Cyan didn't remember falling.
One moment he was standing beneath the strange, starless sky—the next, his knees buckled. A sharp wave of exhaustion slammed through him, draining every ounce of strength he had left.
"Cyan!" Quinn shouted.
But he never hit the ground.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He stood in a vast empty space, neither night nor day. The ground beneath his feet shimmered like black glass, reflecting a sky filled with moving shadows.
"You pushed too far."
The voice was deep. Calm. Powerful.
Cyan turned.
A man stood before him—tall, cloaked in silver and black. His presence alone made Cyan's chest tighten. His eyes glowed faintly, carrying centuries of strength.
"Who are you?" Cyan asked.
The man studied him carefully. "I am what remains of the first bloodline."
Cyan swallowed. "You're… inside me?"
The man gave a small nod. "You carry my strength. But strength without control destroys its bearer."
Cyan clenched his fists. "Then take it back. I didn't ask for this."
The man stepped closer. The air vibrated.
"You asked the moment you opened the path," he said. "Power answered."
Cyan felt the truth of it sink in.
"I'm scared," Cyan admitted quietly. "I don't want to lose myself."
The man placed a hand over Cyan's chest. Warmth spread—not painful, but steady.
"You won't," he said. "Not if you accept who you are."
The shadows around them surged.
"Do you accept the strength," the man asked, "or will you continue to run from it?"
Cyan lifted his head.
"I accept."
The space exploded with light.
Cyan gasped awake.
He lay on stone, Quinn and Mason hovering over him, worry etched into their faces.
"You collapsed," Mason said. "You were out for hours."
Cyan slowly sat up.
Something felt… different.
Sharper.
Clearer.
"I'm fine," Cyan said.
His voice was calmer. Colder.
Quinn hesitated. "Cyan… your hair."
He looked down.
White.
Pure white.
He raised his hand to his face and caught his reflection in a nearby surface—one eye glowing blue, the other red.
Crayson stepped back. "That's not the same look you had before."
Cyan stood.
The moment he focused, energy wrapped around him naturally, like it belonged there. His posture straightened. His expression hardened.
"I know," he said flatly. "That was instinct."
Mason blinked. "You sound different."
Cyan smirked—sharp, confident, almost dangerous.
"Good," he replied. "Because I'm done being weak."
Without warning, Cyan moved—faster than before. He stopped inches from a stone pillar and tapped it lightly.
The pillar cracked.
Quinn's eyes widened. "You didn't even try."
Cyan turned back to them, his white hair glowing faintly.
"When my hair turns white," he said, "I'm not the same person."
His eyes dimmed slightly as his hair slowly darkened again, his usual self returning—but the confidence remained.
"I can switch it on," he continued. "And when I do…"
A slow grin formed.
"…I don't hold back."
Somewhere beyond sight, the man from the dream watched silently.
"The training has begun."