The first explosion hit at 03:12.
Ash was already awake, boots on, before the second shockwave rattled the Phoenix outpost walls. She moved through the dim corridors like instinct, no hesitation — just breath, muscle, and memory.
By the time she reached the command deck, it was chaos.
Jin was there, shouting orders.
"Front barricade's breached! South wing compromised — no ID on attackers yet!"
"They're not mercs," Ash snapped. "It's Echo."
Cassel's voice came in over the comms, brittle with alarm. "How do you know?"
"Because they don't shoot to kill."
Onscreen, the attackers — faceless in smoke-shielded helmets — moved with eerie coordination. One dropped a Phoenix guard with a stun pulse, not a bullet. Another disabled the surveillance feed with a precise electromagnetic sweep.
This wasn't a siege.
It was a message.
Ash bolted down the stairwell two levels to the south wing, where the power had already begun flickering. Screams echoed behind sealed doors. She passed a medic slumped against the wall — breathing, unconscious — and kept going.
Then came the cold.
It wasn't physical. It was psychic.
A pressure in her skull. A low-frequency hum in her bones.
She stopped mid-stride.
Something was here.
Watching.
Calling.
The lights above her went red.
And a voice filtered through the intercom — distorted, half-machine, half-familiar.
"Ash Kenzō. Fireborn. You made us burn. Now we burn for you."
She drew her weapon.
The hallway ahead split open — and through the static, a figure stepped forward.
No armor. No mask. Just a man in a dark coat, face blank, voice calm.
"We're not here to kill you," he said.
"Could've fooled me."
"We're here to liberate you."
Ash aimed. "Try again."
"You're too important to waste. Your rage, your loyalty — it's proof of concept."
She squeezed the trigger.
But the bullet stopped inches from his head — caught mid-air by some kind of magnetic shield.
He didn't flinch.
"Echo doesn't need your death," he said softly. "We need your awakening."
Ash lunged — hand-to-hand, no hesitation — but he vanished like smoke, heat rushing past her skin. Behind her, something burst — a flashbomb — and by the time her vision cleared, the hallway was empty.
Only the red lights remained.
And a single word scorched into the wall:
REMEMBER.
By the time she reached the surface deck, Haru was already there — one arm holding a side wound, blood soaking through his shirt.
"I told you to stay down!" she shouted.
"And miss the fun?"
She helped him lean against the wall, scanning the sky. Several black transport drones hovered over the ridge, silent and still.
Echo was watching.
Waiting.
Testing her.
She turned to Haru. "This is a provocation. They want me to retaliate."
"Then don't give them what they want."
"They want me scared, too."
Haru coughed. "You scared?"
"Terrified," she said. "But not of them."
He looked at her.
"I'm scared of who I become if I let this rage run loose."
The other Phoenix leaders gathered near the fire stairs, faces pale and shaken.
Cassel spoke first. "They hit us with precision. They knew every blind spot."
Jin added, "They weren't trying to destroy us. They were sending a message."
Ash's voice was steady. "Then here's mine."
She turned to the camera drone still hovering over the outpost.
"I'm done being your warbride."
She let the words ring into the silent air.
"I'm not your vessel. I'm not your key. You don't get to write my story in blood anymore."
The drone beeped once — then disappeared into the clouds.
That night, the Phoenix compound went into lockdown.
But Ash didn't go to her quarters.
She went to the rooftop.
And Haru followed.
He didn't speak.
He just stood beside her, hand resting near hers.
And when she finally exhaled — slow and long — he said, "What now?"
"We train. We plan. We watch the watchers."
She glanced sideways at him.
"And when the fire answers again, I'll be ready."
"Not alone."
Ash smiled, tired but fierce. "No. Not alone."