The moment Asrel stepped through the checkpoint, he was greeted by familiar figures, Rook's squad, now without their helmets. Their faces were fully visible under the dim violet glow of Verge Outpost's overhead flux lights. The Miasma-filtered air within the walls had a faint metallic taste, but at least it was breathable.
"Welcome to Verge Outpost," said Brenn, flashing a tired but genuine smile. Without the mask, he looked barely older than Asrel, shaggy dark hair, a faint scar running along his jaw, and pale skin dulled by long-term exposure to filtered environments.
Asrel nodded. "Good to see you all again."
"So," Kick asked with a grin, "what's your official name? They register you as something fancy?"
"Asrel," he replied plainly. "That's the name I gave them."
Nessa offered a small nod of approval. Her expression, now visible, was sharper than he expected, calm gray eyes and tightly braided hair, a soldier's poise to match her precision on the field.
"Well then, Asrel," said Lira, brushing a loose strand of hair behind one ear, "you want the tour guide treatment or just the basics?"
"I'd like to know more," he said. "This place… everything is still new to me."
"In that case," Rook chimed in, "we'll do the rundown over food. You've earned it."
They walked together through the narrow pathways of the Verge Outpost. From the outside, it looked like a patchwork of reinforced shelters and sloped metal barriers, but inside, it was surprisingly organized. Pipes ran along ceilings like veins; small screens glowed dimly from information hubs and emergency towers.
They entered a modest eatery, a mess-hall-style restaurant with a few private booths tucked in corners. The scent of warm broth, grilled protein, and synthetic grain greeted them as they sat down.
Asrel hadn't eaten since he awoke in the Dead Zone. The simple act of sitting, being surrounded by people talking, eating, and laughing, struck him deeper than he expected.
He hid it well. But when the food came, steaming stew, dense bread, sliced nutrient fruit, he paused. Just for a breath.
Then he dug in.
"So, let me introduce Verge Outpost properly," Rook began between bites.
"It falls under the Western Region Command, overseen by Captain Owen."
"And the Divers Division," Brenn added, "is under Lieutenant Sera. I assume you met her during quarantine?"
Asrel nodded. "Yes. She ran my evaluation."
"She's strict, but fair," said Kick. "Keeps the worst of the suits from interfering with field work."
They continued eating as the conversation shifted between recent incursions, rumors of Eidolarch sightings, and scavenging runs. Despite the setting, the group felt close, each word casual but layered with trust forged in dangerous territory.
An Invitation
"Asrel," Rook said, putting his utensils down, "if you don't have a plan yet, I'd suggest this, join the Divers."
The table fell quiet for a moment.
"With your ability and your Blessing, you're well-suited for Dead Zone ops. You already fought five of us and walked through a Miasma field without gear. That puts you far above average."
"Well… that was something I was considering," Asrel admitted. "I don't exactly know how to live here yet."
"Then that's perfect," Rook said, leaning forward with a rare grin. "With what you've shown, we can skip the formal training program and bring you into a squad directly. And I want to recruit you into Field Unit Twelve."
Asrel blinked. "Is it really that easy?"
Rook chuckled. "Actually, Lieutenant Sera was the one who asked us to invite you. Officially. Said we should keep you close."
Asrel sat back, thoughts stirring.
Of course. They don't just want me for my potential. They want to monitor me. Keep me where they can see me.
Still, being with Rook's team didn't seem like a bad start.
"So that's how it is," he muttered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Come in."
The voice drifted through the dimly lit chamber, deep, composed, with a calm edge sharpened by command. The reinforced door hissed open, admitting Lieutenant Sera.
Captain Owen sat behind it, broad-shouldered and still in uniform, sleeves rolled back to the forearms. Light from the holoscreen danced across the faint gray in his beard. A steaming mug of synthbrew rested at his side, untouched.
Sera stepped to attention and offered a nod.
"This is the full report regarding the Blessed individual retrieved by Field Unit Twelve," she said, placing a slim data drive on the table.
Owen took it, slotting it into the console. Lines of data, sensor logs, visual captures, and a summary of interviews blinked to life in the air. His eyes scanned quickly, trained to extract relevance from walls of text within seconds.
"Unstable flux-like projection," Owen murmured. "And… complete immunity to Miasma exposure?"
"That's what our tests confirm so far," Sera said. "He passed through the Dead Zone without equipment. The scanner showed no internal contamination."
"And that energy he uses. You're calling it flux-adjacent?"
"We don't have a classification for it yet," Sera admitted. "It shares some visual properties with condensed Flux, but it behaves erratically, non-harmonic, high-density and unstable."
Owen leaned back slightly, folding his arms.
"A wild variable," he said. "And yet… you placed him under your unit's jurisdiction."
"I assigned Field Unit Twelve to keep him close. Rook's team has seen his power firsthand. They respect him, and more importantly, he trusts them."
"Smart," Owen said with a nod. "He's an unknown asset. We can't afford to lose track of him, not with Eidolarch incursions increasing. If he's immune to Miasma and his power continues to grow…"
A silence passed between them.
Owen's gaze returned to the report, lingering on Asrel's ID photo, young, expression unreadable, eyes sharp with a weight he couldn't quite place.
"What grade should we assign to his Blessing?" Sera asked, her tone neutral, but her eyes watched for his reaction.
Owen tapped his fingers once against the console.
"Start him at Grade B. That gives him leeway to move but keeps him under review."
Sera nodded. "Understood."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After their meal, the squad guided Asrel through the winding walkways of the Verge Outpost. Night had settled in, casting long shadows beneath the glowing lanterns that lined the paths.
"This is the Diver's HQ," Rook said as they arrived at a fenced compound nestled against the inner wall of the Outpost. "You can stay here for the night. Our unit has a few unoccupied quarters. I'll handle your application process, by tomorrow, you'll likely be an official member of the team."
Rook gave Asrel a firm nod before heading off to complete the paperwork, his silhouette vanishing into the Flux-lit haze.
Asrel turned to the others. "So… what do you usually do here when you're not out in the field?"
"We train," Brenn said, stretching his arms. "Can't afford to get complacent."
"We can only cultivate our Flux Cores in safe zones," Lira added, "so we use every moment here to refine them. Build strength, precision, resistance."
"Although the Flux here isn't as pure as the stuff inside a Sanctuary," Kick said, gesturing toward a glowing dome on the far side of the camp, "we've got dedicated training chambers. Enriched environments. Not perfect, but enough."
Nessa leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "You should think about starting your own Flux Core, Asrel. It'll help regulate your energy. You've already got an advantage, being a Blessed."
Asrel nodded thoughtfully. Can it be done? he wondered. Would it conflict with the Chaos Core… or can they coexist?
Kick escorted him to a small, clean room in the dormitory sector. Simple and functional. A narrow bed, a compact restroom, and a wall panel for basic functions.
"This is your room for now," Kick said. "Get some rest."
"Thanks," Asrel murmured.
Once alone, Asrel sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at his hands. They were steady. But his mind wasn't.
Let's try it, he decided. Let's see if I can form a Flux Core.
He crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and allowed his senses to stretch outward. The air held traces of Flux—faint but present, a gentle pressure brushing against his skin. He began to draw it in, slowly, steadily. Compared to the searing volatility of Chaos or the corrosive touch of Miasma, Flux felt... clean. Stable. Even welcoming.
He focused harder.
The energy flowed into his body, but immediately, his Chaos Core, lodged deep in the center of his heart reacted. Like a silent predator, it tried to absorb the incoming Flux, drawing it inward with instinctual greed.
So the Chaos Core consumes all energy indiscriminately… Asrel realized. But maybe that's the key. If I can prevent that consumption, compartmentalize the flows, then I can maintain both.
He shifted his focus to his lower abdomen, the traditional site for core formation, the same place where his old Mana Core had once been, before the cataclysm that changed everything.
That spot still holds potential, he thought.
With deliberate effort, Asrel began clearing the area of any residual Chaos influence. A delicate process. He visualized an empty vessel forming, a seed waiting to be filled.
Then, with great care, he allowed a slow trickle of Flux to enter. He condensed the energy, compressed it with rotational force, and stabilized the forming mass. It took time. Minutes blurred into hours.
Finally, a spark flared.
A new Flux Core took shape.
Asrel gasped and exhaled sharply, drenched in sweat. "Huff… That took more effort than I thought. I should've waited for a richer environment."
Still, the result was real. A second Core now pulsed inside him, distinct from the Chaos core in his chest.
But he couldn't let his guard down.
The Chaos energy is too invasive, he noted. If I lose focus, it'll consume the Flux again.
He set up mental barriers, confining each type of energy to its own domain. It was taxing, but doable, for now.
The room was silent, the only sound his steady breathing.
Asrel leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.
He hadn't chosen the path of dual cultivation lightly. But there were reasons, critical ones. Flux was widely accepted, more versatile, and far easier to work with in social and combat settings. It was a tool of survival, and one the world understood.
Chaos, on the other hand, was a mystery. A force of transformation… or destruction.
Having both meant risk.
The Chaos Core, volatile and ravenous, consumed energy indiscriminately. The Flux Core, stable and accepted, flowed with order. To maintain both was to walk a tightrope between destruction and control.
But if Asrel could manage it, if he could truly master the separation, it would be a profound advantage.
Two energy systems. Two domains of power. The raw might of chaos and the structured utility of flux. It would give him the flexibility to adapt to any battlefield or scenario. Where others were bound to a single path, he could shift, shape, and survive through both.
He trained well into the night, seated in stillness, guiding threads of Flux through his new core, feeding it slowly. He focused on reinforcing the energy pathways throughout his body, ensuring they stayed isolated from the pull of Chaos.
Only when exhaustion began to dull his senses did he finally lie down.