Earth – Year 2350
Dreams rarely visited Mike anymore. His mind, hardened by war and duty, had no time for illusions. But this one came like a virus in the dark — quiet, invasive, and real.
The dreamscape was a fractured simulation of Earth. Glowing neon veins ran through an endless black sky, cities floating like islands in stormclouds. In the center of it all stood an old man. No drones. No machines. Just a cane of white bone and gold, and eyes that shimmered with starlight.
Mike stood at the edge of it, instincts sharp. "Where am I?"
"You are where I need you to be," the old man said. "I have seen the threads of your Earth unraveling. One by one."
He raised a hand, and the dream shimmered. A vision opened.
A teenage boy knelt in a small dome home outside the gleaming towers of Suncity — a sector known as the Gray Ring, designated for Rift-displaced survivors. He was helping an older woman adjust a solar panel, smiling faintly as he offered her tools.
"There," the old man said. "The fracture begins again."
Mike frowned. "He's just a kid."
"No," the voice snapped. "He is a reflection that was never meant to be. His presence defies law, balance, and fate."
The sky cracked above them. A warning.
"When you find him," the old man said, fading into mist, "you'll know what must be done."
Mike shot awake, cold sweat clinging to his neck. The city's overhead lights blinked red, tracking motion in the sky lanes above.
The Suncity Base Command buzzed with low chatter as Zara adjusted the optics on his visor. "You sure about this?" she asked as they approached the launch deck.
Mike nodded. "Sector 7 of the Gray Ring. Small dome. Civilian recovery zone. No rift activity on record."
"No active anomalies," Zara confirmed. "But I'll run full bioscans once we're there."
Luna landed beside them with a soft metallic thud, her tail flicking behind her. "Let's get moving before whatever you saw becomes something worse."
Their hover transport glided through Suncity's outer sectors — towers gleaming, digital signage floating mid-air, autopiloted taxis zipping past in silent lines of light.
The Gray Ring came into view — a crescent-shaped refugee settlement just beyond the shining arc of the capital. Its domes were patched with scavenged tech and worn banners from old UN recovery programs. Inside one dome, a small cluster of families went about their daily routines.
As the hover slowed, Zara's scans flickered. "No anomaly signature. No power surges. But... something's off."
"What kind of off?" Mike asked.
Zara narrowed his eyes. "His face. The one in Dome 17. He looks—"
The word trailed off as their hover descended and the ramp hissed open.
Zen stood just outside Dome 17, helping an elderly man realign a solar antenna. His frame was lean, his stance calm, and his eyes sharp — the kind of sharpness people developed when they'd seen more than they should.
He saw the team approaching and didn't flinch.
"Do you need something?" he asked.
Mike studied him, noting the strange stillness in his presence.
Zara's visor flickered again. "No radiation. No dark energy. No implants. But…"
He tilted his head. "Doesn't this kid remind you of Karl?"
Luna stepped closer. "He really does."
Before Mike could respond, a tear split open in the air behind them — swirling like oil and light. A dark portal.
Karl stepped through, one foot landing on the cracked pavement, Raven strapped to his back.
"Seriously, you guys never let me have a dramatic entrance," he said with a grin. "I was literally going to flip through a window this time."
Behind him, another tear burst open — sleeker, smoother, swirling with blue-white lines of elegant energy.
Eva stepped out, rolling her eyes. "And I told you again, your portals look like someone threw a tantrum with shadows. Mine are artwork."
Karl spun around. "Oh come on, you're just jealous mine have personality."
She shoved him playfully. "Your portals smell like burnt wires."
He grinned. "At least they don't sound like a chime ringtone from hell—"
Then he stopped.
Mid-joke, mid-laugh, Karl turned and saw the boy standing by the dome.
Zen.
Silence hit like a pulse grenade.
Zen's mouth parted. "...Karl?"
Karl took a step forward. "No… no way."
His smile faltered, eyes wide.
"You— you can't be…"
Zen walked toward him slowly. "You dropped me during the Rift collapse. It wasn't your fault. But I never stopped hoping I'd find you."
Karl's breath caught. "I thought you were dead."
"I was somewhere else," Zen said quietly. "Until this world found me."
Everyone stood frozen.
And then the voice echoed in Mike's head — not from speakers, not from sensors, but directly from the memory of his dream.
"Eliminate the anomaly."
Mike's heart thudded.
The boy in front of him wasn't a threat.
He was Karl's brother.
A survivor.
But the command from Lior remained — heavy, echoing, absolute.
And Mike had no idea what would break first — the mission, the truth, or his own faith.
The moment shattered like glass.
Zen took one more step toward Karl, hope flickering in his eyes — the kind of hope that had barely survived years of silence, confusion, and unanswered questions.
But before anyone could speak, the air pulsed.
A golden hum rose from behind Mike — soft at first, like a choir beneath water. Then it grew sharper, harsher, until it echoed through the dome structures and across the Gray Ring like a war horn.
Everyone turned.
Mike's back stiffened. His halo — a golden circlet fused to the armor on his upper spine — ignited.
It hovered just behind his head, spinning slowly, light cascading from it in concentric rings. What had once been a dormant relic, a holy emblem of protection, now flared to life with terrifying presence.
A voice, ancient and resolute, rippled from the halo.
"He is not meant to exist. He is an infection in the weave of time. Eliminate the child."
Zara flinched. "Mike… that voice. That's—"
"I know," Mike muttered, eyes narrowing.
The golden light grew brighter, the air around it thickening with divine heat. Civilians in nearby domes began to back away. Lights flickered. Machines glitched.
"Strike him down before the infection spreads. This is the will of balance."
Zen's expression didn't change. He stood perfectly still, but his fists tightened slightly — not from fear, but quiet acceptance.
Then came the click of a blade.
Karl had stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of Raven. His usual grin was gone. The glimmer in his eyes — that chaotic spark of mischief — extinguished.
He looked deadly. Focused. Cold.
"No one touches him," Karl said, his voice low and dangerous.
Mike turned. "Karl—"
"I don't care what some floating glowstick is saying," Karl snapped. "That's my brother. That's Zen."
"He is a threat to everything," the voice boomed again.
Karl drew Raven halfway, and black sparks danced along its edge. "You want to talk threats? Keep pushing."
The wind swirled around him. The air bent with the weight of the sword's presence. Raven hummed with restrained hunger, its runes flashing dimly beneath its sheath.
Eva took a cautious step closer, her portal disc in hand, ready — but not hostile. "Karl, maybe we should—"
"No," he said sharply, not looking at her. "Not this time."
His eyes locked on Mike's. "You've seen what we've lost, Mike. What we've all lost. Families, homes, friends. And now… we finally find something worth protecting. I'm not letting you take that from me."
The golden halo flared again, and Mike could feel Lior pressing against his spine — his presence like a thousand suns behind a curtain of judgment.
Luna bared her fangs, eyes darting between the tension.
Zara stood still, caught between protocol and instinct.
Mike stared at the boy. At Karl.
The choice wasn't tactical anymore.
It was personal.
"Mike," Karl said, not blinking. "If you're with me… step back."
The halo hissed.
So did Raven.
And for the first time in a long time, the heavens and the shadows threatened to collide.
Mike's hand hovered over his weapon… but he didn't draw.
Not yet.