The Library glowed, crystal shelves stretched into infinity, each tome humming faintly, alive with the breath of creation itself.
Aldus moved slowly between the aisles, fingertips brushing the edges of floating books. Most remained dormant, content to whisper their knowledge in silence—but one pulsed with deep, rhythmic crimson light.
She stopped before it. The book resisted, trembling in midair like a living thing unwilling to be touched.
"Come now," Aldus murmured, focusing her Gift. "Knowledge isn't meant to hide forever."
The resistance broke. The book opened with a low, resonant chime. Holographic script flared upward, weaving through the chamber—moving images of worlds breaking apart, continents shifting like puzzle pieces in fire and shadow.
Aldus's eyes widened as she read the ancient language aloud.
"The Negative Zone is not one realm, but five: Vor'Keth, Nhyros, Kakarota, Velastra, and Dravon. Perpetual war sustains their existence."
Shla appeared from between the shelves, drawn by the sound. She adjusted her lenses, the reflections of the holograms dancing across her eyes. "These aren't separate dimensions," she said softly. "They're scars—each one feeding the next through constant decay. Entropy maintaining entropy."
The holograms shifted again, forming the shape of a towering figure wreathed in orange light—Gravax. Behind him, five shadowy worlds spiraled like dying suns.
"Gravax, Devourer of Boundaries," the script continued, "once ruled Vor'Keth. Through conquest, he claimed all five zones… until he vanished into the Rift Without Light."
Aldus's expression darkened. "The Rift Without Light… a dimensional fracture. A wound between realities."
The book flickered, showing an image of energy tearing open space—colors eerily familiar: red, pink, orange.
Shla inhaled sharply. "That's the same energy signature as Grant and Jazmine's collision."
Aldus nodded grimly. "Then it's possible their union didn't just awaken something—it displaced him."
John Charleston stood before it, his expression grave. "These psychic field readings are unstable, but one thing is consistent: time doesn't flow evenly in the Negative Zone."
He gestured, and the projections slowed, then accelerated wildly—entire centuries flickering by in a breath. "Fluctuations like this suggest a temporal disparity. Based on resonance decay and frequency drift…" He looked at them all, voice tightening. "Time there runs faster. Roughly two weeks there for every hour here."
A stunned silence followed.
Jean stepped forward, fingers flying over the Library's console. She summoned a floating panel of light, filled with calculations and chronometric equations. When the results finalized, her face drained of color. "We've been gone over twenty-four hours since we left Earth," she whispered.
The numbers glowed in confirmation.
"That means," she said, voice trembling slightly, "almost a year has passed in the Negative Zone."
Aldus closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. "A year of silence… they'll think Earth abandoned the treaty."
Shla added, "Or worse—believe we struck first."
John folded his hands behind his back, gaze distant. "Then we must assume the worst: Gravax has had a year to rebuild his armies… or to plan retaliation."
The crimson glyphs above the table shifted again, revealing the jagged outline of a fortress world—its skies burning violet, towers crowned with storms.
Aldus leaned closer, reading the inscription beneath.
Vor'Keth, the War Capital. Birthplace of the Conqueror.
He straightened, meeting the others' eyes. "Then that's where we start. We find out what Gravax built in our absence… and what he plans to destroy next."
The Library pulsed once, acknowledging the decision—its shelves humming like a heartbeat before sinking into silence.
****
Anna's voice was gentle. "Thank you… for earlier. For the room. For reminding me what it feels like to be human again."
He didn't turn, but his tone softened. "You deserved that much."
Silence lingered, heavy but not unkind—until she broke it again. "What about her?"
Grant looked over his shoulder, brow furrowing. "Her?"
"Jazmine," Anna said quietly. "What is she to you?"
He faced the Watch again, hands clasped behind his back. "My student," he said simply. "Celestius told me she's more important than the multiverse itself. I can't ignore that."
Anna's breath hitched. "You really don't see it, do you?"
Grant frowned. "See what?"
"She clings to you," Anna said, the words spilling faster now, sharper. "Like you're the only thing keeping her alive. And maybe you are—but that doesn't make it healthy. It doesn't make it right."
Grant turned, and his eyes flared faintly red, catching the light of the stars. "Because I am all she has," he said, voice steady but low. "No one ever cared for her before. Not her family. Not anyone. I won't be another person who abandons her."
The air between them tightened. Anna's jaw clenched. "You sound more like her savior than her mentor."
He took a step forward. "Maybe she needs saving."
"Or maybe you do," she fired back. "You keep pretending this is duty, but it's not. You need her to need you, Grant. Because it makes you forget what you've lost."
For a heartbeat, there was only silence—and then the light in his eyes deepened. The glow turned blood-red, shadows rippling across the room.
"Enough, Anna," he said quietly.
The temperature dropped. The walls thrummed with restrained energy, the Watch spinning faster in response to his pulse. Every atom of the room seemed to listen.
Anna's anger wilted into dread. She took a small step back, heart pounding.
Then, slowly, Grant closed his eyes. The light faded. He exhaled, voice calmer. "We'll continue this later."
Before she could speak, the air shimmered—space folding. In an instant, she was standing back in the training hall.
Her hands were trembling.
****
Grant led Jazmine to the center of a chamber that was unlike any other in the Zenith Palace. It was silent—so utterly still that every breath seemed to echo. White light poured from nowhere and everywhere, illuminating the floating sigils that circled the walls.
Each symbol was carved in motionless fire, drifting in a slow orbit like stars trapped mid-spin. His movements measured, reverent. "Physical power means nothing without focus," he said. His voice carried through the room, deep and deliberate. "Here, we train the mind."
Jazmine hesitated, her eyes scanning the radiant floor. "It feels like the world's watching."
"It is," he said simply. "Every Protector who came before us left a mark here. You'll leave yours too."
He gestured for her to kneel. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Go back to the moment you met your mother. Remember when you touched my ring. Feel what connected you both."
Jazmine obeyed. The chamber dimmed until only the faint hum of energy remained. Her breathing slowed, steady but unsure.
Then, slowly, the air began to shimmer. Wisps of pink light unfurled around her—delicate, fluid, trembling. She saw it again in her mind: her mother's smile, the weight of the ring, the warmth that had told her she was meant for more.
But the warmth turned to ache. Her shoulders shook. "I'm not a Protector," she whispered. "I'm a fraud. I don't deserve this."
Grant stepped forward, kneeling beside her. "You're not supposed to force power," he said quietly. "You shape it. You understand it. The rest follows."
She opened her palms. Her fingers twitched, then steadied. The pink light brightened, swirling into a spiral. Grant stayed silent, letting her find it herself.
And then—she did.
A shape formed within her hand: precise, luminous, familiar. A perfect replica of Grant's ring, glowing with pink and gold hues that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Grant's expression softened, surprise flickering through his eyes—followed by something else. Awe. And fear.
"Your Gift isn't strength," he said quietly. "It's creation through clarity. Focus is your power."
Jazmine opened her eyes, tears glinting as she stared at what she'd made. "I… did that?"
Grant nodded once. "You remembered. That's what power is."
She rose shakily to her feet, the ring fading into motes of light. Her voice trembled. "Thank you… for believing in me when I couldn't."
Grant started to answer, but she spoke first—barely above a whisper.
"I love you."
The words hung in the air like a spark suspended in time. Grant froze, every muscle tightening. The look that crossed his face wasn't rejection, but something deeper—conflicted, fragile, human.
She took a hesitant step closer. He didn't move. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her forehead against his chest.
After a breath, he returned the embrace—slowly, carefully, as if afraid it would shatter them both.
No words. No movement. Only the hum of the chamber and the faint intertwining of their energy—red and pink light coiling together, pulsing like two hearts sharing a single rhythm.
Jazmine stepped out of the Sanctum with a quiet smile she didn't realize she was wearing. The light felt different on her skin—softer, warmer.
Behind her, the doors of the Sanctum closed with a whisper, sealing the silence inside.
Grant stood where she had left him, unmoving. The chamber was calm again, but not empty—its walls pulsed faintly with afterimages of what had just occurred, ripples of energy echoing like distant heartbeats.
His gaze fell to his own ring. It flickered once, a crimson pulse answering hers through the barrier of space. The resonance made the air quiver between them, even though she was already gone.
He exhaled slowly, his voice low, almost reverent.
"Celestius… what did you make her?"
The light dimmed in response, like the Sanctum itself held its breath.
Far below, in the endless quiet of the Library, the Ampers moved among floating tomes and maps of fractured dimensions. Shla and Aldus traced energy patterns from the Negative Zone, while John cross-referenced psychic timelines.
They were preparing for their next mission—an expedition into Vor'Keth.
But above them, in the still heart of the Palace, the air remained alive with unspoken tension. Two rings—two Protectors—now pulsed in perfect rhythm.