The next day, everything felt like it had a delay. Like I was a half-second behind the world, or maybe the world was a half-second too fast. Even blinking felt off, like the air itself was out of sync with me.
I walked to class with that same static buzz in my skull. Kane didn't speak. Lenya didn't glance my way. The hallways were full of voices, but none were for me.
At least, not out loud.
Inside my HUD, the voice returned.
"Feeling heroic yet?" it asked.
"What was that thing yesterday?" I whispered as I walked.
"A warning. Maybe a mirror. Maybe both."
I gritted my teeth. "You said I'm version 4.7. So what happened to the others?"
The voice didn't answer.
Class today was Theory of Systems. Overseer Solas paced at the front, hands clasped behind his back, voice sharp and steady. He spoke about anchor points, stability thresholds, and the difference between lawful and rogue echoes. None of it made much sense. It felt like someone was explaining physics in another language.
Every slide he presented made my HUD twitch. Every diagram caused my vision to momentarily blur.
At one point, I caught him staring at me again. Not with confusion. With suspicion. The way a scientist watches something that isn't behaving like it should.
I looked away. My hands were clenched under the desk.
When class ended, everyone started to leave. Solas didn't even raise his voice.
"Drayce. Stay."
The room emptied. I stood in silence.
"There's something off about your profile," he said, still facing the board. "Your existence lacks a defined entry point. No imprint. No echo trail. No rank history. You're a shadow with a name."
I didn't respond.
He turned slowly. "You're not a system glitch. You're an experiment. The only question is... whose?"
"You're wrong," I said, quietly.
"Am I? Then tell me—what rank are you? What's your class designation? Which zone did you train in?"
I said nothing.
Solas gave a humorless smile. "This academy is built to shape warriors. But some tools show up already forged—and still hot. Be careful, Drayce. If you burn the wrong hands, they'll douse you before you realize you're on fire."
I left without another word.
Later, in the training yard, cadets were running basic drills. Bolt throws. Barrier shields. Nothing impressive. Just enough to pass the lower trials. They laughed, challenged each other, compared module tweaks.
I wasn't supposed to be there. Class Z had different schedules. But I slipped in anyway, standing behind one of the loading units, watching from the edge.
Something about the rhythm of it all calmed me—until my HUD flickered again.
A brief red warning.
DATA DRIFT DETECTED
Then it vanished.
Lenya Cho was off to the side, running solo drills. Her pulse-gloves glowed bright as she struck the air pads. Each hit landed with sharp precision. Compressed energy rippled through the reinforced plating.
She noticed me watching.
"You going to stand there like a ghost, or actually train?"
I hesitated. "Pretty sure ghosts don't glitch public terminals."
She snorted. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to exist."
"Still here."
"For now."
I walked over and took a practice stance across from her. We didn't talk much. Just trained. Hit pads. Switched stances. Tested reactions.
She didn't go easy on me, and I didn't ask her to. At one point, I missed a block and her elbow tagged my jaw hard enough to make my vision stutter.
I spat out blood.
She frowned. "You okay?"
"Still standing."
She paused, then muttered, "Whatever system you've got, it doesn't respond like the rest. It reacts to emotion, not input. That's unstable. Dangerous."
"Then why help me?"
She looked down at her gloves. "Because I want to know what happens when it breaks."
After the session, I stayed behind. The voice came back.
"That girl's either your first friend or your first mistake."
"She's not either," I replied.
"You sure? Everyone wants something, Vael. Some want truth. Some want control. And some just want to watch things fall apart."
"And what do you want?"
"You. Functioning. Or failing. Either way, the results are valuable."
I shut my eyes and tried to push the voice away.
That night, I woke up gasping.
Not from a dream. From a memory.
A metal room. Wires in my arms. A sterile voice echoing overhead.
"He's stabilizing. Initiate sequence."
Pain shot through my chest.
I stumbled to the bathroom and gripped the sink.
My reflection lagged again. But this time, it didn't match. It smiled a second too late. Its eyes didn't blink.
"You're waking up," the voice in my head whispered. "And they're going to notice."
I ran cold water over my hands. My HUD wouldn't reset. It pulsed with a single unreadable symbol.
A circle broken by a line.
My hands trembled.
"Who am I?" I asked, not expecting an answer.
The voice didn't respond.
But my reflection did.
It leaned forward and mouthed the word:
"Anchor."