Scene 1: Close Quarters and Collisions
She was late again.
I stood in the eastern wing of the Guild's training deck, the morning light spilling through reinforced skylights like molten glass across the padded floor. The others had already finished their rotations, leaving the facility echoing with a strange emptiness. I pretended to adjust my wrist wraps—pointless for someone like me—but appearances mattered now more than ever.
I heard her before I saw her. The soft rhythm of boots striking rubber, her breath just a little rushed. Lyra.
"Sorry," she muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Overslept."
I shrugged, keeping my expression even. "You're only thirty-eight minutes late. That's practically early for a telepath with an attitude."
She shot me a side glance, smirking. "Careful, new kid. I still outrank you."
She always wore black during drills—sleek, form-fitting gear with faint purple lines glowing when her power activated. Her illusions shimmered with a kind of grace I'd never seen in battle—unpredictable, yes, but precise. Focused.
As we began our one-on-one sparring exercises, I had to tread carefully. Every feint I made had to look like telekinesis. Every block needed to seem human. I could feel her watching me—not just physically, but intellectually, like she was parsing layers I wasn't even projecting. She was good. Too good.
"You're holding back," she said, not accusing—just observing.
I smiled tightly. "Maybe I'm just polite."
"You don't strike me as polite."
I lunged. She countered with a flicker of light—my eyes saw her move left, but my instincts screamed right. I spun with the real direction and parried, letting a controlled pulse of energy flick out just enough to push her back gently.
She blinked.
"Okay," she muttered. "That was... good."
"Thanks," I replied, panting slightly for show. "I've been studying. YouTube. Big fan of Earth martial arts."
She laughed at that, and something in my chest pulled tight. I wasn't used to this. The banter. The proximity. The warmth. Most of all, the laughter. Not in the Obsidian Citadel.
"Your aura's weird," she said suddenly.
I froze, just for a second too long. "Weird how?"
"Like... you're masking something. Not evil. Just... buried. Caged."
I stepped back. "Let's reset."
But the truth had already started to unravel between us. She saw something—she felt something. And for the first time, I didn't want to bury it again.
---
Scene 2: The War Table
Later that afternoon, the Guild war room buzzed with tension. Sentinel Vex stood at the head of the arc-shaped conference table, flanked by holographic maps and charts displaying the spreading Nexus anomalies across the tri-state area.
"The fissure in Lower Manhattan is expanding," Vex said, voice sharp as tempered steel. "If the energy readings breach 300 kilo-units, we risk another Nexus incursion. This time, civilian zones are within strike radius."
Katherine stood across from me, arms folded. Jeremiah sat at her side, calm but alert. Garth leaned back, massive arms crossed, while Lyra was uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes distant, focused.
My role was simple—observe. Play the good recruit. No unnecessary questions. No power displays. Definitely no siphoning.
But the data on the holoscreens was too familiar. I recognized the Rift's energy pattern—its pulse mirrored the Citadel's failed gateway experiments. My father's technology. Our fault.
Vex continued, assigning roles. Katherine and Jeremiah would lead the containment team. Garth and Lyra would run interference with civilian illusions and evacuation tunnels. I was to "assist" with crowd control—another way of saying: stay in the background and don't mess anything up.
But I caught Vex watching me—his expression unreadable, calculating. He suspected something. Not the truth, not yet, but enough to make my skin itch.
When the meeting adjourned, Lyra stayed back, pretending to study the projected Rift readings.
"You okay?" I asked, sidling up beside her.
"Fine," she lied. Then softer: "There's too much noise. It's getting hard to separate what's mine and what's the world's."
Her voice trembled—not fear, exactly, but fragility.
I nodded. "You're not alone in that."
She glanced at me, surprised. "Is that your first honest sentence today?"
"Don't get used to it," I said.
But I meant every word.
---
Scene 3: Fire Escapes and Falling Walls
That night, after drills and patrols, I couldn't sleep.
The dorm's thin mattress offered no comfort, and my thoughts buzzed louder than any city noise. So I stepped out, pulling on a hoodie and descending the Guild's side fire escape into the cool, New York air.
To my surprise, Lyra was already there, sitting on the rail with one leg dangling over empty space, the lights of Brooklyn stretching out behind her like a sea of restless fireflies.
"Don't worry," she said without looking. "I heard you. You breathe heavier than you think."
I joined her silently. For a long moment, we just listened. To the wind. To the cars. To the hush of a world on the edge.
"I know what you are," she whispered eventually.
My heart paused. "You do?"
"A runner," she clarified. "You've been running from something so long, you forgot what stillness feels like."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "That's... fair."
She turned to me. "What are you really scared of, Marcus?"
The name tasted wrong. It wasn't mine. Not really. But it was hers. And that mattered.
"I'm scared that if I stop pretending, I'll lose whatever this is. This... breath between battles. This... peace."
She nodded, eyes reflecting the distant city glow. "Then stop pretending. Just... be. For once."
"I don't know how," I admitted.
"You start," she said, touching her chest, "with the truth."
---
Scene 4: Sparks and Secrets
The next morning, we trained again. This time, not officially. Not sanctioned.
Just Lyra and me, under the pretense of "coordination drills" in the west courtyard.
She pushed me harder. Not physically—mentally. Emotionally. She saw every hesitation, every flinch. And each time, she leaned closer.
"Don't fake your limits," she whispered. "That's not how trust is built."
So I let it slip. Just a little.
I caught a falling pillar—not with my hands, not with telekinesis, but with a flick of power from my true lineage, careful and invisible. To anyone else, it looked like a gust of air. To her—it was a window.
She didn't say anything. Not right away. Just stared at me, the space between us charged.
"Who are you really, Marcus?"
I hesitated. Then replied, "Someone trying to rewrite the ending."
She smiled sadly. "Then maybe we're both liars trying to become something honest."
We didn't touch. We didn't kiss.
But as I walked back toward the barracks, her voice followed me like a tether.
"See you tomorrow?"
And somehow, I knew I would.
Even if the war came first.
Even if my past hunted me down.
Even if my father's voice echoed louder than ever.
Because now, there was another voice rising inside me.
Lyra's.