The car arrived at dawn—sleek, black, silent. No license plate. No driver.
Ikris stood alone in front of the Igan Tower loading dock, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, katana strapped to his back. The wind cut through his coat, but the fire in his chest kept him warm.
The rear door opened automatically.
No greeting. No instructions. Just silence.
He slid inside.
The seats were synthetic leather. Sterile. The windows auto-tinted, blacking out the skyline as soon as they pulled away. An AI voice crackled overhead.
"Passenger Ikris Igan confirmed. Destination: Obscura Facility. Estimated arrival: 46 minutes."
He didn't respond.
Instead, he pulled out Sevik's tablet. There was a new lockscreen message.
"You forgot your headphones. Rookie mistake."
Ikris cracked a smile. It faded fast.
They exited the city perimeter without a single checkpoint.
The route turned vertical, then subterranean. Down. Way down. Past old subway grids and into a district not marked on any maps.
At minute forty-seven, the vehicle stopped.
The door opened to a black corridor lit only by white floor lines. A low hum vibrated under his feet. The air smelled like metal and cold fire.
Then he saw her.
Standing against the far wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable: Lyssa Aerin.
Ikris blinked. "You?"
She didn't move. "Unfortunately."
"I thought the Aerins didn't get along with—"
"We don't," she cut in. "But Unit Obscura doesn't follow corporate politics."
He stepped closer. "This a setup?"
"No," she said. "It's worse. It's a favor."
The hallway lights flickered as a second door slid open behind her.
A voice echoed from within. "Let's not keep the fire hazard waiting."
Inside was a circular room of glass and steel, lined with ten black terminals and a massive overhead display showing elemental wavelengths in real time.
A woman stood at the center—hair buzzed short, military posture, lab coat with scorch marks on the sleeve.
"I'm Director Halryn," she said. "Welcome to the graveyard of promising disasters."
Ikris frowned. "You always open with threats?"
"Only when they apply," she replied. "You're here because your father pulled enough strings to keep you off the government grid. That makes you our problem."
She walked toward him slowly, then turned to the terminal. His profile blinked onscreen:
IKRIS IGANElemental Affinity: Fire (Unregistered)Control Level: UnknownRegistry Status: Black Flag – Category Red
Lyssa raised an eyebrow at the last part.
"Impressive," she muttered. "Even I'm only Orange."
Ikris didn't respond.
Director Halryn circled him. "You'll be tested, trained, and used—until we determine if you're a threat or an asset. If we find either to be true, you'll be recycled appropriately."
"Recycled?" he asked, voice low.
"Disassembled, repurposed, expunged," she said. "Pick a word."
He nodded once. "Got it."
"You start now."
They led him to a lower chamber: white walls, reinforced ceiling, and thermal sensors embedded in every surface. It felt like a lab trying to pass for a prison.
Halryn stood outside the glass wall, tablet in hand.
"You'll demonstrate control. No flair. No stunts. Just ignite and hold."
Ikris removed his coat and drew the katana slowly. He could feel Lyssa watching from the observation balcony above.
He closed his eyes.
The flame responded instantly—like blood answering a wound. It surged up his arm and into the sword, running down the edge in a fluid ribbon of gold and red.
He held it.
Five seconds.
Ten.
The blade pulsed hotter. The room's temperature rose four degrees.
"Stabilize," Halryn said.
He gritted his teeth and shifted his stance. The flame resisted. It wanted to move. It wanted to lash.
"Redirect it," Lyssa's voice called from above. "Into the floor. Give it somewhere to go."
Ikris glanced at the steel beneath his boots. He imagined the flame pouring downward—through the blade, through the hilt, into the ground.
The fire obeyed.
It flowed into the floor like magma through a crack. Steam hissed. The heat faded.
The room stabilized.
Halryn raised an eyebrow.
"Better than expected."
Ikris sheathed the katana.
Outside the chamber, Lyssa approached him as he dried sweat from his brow.
"You're not as sloppy as the rumors said," she admitted.
He shrugged. "You didn't look impressed."
"I never do."
He studied her for a moment. "So why are you here? You don't need this job."
She looked away. "Let's just say there are things I need to learn. And people I need to watch."
"I'm guessing I'm both?"
"Only one of them," she said. "So far."
Later that night, in his assigned room—clean, sterile, and featureless—Ikris stood alone with Emberfang across his knees.
He thought of Sevik. Of his mother's quiet warnings. Of his father's cold orders.
He lit a flame in his palm.
It danced.
Not wild. Not angry. Just alive.
He whispered to it. "Why me?"
It flickered.
There was no answer.
Just heat.
And silence.