The patch dulled the fire in Theron's veins, but it didn't erase it. The memory of Lyss's kiss lingered like a bruise—soft where it landed, sharp where it cut. Her perfume clung to the sterile air of the medical bay, impossible to shake.
The door hissed open. Hale stood there, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression carved from stone.
"On your feet," he said. "Division Grey doesn't collect strays to coddle them. Time you see what you've been drafted into."
Seris glanced up from her console, violet runes dimming on her fingertips. "He's not stable yet."
"He doesn't need to be." Hale's voice was calm, absolute.
Theron swung his legs off the cot. Pain pulled tight across his ribs, but he ignored it. Staying here felt no safer than following Hale into the unknown.
They moved through a labyrinth of polished white halls and black glass, each corridor humming faintly with power. Cameras tracked every step, silent and precise.
"Division Grey isn't a Guild branch," Hale said, his tone almost conversational. "We answer to no city, no council. We act where others hesitate."
Theron stayed quiet, taking in the glimpses behind reinforced glass.
A chamber lined with glowing restraints.
A tank swirling with black mist that seemed alive.
A room with a lone chair, runes crawling up its metal frame like vines.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air became.
They stopped before a wall-sized window overlooking a training arena. Hunters moved in ruthless synchronicity, their uniforms marked with sleek grey insignias. Others sparred with constructs that mimicked Shades perfectly, down to the unnatural twitch of their movements.
"These are the Ranked," Hale said. "The Guild makes soldiers. We make predators."
Theron's jaw tightened. "And me?"
Hale's eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto his. "We haven't decided yet."
The elevator ride down was silent, suffocating. When the doors slid open, they stepped into a chamber that felt less like a training room and more like a predator's cage. Black panels lined the walls, glowing runes etched into every surface. The floor pulsed faintly beneath Theron's boots, alive with restrained power.
Veyrith waited near a reinforced wall, a towering shadow crowned with curling horns. His crimson gaze followed Theron's every move.
"About time," he rumbled.
Hale gestured toward the center of the circle. "Step in."
Theron didn't move. "What is this?"
"A baseline," Hale replied. "We need to know what you really are."
"And if I say no?"
A low chuckle curled out of the corner. "Then I make it interesting."
Lyss lounged in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, green eyes gleaming like a blade catching light. She looked like she'd been waiting just to watch him bleed.
Theron's hand twitched near his sword. He stepped into the circle. The hum beneath his boots grew louder, a low vibration that sank into his bones.
The floor ignited. Illusions bloomed around him: a grim city street, shadows slithering into humanoid forms. White eyes blinked open in the dark. Six Shades, at least Rank B.
"Begin," Hale said.
They struck fast. His blade was in his hand before the first claw could reach him. He ducked a swipe, spun, and buried his blade in its neck. Another came from behind—he pivoted, steel flashing, breath harsh. His body remembered the alley, but pain stitched through every movement.
Two down. Three. Four.
The last Shade didn't move like the others. Its limbs lengthened unnaturally, claws glowing crimson.
Rank A.
A spike of adrenaline sharpened Theron's senses, but his vision flickered with System text:
[Warning: Mana Flow Instability.]
[Warning: Soul Integrity—76%.]
"Push him," Lyss purred.
The Rank A Shade lunged. Theron deflected by instinct, the impact rattling up his arms. Blood Edge flared faintly, coating his blade in crimson light. He slashed deep into its chest, but it kept coming, shrieking like metal on glass.
More System text warped across his vision:
[ERROR: Undefined Parameter.]
[ERROR: ??? Detected.]
Pain stabbed through his skull. He staggered, knees threatening to buckle. The Shade closed in for the kill—
"Stop."
Seris's voice cut through everything. She stood at the edge of the room, one hand raised, violet runes flaring. The illusion shattered like glass, leaving Theron kneeling, blade trembling in his grip.
Lyss sighed, disappointment curling her lips. "Pity. I wanted to see what he'd do if we let him bleed out."
"Enough," Seris snapped, striding forward. "He's not stabilized. You'll kill him."
Veyrith's arms unfolded, his voice a low growl. "He's dangerous. Even like this."
"That's the point," Hale said coolly. "Now we know."
Theron forced himself to his feet, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his neck. He kept his expression calm, unreadable.
Hale studied him like a specimen. "The Guild fears you. They're not wrong."
"And you?" Theron rasped.
"We see potential." Hale's tone was calm, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper. "But potential cuts both ways. Here, you either master it… or it masters you."
Lyss's smile was a slash of green fire. "I'm rooting for both."
Seris touched his arm, grounding him with a faint pressure. "Come on," she murmured.
As she led him toward the door, Lyss's voice followed, soft as silk, sharp as a blade:
"They'll keep pushing until you break, Theron. Some of us just want to see what comes out of the pieces."
Her laughter echoed after him, a predator's lullaby.