The room smelled like wet stone and old fear.
Genfrey noticed it the moment he stepped inside.
Not the usual tension he had come to expect from the resistance—the tight whispers, the cautious hope.
This was different.
This was decay.
Kellian stood at the far end of the chamber, hands braced against a rough wooden table scattered with maps, ink stains bleeding into one another like wounds that refused to close.
Three others were already there.
Marrek—the former captain, broad-shouldered, scar cutting through his brow like a permanent accusation.
Selvi—a thin woman with restless eyes, fingers stained with alchemical burns.
And Tomas.
Tomas didn't look up.
He just stared at the table.
At nothing.
"You're late," Marrek said.
Genfrey closed the door behind him. It groaned softly, like it didn't want to shut.
"I came as soon as I could," he replied.
"That's not good enough anymore."
Genfrey didn't respond to that. He just walked forward, slow, controlled, letting the silence stretch.
Kellian finally spoke.
"You went back to the Academy."
Not a question.
Genfrey met his gaze. "Yes."
"And?"
Genfrey hesitated.
Not because he didn't have words.
Because none of them felt right.
"They're alive," he said finally.
Selvi let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.
"Good," she whispered. "That means we still have time—"
"They're not the same."
The words cut through the room.
Clean.
Immediate.
Selvi's relief died mid-breath.
Marrek leaned forward. "Define 'not the same.'"
Genfrey looked at each of them.
Then said it.
"They're… empty."
"No," Kellian said instantly. Too fast. "That's not possible."
Genfrey's eyes snapped to him. "I spoke to one."
Silence.
Real silence.
"What did she say?" Tomas asked, finally lifting his head.
His voice sounded scraped raw.
Genfrey exhaled slowly.
"She remembered pain," he said. "But not herself."
Selvi's hand trembled slightly. "Memory loss is reversible. We can—"
"No," Genfrey cut in.
His tone sharpened.
"You don't understand. It's not memory loss. It's… removal."
He struggled for the word.
"Like someone went inside and decided what parts of her were unnecessary."
No one spoke.
Because they all understood what that meant.
Marrek straightened.
"So we kill them."
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Selvi turned to him sharply. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "They're gone. Whatever's left isn't them."
"They're children," Selvi snapped.
"They were children."
That shut her up.
For a moment.
Then—
"We don't know that," she said, quieter now, but no less fierce. "We don't know how deep this goes. We don't know if they can be brought back."
"I saw one of them tear a man apart with her bare hands," Marrek replied.
Selvi froze.
Genfrey's stomach tightened.
"When?" he asked.
"Two nights ago. Outer district." Marrek's eyes didn't leave Selvi. "A patrol got too close. She didn't hesitate. Didn't speak. Just… broke him."
Selvi shook her head slowly. "That doesn't mean—"
"It means they're weapons now."
Kellian stepped in.
"Enough."
The word cracked through the room.
Everyone went still.
"We are not executioners," he said, voice low but steady. "We are trying to save them."
"From what?" Marrek demanded. "From themselves? From whatever he turned them into? Or from us?"
Kellian didn't answer immediately.
Because there was no clean answer.
Genfrey watched him.
Really watched him.
And for the first time—
He saw doubt.
Small.
Hidden.
But there.
"We don't abandon them," Kellian said finally.
Marrek let out a harsh laugh.
"You're not abandoning them. You're clinging to ghosts."
Selvi slammed her hand on the table. "And you're talking about slaughtering them like animals!"
"They are animals now!"
"They are still people!"
"Prove it."
Silence.
Selvi opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because she couldn't.
Because none of them could.
Tomas spoke again.
Soft.
Too soft.
"What if he's right?"
All eyes turned to him.
"What if…" he swallowed. "What if there's nothing left to save?"
Kellian's jaw tightened. "There is always something left."
"You didn't see her," Tomas said.
Genfrey's head turned sharply. "You saw one too?"
Tomas nodded once.
"She knew my name," he said.
Hope flickered—brief, fragile—
Then he continued.
"She used it to get closer."
The room went cold.
"And then?" Selvi asked.
Tomas didn't answer immediately.
His hands clenched at his sides.
"She smiled," he said finally.
"And then she tried to open my throat."
Selvi staggered back slightly, like the words had weight.
Genfrey felt something twist in his chest.
Because now it wasn't just one case.
It wasn't just Lyria.
This was a pattern.
Kellian dragged a hand down his face.
"This is what he wants," he said. "Division. Fear. Doubt."
"No," Marrek said.
"This is reality."
The words hit harder because they weren't angry.
They were tired.
Genfrey stepped forward.
"We're missing the point."
They all looked at him.
"He didn't just create weapons," Genfrey continued. "He created something worse."
"What?" Selvi asked.
Genfrey hesitated.
Because saying it made it real.
"They're still in there."
Kellian's head snapped up.
"Yes," he said quickly. "Exactly—"
"But they're not alone."
That stopped him.
Genfrey's voice dropped.
"Something else is in there with them."
Silence again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Marrek frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Genfrey met his eyes.
"I heard it."
Kellian stiffened. "Heard what?"
"Something speaking through her."
Selvi shook her head immediately. "No. That's not—"
"It wasn't her voice."
That shut her up.
"It used her mouth," Genfrey continued. "But it wasn't her."
Kellian's face had gone pale.
"That's… not part of the theory," he murmured.
"Then your theory is wrong."
The words hung there.
Unforgiving.
Kellian looked at him.
Really looked at him.
"And you're certain?" he asked quietly.
Genfrey didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then—
Marrek exhaled slowly.
"So let me get this straight," he said.
"We're dealing with mind-broken mages… who might also be hosting something else inside them?"
Genfrey didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Marrek gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Good," he said. "That makes this easier."
Selvi turned on him. "Easier?"
"Yes."
He met her gaze.
"We stop pretending we can save them."
"No—"
"We put them down."
Kellian stepped forward. "I said enough."
"And I said we don't have time for your hope!" Marrek shot back. "Every second we waste, he strengthens them!"
Selvi's voice broke slightly. "They're not just 'them'—"
"They're not 'us' anymore."
That was it.
The line.
Drawn clean.
Irreversible.
Genfrey felt it settle into the room.
This wasn't an argument anymore.
This was a fracture.
Kellian looked between them.
Then said the one thing he had been avoiding.
"We vote."
No one moved.
Because they all knew what that meant.
What it would change.
Marrek nodded once. "Fine."
Selvi shook her head slowly. "No…"
Tomas didn't speak.
He just closed his eyes.
Genfrey felt the weight of it press down on him.
Not just the decision.
But what it meant.
If they chose to kill the students—
They became something else.
If they didn't—
They risked everything.
Kellian looked at him.
"You saw them," he said. "You speak."
Genfrey didn't answer immediately.
Because for the first time—
He didn't know what the right choice was.
He thought of Lyria.
Of that flicker.
That brief, fragile moment where something inside her had still been fighting.
Then he remembered the other voice.
The one that wasn't hers.
Watching.
Waiting.
He exhaled slowly.
And realized something that made his chest tighten.
There was no good choice.
Only consequences.
"They're still in there," he said finally.
Selvi's shoulders sagged with relief.
But he didn't stop.
"But I don't know if we can reach them."
That relief died instantly.
Marrek nodded grimly. "Then we—"
"Wait."
Genfrey's voice cut through him.
"We wait."
Marrek stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Wait for what?"
Genfrey met his gaze.
"For proof."
"People are dying while we wait."
"They're already dying," Genfrey said quietly.
That shut him up.
Kellian studied Genfrey for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Then we wait," he said.
Marrek looked like he wanted to argue.
Then didn't.
Because something in the room had shifted.
Something fragile.
Something dangerous.
Selvi sank into her chair, rubbing her face.
Tomas stared at the table again.
No one spoke.
Because they all understood now.
The resistance wasn't breaking because of Xaldron.
It was breaking because of what they had to become to fight him.
Genfrey turned toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Kellian asked.
Genfrey paused.
Then said it.
"I need to find out what else he's hiding."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
Genfrey glanced back.
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"I made his blade," he said.
"I think it's time I learned what it really does."
And without waiting for a response—
He left.
Leaving the room.
Leaving the silence.
Leaving the resistance to decide what kind of monsters they were willing to become.