The alarm didn't stop.
Red lights pulsed through the compound as warriors flooded the corridors, voices sharp and urgent. Kai stood frozen for half a second too long before Lena grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.
"Move," she said. "Now."
They entered the command center—a circular room packed with screens, maps, and scrolling data. At the center, a holographic projection flickered to life, showing distorted energy readings spiking across a jungle region miles away.
"The Korin didn't leave," one of the operators said. "It's circling. Testing."
"Like always," the big fighter from the training hall muttered. "It never rushes."
Kai looked at the projection. "You said it challenges you."
The old man—Ronin Vale—stepped beside him. "Yes. But not the way humans do."
Ronin tapped the floor with his staff. The hologram shifted, displaying old, fragmented footage—grainy images of battlefields, ruins, bodies.
"The Korin hunts," Ronin said. "It studies. It fights only when it knows the outcome will teach it something."
Kai frowned. "Teach it what?"
"How to kill us better."
Silence settled over the room.
Lena crossed her arms. "There are rules to this war," she said. "Unspoken ones. The Korin won't attack cities right away. It wants warriors. If it wipes us out first, the rest of the world falls easily."
"And if you refuse to fight?" Kai asked.
Ronin met his gaze. "Then it escalates."
As if on cue, the screens flashed.
Satellite feed showed a remote village—lights flickering, power grids failing. The image cut to static.
"Secondary contact," an operator said quietly. "Civilians."
Kai's chest tightened. "We have to help them."
Darius— the massive fighter—snorted. "You don't run headfirst at the Korin."
Kai turned on him. "People are dying."
"And more will die if we lose," Darius shot back.
Ronin raised a hand. "Enough. The Korin wants movement. Fear. Reaction."
Kai clenched his jaw. "Then what's the plan?"
Ronin studied him for a long moment. "We don't send you."
Kai blinked. "What?"
"You're unstable," Ronin continued. "Your memory loss makes you unpredictable. The Korin already sensed you. That makes you a liability."
Lena stiffened. "With respect, Master, he handled it better than most of us."
"And nearly got himself killed," Ronin replied.
Kai took a step forward. "I can fight."
"Yes," Ronin said calmly. "But you don't yet understand how we fight."
Ronin turned to the room. "Gear up. Recon team only. No direct engagement."
The warriors moved out.
Kai remained where he was. "You said I went into the rift six years ago."
Ronin nodded.
"And you didn't stop me?"
Ronin's eyes darkened. "No. We sent you."
Before Kai could press further, the lights flickered violently.
Every screen went black.
Then one by one, they turned back on—each displaying the same image.
The Korin.
Standing in the jungle.
Looking directly into the camera.
"You hide," it said, its voice cutting through the speakers, layered and cold. "You delay."
The Korin tilted its head.
"But the broken one walks again."
Kai felt the room's attention snap to him.
"I remember you," the Korin continued. "You fell… but did not die."
Ronin whispered, "It shouldn't know that."
The Korin's eyes flared brighter. "This cycle ends in blood."
The feed cut.
Silence.
Darius cracked his knuckles. "Recon just became a fight."
Ronin turned to Kai.
"Now you see," he said. "Why forgetting might have been mercy."
Kai stared at the dark screen, heart pounding.
Because somewhere in that jungle—
the Korin wasn't just hunting guardians anymore.
It was hunting him.