The days blurred into one another—training, failure, exhaustion, repeat.
Each morning began with the hum of the Crucible's systems activating, followed by hours of simulated combat that left every recruit battered, bruised, and raw. The others improved quickly; their powers sharpened, their timing precise.
Briar didn't.
Every move he made felt like running through water. The inhibitor on his chest restricted everything—his breathing, his energy, his confidence. It was supposed to stabilize him, but it had become a cage.
He'd wake before dawn, watching frost crawl over the window of his quarters, and imagine tearing the device off. But the last time he tried, it nearly burned through his skin.
By the third week, whispers had started spreading through the base.
The Seed of Genesis, chained like a dog.
The strongest of us, now weakest of all.
He heard them but never reacted. That silence only made the rumors louder.
Inside the training dome, the simulation shifted to a ruined urban landscape. Drones circled overhead while spectral enemies flickered between the shadows. The recruits moved with precision—Lyra's light slicing through cover, Eira's telekinesis redirecting enemy fire, Nova blinking through walls to flank targets.
And Seren—Seren commanded the battlefield like it belonged to her.
Her control was flawless. The air shimmered around her as she called lightning into her hands, arcs of blue-white light bending to her will. Every strike landed perfectly. When she moved, the other recruits followed. Even Rex watched her with a flicker of approval.
Briar fired his training weapon, missed, and took a hit that sent him sprawling into the dust.
Rex's voice boomed through the comms. "Lox, you're dragging the squad down again. Focus!"
"I'm trying," Briar snapped, struggling to his feet. The inhibitor sparked in protest.
"Try harder," Rex growled.
Seren deflected a blast that would've hit him, her expression unreadable. "Stay low. Let us handle the front."
"I don't need protecting."
"Then stop needing it."
The simulation ended in a blinding flare. Target destroyed. Mission complete.
Rex entered the dome moments later, arms crossed. "Eighty-seven percent efficiency. Improvement across the board—except one." His gaze fell on Briar. "You're lucky this was a simulation. Out there, you'd already be dead."
No one spoke. The silence was worse than shouting.
Lyra glanced at Briar, wanting to say something, but his expression stopped her. He stood there, shoulders tense, eyes dark with restrained anger.
Rex continued. "Vale, good leadership today. Keep it up."
Seren nodded, calm and composed. "Thank you, sir."
As the others filed out, Briar stayed behind. The inhibitor throbbed in his chest like a heartbeat out of sync with his own.
Later that night, the base was quiet. Most recruits were asleep or gathered in the mess hall. Briar sat on the edge of the training platform, staring at the inhibitor's faint glow.
Lyra approached quietly. "You didn't eat again."
"Not hungry."
"You're burning out," she said. "You can't keep doing this."
He shook his head. "They're all getting stronger, Lyra. Even Nova's teleport field is cleaner. I'm still stuck here."
"Because Solis is trying to keep you alive."
"Alive isn't the same as living."
She sat beside him. "You'll find a way. You always do."
He didn't answer.
From across the hall, voices echoed—Seren and Rex, walking together. Their laughter was low, casual, but it cut through the silence like glass.
Lyra noticed Briar's glance. "Don't," she warned softly.
"I'm not," he lied.
Seren caught sight of him and paused. "Briar. You're still here."
He stood. "Couldn't sleep."
She smiled faintly. "You should. You'll need your strength for tomorrow's trials."
"Tomorrow's trials won't change anything."
"They might," she said. "If you learn to stop fighting what's inside you."
Rex smirked. "Or if he learns to stop depending on it."
Briar's jaw tightened. "You done testing me, Commander?"
Rex's expression hardened. "The day you stop being a liability, I'll stop treating you like one." He turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him.
Seren hesitated. "He's not wrong."
"Yeah," Briar said. "You two make a good team."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in her eyes—regret, maybe. Then she said, "Maybe one day, you'll make a good one too."
When she left, the silence returned.
The next morning, Solis ran diagnostics on the inhibitor while Briar sat motionless on the med platform.
"You're overusing it," the doctor said without looking up.
"I'm trying to adapt."
"You're trying to force it. There's a difference."
Briar met his gaze. "Take it off."
"Absolutely not."
"I can control it now."
"No," Solis said sharply. "You think you can. That's not the same thing."
Briar's fists clenched. "You built me to fight, and now you're afraid I'll do it."
Solis stepped closer. "You're not a weapon, Briar. You're a reminder. Of what happens when power outruns purpose."
For a moment, the boy who had survived New Avon vanished—replaced by something colder. "Then maybe you should've let me burn."
He left before Solis could answer.
The snow outside the base glowed faintly under the morning light. Briar walked alone to the outer wall, watching the frozen wasteland stretch endlessly ahead. Beyond the horizon, somewhere out there, the ions were rebuilding too.
He could feel it—like static in the air, a storm waiting to return.
His Pulse flickered once beneath the inhibitor, bright enough to see through his skin. Then it dimmed again, like a heartbeat forced back into rhythm.
He looked up at the sky and whispered, "You'll see me again."