Elias woke to the sound of boots.
The holding quarters' door hissed open and two guards stepped in, weapons slung but hands resting on them like they'd fire at the first twitch.
"On your feet," one ordered.
Elias blinked sleep from his eyes, then sat up slowly. The Core inside him thrummed faintly—steady, calm. Like a pulse reminding him he wasn't powerless.
"Where are we going?"
"Commander's orders. Testing chamber."
Testing. The word soured in his mouth.
They led him down sterile corridors, through security gates, and finally into a large chamber ringed with consoles and reinforced observation glass. Unlike the Rift room, this place felt clinical—no containment fields humming, no glow of energy. Just equipment, scientists, and Holt standing with arms crossed like a wall.
Lyra was there too, datapad ready, eyes sharp but tight with tension.
Holt's gaze never left Elias as he approached. "Kael," he said. "You claim you can sense these anomalies before our systems detect them. You claim you can interact with them. Today, you'll prove it. Or you'll be exposed as a liar."
Elias straightened. "And if I prove it?"
"Then we'll decide what use you're worth." Holt's tone made the word use sound like a weapon.
A technician flipped switches. Panels slid open in the center of the room, revealing a lattice of emitters.
Lyra glanced at Elias. "We've built a simulation rig. It generates controlled distortions in localized fields—energy fluctuations that mimic Rift signatures. Nothing large enough to destabilize reality, but close enough for testing."
Holt gestured. "Step into the rig."
Elias obeyed. The platform beneath his boots vibrated faintly as power surged through the emitters.
The air shimmered, faint ripples like heat haze spreading outward. Nothing visible yet—just the whisper of something building.
And the Core responded.
A pulse echoed through him, sharp and insistent, like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
He closed his eyes. "It's there. Left quadrant. The resonance is climbing—your field's unstable."
Lyra's stylus froze mid-note. "He's right. That quadrant's stress value is spiking."
Holt's expression didn't change. "He could've guessed."
"Guess this, then," Elias said, opening his eyes. He pointed to a different emitter. "That one's going to overload in—" he paused, the Core's rhythm guiding him—"ten seconds."
The technicians exchanged wary glances.
Nine.
Eight.
The Core pulsed harder.
Seven.
Six.
Sparks crackled from the emitter.
Five.
Four—
It blew with a sharp crack, a flare of blue sparks cascading across the rig. The fail-safes kicked in, shutting down the distortion field before it cascaded.
Gasps filled the chamber.
Elias lowered his hand. "Still think I'm guessing?"
The silence that followed was thick. Scientists whispered furiously at their consoles, their data feeds scrolling faster than their eyes could track.
Holt's jaw worked. His face remained carved stone, but his eyes flickered, just once.
Lyra, though—her eyes were locked on Elias. Wide, calculating, almost afraid. But there was something else too: belief.
He had her now, if only a little.
But Holt wasn't conceding. "Parlor tricks," he said, though the edge in his voice betrayed strain. "Predicting an overload isn't the same as controlling an anomaly."
He gestured sharply. "Increase the field. Push the stress higher."
Lyra turned, startled. "Commander, that's not safe. The rig isn't designed for full Rift harmonics—"
"Do it," Holt snapped.
The technicians hesitated—then obeyed.
The emitters roared louder. The shimmer thickened into visible ripples, like water bending around an invisible stone. The air warped, humming with a low vibration that clawed at Elias's chest.
The Core surged in response, almost painfully.
Elias staggered. His vision blurred—memories not his own crashing into his mind.
He saw the rig tearing apart. Scientists screaming behind glass. The distortion ripping wider, pulling everything inward—
"Shut it down!" Elias shouted.
"No," Holt barked. "Handle it, Kael. If you're what you say, prove it!"
The Core burned inside him. His pulse matched its rhythm, his whole body vibrating with it. He stepped forward, placing both hands into the shimmer.
The sensation hit like plunging his arms into ice and fire at once. Time seemed to stretch, threads twisting and snapping around him. His body screamed to let go.
But the Core steadied him. Focus. Anchor. Bend it back.
He gritted his teeth and pushed—not with muscle, but with will. The resonance inside him met the resonance of the field, and for a heartbeat they clashed like two discordant notes.
Then, slowly, they aligned.
The shimmer steadied. The warping smoothed, collapsing inward until only faint ripples remained.
The Core pulsed once more—then quieted.
And the field shut down.
Elias staggered back, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. His arms still tingled as if scorched.
The silence was deafening. Every pair of eyes was fixed on him.
Lyra broke it first. She whispered, almost reverently, "He stabilized it."
The technicians began talking all at once, their voices overlapping, excitement laced with fear.
Holt's face was unreadable. He studied Elias for a long, heavy moment. Then he said, "Take him back to quarters."
"Commander—" Lyra started, her voice sharp.
"That's an order," Holt snapped.
The guards moved.
Back in his holding room, Elias collapsed onto the cot. His chest burned, his limbs heavy, but the Core pulsed steady and calm—as though proud.
He whispered, "That's two times now. They can't keep denying it."
But deep down, he knew Holt wouldn't give him trust so easily. If anything, the commander would tighten the cage.
Still… Lyra had seen. And in her eyes, for the first time, Elias had glimpsed something that gave him strength.
Belief.
It wasn't enough yet. But it was a start.
Elias is tested in a lab setting. He predicts and stabilizes anomalies under surveillance, shocking the scientists and shaking Holt's resolve. Lyra starts to truly believe. Elias proves himself—but Holt refuses to trust him, keeping him confined.