The crimson words hang. Unblinking. Accusing.
[SYSTEM UPDATING…]
Adam. The name feels like a stranger's skin stretched over the bones of Zion. A burial shroud. My tiny fists clench the soft blanket – the only defiance this useless body allows. Elowen's cool finger traces my cheek again. "Shh, my little Adam," her voice is honey-warm, thick with a tenderness meant for someone else. "Sleep now." Her rhythmic patting is a lullaby against the silent scream trapped inside my skull. Mama. The word tastes like ash. Cassian's shadow looms, smelling of leather, mud, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. His relieved chuckle rumbles like distant thunder. "Strong lad, El. Barely blinked."
Blinked? Fury sparks – adult, absurd, utterly impotent. I was watching my own ghost dissolve! My throat offers only a weak gurgle. The crimson screen pulses. Changes.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
[WELCOME, PLAYER: ADAM]
Player. The word is a cold blade. What game am I playing? Who set the board? Zion is buried, yet this... thing knows his name wasn't Adam. The confirmation chills deeper than the void ever did.
Elowen shifts me closer. Her warmth is a furnace after eternal ice. Clean linen, faint flowers, something uniquely her – it floods my senses, comforting and infuriating. "Sleep," she breathes against my forehead. "Grow strong."
Cassian extinguishes candles. Shadows deepen, swallowing the stone walls, the wooden beams. The hearth glows dull orange embers. Exhaustion – the soul-deep weariness of dying twice – pulls like an anchor. Elowen's heartbeat beneath my ear is a drum dragging me down.
Sleep isn't rest. It's an ambush.
***
One moment: Warmth. Softness. The scent of Elowen.
The next: Cold fluorescence stings my eyes. The sterile bite of ozone claws my throat.
Three years before the alley. Before the bullet.
The lab hums. Not a gentle sound. A contained predator's purr. My head throbs – Zion's head, Zion's ache. Schematics wrap around the main holodisplay like chains. At the center: Ignis. A car-sized obsidian meteorite, pulsing with deep, angry crimson light from within. Data streams flow – radiation, particles, thermal bleed. Project Ignis. My life's cage.
The security door hisses. Major Silas Way strides in, tossing a wrapped sandwich onto my console. "Break time, Z. Sparky hypnotized you again?" He leans against a bulkhead, sandy hair messy, grey eyes sharp but shadowed. Tired. Always tired near the end.
I catch the sandwich. Barely taste it. "It doesn't sleep, Silas. It radiates. Tertiary dampeners in Four are barely holding." My voice is Zion's voice, raspy with fatigue. I gesture at the pulsing rock. "Energy bleed's down. Might get a stable resonance scan tomorrow."
Silas whistles low. "Command's breathing fire since the last fluctuation. They see the energy density. The applications..." He trails off. The unspoken hangs heavy: The instability. The danger.
"It's alien," I counter, my gaze locked on the crimson heart of the meteorite. Zion's obsession. Zion's dread. "We're caging lightning. Pushing too fast—"
"—is how we get a new crater," Silas finishes bluntly. He pushes off the bulkhead. "That's why you're here. Only one who speaks Sparky's chaotic language." He heads for the door. "Gotta face the budget dragons. Try not to let our pet rock throw another tantrum." The hiss of the door seals me in.
Silence. Just the hum. The pulse. Thrum… thrum… thrum…
I turn to finalize scans. A secondary monitor flickers. A blip in Sector Seven. Sensor noise? I recalibrate.
The blip vanishes.
Reappears. Stronger. Wider.
Not noise.
Ice slides down my spine – Zion's spine. My fingers fly across the interface. Particle counts in Sector Seven spike. Gamma radiation ticks into the yellow. The crimson glow within Ignis intensifies. Flickers. Wildly.
"No… hold on…" Zion's mutter is tight with fear. Emergency protocols engage. Primary containment field integrity wavers: 98%... 96%... 94%... "Engage secondary dampeners! Full power to Sector Seven shielding!" My fist slams the physical override.
Warning: Containment Field Instability
Sector Seven Core Integrity: CRITICAL
Alarms shriek. Crimson light explodes, bathing the lab in blood. I throw up an arm, shielding Zion's eyes. Schematics dissolve into static. The hum becomes a deafening roar. The deck plates vibrate beneath my boots.
"Override Gamma-Seven! Initiate core flush!" I yell into the chaos, hammering the panel. The system acknowledges… then freezes.
Ignis inhales. Crimson light collapses into a single, impossible point of incandescent fury. Pure annihilation. Zion understands in that fractured heartbeat.
Then—
White-hot force. Not light. Pressure. Fundamental wrongness tearing at the fabric of reality. Containment fields shatter like glass. It hits me – Zion – a tidal wave of pure destruction. Consoles erupt. Metal screams. Weightlessness. Roaring silence.
***
Consciousness returns in shards. Antiseptic sting. Rhythmic beeping. Blurred white tiles. Pain. Deep, bone-grinding pain. A high-pitched whine in my ears.
Hospital bed. Tubes snaking. Bandages binding.
The door opens. Silas stands there. Fatigue-etched face. Relief warring with something darker in his grey eyes. "Z…" He moves fast, voice rough gravel. "You scared ten years off me."
Zion's throat is desert. Silas holds a cup with a straw. Cool water is bliss. "Ignis?" My voice is a stranger's rasp.
Silas's face tightens. "Gone. Total loss. The chamber's slag. The meteorite…" He shakes his head. "Dead. Cold. Dark. Whatever was inside… burned out."
I close Zion's eyes. The weight is physical. Crushing. Years. Potential. Responsibility. Gone.
"Radiation?"
"Contained. Mostly." Silas's voice drops low. "You took the worst of the pulse. Docs say you're clean. Just… thoroughly wrecked." A ghost of his grin flickers. "Stubborn bastard." It dies. "Project's shut down. Indefinitely."
I turn Zion's head. The bright window blurs. His apartment. Empty. Meaningless. His life was Ignis.
"The data?"
"Primary servers: slag," Silas says, gentle but final. "Secondary backups… fried by the EMP pulse. Unrecoverable." His hand rests heavy on Zion's shoulder. "Orders: Discharge. Go home. Rest. Real rest. One week minimum. Doctor's orders. My orders."
Home. The word echoes in the sterile silence. The meteorite's crimson fury replaced by institutional white. Its death roar faded into the heart monitor's relentless beep… beep… beep…
Zion survived. But the man who held Ignis's heart? Extinguished.
***
A sharp gasp tears from my tiny lungs. Not Zion's gasp. Adam's.
The antiseptic sting vanishes, replaced by woodsmoke and earth. Fluorescent glare dissolves into dim candle glow. The crushing weight of Zion's failure lingers – a phantom ache deep in my infant chest – before the warm, soft reality of Elowen's arms pulls me back.
I whimper, a small, distressed sound. My body trembles.
"Shh, little one," Elowen murmurs, her hold tightening instinctively. "Just a dream. Mama has you."
Cassian stirs in his chair by the dying fire. "Hmm? The babe alright, El?"
"Just a night fright, love. He's settling."
But unseen, burning behind my unfocused eyes, crimson words pulse once, sharp and final:
[Memory Archive Accessed: Ignis Terminus]
[System Update: 15% Complete]
The echo of the fallen star settles deep within the reborn child. The fire is out. But the memory of its violent death, Zion's first ending, burns cold in the cradle of Adam's new beginning. The scent of blood – Silas's relief, Cassian's armor – feels terrifyingly familiar. The fight isn't just to grow. It's to outrun an old ghost wearing my name.