George awoke slowly, as though swimming up from the depths of a dream he couldn't quite remember. His eyelids felt heavy, and his head pounded faintly. The faint antiseptic smell and the soft beeping of distant medical devices told him immediately he was in the infirmary at the institute. The beds here were always neatly lined up against the walls, white sheets tucked so precisely it could make a military officer proud.
When his vision cleared, he noticed a tall figure seated beside him in a wooden chair. Hyde. The man sat with one leg crossed over the other, elbows resting casually on the chair's arms, his piercing gaze fixed on him. There was no warmth in that gaze—only the sharpness of a hawk waiting for its prey to stir.
"You're finally awake," Hyde said, his voice calm but carrying a faint undercurrent of impatience.
George rubbed his eyes, his memories of the fight flooding back—Finn's blazing attacks, the blast that sent him into the lake, and the last thing he remembered: darkness swallowing everything.
"Shoot! I lost the fight, didn't I?" he asked, his voice tinged with both disappointment and embarrassment.
"That's correct," Hyde replied without hesitation, a small smirk tugging at his lips. The teasing tone stung a little, but George could tell it wasn't meant to demean him—just to remind him of reality.
However, Hyde's expression shifted to something more serious. "But it's not the loss that matters. What matters is what comes next. You showed potential in that fight, George—more than I expected for someone so new. That's why I'll be training you personally. We don't have much time."
"Training… personally?" George repeated, his surprise evident.
Hyde stood, his towering frame casting a shadow over the bed. "Yes. We've got a war coming, and you're not ready. Meet me at the training grounds as soon as you can." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the infirmary.
George sat there for a moment, blinking. His body felt… strange. He flexed his fingers, stretched his arms—no pain. No bruises. No stiffness. In fact, he felt completely healed. The institute's healers must have worked overtime on him.
He swung his legs off the bed, quickly changed into his training clothes, and left the infirmary. The walk through the institute's corridors was brisk—his mind replaying every moment of the fight against Finn. He could still hear the blasts echoing in his head, the shockwaves, the sting of defeat.
When he reached the training grounds, Hyde was already there, standing in the center with his arms crossed, waiting.
"Ah, yes. You're finally here," Hyde said, his tone neutral.
"Sorry I took so long," George replied, adjusting his gloves. "Alright… I'm ready for my training."
Hyde's lips curved into the faintest grin. "It's good you're all fired up."
George gave a small chuckle at the pun, but before he could respond, Hyde's expression hardened. "From your fight with Finn, I've already seen what you lack. You have raw talent, decent instincts, but your inexperience is obvious. That's not entirely your fault—but it's something we're going to fix."
"Thank you, Hunter Hyde," George said sincerely.
Hyde took a step closer until he was standing right in front of George. His eyes were intense, as if trying to peer into George's very soul. "I'm going to make you stronger than you've ever been. But here's the truth—you're the one who's going to make yourself stronger. I can guide you, but the work, the breakthroughs… they have to come from you."
George frowned slightly. "I'm… not sure I understand."
Hyde clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly. "Affinity is the reflection and nature of one's soul. It's not just a weapon or a skill—it is you. To become stronger, you have to understand your soul better than anyone else. That means going deeper than just throwing fire punches or channeling energy."
Hyde stopped pacing and looked George in the eye again. "You're going to have to meditate. Enter your inner world. Face yourself."
George blinked. "…You brought me here to meditate?"
"That's correct," Hyde replied, his tone teasing again. "Every hunter who awakens their affinity must do this. It's fundamental. But I'll warn you—what you see in there might surprise you. It might even terrify you."
George tilted his head. "Why would it terrify me?"
Hyde's expression darkened slightly. "Because there's a risk. During this deep meditation, there's a chance you might not wake up."
George's eyes widened. "Wait—you're saying I could die?"
"Yes," Hyde said simply. "If you fail to master yourself—if you can't reconcile with your affinity—you may be trapped in an eternal slumber until your body dies."
For a long moment, George said nothing. Then, he exhaled and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the ground. "I understand. I took this job because I don't want to see innocents get hurt. If this is what it takes to protect them, then I'll do it."
Hyde's lips curved in approval. "I like the sound of that. Now—close your eyes. Listen to yourself. Feel for the voice of your soul."
George inhaled deeply, shutting out the world around him. The sounds of the wind, the training grounds, even Hyde's presence—all of it faded into silence. Then… nothingness.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in the training grounds. He was standing in a vast, pitch-black space. The air was still. In front of him stood… himself. But not quite.
The figure had older, sharper features—like a version of George that had lived through far more battles. His brown hair was tinged with green flames that danced lazily but emitted heat. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a long leather jacket, heavy boots, and a chain burning with the same green fire swung loosely in his hand. His grin was sharp, almost predatory—and his presence radiated something George recognized instantly.
Phantom energy.
"Hey there… me," the figure said, his voice a deep, raspy drawl, like a cowboy from an old showdown.
George stared in disbelief. "Wait… you look like me, but older. And… like a phantom."
"That's correct," the figure replied casually. "Because I am a phantom."
George's chest tightened. "Does… does that mean I'm a phantom too?"
"It means you're part phantom," Phantom George said, still swinging the burning chain idly. "Your soul—me—is a mix of human and phantom. I've been this way since you were born."
George took a step back, shaking his head. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm half phantom… half human?"
"Exactly. And you've been ignoring half of yourself your whole life."
George's mind was a storm of questions, confusion swirling like a whirlpool. "But… phantoms killed my family. If I wasn't there, they'd be dead. And now you're telling me I am what I hate most?"
Phantom George's grin faded slightly. "I know it's not easy to accept. But denying it won't change the truth. When that phantom entered your body before, your will pushed it out—but I helped. That was the first time you even brushed against my existence."
George clenched his fists. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. "…Alright then. Me. It's a pleasure to meet you."
They shook hands, the grip firm and warm despite the green flames dancing around Phantom George's fingers.
"I need your help," George said. "There's a war in three days. Hundreds of phantoms. I can't lose."
Phantom George's grin returned. "I'll help. But first—you need to understand your fire. Your flames are blue now because they're purely human. Mine are green because they carry my phantom signature. Right now, you're only using half your potential. To truly awaken, you have to accept my power."
George hesitated. The weight of his family's pain pressed against his chest. "Accepting the phantom side of me… It feels like betraying them."
"Or it could be the thing that saves them," Phantom George countered. "The choice is yours."
A long silence followed. Then, slowly, George extended his hand. "If accepting you means I can protect them… then I'll accept."
Their hands clasped, and in an instant, the black void vanished.
George gasped, his eyes snapping open back in the training grounds. His hair blazed with green-tinted fire for a brief moment before fading. Hyde was seated nearby, reading a book with his legs crossed.
"Oooh… you're finally awake," Hyde said without looking up. "And just in time."
George blinked, still catching his breath. "Just in time for what?"
Hyde finally closed his book and looked at him. "For the war. You've been meditating for three days straight."