Ikris Igan stood on the 103rd floor of the Igan Dynamics headquarters, a glass tower spearing into the gray clouds of downtown Neocity. The rain outside danced on the window like it was trying to cool the heat pulsing in his bones.
He gripped the polished hilt of Emberfang, his custom-forged katana, sheathed in carbonized alloy. It rested against his hip, disguised as a ceremonial blade for the press—but every sensor in the room knew what it really was.
"You're late," said Ceyr Igan.
His father stood at the head of the obsidian boardroom table, surrounded by men and women in suits worth more than most annual salaries. Each bore the faint insignia of the Igan flame: red-gold circuitry patterns on their lapels. Executive blood.
Ikris ignored the comment and sat at the far end. The seat was colder than expected.
A woman two seats down coughed lightly, pressing a finger to her earpiece. Security was already scanning his vitals.
His father didn't blink. "You were seen near the docks last night. Surveillance picked up thermal flare signatures. Something you want to confess?"
Ikris didn't answer immediately. He flexed his fingers under the table. The tips itched. His veins buzzed.
"It wasn't me," he said flatly.
His father gestured, and the boardroom's ambient light dimmed. A holo-screen rose from the center of the table, displaying thermal footage—graffiti walls, steam vents, then a sharp spike of red.
A silhouette: young, lean, sword drawn. Fire pulsed along the edge. Clear as day.
"Still not you?" Ceyr's voice was almost bored.
Ikris looked up. "You know how these cameras glitch."
Whispers passed between the board members. Someone chuckled. Another made a note.
Ceyr didn't press. "Regardless, you'll be transferring tomorrow. I've enrolled you in a special unit—external operations. Offsite. Low profile. Think of it as extended internship training."
Ikris froze. "You're sending me away?"
"It's not punishment. It's...realignment."
"You mean damage control."
Ceyr stepped closer, gaze sharp. "There's talk. About your 'awakening.' Unauthorized. Dangerous. You have no record in the Elemental Talent Registry. You're a liability until proven otherwise. This unit will monitor you and extract value—one way or another."
A fire stirred in Ikris's chest. He breathed out slowly, and the seat under him steamed slightly.
"So what am I now? A project?"
"You've always been a project," his father said, then turned to the window. "Meeting adjourned."
Thirty minutes later, Ikris stood in the executive elevator with his katana tucked tightly against his coat. The numbers ticked down like falling dominoes.
He checked his holo-watch. Sevik—2 missed calls. His little brother always called after board meetings. It was their thing. The kid liked hearing about "the big fancy evil lair."
The elevator opened on the 32nd floor—private residence level.
Sevik was waiting in his motorized chair, holding a tablet and grinning. "Let me guess—Dad smiled once and that means war?"
Ikris knelt beside him and tousled his messy hair. "He's shipping me out."
"Prison or power move?"
"Both."
Sevik made a face. "Gonna miss you, Big Blaze."
Ikris smiled faintly. "You'll survive. You always do."
His brother's legs twitched involuntarily. Sevik flinched but kept the smile up like a shield. Ikris noticed. He always noticed.
"I'm not running from this," Ikris said. "I'm going to find out why I have this power. It's not...normal."
Sevik turned his tablet toward him. A paused video played in slow motion: Ikris in a training room, three years ago, flames erupting out of his back and bursting down the metal walls. Sevik's scream echoed in the clip.
"Find out," Sevik whispered. "But come back different. Not just stronger. Better."
Later that night, Ikris walked the rooftop alone. Neon lights painted the skyline in electric blood. The katana felt heavier than usual. Or maybe his doubts had weight.
He unsheathed the blade and held it out. A flame sparked at his wrist—then slithered down the steel. It hissed, curved, and stopped at the tip.
He exhaled.
The flame pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
What are you? he wondered.
A flicker in the corner of his eye made him spin. The flame shifted direction instantly, re-routing from the katana's tip into his boots—propelling him backward in a fast, fluid slide. He landed with a thud.
Behind him, a figure stood, arms crossed.
"Tira," he said. "You're not supposed to sneak up on me. You're bad at the subtle part of security."
"You're worse at noticing tails," she replied. "Nice flame stunt. Gonna teach me that?"
He sheathed the blade. "You're still watching me, even now?"
She nodded. "Orders."
Ikris stepped forward, nose inches from hers. "Am I your mission or your friend?"
She blinked. Just once. "Both. For now."
At 2 a.m., his holo-tab pinged. One message.
Sender: Ceyr IganSubject: Assignment DirectiveLocation: Unit Obscura Facility, Tier 7 ClearanceNote:Your escort will arrive in 0800. You will not return until cleared. Do not disappoint me.
Ikris stared at it for a long time.
Then he opened another message.
From: SevikText: "Whatever you find out there...don't forget where the fire started."
In the shadows of his penthouse, Ikris stood before the mirror. The katana's edge gleamed. The flame inside him coiled, waiting.
Tomorrow, he'd be sent into a unit built for ghosts and anomalies. A corporate exile with a sword and an inferno that had no name.
But tonight...he was still home. Still human.
Just barely.