The morning of December 27, 2025, arrived wrapped in a colorless haze.
Not dawn.
Not night.
Just that lifeless gray that made every city look like it had already lost the war.
Nephis and I left the hab-block before first light.
Cassie was gone.
No farewell. No warning. Just an empty bunk and the faint echo of her presence lingering like a half-remembered dream. She preferred exits without witnesses—always had.
The Cohort Assignment Center squatted at the edge of the industrial district like a concrete tumor.
Brutalist. Merciless. Functional.
Twenty-meter walls.
⚡ zzzzzzzt — razor wire humming with low-voltage current.
Armed drones perched on corners, optics glowing faint red, patient as vultures waiting for something to die.
The line of fresh Awakened wrapped around the block.
Hundreds of us.
Hollow eyes.
Stiff postures.
The faint shimmer of newly-forged Aspects clinging to our shadows like oil on water.
We joined the queue without speaking.
The bond between Nephis and me had settled into something quieter now—no longer a raw wound, but a constant pressure. Like background radiation.
Ever-present.
Impossible to forget.
I felt her heartbeat through it.
Steady.
Controlled.
Unyielding.
She could feel me too—my restless thoughts, the way my mind kept circling a single name like a blade testing its edge.
Sunny.
Cassie's warning echoed again, unwelcome and precise.
Find him before he finds you.
Or before he decides running is still an option.
[SFX: metallic doors sliding open — KSSHHH]
Inside, the air smelled of disinfectant and fear.
Metal benches bolted to the floor.
Holographic screens cycling propaganda on loop:
YOUR POWER PROTECTS HUMANITY
Smiling Awakened. Burning monsters. Clean victories.
A lie polished to a mirror shine.
A bored Awakened officer in a pristine uniform barked names, her voice stripped of empathy by repetition.
"Batch 17!"
That was us.
We were ushered into a smaller room enclosed by reinforced glass. Three officials waited behind a long steel table.
Two civilians—analysts.
One military officer in fatigues, captain's insignia gleaming faintly.
His gaze lingered on Nephis.
A second too long.
Recognition.
"Levi. No surname registered."
The analyst read from a tablet, eyes never lifting.
"Aspect: Bound by Fate. Rank: Dormant."
A pause.
"Nephis. Changing Nephis. Aspect: Flame of Divinity. Rank: Dormant."
They already knew.
Of course they did.
The captain leaned forward, fingers interlaced.
"You two emerged from the same Nightmare instance. That's… uncommon."
His eyes sharpened.
"The Spell records show synchronized completion. Care to explain?"
Nephis answered before I could.
"The Trial required two."
The captain raised an eyebrow.
"Shared Trials usually end with one corpse."
Her voice didn't waver.
"We're both still breathing."
Silence stretched.
⚙️ tick… tick…
The analyst tapped the tablet.
"Cassandra has already been processed. She requested placement in the same cohort as you two."
A fractional pause.
"Unusual. Seers don't often make demands."
Nephis didn't react.
Inside, I grimaced.
Cassie was already moving pieces.
The captain straightened.
"Cohort 7-B. Special observation group. High-risk. High-potential."
A thin smile.
"You'll train under Instructor Jet. First live Gate in three days."
He slid two black silicone ID bands across the table—embedded trackers glinting beneath the surface.
"Dismissed."
[SFX: boots on concrete — CLACK. CLACK.]
The corridor swallowed us again.
As soon as we were out of the room, Nephis spoke, barely above a whisper.
"They're watching us."
"They always do," I said. "Promising Awakened attract attention."
She shook her head.
"No. They're watching you."
I glanced sideways.
"Because of the bond?"
"Because you're an anomaly."
We didn't make it ten more steps.
The crowd ahead parted—not consciously, not willingly, but like prey making room for a blade.
He stood there.
Slight build.
Messy black hair falling into sharp, unreadable eyes.
An expression balanced perfectly between boredom and calculation.
Black fatigues. No insignia. No affect.
Sunny.
Our eyes met.
The bond in my chest didn't react—not like it had with Nephis.
But something else did.
A fourth thread stirred.
Thin as spider silk.
Black as absolute void.
It stretched from somewhere deep inside me… toward him.
Not bound.
Not locked.
Just reaching.
He felt it.
I saw it in the micro-flicker of his gaze—how it snapped from me to Nephis, then back again.
Recognition.
Assessment.
Decision.
Without a word, he turned and walked away.
Casual.
Too casual.
Nephis tensed beside me.
I placed a hand on her arm.
"Let him go."
"He's running."
"He's thinking," I said quietly. "There's a difference."
We let him vanish into the crowd.
Still… the tug remained.
Faint.
Curious.
Like he was already mapping trajectories—escape routes, leverage points, worst-case scenarios.
Cassie found us outside.
She leaned against a concrete pillar, arms crossed, head tilted slightly—as if listening to something only she could hear.
"He saw you," she said.
"Yeah."
"He doesn't trust easily."
"Neither do I."
Her milky eyes turned toward me.
"You'll have to."
Nephis stepped closer.
"What did you see?"
Cassie was silent for several seconds.
Then—
"A room full of mirrors. All broken."
Her voice softened.
"In every shard, a different version of him—Levi—reaching for the same shadow."
I felt a chill creep under my coat.
"Some versions burned. Some bled."
A pause.
"One wore wings of night… and wept fire."
"Poetic," I muttered.
"Prophetic," she corrected.
Nephis's voice hardened.
"We train. We survive. We uncover the truth."
Cassie nodded.
"Tomorrow, the instructors begin testing Aspects. They'll push you."
A faint smile.
"They want to see what breaks."
Her blind gaze drifted toward the distant quarantine wall—where Gates sometimes tore open without warning.
"And when the fourth thread finally catches…"
She hesitated.
"Don't let go. Even if it hurts."
She walked away again.
Unhurried.
Already fading into the crowd like smoke.
Nephis and I stood in the winter wind.
I broke the silence.
"He's not going to make this easy."
"No."
"But he's necessary."
She turned to me—really looked.
"You knew him. From your… story."
"I knew what he became," I said. "What he suffered. What he did to survive."
"And now?"
"Now he's here. And so are we."
I met her gaze.
"And the Spell doesn't care about canon anymore."
She exhaled slowly.
"Then we change it."
I nodded.
"Together."
The bond pulsed—warm. Certain.
Somewhere in the city, Sunny was already moving—slipping through alleys, avoiding cameras, probably cursing fate for complicating his clean escape.
But the fourth thread was tightening.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
And when it finally snapped taut—
None of us would be the same.
The city lights flickered on as dusk fell.
Training began tomorrow.
The real war—the one against fate itself—had already begun.