The faint hum of machinery filled the white chamber. Jiro stood barefoot on the cold metallic floor, the faint glow of monitors painting the walls in shifting colors. Beyond the glass, scientists watched in silence — clipboards ready, eyes sharp and distant.
Vellin stood at the front, his hands clasped behind his back. "This chamber reacts to every form of energy output," he said evenly. "No fire, no wind, no electricity — unless it comes from you."
Jiro's chest rose and fell. He could feel it again — the three pulses moving inside him like a storm caged in flesh. Every breath felt heavier than the last.
"Begin," came the command.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward. At first there was nothing, just the faint ache in his chest and the hum of air recyclers. Then heat began to crawl beneath his skin — faint, trembling, like a memory trying to take shape.
A spark flashed at his fingertips — small, weak, then gone. The sensors beeped instantly.
"Thermal spike detected."
The scientists whispered among themselves, too quietly for him to hear.
He tried again, this time focusing deeper. The warmth spread too fast. The air shimmered — and suddenly a small flame burst out, wild and unstable. He gasped, jerking his hand back, the flame vanishing with a hiss.
"Loss of control," a voice noted. "Subject unstable."
Jiro clenched his fists. His breathing turned shallow. He could feel the second core stirring — a pressure like invisible wind around him. The air itself grew heavier, vibrating faintly. A low hum filled the room, followed by a gust that sent papers scattering on the other side of the glass.
The scientists backed away, alarms flaring red.
"Stop the test!" one of them shouted.
Jiro opened his eyes — glowing faintly, blue and white veins crawling across his arms. The hum vanished as quickly as it came. He staggered, dropping to one knee, sweat dripping down his face. His chest felt like it was burning from the inside.
Vellin's voice came through the speaker, calm but cautious. "Enough. That's all for today."
The glass door hissed open. Two medics rushed in, helping him to his feet. His vision blurred — lights smearing together until everything was white again.
Later, lying on the examination bed, Jiro stared at the ceiling. The mark on his stomach pulsed faintly under the hospital light.
He could still feel the fire, the wind — all of it — sleeping just beneath his skin.
"They're not going to stop…" he muttered weakly. "Every day... more tests…"
He turned his head toward the dark window, the reflection of his faintly glowing eyes staring back.
From now on, his life wouldn't belong to him anymore.
It would belong to the experiment.
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