The cut closed.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
It snapped shut like a wound that had never existed.
One second the air in front of Jack was split open — black nothingness humming like a living thing — and the next it was just a room again, filled with smoke, shattered concrete, and the echoes of panicked footsteps as hunters scrambled away from the impossible tear he had just made.
Jack's knees buckled.
Crowe caught him before he hit the floor.
"Easy," Crowe muttered, pulling him back behind a pile of overturned crates. "Don't let them see you fall."
Jack didn't even realize he was crying until warm drops slid down his cheek.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I didn't want—"
"I know," Crowe said. But his voice wasn't gentle anymore. It was tight. Controlled. Like he was holding something back.
The underground market outside the room had erupted into chaos. Stalls burned. People screamed. Hunters ran in every direction, some trying to escape, some trying to regroup, all of them terrified by something they couldn't fight.
Jack felt hollow.
Not tired.
Not injured.
Hollow.
Like something had been scooped out of him while he wasn't looking.
"What… what did it cost me?" Jack whispered.
Crowe stiffened. "What?"
"The power," Jack said. "When I used it… something left me."
The voice inside him stirred.
"A small thing."
Jack's hands trembled. "What did you take?"
"Something unnecessary."
Crowe's eyes flicked to Jack's face. "You okay?"
Jack searched for the answer inside himself.
His heart was beating.
His lungs were working.
But something else…
"Crowe," Jack said quietly. "I don't think I'm scared anymore."
Crowe froze.
"That's not a good thing," Crowe said.
Jack swallowed. "I should be terrified. I should be shaking. But I just… feel empty."
The voice purred.
"Fear is inefficient."
Crowe grabbed Jack's shoulders. "Look at me."
Jack did.
Crowe studied his eyes, his pupils, the faint red glow that hadn't completely faded.
"You're still you," Crowe said, more to himself than to Jack. "You have to be."
Jack wanted to believe that.
He wasn't sure he did.
A blast rocked the far end of the underground station, sending a wave of dust and debris through the air.
"They're going to bring in bigger ranks," Crowe muttered. "We can't stay."
Jack nodded.
They slipped through the smoke, moving with the flow of fleeing people. No one noticed them — not because they were invisible, but because everyone was too afraid to look at the boy who had torn space apart.
They reached a side tunnel and ducked into it, hearts pounding.
Crowe leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "That was reckless."
"I know," Jack said. "But if I hadn't—"
"We'd be dead," Crowe finished. "Yes. That's the problem."
Jack looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Crowe hesitated. "Every time you use that power, you'll save us. And every time you save us… you'll become less human."
Jack felt a chill that had nothing to do with fear.
"What do you think I lost?" he asked.
Crowe stared at him for a long moment.
"Your fear," Crowe said. "Or your empathy."
Jack's stomach twisted.
The voice inside him laughed softly.
"He is perceptive."
Jack clenched his fists. "Give it back."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you will need less and less of it."
Crowe turned away, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is what the SS-Rank meant," he murmured. "Two futures. Same power. Different heart."
Jack leaned against the wall, exhausted. "So what now?"
Crowe looked at him again.
"Now," he said, "we train you before the system finds you again."
Jack let out a breath.
"Train me to do what?"
Crowe's eyes hardened.
"To survive without losing what little of yourself is left."
Jack stared at the dark tunnel ahead.
And deep inside him, something smiled, already certain it wouldn't.
They didn't return to the market.
Crowe moved them deeper into the undercity—past collapsed rails and flooded service tunnels, through a maintenance hatch that opened into a long concrete corridor lined with old electrical panels. The air smelled of rust and damp insulation.
Jack limped beside him, teeth clenched against pain.
The strange part was that the pain felt… distant. Real, but muffled. Like it was happening to someone else.
Crowe noticed.
He didn't say anything at first, but Jack saw the way Crowe's gaze kept flicking to him, checking his face, watching for a slip.
They reached a heavy steel door with three locks and a faded sigil painted on the surface. Crowe placed his palm against it and pulsed his aura once—subtle, controlled. The locks clicked open.
Inside was a narrow room lit by low orange bulbs. Mats on the floor. Old weapons on racks. A cracked mirror leaning against the wall. It looked like someone had been training here for years, quietly, in secret.
"This is mine," Crowe said. "No one comes here without my permission."
Jack sank onto a mat, breathing hard. "You have a gym under the city."
Crowe's mouth twitched. "I have a place where the system can't listen."
Jack looked around. "How long have you had this?"
Crowe didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Crowe tossed a bottle of water to Jack. Jack caught it with his left hand, unscrewed it, drank.
Cold water hit his throat and grounded him for half a second.
Then the voice returned.
"Training."
Jack stiffened.
Crowe watched him. "It's back."
Jack nodded. "It's… excited."
Crowe's jaw tightened. "Of course it is."
Jack set the bottle down. "What do we do?"
Crowe walked to the weapon rack and pulled down a simple training blade—blunt, worn, nothing fancy. He tossed it to Jack.
Jack stared at it. "I can't even lift my right arm."
"Use your left," Crowe said.
Jack tried to stand. His ribs screamed. He bit down and forced himself upright.
Crowe faced him across the mats.
"This isn't sword training," Crowe said. "This is control training."
Jack swallowed. "Control of what?"
Crowe's eyes locked onto his. "Of the door."
Jack's stomach turned.
The voice whispered softly.
"Yes."
Crowe lifted his training blade. "Open it."
Jack froze. "Now?"
"Now," Crowe said. "Not when you're dying. Not when you're panicking. You open it on command."
Jack's hands trembled.
He closed his eyes, searching for the seam inside his chest.
He found it instantly.
That was the terrifying part.
It was there like a familiar scar.
Jack inhaled.
He pushed.
Cold pressure spread through him, and the room seemed to tilt slightly as if reality itself was bracing.
Crowe's aura rose instinctively.
"Enough," Crowe warned. "Just enough to feel it."
Jack tried to stop.
The pressure remained.
Jack frowned. "It's not… closing."
Crowe's expression darkened. "That means it's learning you."
Jack's throat went dry. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Crowe said, voice low, "it wants to be used."
The voice inside Jack murmured.
"Yes."
Jack forced himself to breathe. "How do I close it?"
Crowe stepped forward, careful, as if approaching a wild animal. "Don't fight it. Don't push it away. You can't out-muscle something like that."
Jack's jaw clenched. "Then what?"
Crowe tapped his own chest. "You pull yourself back. Anchor."
Jack blinked. "Anchor?"
"Name something real," Crowe said. "Something human. Something you care about. You hold onto that, and you pull your mind toward it."
Jack's throat tightened.
Mira's face flashed in his mind.
Kade's laugh.
Sera's trembling hands.
Jack's chest hurt for a different reason.
For a brief moment, the cold pressure inside him faltered.
The seam wavered.
Jack felt it—like a door beginning to close.
Crowe nodded sharply. "Again."
Jack swallowed hard. "Mira," he whispered.
The pressure eased another fraction.
"Kade," Jack said, voice cracking.
The seam narrowed.
"Sera," Jack finished.
The cold receded, reluctantly.
Jack opened his eyes, breathing hard.
Crowe lowered his blade.
"Good," Crowe said. "You can pull it back."
Jack stared at his hands. "That worked."
Crowe nodded once. "It won't always."
Jack frowned. "Why?"
Crowe hesitated.
Then he said the truth.
"Because eventually," Crowe said, "you'll run out of things that feel human."
Jack's stomach dropped.
The voice inside him was quiet, listening.
Crowe paced in a slow circle around Jack, eyes never leaving him.
"Now," Crowe said, "we test your limits."
Jack's pulse spiked. "Crowe—"
Crowe lifted a hand. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not seriously. But you need stress, controlled stress, to build the muscle."
Jack swallowed. "Okay."
Crowe stepped into stance.
"Attack me," Crowe said.
Jack blinked. "With what?"
"With anything," Crowe replied. "Your blade. Your fists. Your power. Whatever comes naturally."
Jack tightened his grip on the training sword, left hand awkward around the hilt. He lunged, clumsy and slow.
Crowe sidestepped effortlessly and tapped Jack's ribs with the flat of his blade.
Pain flared.
Jack hissed.
Crowe moved again, tapping his shoulder, his leg—never hard enough to break, just enough to sting and frustrate.
Jack swung again and again, each miss making his chest tighten with anger.
Crowe's voice stayed calm.
"Feel it," Crowe said. "The frustration. The fear. That's what triggers it. Don't deny it. Shape it."
Jack's vision tinted red at the edges.
The seam inside him stirred.
The voice whispered.
"Open."
Jack's breath hitched.
Crowe's eyes sharpened. "No," Crowe said firmly. "You decide. Not it."
Jack clenched his teeth, forcing his mind back to the names.
Mira.
Kade.
Sera.
The seam resisted.
It wanted to open.
Crowe stepped in close and pressed his blade to Jack's throat—not cutting, but cold and real.
"If this was real," Crowe said quietly, "you'd be dead."
Jack's heart slammed.
For one second, fear spiked so sharply it was like ice water.
The seam burst open.
Crowe's eyes widened. "Jack—!"
Jack raised his hand instinctively—
And stopped.
Right before the world split.
He held it there, shaking, sweat dripping down his face, the air warping around his fingers.
Crowe didn't move. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"That," Crowe said, "is the first time you've ever held it without using it."
Jack's entire body trembled.
The voice inside him whispered, silky and patient:
"One day you will not stop."
Jack swallowed hard and forced the door closed.
When the cold pressure finally eased, he nearly collapsed.
Crowe caught him.
Jack looked up, exhausted, breathless.
"What now?" Jack rasped.
Crowe's expression was grim.
"Now," Crowe said, "we make sure the next time you open it… you're aiming at the right target."
Jack frowned. "The right target?"
Crowe's eyes hardened.
"The system doesn't care if you're human," he said. "It will kill you anyway. So we find something that deserves the cut."
The words should've horrified Jack.
But instead, Jack felt the emptiness in his chest shift.
Not fear.
Something colder.
Something like agreement.
And that scared him more than any monster ever had.