The metallic air of Sector Zero hung heavy with static and sterilized decay. The deep underground lab—the place even the higher Seraph operatives whispered about with fear—was colder than Ash imagined. It didn't just chill the skin. It froze the soul.
Ash stood at the threshold of the chamber labeled "K3 — Primary Node." Her breath hitched when she saw the massive device suspended in the middle of the room like a divine parasite—wires extending from its core like veins, snaking into walls, feeding off the forgotten energy of experiments long buried.
The Mother Machine.
Her boots echoed on the gridded steel floor, each step deliberate, yet hesitant. Haru walked beside her, silent but alert. His hand brushed against hers, a small gesture of anchoring. It didn't go unnoticed.
They weren't alone.
A figure stood by the terminal.
Dr. Kaori Shiranami.
Still in her pristine lab coat, hair twisted into its signature knot, glasses gleaming under the flickering halogens. Age had barely touched her, but cruelty had carved itself into every motion she made.
"Ash," Kaori said without turning. "Or should I say, Subject 53-A? I wondered when you'd return."
"I'm not your subject," Ash snapped. "Not anymore."
Kaori turned, eyes sharp. "But you're still a product of my design. You carry my legacy in your bones. Every scream in your sleep? I gave you that depth."
Haru stepped forward, voice laced with ice. "Enough. We didn't come here to play doctor-patient reunion."
Kaori's smile curved. "Ah, the infamous Kiryuu heir. I thought your father would send someone stronger."
Ash's hand landed gently on Haru's chest. "Don't. She wants to provoke."
Kaori's expression flickered.
Ash turned to the machine, trying to ignore the tremble rising in her limbs. "What is this really? What were you building?"
Kaori stepped closer to the console. "A failsafe. The Mother Machine was designed to control all Seraph units—biological and artificial. A hive mind."
"You mean a leash," Haru muttered.
"Call it what you like," Kaori said, tapping a few keys. "It was necessary. Especially with subjects like you."
Ash's voice dropped. "Then why abandon it?"
Kaori paused, then turned to the far wall. A screen flickered on.
And Ash stopped breathing.
A girl stared back from the screen. Younger. Frail. But her face—
It was hers.
No. Not just hers. Her twin.
"Ayin?" Ash whispered.
The image looped. Ayin, unconscious. Hooked to machines. Vital signs blinking steadily.
"She's alive," Kaori said calmly. "In stasis. She wasn't stable enough to be a fighter. But her neural signature was… unique. So we preserved her."
Ash's knees buckled. Haru caught her.
"You lied to me," Ash rasped. "You said she died in the fire. You let me believe she burned."
Kaori's voice softened, disturbingly maternal. "You were unstable. You needed something to channel your rage. Grief is the strongest leash of all."
Ash screamed, lunging at her, but Haru held her back.
"Let me end her!" she cried. "Let me tear her apart!"
"No," Haru said, voice firm. "Not like this. She wins if you lose control."
Ash collapsed into his arms, trembling, heart cracking open in a thousand silent screams.
Kaori's voice followed them as they turned. "Ayin still sleeps. If you destroy the machine, she dies. But if you walk away, she lives... for now. Choices, Ash. What will you burn to feel whole again?"
They left without answering. Ash's fist was clenched so tightly her nails broke skin.
In the elevator, silence reigned.
Haru finally whispered, "We'll save her. I promise you."
Ash didn't speak. She just leaned into him.
The machine could wait.
But Ayin couldn't.