When Alaric opened his eyes, the world was cold.
Cold like metal, like silence after a scream.
He was lying on a narrow table, his arms strapped to the sides, his vision half-blurred by the glaring white lights above. For a long moment, he thought he was dreaming — until the chill of the air burned through his skin and the hum of machinery filled his ears.
A massive circular room stretched before him — walls of silver, glass panels, control screens flickering in patterns he didn't understand. Dozens of scientists moved in quiet synchronization, their faces hidden behind masks, white coats gliding across the room like ghosts.
And there — in the middle of it all — stood Dr. Elias Shepherd Krane.
Tall, calm, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on Alaric with a kind of tranquil obsession. He looked less like a man and more like a priest before an altar.
"Good morning, Alaric," Shepherd said, his tone smooth, gentle. "Did you sleep well?"
Alaric blinked. "Where… where am I? What's going on?"
Shepherd smiled — faintly, reassuringly.
"Nowhere dangerous. You're simply where you were always meant to be."
He moved closer, his voice lowering to a fatherly whisper.
"You remember what I told you, don't you? About becoming something greater. About destiny."
Alaric tried to sit up, but the straps held him down.
"Yeah, I remember. You said this would help people. That I'd be part of something good."
"And you will." Shepherd nodded, his tone absolute. "But the path to greatness often demands… discomfort."
He motioned toward the chamber — a massive glass cylinder filled with translucent gold liquid. It pulsed like a living heart, wires and tubes feeding into its base. Around it, engineers typed commands, lines of code flickering across holographic panels.
"We call it The Ascension Core," Shepherd said. "You'll be the first to enter it."
"The first?" Alaric's chest tightened. "Wait, what happened to the others? You said there were trials—"
> "There were," Shepherd interrupted softly.
"They weren't ready. You are."
The way he said it made Alaric's protests falter. The man had that kind of voice — the kind that wrapped around your doubt and turned it into obedience.
"We'll begin when you're ready," Shepherd added, even though it didn't sound like a question.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
The words hit like a command.
Before Alaric could reply, two scientists wheeled him toward the chamber. The floor vibrated faintly under their steps, a deep mechanical heartbeat echoing through the lab.
The pod door opened with a hiss of vacuum. Inside, mist swirled like smoke made of light. The air smelled sterile — metallic, electric.
"Step in," said one of the scientists, voice shaking slightly.
Alaric hesitated.
"Shepherd, this doesn't look safe. What if something—"
"Alaric," Shepherd said softly, almost kindly. "You trust me, don't you?"
It wasn't a question — it was an invitation. A trap made of warmth.
And like every trap, it worked.
"…Yeah," Alaric muttered, forcing a breath. "Yeah, I trust you."
"Good." Shepherd's smile widened by half an inch. "Then step inside, and show the world what belief looks like."
The door sealed behind him.
The liquid rose around his body, weightless but suffocating. It wasn't wet — it was thicker, alive, pressing against his skin like invisible hands.
Inside the observation deck, red and green lights blinked in rhythm. Shepherd's reflection shimmered across the glass, eyes sharp, calculating.
"Stabilize pressure to 2.1 bar."
"Increase oxygen to ninety-eight percent."
"Initiating neural sync."
Thin wires attached to Alaric's temples. A pulse shot through him — not painful, but foreign. Like his thoughts had suddenly become louder.
"Vitals steady," one scientist reported.
"Good," Shepherd replied. "Phase One: Initiate serum transfer."
A tube hissed. Golden liquid began pumping into the chamber, swirling like liquid lightning. It seeped into Alaric's bloodstream through a dozen tiny needles, spreading warmth and fire at the same time.
At first, it felt almost euphoric. His heartbeat synced with the machine's rhythm, slow and powerful. The hum of the core filled his ears, and he felt… lighter.
"How do you feel, Alaric?" Shepherd asked, his tone almost tender.
"Strange," Alaric said. "It's like… I can hear my pulse. It's everywhere."
"That's your body synchronizing with energy it's never encountered before. Don't fight it. Flow with it."
The words were like silk, like hypnosis.
Alaric's breathing slowed. The light within the chamber brightened, turning gold to white.
"Energy rising to 30 percent."
"Core stability holding at 0.93."
"Neural pattern — irregular."
"Shepherd," one scientist said nervously, "his delta spikes are climbing too fast. If we push further, the serum could—"
"Could what?" Shepherd asked calmly.
"Overload the host."
"Hosts adapt. Machines fail. Humans evolve. Continue."
The scientist froze — then obeyed.
Inside the chamber, Alaric started gasping. His veins glowed faintly under his skin, tracing patterns of light. His back arched as the power surged.
"It's— it's too much—" he shouted. "It's burning!"
"Stay with me," Shepherd said softly. "You're not dying. You're changing."
"Please! Turn it off!"
"If I stop now, everything you've endured becomes meaningless. Do you want that?"
Alaric's lips trembled. He didn't answer — couldn't. The words twisted his fear into guilt, and guilt into submission.
"Phase Two," Shepherd ordered. "Seventy percent."
The lights flared. The hum turned into a roar.
"Doctor, the containment barrier's destabilizing!"
"We're breaching threshold!"
"Then transcend it," Shepherd murmured, eyes fixed on Alaric like a man watching divinity.
The glass of the chamber began to vibrate. Alaric's screams turned inhuman — half-pain, half-electricity. His heartbeat echoed through the walls like thunder.
"Make it stop!" someone yelled.
"No."
Shepherd's calm voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Don't you see it? He's doing it. He's becoming what they said was impossible."
A console sparked. One of the monitors exploded. Alarms wailed.
"Core instability at ninety-eight percent!"
"We have to shut it down!"
The female scientist reached for the emergency switch—
"Don't."
Shepherd grabbed her wrist, eyes still fixed on the chamber.
"If you stop him now, you'll kill the next century before it begins."
Her voice broke. "He'll die!"
"Then he dies a foundation."
The entire lab went silent for a single heartbeat.
Then — crack!
The chamber split open like glass struck by lightning.
Golden liquid turned to light, bursting outward. The wave hit the walls, rippling through every wire and screen. Scientists were thrown off their feet.
Alaric screamed — or maybe it was the machine screaming through him. The light inside his body turned blinding, his eyes glowing white as if something ancient had woken inside.
> "Core meltdown imminent!"
"Energy spike off the charts!"
Shepherd finally moved. He stepped back, whispering under his breath, almost reverent.
"Perfect."
The next second, everything went white.
The explosion didn't sound like fire. It sounded like silence breaking.
Glass shattered. The floor caved. Waves of energy rolled through the complex, twisting metal like cloth. Monitors burst, alarms wailed, and the world turned into light.
Then — darkness.
When the smoke cleared, the lab was gone. Only charred remains, molten steel, and flickering sparks remained where the chamber had stood. The survivors stumbled through the wreckage, coughing.
"Sir— Dr. Krane— the subject… he's gone!"
No answer.
They searched the rubble, calling for him. But Shepherd had vanished. No body, no trace — just his burnt notebook half-buried under the debris, a single phrase still visible:
"Every miracle begins with destruction."
Outside, thunder rolled across a perfectly clear sky.
And far away, somewhere beyond the ruins, a golden spark flickered in the dark — a heartbeat returning.