"Activating Peak Bronze Steel combat puppets," Elysia announced, her voice crisp and professional as she input the final commands. The slight tremor of excitement in her own core was infuriating.
New hatches hissed open in the reinforced flooring. As these new automatons rose, they immediately presented a far greater threat. They were sleeker, forged from a darker, gunmetal-gray alloy, with visible Aether conduits pulsing with the same frigid blue as the Bronze guards. Their optics flared to life, glowing with a cold, analytical intelligence.
"These are a significant step up," Elysia explained, her gaze fixed on the machines. "Their reaction times are faster, their internal Aether processors are rated higher, and their adaptive combat logic is far more advanced. Even our family's strongest Bronze-Ranked guards would need to be serious when facing a squad of this caliber. Even a standard Silver-Rank guard wouldn't be so casual."
"Perfect!" Lyra roared, her voice a battle-hungry thunderclap. Her knuckles cracked again, a threatening cascade of pops as the shimmering, dissonant energy of her vibration Talent began to swirl viscerally around her fists once more.
Orion looked over at the two girls, who were now seating themselves cross-legged on the floor, ready to follow his instruction.
"I know you both want to improve your combat abilities," he said gently, his voice cutting clearly across the humming facility. "But you need the foundation to do so first. Don't worry," he added, his calm smile twisting into something far more roguish, "when the time comes for practical lessons, I'll be sure to guide you up close and personal. Skin-to-skin contact yields the most... amazing results, after all."
Elysia's cheeks, despite her best efforts, heated unwillingly. She scoffed, whipping her head away. "Just save your pervertedness for later and focus on what actually matters, you savage!"
Lisanna simply giggled, her own face warming as she cupped her cheeks. "He's right, you know, Ellie. You should probably focus on not getting your pretty face carved up before you start acting like such a glib-tongued playboy, Orion."
Orion gave one last, charming smile before turning back to the newly risen, six-puppet squad. He condensed a crystalline ice spear in his right hand and a sword forged of pure, solid light in his left.
As the puppets' cold, blue eyes locked onto him and Lyra, a new inspiration, a true revelation, began to form in his mind—the first hint of a terrifying, true fusion between his stolen powers.
And as Elysia and Lisanna closed their eyes and focused their Aether Senses as instructed, they began to truly see. It wasn't just a blueprint anymore. The flow of Orion's dual-natured Aether was like finding the missing scripture of a grand, cosmic puzzle they had been weeping over their entire lives.
For the first time, seeing the fundamental laws of Cryokinesis and Photokinesis wielded with such intuitive perfection, they were beginning to understand exactly how those divine pieces fit.
...
Miles away, in a different, far more opulent sector of Zenith City's Apex, a devastatingly handsome man sat slumped in a plush armchair, his expression a mask of frustrated worry as he stared blankly at a massive, dark flatscreen on the wall.
The ambient Aether in the luxurious room seemed to crackle around him, a passive, restless manifestation of immense electrical power. A stylized lightning bolt insignia was subtly stitched onto the collar of his casual, high-end shirt.
This was Ryan, known to the public and the Hero Association as the celebrated C-Rank Hero, 'Lightning Blazer'.
Beside him, a smiling young man draped a casual arm over his shoulder. He radiated a comfortable, easygoing presence that could put anyone at ease. "Come on, Ryan! Why is the mighty Lightning Blazer so down in the dumps? Tonight's the night! We're supposed to be getting drunk with the boys!"
The excitement didn't penetrate Ryan's gloom. He clicked his teeth in annoyance. "Terris, you know I can't ignore this. Elysia has her moods, and I know I screwed up by not showing up to our date, but this is different. Not a single call back. When I try her personal line, it goes straight to voicemail. I called her head maid, Chloe, and all she says is that Elysia is 'in a meeting'. What kind of meeting goes on for this long into the night?"
Terris held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Easy there, man. Look, wouldn't it be better to assume Elysia's just on another one of her 'I'm not talking to you for a day' shticks? She's done it plenty of times before, and you two always make up in the end."
He grinned, nudging his friend. "Besides, what's the alternative? That she's hanging out with someone else? Lisanna is the only one who can get close to her without being frozen solid, and you're literally the only man besides her father she looks in the eye with anything resembling respect. You've got nothing to worry about, bro."
Ryan mulled over his friend's words, and the logic began to break through his frustration. A small smile touched his lips. "Yeah… yeah, you're right."
"Well," Terris interrupted cheerfully, "besides the whole standing her up part, you've got mostly nothing to worry about."
Ryan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Thanks for the reminder, man. I really needed that."
Terris shrugged. "Better to know what you did wrong than to ignore it. And you know what's even better than that? Clearing your head by having some fun so that when you make up tomorrow, everything goes smoothly."
Ryan could only look at Terris's infectious grin. He sighed and shook his head, a wry smile of his own finally appearing. "You're right, in a way. I just hope she doesn't try to immediately attack me with a glacier this time."
"Hey, it's 50-50," Terris laughed. "And you did have a good reason for missing the date. But none of that now! Let's get going!"
Ryan gave in, the electrical tension finally leaving his shoulders. He stood up, preparing to go out and clear his mind, blissfully unaware of the tectonic shift that had just permanently and irrevocably altered the life of the woman he considered his girlfriend.
...
In yet another sector of the Apex, within the cold, minimalist luxury of a penthouse that felt more like a command center than a home, a young man sat alone in a darkened chamber. His face was a mask of cold, calculating ambition. A suppressive, heavy aura naturally flowed from him, chilling the air far more effectively than any climate control.
On the collar of his stark black suit was an embroidered silver serpent—the distinct, venomous symbol of the powerful Valerian Family.
He tapped a single finger on the polished obsidian table, the rhythmic tick... tick... tick... echoing the growing frustration on his face. "Why the hell," he muttered to the empty room, "is it taking this long to kidnap one arrogant little girl?"
As if summoned by his impatience, a shadow in the far corner of the room detached itself from the wall and coalesced into the tall, imposing figure of a man clad in seamless black tactical gear.
The young man's face lit up in anticipation, but his expression instantly froze, then twisted into a scowl of profound displeasure when he saw the agent was alone.
"Speak," he commanded, his voice utterly devoid of warmth.
The man dropped fluidly to one knee. "Young Lord Cassian," he reported, his voice a low, professional monotone, "the acquisition of the target was a failure."
Cassian's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. He took a slow, measured breath, reining in the spike of primal fury. "Explain."
"We do not know the specifics, my lord. Our four agents were D-Rank, yes, but their teamwork protocols are rated to subdue a weak C-Rank Hero. They should have been more than sufficient." The agent paused, his professional calm wavering for just a fraction of a second. "Not only were they all eliminated before they could transmit any distress signals, but our forensic cleanup team found something… impossible. The Aether signatures at the scene are untraceable."
This gave Cassian pause, his irritation momentarily eclipsed by intrigue.
"Furthermore," the agent continued, "two of the bodies showed signs of death by overwhelming brute-force trauma, but with no corresponding Aetheric residue. The other two seem to have been killed by a massive, raw discharge of Aether Energy, again, with no active Talent signature to trace. It's as if they were killed by ghosts."
That last piece of information finally made Cassian Valerian go completely still. If it had been the Wintercrofts' pet hero, Lightning Blazer, the entire alley would have been awash with overwhelming, scorched-ozone lightning Aether.
But an untraceable Aether signature? And deaths that seemed to occur without the use of a registered, known Talent at all?
This was not the work of any known player in Zenith City. This was an unknown variable, and Cassian despised unknown variables more than anything.
He was silent for a long moment, his brilliant, ruthless mind processing the new data, discarding old plans and forging new ones. "Stand down," he said slowly, his voice now dangerously calm. "Cease all direct operations and keep tabs on the Wintercroft family from a distance. Something has changed. Someone new has entered the game on their side of the board, and we will find out who."
He stood up, his shadow stretching long and predatory in the dim light. "Thankfully, the Aegis Academy Hero Ceremony and the annual District Gathering are approaching. They will have to show their new piece eventually. We will find our answers then. You are dismissed."
The agent nodded once, rose, and melted back into the shadows from which he came.
Cassian Valerian stood alone in the dark chamber, his brows furrowed in deep, predatory thought. A new player had just overturned his carefully laid plans, and he was already plotting how to turn them from a nuisance into a pawn. Or, failing that, how to erase them from the board entirely.
...
High within the central spire of the Apex district, where chrome towers pierced the clouds and holographic advertisements painted the perpetual twilight, the Wintercroft Estate stood as a monument to power and prestige.
Inside the master penthouse, within a grand study of polished obsidian and cool, minimalist luxury, an oppressive silence reigned. The very air was a dozen degrees colder than anywhere else in the room, a passive manifestation of the man who sat before a floating holographic display.
Lord Theron Wintercroft, patriarch of his family and a titan among Zenith City's registered C-Rank Heroes, was an imposing figure carved from glacial ice and unyielding will. His silver-streaked black hair was slicked back flawlessly, and his sharp, grey eyes, currently fixed on the recording, seemed capable of freezing flames.
Beside him sat his wife, Elara Wintercroft, a celebrated heroine in her own right, whose ageless beauty was as sharp and dangerous as a shard of flawless ice. Her long, silver hair cascaded over the back of her high-backed chair, and her arms were crossed, her expression a mirror of her husband's profound, tectonic shock.
They were veterans. They were nobles. They were C-Rank Heroes who had faced down city-level threats, navigated the treacherous blood sport of hero politics, and built an empire. They had seen Anomalous Talents that could cut through the sky itself, and bend the laws of physics.
Yet, the simple security recording playing before them—sent directly and urgently from Commander Magnus—was, in its own way, more unsettling than any monster they had ever slain.
The hologram depicted the courtyard entrance. Two Bronze-Rank Guards, veterans clad in reinforced cryo-armor, erected a massive, interlocking shield of crystalline energy—the Frost-Ward.
Then, the two... strays... from the Sump, stepped forward. They punched as one.
From their fists erupted a blinding, conjoined torrent of raw, uncolored Aether. It was not ice. It was not vibration. It was primal energy, compressed, weaponized, and unleashed.
The Frost-Ward Shields, defenses rated to withstand military-grade explosives, didn't crack. They didn't shatter.
They vaporized. They were erased from existence, the very laws of Aether holding them together negated and undone. The concussive backlash alone was enough to send two armored, elite guards tumbling like dolls.
At first glance, it was merely an incredible feat of power. But Theron and Elara knew the context, provided in Magnus's grim report, and it was the context that defied all laws of their world.
Two children from the Sump, with no training, no resources, and no lineage, possessing an Aether purity so terrifyingly high it could casually annihilate the defenses of elite, Academy-trained guards.
This wasn't an anomaly; it was an impossibility that had just punched a hole through everything they knew... and walked directly into their home.