The summons came before sunrise.
Kael had barely woken when a drone slid under his door, dropped a sealed message, and flew off again. The seal bore the Council's insignia — a ring of wings and eyes. The words printed beneath were simple:
> Report to Sub-Level Nine — Division Zero.
Immediate compliance required.
Lucen read it over his shoulder. "Division what?"
Kael frowned. "Sounds like the fun kind of place where people disappear."
"Then we're not going."
"I don't think it's optional."
Ryn, still half-asleep on her bunk, mumbled, "If you die, I get your boots."
"Appreciate the support," Kael said dryly.
He dressed quickly. Lucen insisted on coming along, ignoring Kael's protests. "If you explode again, someone has to drag your ashes back."
The lower levels of the academy were nothing like the open courtyards above. The halls grew narrower, the lights colder, the air heavy with disinfectant. Each checkpoint required another scan, another ID rune.
By the time they reached Sub-Level Nine, even Lucen's usual sarcasm had gone quiet.
A woman in a black coat met them at the gate. She didn't introduce herself. "Only the subject enters."
Lucen stepped forward. "He's not—"
Kael held up a hand. "It's fine."
Lucen glared. "It's not fine."
"Then make sure it's fine when I come back."
Lucen clenched his jaw but didn't argue further.
The woman opened the gate, and Kael stepped through.
The passage beyond was silent. No guards, no noise, only faint blue lights guiding him downward. At the end waited a large circular chamber — colder, darker, filled with faint humming machines.
Five figures stood behind a transparent screen. He recognized one: Nyra. The others were strangers.
A voice crackled through the speaker. "Kael Draven. You've been summoned under Protocol Thirty-Seven for evaluation of Crest anomaly behavior."
"Sounds serious."
"It is."
Another voice — male, deeper — cut in. "Your Crest has demonstrated adaptive capability beyond simulation tolerance. We require confirmation of sentience."
Kael frowned. "You're saying my Crest might be alive?"
"Alive is not the correct term," the man said. "Responsive autonomy is."
Nyra stepped forward slightly. "You've already confirmed that, haven't you?"
The man ignored her. "Activate your Crest."
Kael hesitated. "Why?"
"Because refusal will result in disciplinary containment."
Kael sighed and lifted his hand. The Crest shimmered faintly under his skin, a soft pulse of silver light.
The machines around him hummed louder. Data streams flickered across the glass.
"Higher output," another councilor said. "Push it further."
Kael gritted his teeth. "That's not how it works."
"Do it anyway."
Nyra spoke sharply. "That's enough. His synchronization ratio is unstable."
"Noted," said the deep voice, "but irrelevant."
Kael felt the Crest thrum harder — not under command, but in warning. The pulse grew quicker, heavier. The lights in the room flickered.
> Crest synchronization: 18%.
Host agitation detected.
External interference — hostile tone identified.
Then the hum changed. The Crest's light shifted from silver to pale blue, lines crawling up his arm in new patterns.
The councilors leaned forward. One whispered, "It's forming language."
On the glass, runes began to appear — not drawn by Kael, but projected from his energy, etching faint words in a language that none of them recognized.
Nyra's expression hardened. "Cut the feed."
No one moved. The runes pulsed again, rearranging into clearer symbols.
> "Who are you."
The voice came not from Kael, but from the speakers themselves — distorted, mechanical, but with rhythm that almost felt human.
Kael's breath caught. He hadn't spoken.
The Crest pulsed again.
> "Where are the others."
The air pressure changed. Lights dimmed. One of the councilors stumbled back. "Terminate the link!"
Kael shouted, "Stop it!"
The Crest flared once, then went still. The room went dark for three seconds. When the lights returned, smoke curled from the machines.
Nyra was already inside, ignoring the alarms. "Kael, can you hear me?"
He nodded shakily. "What the hell was that?"
She glanced toward the cracked glass. "The reason Division Zero exists."
He looked at her. "You've seen that before."
"Once."
"And what happened?"
"They destroyed everything connected to it."
She grabbed his arm. "We're leaving."
As they ran out through the flickering corridor, sirens blared in low rhythm. Security drones swarmed in the distance, red lights cutting through the haze.
Kael's Crest pulsed faintly again, weaker this time, as if recovering.
"Nyra," he said quietly, "it asked about others."
"I heard."
"What others?"
She didn't answer for a long time.
Finally, she said, "The last hosts. The ones who didn't survive."
Kael's grip tightened. "You mean… it remembers them."
"It shouldn't."
They reached the exit gate, where Lucen stood pale-faced. "What happened down there?"
Kael opened his mouth to answer, but Nyra shook her head. "Nothing. Officially."
Lucen frowned. "That's not reassuring."
Nyra looked straight at Kael. "From
now on, whatever you do, you don't let them scan you again."
Kael nodded slowly. "Because the next time I do… it might start answering questions on its own."