After the brief conversation with the doctor, Naer stepped out into the hallway. The dim lights of the facility cast angular shadows along the metallic floor, and his heavy boots echoed softly with each step. He didn't look back.
The doctor's words still lingered in his ears, but he had already dismissed them. The boy's condition was beyond the scope of mere observation now. Naer had seen enough.
He moved silently through the corridor, one hand tucked behind his back while the other pressed a small device into his ear. His office was just a few steps away when the lights above flickered slightly. The moment he entered, the door sealed behind him with a mechanical hiss.
Inside, the lighting was low by design. The room smelled faintly of old machinery and sterile dust. He didn't bother turning on the overheads. The monitor on the desk flickered to life on its own, a soft blue glow casting long shadows across the walls.
He didn't sit. He stood behind the desk, waiting.
A woman's face appeared on the screen—stern, composed, and absolutely unwavering. Elin Valeris. The same woman who had once stood face-to-face with Reis during his early relocation. But this time, her eyes were colder. More calculating.
Naer didn't offer a greeting. Only a slight tilt of the head.
"Elin Valeris. Punctual as always."
She ignored the remark.
"Naer. Your reports are incomplete. The boy—Reis—he's not just another subject. You know that."
Naer folded his arms. "I know enough. More than you'd admit."
She leaned closer, voice sharp and clear.
"His bloodline ties him directly to the current ruling family in the Eastern Continent. Not an ancient legend or a forgotten name—an active dynasty, still in power, still ruthless. The kind of lineage that doesn't let go of its own. And yet, they cast him out... or so it seemed."
Naer's expression hardened. "So, we're not dealing with lost nobility—we're dealing with royalty. Present. Watching."
Elin nodded once.
"And they haven't stopped watching. That family doesn't make mistakes publicly. If they discarded him, they had a reason. But the moment his potential surfaces—truly surfaces—they will act. We need him under our roof before they do."
Naer turned slowly, his back now to the screen. "He's showing signs of something we didn't plan for. Something unpredictable."
Elin's voice dropped, low and cold. "All the more reason to bring him to Black Eye. No more delays. He's to be transferred immediately. The Director has given full clearance."
Naer gave a short laugh, almost a breath.
"You assume he'll comply."
"We don't need his compliance," she snapped. "We need containment."
Silence filled the room for a beat. Then the screen went dark.
Naer remained still. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a sharper smile.
He had expected this.
---
Elsewhere in the facility, Reis lay motionless on a reinforced bed, his body still restrained for observation. He was not unconscious, not fully asleep either. Something in between. His eyes were closed, yet his breathing had stabilized into a faint, almost artificial rhythm.
But inside his mind, he was awake.
Not in the traditional sense. His thoughts were neither coherent nor chaotic—but aligned in a strange order, as if his awareness was being restructured. He didn't see a dream, nor did he feel his body. What he perceived was more abstract—a pressure, a vibration echoing through something deeper than his nerves.
The walls around him, the restraints, the machines—all of it faded into the background of a new kind of clarity. He felt like he was inside a vessel, and that vessel was filling—bit by bit—with something vast and undefined.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't fear.
It was expansion.
From the center of his being, a silent pulse spread outward. It was not mana in the usual sense, not energy he could direct, but rather a shift—like the laws around him were bending just slightly.
At first, it was unnoticeable. A subtle distortion in the lights above. A faint flicker in the camera feed.
Then it deepened.
The air around him became dense, almost gel-like. Sound dulled. Motion slowed.
And across the room, near one of the monitors, a chair rolled half an inch—without touch.
In the observation booth above, a team of agents was already active. Screens flickered. Readings jumped. A junior technician turned to the senior one, alarmed.
"Sir... We're detecting spatial anomalies. Passive—not aggressive, but they're... expanding."
Before the supervisor could respond, Naer entered the control room with his usual silent presence. He didn't look at anyone immediately. He simply moved toward the central monitor where Reis's biometric data was spiking.
"Talk," Naer said simply.
"He's not asleep," the lead technician explained. "But he's not awake either. It's a transitional state. Something is happening inside—but we can't trace the source. His mind isn't producing dreams, and there's no mental feedback typical of simulations. But he's... reaching outward."
Naer stared at the screen, thoughtful. "Is the environment stable?"
"For now," the technician replied. "But we can't guarantee containment for long."
A second agent approached from the adjacent console, carrying a digital tablet.
"Sir, the transfer sequence is ready. His relocation can begin as soon as we receive authorization from the top."
Naer didn't hesitate. "Send the file to the Black Eye terminal. Encrypt it three layers deep. I want the transfer clean."
"Yes, sir."
The room shifted back into motion. Commands flowed. The lights dimmed slightly as security protocols engaged. On the screen, Reis's field—barely visible to the eye—continued to ripple outward like silent waves in deep water.
Naer watched in silence.
He wasn't seeing a child anymore.
He was watching a variable.
A force.
Something they had long stopped believing they could create.
And now, it was awakening—on its own terms.