It was the next day.
Jaemin had barely slept. His body woke up earlier than his alarm, as if it already knew what was coming.
His mind was racing—but not in panic. Just a quick calculation. The Lapis Chamber. Infamous. Whispered about. Suppressed. Dismissed as a sealed rift by some… feared as something worse by others.
He got dressed. No layers. Just something stretchable and breathable—black training pants, a black hoodie, and his watch. No bags. No phones. No earpieces.
He left the apartment just as the sun was climbing in the sky.
No goodbyes. No messages. He took a cab.
The ride to the Aether Crest base was long. Two hours—cutting through the outskirts and eventually leaving even the roads behind.
It wasn't just far from civilisation—it was hidden from it.
The car passed checkpoint after checkpoint, all cleared in silence by an Aether Crest clearance card that Haseok had slipped into Jaemin's pocket the day before.
The path was artificial—man-made forest lining either side of the road. Trees grow tall and close together to cover up satellite visibility. No signs. No buildings. Just road.
And silence.
Every few minutes, a faint telecommunication tower would blink through the leaves. Tinted glass. Watchtowers camouflaged into the canopy. It wasn't just hidden—it was protected.
Jaemin shifted slightly in his seat. He hated long rides.
His body was calm, but his mind, far from it. Question played on loop:
"What's inside?"
The cab entered a tunnel, dim and quiet.
When it finally emerged out the other end, Jaemin blinked.
A gargantuan white facility came into view. It wasn't a building. It was a damn fortress. Stretched endlessly across the horizon like a sleeping giant. Just by rough guess, Jaemin figured it could fit more than thirty—no, forty football fields side by side. Maybe more.
The structure was tall. Towering. The exterior was lined with silver-white panels—clean and seamless—with almost no visible windows. The architecture wasn't just modern—it was alien. Clinical. A monument to precision.
At the very centre of it all, planted into the open sky, was a massive silver emblem of Aether Crest. A statue. A declaration.
"Goddamn... how much money even goes into building something like this? Jaemin wondered. This place smells like three countries' worth of GDP..."
The cab finally stopped in front of the main entrance—massive sliding glass doors set beneath a covered arch of reinforced alloy.
Jaemin let out a small sigh and pulled out his phone to pay.
₩198,500.
His thumb hovered for a second. Heavy ride. Heavy heart. Still, he confirmed it.
Even after all he earned from missions, he hated bleeding cash like this. Hated the sound of his wallet draining.
"Whatever".
He muttered internally.
He stepped out and entered the facility.
If the outside was big, the inside was bigger.
Open white halls. Silver pillars. An eerie hum of silence, disturbed only by the occasional echo of polished leather shoes. The air was cold, clean, and smelled faintly sterile—like a hospital... or a lab.
Jaemin made his way to the main reception desk—an elegant oval carved into the centre of the entrance hall. The receptionist, a neatly dressed woman with a polite smile, greeted him.
"Good morning. How may I help you today?"
"I'm here to meet President Kwon Haseok."
Jaemin said calmly.
The woman's smile never faded.
"Do you have an appointment?"
Jaemin blinked.
"Ehhh… I need an appointment?"
"Yes, sir." she said sweetly.
"The President is a very busy man, so an appointment is required."
Jaemin cleared his throat.
"Right. Okay then. Can I make one now?"
"Absolutely."
She said, pulling up a digital scheduler.
"Let's see… I can book you for… 34 days from today, at 9:45 AM."
"…34 days later?"
Jaemin repeated, stunned.
"That's almost a month!"
"But—"
"Mr. Han."
A voice interrupted from behind.
"President Kwon Haseok!"
The receptionist gasped, bolting upright and giving a full ninety-degree bow.
Jaemin turned around.
Sure enough, there he was—Kwon Haseok, walking down the pristine corridor with that usual calm and collected air. His black suit was sharp, not a crease out of place. His presence seemed to naturally draw silence around him.
"Forgive me."
Haseok said, offering Jaemin a polite nod.
"I was caught up with something, only just got word that you'd arrived a few minutes ago."
"No worries."
Jaemin said, matching his energy.
"Please—follow me to my office."
Haseok gestured, already turning down one of the many long white corridors.
Jaemin followed without a word. His footsteps echoed faintly on the polished floor.
The deeper they walked, the more surreal the facility felt.
White hallways, sleek and spotless. Certificate frames lined one side—awards, honours, breakthroughs in Rift tech, core research, Coreborn enhancements—years of relentless work etched into every plaque. On the other side: tall reinforced windows to various divisions. Labs filled with white coats and glowing instruments. Training rooms. Offices. Even a multi-floor library is visible through frosted glass.
It was like walking through the spine of a living brain.
"Just how big is this place?"
Jaemin finally asked, half to himself.
"Pretty big."
Haseok replied with a small smile.
"It's a mandate. This much space allows our research and projects to remain uninterrupted. Peace, order, and lots of room for error."
Jaemin scanned the area again.
"And then there's the chamber, too, right?"
"Correct."
Haseok nodded.
"Though that part's located underground. Far, far deeper than this main complex."
"Figured."
Jaemin muttered.
"But then... why are we going to your office first?"
"Ah."
Haseok chuckled softly.
"Well, everything here runs on a strict schedule, Mr. Han. Even for you."
He glanced over with a smirk before continuing.
"You'll be undergoing a brief check-up. Standard procedure to ensure you're physically fit for exposure to the chamber. No offence—it's a risky space. We want to minimise variables."
"Fair."
Jaemin replied. He didn't love the idea of medical poking and prodding, but it wasn't completely unreasonable.
"In the meantime."
Haseok continued.
"The other teams will be finalising the clearance route to the chamber. Security protocols, atmospheric readings, residual radiation levels… all the usual cleanup. It should take no more than thirty-five minutes."
Jaemin gave a quiet hum in reply. Thirty-five minutes. That was enough time to let his nerves marinate.
Still, he kept walking beside Haseok, silently bracing himself. Whatever was coming… the countdown had already begun.
The walk to the office was no joke. Jaemin had been counting doors, passing labs, and turning corners for what felt like forever. He glanced at one of the minimalist clocks built into the hallway panels.
Twenty minutes.
He exhaled.
"Feels like I'm doing cardio at this point."
Jaemin muttered, slightly breathless but keeping pace.
Beside him, Kwon Haseok gave a light chuckle.
"Well, a healthy body leads to a healthy mind. Consider it a warm-up."
Jaemin rolled his eyes playfully.
"You're not wrong."
There was a brief lull, then Jaemin looked over at him.
"By the way… are you a Coreborn?"
Haseok laughed at that, quietly, almost like someone amused by the idea itself.
"No, no. I'm not. Just a regular human."
"Huh."
Jaemin said, tilting his head.
"You're more knowledgeable about Coreborns and their systems than most Coreborns I've met."
Haseok's expression shifted to one of mild, almost humble pride.
"Well, I was always… intrigued by the concept. Cores, aura types, awakening conditions—it's like a constantly evolving puzzle. And once I joined the research division, things just accelerated. I poured myself into it. I guess the chairman noticed."
"The chairman?"
Jaemin echoed.
"Chairman Seo Jinyoung."
Haseok said, his tone shifting slightly—less conversational, more reverent. His chin tilted up as he walked.
"The one at the very top. All Coreborn divisions might act autonomously, Covenants might operate under their jurisdictions, and departments may run themselves…"
He glanced sideways at Jaemin.
"...But at the end of the day, they all answer to one man."
Jaemin nodded slowly.
"Chairman Seo Jinyoung."
Haseok said again.
"The man who quiets all."
Jaemin fell silent at that. The name rang a distant bell, but the way Haseok spoke it… There was weight to it. Authority. Respect. Even fear.
Come to think of it, Jaemin rarely ever heard his name spoken aloud. The chairman was like a ghost in the system—ever-present but rarely visible. And yet everyone, from the lowest intern to the highest division head, spoke about him with almost religious reverence.
All of them.
And not a single one dared to question him.
Jaemin's thoughts swirled, but before he could ask more, Haseok slowed down in front of a set of grand double doors—black glass, embedded with a silver trim that shimmered slightly under the LED lights.
"We're here," Haseok said, placing a hand on the biometric scanner beside the door.
A soft chime.
"ACCESS GRANTED."
The doors hissed open smoothly, revealing a vast, sleek office lined with glass shelves, clean lighting, and a ceiling that reached high above like a gallery.
"Make yourself comfortable."
Haseok said.
"The medical team will arrive shortly."
They stepped into an office that stretched wider than Jaemin had expected. The place was pristine—sterile almost—with a cold, clinical feel to it. To one side, a fully equipped lab hummed quietly with the glow of holographic displays and blinking instruments. On the other side, floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with books, thick files, and strange artifacts that looked like relics from forgotten experiments.
Jaemin's eyes widened as he glanced around.
"You've got a personal lab and a library in here?"
Kwon Haseok gave a small smile.
"Yeah, well… some information stays in my room. The most confidential ones. Like the Chamber."
His voice lowered slightly, as if the name itself was heavy with secrets.
He led Jaemin over to the lab area, where a woman in a pristine white coat stood focused in front of a flickering holographic screen. Her eyes scanned lines of data with practised precision.
"Please, stand on the pedestal."
Haseok said, motioning toward a sleek, circular platform in the centre of the room.
"The scan won't take long."
Jaemin nodded and stepped up. Almost immediately, a soft, greyish holographic light enveloped him, pulsing gently as it scanned his body. Lines of data and colored graphs appeared floating in the air—vitals, blood sugar, stress levels, and oxygen saturation.
"All clear, President."
The woman reported crisply.
"That's good to hear."
Haseok said, turning to her.
"What about core levels?"
She nodded, tapping a few commands. A second scan started, this time focusing on a more ethereal glow pulsing faintly around Jaemin's chest and hands.
Jaemin furrowed his brows.
"What does 'core level' mean exactly?"
The woman glanced over, lips curling slightly in explanation.
"Core levels measure how stable your core energy is, especially in environments that challenge your aura. Stability here means you're less likely to suffer from the chamber's environmental effects."
Jaemin tilted his head.
"Environmental effects?"
Haseok stepped forward.
"Well, nausea is common, but more importantly, core fluctuations. That's the big issue. If your core energy starts fluctuating wildly, it disrupts our ability to maintain a signal on your location and condition."
The woman continued.
"When that happens, we lose your core reading. Then, to check on you, we send more operatives in. If they also lose contact, it becomes a dangerous cycle—people get lost, core signatures go dark, and the risk multiplies exponentially."
Jaemin's mind raced.
"So if my core fluctuates in the chamber, it could trigger a chain reaction? More people get lost because they try to find me?"
"Exactly."
Haseok said, his tone sober.
"That's why your core stability is critical. We need to monitor it closely before, during, and after your entry."
Jaemin nodded slowly, feeling the weight of what lay ahead settling heavier on his shoulders.