The footage continued. Scientists in Syndicate uniforms injecting something silver into his brother's spine. Seth's eyes going blank. His small voice saying, "I am the sword of Solarae," before collapsing.
Asha's jaw tightened. "They turned your own brother into their pet killer."
Kael's vision blurred. Not from pain—from the memory crashing through him.
The last time he'd seen Seth conscious.
Their secret handshake.
The promise: "I'll come back for you."
Then the door bursting open. The needle in his arm. Waking up alone in the slums with no memory but the name "Draven" stitched into his jacket.
Kael's glowing hand clenched into a fist. "We're going back."
Ryven exchanged a glance with Asha. "You can barely stand."
"I don't care." Kael grabbed the medic's arm. "She knew. Lyra knew who I was this whole time." His voice broke. "I need to know why she helped us."
Asha sighed, pulling something from her belt—the silver pendant Lyra had given Kael. "Then you'd better get strong fast. Because according to this?" She turned it over, revealing tiny engraved coordinates. "Your engineer left us a map."
Outside, the floating city's shadow passed over The Scar like a blade.
Somewhere in those shining towers, Seth Draven was waking up.
And he was dreaming of fire.
The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds as Kael stood before the gathered initiates. The air was thick with tension, the weight of last night's confrontation still lingering. He could feel the others watching him—some with curiosity, others with barely concealed disdain.
Eris stepped forward, her silver eyes sharp. "Today, you face your first trial," she announced. "The Gauntlet of Echoes."
A murmur rippled through the group. Kael had heard whispers of the Gauntlet—a test of endurance and will, where initiates were sent into a shifting labyrinth filled with illusions designed to prey on their deepest fears.
"You will enter alone," Eris continued. "And you will either emerge stronger… or broken."
One by one, the initiates were called forward. Kael watched as they disappeared into the dark mouth of the labyrinth, their expressions ranging from grim determination to outright terror. When his name was called, his fingers tightened around the hilt of his borrowed blade.
The moment he stepped inside, the world changed.
The walls of the labyrinth twisted, stone groaning as if alive. Whispers slithered through the air—voices he recognized. His father's last words. His mother's scream the night the raiders came. The laughter of the noble who had spat on him in the streets of Valreth.
"You are nothing."
Kael gritted his teeth and pushed forward. The illusions grew stronger—shadows reaching for him, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. Then, the worst of them appeared: himself, clad in the armor of the Order, standing over the bodies of those he had failed to protect.
"Is this what you want?" the phantom sneered. "To become just another weapon for them to wield?"
For a heartbeat, Kael faltered.
Then he remembered Eris's words: "The past does not define you. What you do now does."
With a roar, he shattered the illusion, driving his blade through the false version of himself. The labyrinth trembled, the walls dissolving into mist.
When he stumbled out into the sunlight, gasping, Eris was waiting.
"Not bad," she said, though her eyes held something deeper—approval, perhaps. "But the real trials have only just begun."
Behind her, the last of the initiates emerged—some triumphant, others broken. And in the shadows at the edge of the training grounds, a hooded figure watched, unnoticed by all but Kael.
Whoever they were, they had been waiting for him.