Power is not rare.
It is expected.
The world does not ask if you will carry strength.
It asks how.
Some are born into it — bloodline etched with inheritance.
Some chase it — believing enough force can quiet the fear beneath their ribs.
And some… are chosen by it.
But power here is not merely the ability to strike.
It is not the size of your blade.
It is not the brilliance of your spell.
It is not even the divinity of your origin.
Power is permission.
The ground allows you to stand.
The air allows you to breathe.
The world allows you to exist within it.
And when that permission shifts…
so does everything else.
But beneath all of them lies a quieter truth.
Power listens.
It listens to fear.
It listens to intention.
It listens to the quiet choices made when no one is watching.
That is why the most dangerous beings in this world
are not the loudest.
They are the ones who awaken.
Not to rage.
Not to conquest.
But to awareness.
When a Sleeping God stirs, the storm does not begin in the sky.
It begins in stillness.
It begins inside something fragile enough to break.
And strong enough not to.
TIME PERIOD: THREE YEARS PRIOR TO THE SHATTERING
The cottage is quiet.
Not silent — it never is — but settled.
The ocean moves in the distance, steady and patient.
The lantern in Sam's room burns low, casting warm gold across the walls.
Sam stands shirtless in front of the mirror.
He's grown.
Not just taller — shaped.
His shoulders are broader now, no longer awkward with growth.
Defined muscle lines his arms and chest, carved from years of standing under pressure and moving only when necessary.
His abdomen tightens as he inhales — defined, deliberate.
Not excessive strength.
Functional strength.
The kind built through repetition and restraint.
He turns slightly, examining the way his back tapers at the waist.
The faint marks from training have long since faded, replaced by smooth skin and balanced posture.
He doesn't pose.
He evaluates.
His hair has grown longer than it used to be — still choppy, still refusing perfect symmetry, but maintained.
It falls over his eyes in uneven strands that catch the lantern light.
He brushes it back absently.
Golden eyes meet golden eyes in the mirror.
They're sharper now.
Less curious.
More aware.
"I don't look like a child anymore."
The thought isn't proud.
It's observational.
He flexes his fingers once.
No tremor.
He rolls his shoulders back and feels the alignment settle naturally into place.
Xavier's lessons embedded in muscle memory.
Maria's teachings woven into instinct.
He stands straight because it feels wrong not to.
He steps closer to the mirror.
The scar over his right eye remains thin and pale.
He runs his thumb over it slowly.
Still there.
Still real.
"I used to feel like I was borrowing this body."
His gaze lowers to his chest.
He places his palm flat against his sternum.
His heartbeat is slow.
Steady.
Then—
There it is.
A sensation.
Not pain.
Not heat.
Not even pressure.
Depth.
Like something resting further back than bone.
He presses slightly harder.
The lantern flame flickers.
For the briefest moment—
His reflection doesn't quite match him.
Not delayed.
Not distorted.
Just… watching.
Sam's brow furrows.
His heartbeat stutters once.
And beneath his hand—
Something responds.
Not with movement.
With awareness.
A quiet, ancient stillness.
A thought that isn't his.
…Not yet.
The words aren't spoken.
They aren't heard.
They're known.
Sam's breath catches.
"What was—"
A knock interrupts him.
Soft. Familiar.
Sam drops his hand instantly.
The lantern steadies.
The reflection is normal again.
"Sam?" Maria's voice calls gently through the door. "Are you planning on staring yourself into another dimension tonight, or are you going to sleep?"
He exhales, grounding himself.
"I'm going to sleep," he replies.
There's a pause.
"Are you sure?" she asks playfully. "You've been in there awhile. I was starting to think you discovered some secret teenage ritual."
He snorts lightly.
"It's called existing."
"Dangerous hobby," she replies. "You should quit before it escalates."
He walks to the door and opens it slightly.
Maria stands in the hallway, white curls tied loosely back, wearing a simple yet captivating night gown.
She looks motherly in the way she always denies.
Her eyes scan him once — quick, subtle.
Noticing.
Always noticing.
"You finished your stretches?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Breathing exercises?"
"Yes."
"Did you attempt to overanalyze the universe again?"
He hesitates.
"…Maybe."
She smiles.
"That's my fault."
He leans against the doorframe.
"Do you ever get the feeling," he starts, then pauses, unsure how to phrase it.
Maria tilts her head slightly.
"Get the feeling that… something is waiting?"
Her expression changes — not dramatically.
But carefully.
"For you?" she asks.
"For… something."
She studies him.
Then steps forward and lightly taps his chest with two fingers — right over where his hand had been moments ago.
"Everything waits," she says softly. "That doesn't mean it's your responsibility to answer it yet."
He watches her carefully.
"Yet?" he repeats.
Maria smiles again, lighter this time.
"Go to bed, Sam."
He rolls his eyes faintly.
"Yes, Sis."
She reaches up and adjusts a strand of his uneven hair.
"You've grown," she murmurs.
"I noticed."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
She laughs quietly.
"Goodnight."
"…Goodnight."
She hesitates for half a second — then pulls him into a brief, firm hug.
It's not suffocating.
It's grounding.
"Sleep," she says against his shoulder.
She pulls away and closes the door gently behind her.
The hallway light dims.
The cottage settles again.
Sam stands still for a moment.
Then slowly looks back toward the mirror.
He walks to it.
Touches his chest again.
Nothing.
Just his heartbeat.
Normal.
But the air feels… aware.
He stares at his reflection one last time.
And this time—
It stares back like it knows something he doesn't.
Sam turns away.
Blows out the lantern.
Darkness takes the room.
Darkness settles naturally after the lantern goes out.
Not suffocating.
Just present.
Sam lies on his back, one arm resting behind his head, the other across his stomach.
The sheets are cool.
The air carries salt from the sea.
Somewhere beyond the cottage walls, waves break in a slow, endless rhythm.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The ocean answers.
The cottage shifts softly — wood expanding, beams adjusting.
A familiar nighttime symphony.
Sam stares up at the ceiling.
Even in the dark, he can see faint outlines — shadows drawn by moonlight slipping through the curtains.
His eyes adjust easily now.
He doesn't strain.
He listens.
The ocean.
The wind.
The quiet creak of distant boards.
His body is tired.
But his mind is not restless.
Not tonight.
He shifts slightly onto his side, facing the window.
The curtains sway.
Moonlight stretches across the floor like spilled silver.
He lets his thoughts drift — not chasing them, not organizing them.
Maria's words echo faintly.
Everything waits.
He exhales slowly.
"What are you waiting for?" he murmurs under his breath.
The ocean doesn't answer.
His eyelids grow heavier.
The rhythm of the waves syncs with his breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The ceiling softens.
The shadows blur.
The sound of the ocean stretches — not louder, not quieter.
Longer.
As if distance is losing shape.
Sam doesn't notice the moment it begins.
There is no drop.
No jolt.
Just—
The sensation of floating between breaths.
His body relaxes fully into the mattress.
His last waking thought is not fear.
It is curiosity.
And then—
He closes his eyes.
The ocean continues.
But it no longer feels outside.
It feels everywhere.
The sound becomes vast.
Not crashing waves.
Pressure.
Endless, surrounding, ancient.
Darkness remains.
But this darkness is not the same.
It has depth.
Texture.
Presence.
Sam is aware.
Not awake.
Not asleep.
Suspended.
His feet no longer feel the bed.
His back no longer feels the mattress.
There is no falling.
There is no standing.
There is only… existing.
For a long moment—
Nothing moves.
Nothing speaks.
Then—
A faint light appears in the distance.
Not bright.
Not calling.
Simply there.
It flickers like a star seen underwater.
Sam does not reach for it.
He does not walk toward it.
He simply observes.
And it grows.
Not closer.
Clearer.
The darkness begins to thin, not from above, but from within.
Shapes form slowly.
Tall.
Vertical.
Encased.
Rows.
Endless rows.
Glass.
The ocean sound fades into silence.
And Sam realizes—
He is standing.
Barefoot.
On cold, smooth stone.
Before him stretches a vast hall.
And within it—
Figures.
Motionless.
Suspended.
Sleeping.
The hall does not move.
The chambers remain suspended in endless rows.
The hall stretches endlessly.
Black liquid chambers hum faintly in vertical rows, disappearing into shadow above and beyond sight.
Sam turns slowly, taking it all in.
"This isn't the Void," he says.
The void, shaped like a woman, stands several paces behind him.
"No."
Sam faces the woman, putting up a guard.
He looks at the woman with a cautious eye.
"This is a place between permission and consequence." she adds.
He frowns.
"That didn't answer anything."
"It answered precisely what you asked."
Sam exhales slowly through his nose.
"Are you a threat?"
The woman stares at Sam for a moment before shaking her head, no.
Sam slowly lowers his guard.
He looks back at the nearest tube.
The body inside floats upright, suspended in absolute blackness.
"They're not dead," he says.
"No."
"They're not alive."
"Correct."
"Then what are they?"
The woman steps closer to one of the chambers.
She does not touch it.
"They are paused."
"Paused from what?"
She turns her head slightly toward him.
"Themselves."
Sam studies her more closely now.
She resembles Ender.
The height.
The long flowing hair.
The stillness.
But Ender carried warmth beneath her authority.
This woman feels colder.
Not cruel.
Just uninvested.
"Are you a god?" Sam asks.
"Yes."
The answer is immediate.
That unsettles him.
"A good or bad one?"
"You are early."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
Sam crosses his arms slightly.
"Am I one of them?" he asks, gesturing to the tubes.
"You are not contained."
"Yet?"
She doesn't answer.
The black liquid in several chambers ripples faintly.
Sam turns toward her again.
"I meant what I asked earlier, are you a threat or not?" he asks directly.
For the first time, something shifts in her expression.
Not offense.
Amusement.
"Only if you mistake guidance for opposition."
"That's not comforting."
"It is not meant to be."
Sam narrows his eyes slightly.
"Are you the one who brought me here?"
"No."
"Then who did?"
"You did."
He stiffens.
"I don't even know what this place is."
"Awakening does not require understanding," she replies.
He steps closer to one of the chambers.
Inside floats a figure with dark skin and silver markings along their arms.
They look peaceful.
Too peaceful.
"Why are there so many?" he asks quietly.
"Because restraint is rare."
The words settle heavy.
"What happens if they wake up?"
She looks down the endless row.
"Some reshape worlds."
"Some destroy them."
"Some learn too late."
Sam swallows.
"And if they never wake up?"
"They remain preserved."
"From what?"
She looks directly at him now.
"From becoming worse than what they were meant to protect."
That lands.
He studies her again.
"You look like someone I know."
"Forms repeat," she says. "Essence does not."
"Are you dead?"
"No."
"Are you alive?"
She tilts her head.
"Define it."
He sighs softly.
"Do you always answer like that?"
"When necessary."
"Is this necessary?"
"Yes."
Sam studies the chamber again.
He places his hand near the glass — not touching.
The black liquid shifts faintly in response.
He pulls back immediately.
"They react to me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you are not quiet."
"I am right now."
She steps closer.
"Inside," she corrects.
He feels it again.
That density in his chest.
"So I wasn't imagining it…," he says slowly. "What is it?"
She watches him carefully now.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On what you choose to call it."
"That's not helpful."
"It is the most honest answer you will receive."
He looks at her sharply.
"Do you know what it is?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
"No."
His frustration flares slightly.
"Why?"
"Because naming something before you understand its weight invites arrogance."
He falls silent.
The chamber hall hums softly.
"Do they know they're here?" he asks, nodding toward the suspended figures.
"Some do."
"And they accept it?"
"They answered incorrectly."
Sam looks back at her.
"What was the question?"
She studies him for a long moment.
"You are still asking about them."
He hesitates.
"…Shouldn't I?"
"No."
The liquid in a distant tube pulses faintly.
"You are here for yourself."
He exhales slowly.
"Okay, then ask me."
She steps forward.
The darkness bends slightly inward around her.
"You want clarity," she says.
"Yes."
"You want reassurance."
"Yes."
"You want to know whether you become protector or destroyer."
His jaw tightens.
"Yes."
She watches him.
"You will be both," she says calmly.
He doesn't flinch.
He absorbs it.
"That's not helpful either."
"It is inevitable."
He studies her eyes.
"Do you care what I become?"
She does not answer immediately.
The silence stretches longer than before.
"I care," she says finally, "that you are aware of the cost."
He breathes slowly.
"Why me?" he asks quietly.
She turns her gaze toward the nearest chamber.
"Because you are not asking how to win."
He waits.
"You are asking what it means."
The words settle differently.
He looks down at his hands.
Then back up.
"What happens next?" he asks.
She steps back slightly.
"Now," she says softly, "you are asked what all of them were asked."
The chamber hall stills completely.
Even the faint hum ceases.
And then she speaks the question.
When the world fractures beneath your hands…will you close your fists…or open them?
Her question echoes.
He exhales.
"I don't know," he admits quietly.
The black liquid in the nearest tube ripples faintly.
"That is honest," the woman replies.
Sam's jaw tightens.
"But if everything breaks," he continues, thinking aloud now, "then someone has to hold it together."
"And if holding it together suffocates it?" she asks gently.
He falters.
"And if breaking it saves it?" she continues.
His mind races — not with panic, but with weight.
"What if I don't want to rule anything?" he says. "What if I just want to protect the people I care about?"
The void figure tilts her head.
"Protection is a form of rule."
The chambers hum softly.
Sam's thoughts spiral.
Maria.
Xavier.
The cottage.
The ocean.
"I would choose them," he says finally. "Even if it cost something else."
The woman studies him.
"Cost is never singular," she says.
The darkness shifts.
Subtle at first.
The floor beneath his feet warms.
The air thickens.
The chambers blur at their edges.
Sam turns slightly—
And the hall dissolves.
Not shattered.
Rewritten.
Now, he is standing outside the cottage.
Daylight.
Bright.
Warm.
The ocean is louder now — alive, vivid.
Grass bends in the wind.
The sky is blue.
Too blue.
Sam's breath catches.
"What—"
He turns slowly.
The void-shaped woman stands a few steps behind him.
Unchanged.
Out of place in the sunlight.
"This is not real," Sam says.
"No," she agrees.
The cottage door swings open violently.
Flames burst outward.
Bright.
Hungry.
Impossible.
Sam's body locks.
Heat washes over him.
Smoke pours into the sky.
"Maria!" he shouts instinctively.
And then he hears it.
Her scream.
Raw.
Pained.
Not distant.
Inside.
Sam's muscles tense immediately.
Every lesson Xavier taught him compresses into one instinct:
Move.
Break the door.
Force entry.
Do something.
The woman speaks calmly.
"When it burns," she says, gesturing toward the cottage, "do you break what stands in your way… or let it fall?"
Sam doesn't answer.
He steps forward—
The heat intensifies.
Maria screams again.
It isn't theatrical.
It isn't exaggerated.
It is real enough to hurt.
His jaw tightens.
His breath shortens.
His fists close.
The ground cracks faintly beneath his foot.
The void woman steps closer.
"Simple," she says softly.
She points at the cottage.
"If saving her destroys everything else… will you still choose her?"
The flames roar louder.
Wood collapses.
"Answer," she says.
Sam's heartbeat pounds in his ears.
Maria's scream cuts through him again.
He moves—
The woman's voice stops him mid-step.
"Will you close your fists," she asks, "and tear the world apart to reach her?"
The fire surges higher.
"Or will you open them," she continues, "and accept that saving one may cost many?"
The heat presses against his skin.
Smoke stings his eyes.
He sees a shadow move inside the burning doorway.
Maria's silhouette.
Falling.
His body screams at him to act.
To strike.
To break.
To choose her.
The void woman's voice sharpens for the first time.
"And if she is the fracture?"
The words land like ice.
Sam freezes.
The fire continues to consume.
"If her survival births war…"
"If her rescue ignites the world…"
The woman steps directly into his peripheral vision.
"Will you still burn everything to keep her?"
Maria screams again.
This time weaker.
Sam's fists tremble.
His breath becomes ragged.
The ground beneath him fractures slightly again—
Not from power.
From intention.
He takes a step forward—
And stops himself.
He closes his eyes.
Forces one breath.
Then another.
He remembers.
Is this something I need to stop… or something I need to endure?
The flames feel real.
The pain feels real.
But something is wrong.
Too immediate.
Too absolute.
He opens his eyes slowly.
The fire flickers strangely.
Like it's waiting for him to decide.
He turns to the void woman.
The flames roar higher.
Maria's scream tears through the air again — sharp, breaking.
Sam's body moves before his mind can catch it.
His fists close again.
Tighter.
The ground beneath his feet fractures violently.
"I choose her!" he shouts.
The words tear from his chest — raw, unfiltered.
"I don't care what it costs!"
The void-shaped woman does not move.
Her eyes darken.
The cottage explodes outward in a shockwave of fire — not from the building.
From him.
The flames freeze mid-motion.
The world stops.
And then—
Everything bends toward Sam.
The sunlight collapses into darkness.
The fire drains into black.
The ground disappears.
He is no longer outside the cottage.
He is back in the chamber hall.
But the hall is wrong now.
The tubes are shaking.
The black liquid churns violently.
Every chamber ripples at once.
The feminine figure's voice echoes, no longer soft.
"So be it."
The nearest tube shatters.
Not outward.
Inward.
The black liquid surges toward Sam.
It does not spill.
It rushes like gravity has reversed.
The liquid strikes his chest.
And enters him.
Reality fractures.
Sam gasps.
Not in the dream.
In his bed.
His back arches violently.
His eyes snap open — glowing gold.
The cottage trembles.
A sound escapes him — not a scream.
A rupture.
Every muscle in his body locks at once.
His fingers curl inward, nails digging into his palms.
His jaw clenches so hard his teeth crack slightly.
His spine bends unnaturally as if something is trying to pull him apart from the inside.
The air in the room compresses.
The lantern reignites on its own.
Then shatters.
Maria is already moving down the hallway.
She felt it before the first tremor.
Sam's body convulses.
Not shaking.
Seizing.
Veins blacken beneath his skin for a split second — like ink trying to surface.
His heartbeat spikes beyond rhythm.
The sound of it is wrong.
Too deep.
Too layered.
Something is beating with him.
And against him.
His mouth opens in a silent scream as his chest caves inward and then expands violently.
A shockwave bursts outward from his body.
The windows crack.
The walls groan.
Maria throws the door open.
"Sam!"
His body lifts off the bed.
Not floating.
Pulled.
Invisible force wraps around him like tightening wire.
His limbs contort unnaturally.
Every muscle contracts at once.
His spine arches again.
His eyes flash gold — then black — then gold again.
The room warps.
Shadows stretch upward unnaturally along the walls.
Maria rushes forward and grabs him —
And nearly recoils from the heat and pressure radiating off his skin.
"Xavier!" she screams.
The floor beneath the bed fractures.
Not from impact.
From density.
Sam's body slams back onto the mattress.
He convulses violently again.
Blood trickles from his nose.
His heartbeat is no longer singular.
It sounds like two rhythms colliding.
Inside him—
The black liquid churns.
Uncontained.
Unfiltered.
Too much.
Too fast.
The void woman's voice echoes faintly in his mind.
"Containment exists for a reason."
His body locks completely.
Then—
He flatlines.
Silence.
One long second.
Two.
Maria's hands shake as she grips his face.
"Sam. Sam. Look at me."
A pulse.
Violent.
His chest explodes outward with a gasp as he inhales sharply.
And the pressure stabilizes just enough not to kill him.
But not enough to stop it.
He continues seizing — smaller now.
Suffering.
Burning.
Overloaded.
Xavier appears in the doorway.
He doesn't ask what happened.
He feels it.
His eyes widen for the first time in years.
He looks at Sam then at the yellow lightning surging from his body.
"This lightning…" he murmurs.
Xavier returns his attention to Sam.
He doesn't shout.
He doesn't panic.
He drops to one knee beside Sam, one firm hand bracing his shoulder, the other hovering—ready, but careful.
"Breathe," Xavier says, low and commanding. "Don't fight it. Let it pass through."
Sam tries.
His body refuses.
The power inside him surges again, untrained and wild, and this time the contraction knocks a strangled sound out of his throat.
His back arches, fingers trembling violently as if each nerve is being tuned too tight.
Maria gathers him against her chest without hesitation.
She sits on the floor with him, arms wrapped around his shaking frame, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other pressed flat over his sternum.
"I've got you," she whispers, over and over. "You're safe. I'm here. You're not alone."
Sam clings to her like a lifeline.
The episode doesn't last long—seconds, maybe—but when it releases him, it leaves something behind.
A deep, bone-aching exhaustion.
A soreness that feels earned, like his body paid a price it didn't know existed.
The lightning does not disappear when Sam collapses.
It thins.
It retreats into him like something embarrassed.
But it does not go away.
Maria helps him into bed.
Carefully.
Every movement hurts.
Not surface pain — deep pain.
The kind that feels like muscle fibers are still vibrating after being torn.
Sam closes his eyes.
For a few minutes, it seems over.
Then it begins again.
Not as violently.
But sharp.
A contraction runs through his abdomen and chest at once.
His back arches instinctively.
His breath catches.
Maria is already there.
Her hand on his sternum.
Not pressing.
Grounding.
"Breathe," she says softly.
He does.
The lightning pulses faintly under his skin — visible for a moment along his collarbone like veins of pale light.
Then it fades.
He trembles.
Maria doesn't leave.
The second day is worse.
The contractions don't wait for sleep.
They strike during breakfast.
During walking.
Mid-sentence.
His body folds inward without warning.
His ribs ache constantly.
His muscles feel like they're bracing for something that keeps arriving half-formed.
Xavier watches closely.
But he does not restrain.
He understands something important:
This isn't excess power.
This is unresolved intent ricocheting inside him.
Every time Sam thinks about the dream —
It spikes.
Every time he remembers reaching too soon —
His chest tightens.
Maria notices before Xavier does.
"This isn't just physical," she says quietly.
Sam nods through clenched teeth.
"I know."
He's afraid to act now.
That fear feeds the instability.
The worst one happens just after midnight.
Sam wakes choking.
His entire torso locks at once — a full-body contraction so violent the bedframe cracks again.
Lightning bursts outward in a jagged halo — not striking walls, just scraping across them.
Maria is there instantly.
She doesn't panic.
She wraps her arms around him from behind, anchoring him to her body — not restraining, not fighting the current — absorbing the motion.
The lightning brushes across her shoulder.
It stings.
She does not pull away.
"Let it pass," she whispers into his hair.
"Don't try to fix it."
Another contraction hits.
He gasps.
"I thought— I thought I had to—"
"I know," she says.
"I didn't want—"
"I know."
Her voice never rises.
The surge crests.
Then breaks.
He collapses forward, shaking.
Maria stays.
Even after he falls asleep from exhaustion.
Days pass.
The contractions don't stop.
They lessen in violence but increase in frequency.
Small spasms ripple across his shoulders when he's still.
Lightning flickers faintly at his fingertips when he hesitates too long before speaking.
His body is trying to answer questions he hasn't finished asking.
Xavier grows quieter.
He studies Sam not like a soldier — but like a problem without a blade.
There is no enemy to strike.
No technique to correct.
Only misalignment.
Maria tries everything she knows.
Cooling compresses of lotus-infused water.
Gentle plant-energy to stabilize his pulse.
Soft humming at night to slow his breathing before contractions hit.
None of it fixes it.
It only reduces the severity.
And every time lightning flickers near her skin —
She feels it differently now.
It isn't attacking.
It's searching.
Looking for direction.
On the sixth night, Sam doesn't contract.
He doesn't surge.
He simply lies there awake.
Rigid.
Afraid to sleep.
Afraid to dream again.
Maria sits beside him.
"You can't punish yourself into clarity," she says quietly.
He stares at the ceiling.
"I was wrong," he whispers.
"Yes."
No softness.
No dismissal.
Just truth.
"But being wrong is not the same as being reckless," she continues.
He turns his head slightly toward her.
"I acted without asking," he says.
"And now you're afraid to act at all," she replies.
Silence.
That lands.
The contractions over the next two days shift.
They don't spike when he remembers the dream.
They spike when he suppresses thought entirely.
Xavier sees it too.
"Unanswered will doesn't disappear," Xavier says one evening. "It stagnates."
Sam closes his eyes.
He understands now.
The power isn't punishing him.
It's unresolved.
On the tenth night, the worst contraction yet hits.
No lightning burst.
No external damage.
Just inward collapse.
His chest locks so tightly he can't inhale.
Maria presses her forehead against his back.
"Let it move," she says through clenched teeth.
He does.
Instead of fighting the contraction, he lets the wave travel through him.
The pain doesn't lessen.
But it stops exploding outward.
For the first time—
The lightning does not lash.
It traces.
A thin line along his spine.
Contained.
Fleeting.
Gone.
He collapses into Maria's arms.
Exhausted.
Alive.
Xavier watches from the doorway.
That is when he finally understands.
The solution is not to suppress the lightning.
It is to give it structure.
Not now.
Not in panic.
But soon.
The black cat watches the nights pass.
She does not interfere.
She does not comment.
Until the tenth night.
When the lightning finally travels inward instead of outward.
Her tail flicks once.
"…Ah."
A book on unstable awakenings closes itself.
"He is learning the cost of urgency," she murmurs.
"Good."
She curls into stillness.
"Better pain now than certainty later."
It's the twelfth night.
The contractions have lessened in violence but not in frequency.
Sam hasn't slept properly in days.
His ribs are wrapped.
His breathing is shallow out of habit, not injury.
Maria finally convinces him to rest alone.
"I'm right outside," she promises.
He nods.
He lies down.
The room is dark.
He doesn't dream.
But he doesn't sleep either.
A soft shift in the air pulls his attention.
Not lightning.
Not pain.
Presence.
He sits up slowly.
She's sitting in the chair near the window.
Ender.
Not cloaked in spectacle.
No cosmic shimmer.
Just quiet, dark fabric and eyes that reflect too much starlight for the room to contain.
"Ender…" Sam says hoarsely.
"My chosen," she replies.
Her voice doesn't echo. It settles.
He doesn't ask how she entered.
He doesn't ask why she's here.
He already knows.
She felt it.
The misfire.
The instability.
The almost.
"Are you here because I failed?" he asks.
Ender studies him.
"No," she says.
"Then why?"
Silence lingers between them.
Sam's hands tremble faintly.
Not from contraction.
From exhaustion.
"Why me?" he asks.
It comes out smaller than he expects.
He looks at her fully now — not as a cosmic figure, not as an omen — but as someone who might answer honestly.
"Why do I have to hold something like this?" he continues. "I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I was just trying to—"
His voice breaks.
"—trying to help."
The room stays very still.
Ender stands.
She doesn't float.
She doesn't glide.
She walks to him.
She kneels in front of the bed so their eyes are level.
"You think you were chosen," she says gently.
He doesn't respond.
"You weren't," she continues.
That makes him look up sharply.
"You are not holding this power because fate marked you."
Her hand lifts slowly — not touching yet.
"You are holding it because you would have reached even if it cost you."
He swallows.
"That's not an answer."
"It is," she says softly.
She places her hand against his chest — directly over where the contractions start.
The touch is warm.
Real.
"You ask why you," she says. "But the question is wrong."
He shakes his head weakly.
"Then what's the right one?"
"Why not someone who would hesitate?" she replies.
He doesn't understand.
She moves closer.
Close enough that her knees touch the mattress.
"You reached too soon," she says. "That is true."
His jaw tightens.
"But you reached for someone else," she finishes.
The words hit harder than the contractions ever did.
His shoulders shake once.
He looks away.
"The cottage was burning down.."
"Yes."
"She was dying in the flames."
"Yes."
He looks back at her, eyes wet now — not dramatic tears.
Just exhaustion cracking open.
"I don't want to be this," he whispers.
Ender studies him for a long moment.
Then she does something unexpected.
She climbs onto the bed.
Not gracefully.
Not mystically.
Carefully.
She sits beside him and pulls him into her.
Not possessively.
Not urgently.
Just holds him.
His forehead presses against her shoulder.
His breath stutters once — then steadies.
The lightning under his skin flickers faintly — then quiets.
She doesn't flinch.
"You are not the storm," she murmurs into his hair.
"You are learning where it stops."
His hands clutch lightly at the fabric of her clothes.
"I don't know how to carry it," he says.
"You're not meant to carry it alone," she replies.
She shifts slightly, guiding him so he's lying down again.
She lies beside him, one arm wrapped around his ribs carefully, the other resting against his sternum.
Her body is warm.
Grounded.
Present.
The next contraction begins.
Small.
Tightening at the base of his spine.
He inhales sharply.
"I know," she whispers before he says anything.
"Let it move."
He does.
The wave travels upward.
It doesn't explode.
It doesn't arc.
It passes.
His breath steadies.
She stays.
Not speaking.
Not explaining.
Just close.
After a while, he speaks again — voice barely audible.
"Will it stop?"
"No," she says honestly.
His chest tightens at that.
"But it will change," she continues.
"Into what?"
She rests her chin lightly against his shoulder.
"Into something that waits for you."
Silence.
His breathing evens out slowly.
"Ender," he murmurs, half-asleep now.
"Yes?"
"If I reach too soon again…"
Her arm tightens slightly around him.
"Then you'll learn again."
There is no prophecy in her voice.
No grandeur.
Just certainty of presence.
Outside the room, Maria stands quietly in the hall.
She felt the shift.
She doesn't interrupt.
Sam finally falls asleep.
No dream.
No burning cottage.
Just warmth.
And the first night in twelve where his body does not seize.
Not because the power is fixed.
But because he is no longer trying to outrun it.
Dawn comes thin and gray.
The cottage is quiet in a way that feels earned.
No lightning scars the walls tonight.
No tremor runs through the floorboards.
Sam is asleep—truly asleep—for the first time in days.
Maria stands at the kitchen window, watching the horizon soften.
She hears the shift before she sees it.
Xavier is already dressed for travel.
No armor.
No crest.
Just dark, practical clothing and the long coat he only wears when he intends not to return quickly.
"You're leaving," Maria says without turning.
"Yes."
No elaboration.
She faces him fully.
"You know where?"
"I know a name," he replies.
She waits.
"Mamiko."
Maria's brow tightens slightly.
"You've never mentioned her."
"I've never met her."
"Where is She?" she asks.
"In Underworld."
"That's not a place you visit lightly."
"No."
Silence settles, fragile and steady.
"There's something else," Maria says quietly. "Someone visited him last night."
Xavier stills.
"While he was seizing?"
"No."
"During a contraction?"
"No."
She shakes her head.
"It felt wrong to interrupt. Not dangerous. Just… intimate."
"Divine?" he asks.
"No."
A brief moment of silence.
"Void?"
"No."
That unsettles him more than hostility would have.
"Did he sleep after?" Xavier asks.
"Yes."
"Without contraction?"
She nods.
That matters.
"We'll ask him when he's stable," Xavier says. "Not before."
Maria studies the way he tightens the strap at his shoulder.
"You're still leaving," she says.
"Yes."
"For heresay?"
Xavier meets her gaze.
"Yes."
Maria folds her arms.
"You said Mamiko. Who is she?"
"Heresay," Xavier answers plainly. "A theran prodigy. That's all I know."
"That's not enough."
"It will have to be."
She studies him carefully.
"A prodigy in what?"
"Black sunstone shaping," he says.
That makes her still.
"Black sunstone?" she repeats.
"Yes."
Her voice lowers.
"That's Spartan metal."
"Yes."
"It's not traded."
"I know."
"It's not shared."
"I know."
"It's not forged for anyone outside Spartan lineage."
"Yes."
Silence presses in.
"You would break that?" she asks.
"Yes."
Her eyes search his face.
"Why black sunstone?"
Xavier steps closer to the table, resting his hand against the wood as he thinks through how to explain it simply.
"Lightning is impulse," he says. "It moves before thought finishes."
Maria nods faintly.
"Most metals conduct whatever enters them. Power, rage, instability. They don't discriminate."
"And black sunstone?" she asks.
"It discriminates," Xavier says.
She waits.
"It was mined under collapse," he continues. "Forged under compression. It fractures if the force inside it is chaotic."
Her brow furrows.
"So it breaks."
"It breaks the surge," he corrects. "Not the wielder."
Maria absorbs that slowly.
"Black sunstone doesn't amplify power," he says. "It narrows it. Forces it into a single path. Anything unstable disperses."
"And you think that will stop the contractions."
"I think it will give the lightning somewhere to go," Xavier replies.
Silence.
"And this Mamiko," Maria says carefully. "You've never met her."
"No."
"You don't know her allegiance."
"No."
"You don't know her temperament."
"No."
"All you know is rumor."
"Yes."
Maria shakes her head slightly.
"That she lives in an airship workshop in the Underworld," Xavier continues. "That she rebuilt three broken cores no one else could stabilize. That she is one of the few that knows how to craft with sacred metals."
"Rumors," Maria says.
"Yes."
"And you're trusting that."
"I'm trusting that anyone who survives the Underworld long enough to earn that reputation understands pressure."
Maria steps closer.
"You're breaking Spartan tradition for a rumor."
"Yes."
She studies him carefully.
"Black sunstone is earned," she says. "It's forged for discipline. For oath. For lineage."
"It's forged for restraint," Xavier corrects gently.
"And he is not a Spartan, not even a knight."
"No."
"Then why give him such sacred metal?"
Xavier doesn't hesitate.
"Because he holds himself to Spartan discipline without the infrastructure to survive it."
Silence.
"He's tearing himself apart trying to act correctly," Xavier continues. "Black sunstone will refuse him when he's wrong."
"And that won't break him?" she asks.
"It will break the surge before it reaches bone."
Maria looks toward Sam's hallway.
"You're rewriting something ancient."
"Yes."
"Why?"
For the first time, Xavier's composure softens—not as a warrior, but as an uncle.
"Because I love him," he says simply.
The words are unadorned.
Human.
"I will not watch him suffer through lessons metal can teach faster," he continues. "If tradition demands he earn protection through pain, then tradition can bend."
Maria's eyes soften.
"You're risking Spartan censure."
"Yes."
"You're risking the metal rejecting him."
"It won't."
"How can you be sure?"
"Black sunstone recognizes restraint," Xavier says quietly. "And he has more of it than most Spartans I've known."
Silence.
"I'll keep him safe," Maria says.
"Don't shield him from the contractions," Xavier replies. "They're teaching him."
"I won't."
"And don't let him fear them."
"I won't."
He moves toward the door.
Maria stops him with one final question.
"When he wakes… what do I tell him?"
Xavier pauses at the threshold.
"Tell him I'm going to find something strong enough to argue with his lightning."
He opens the door.
Cold dawn air spills into the cottage.
"And Maria."
"Yes?"
"When he's better… we'll ask him who came."
She nods.
"Yes."
Xavier steps into the morning.
The door closes softly behind him.
Maria stands alone for a moment, listening to Sam's steady breathing down the hall.
In the library, the black cat opens one eye.
"…Black sunstone," she murmurs.
Her tail flicks once.
"A Spartan who chooses blood over law."
She curls back into stillness.
Maria walks to Sam's room and sits beside his bed.
Waiting.
Not to stop the next contraction.
But to endure it with him until structure arrives.
In the middle of a darkened alleyway, shy from eyes, a portal did not open gently.
It split the air like a sheet of glass cracking from the inside.
A narrow seam of pale light stretched vertically between two towering metal structures before peeling outward.
Wind rushed through the opening as if two worlds were suddenly trying to breathe through the same lungs.
Xavier stepped out first.
His boots landed on cold steel.
The portal sealed behind him with a faint collapsing hiss.
For a moment, he didn't move.
The air here was different.
Not the salt-heavy wind of the ocean that wrapped around the cottage.
Not the quiet breathing of forests or waves.
This air carried the scent of burnt metal, oil, and heated machinery.
Above him, a crowded sky blocked by a rocky ceiling.
Massive airships drifted between iron docking towers like slow migrating beasts.
Chains groaned under the weight of suspended hulls while engines thrummed with a constant mechanical pulse.
Blue exhaust flickered from vents beneath their bellies as crews moved across scaffolding bridges that hung between towers.
Steam burst from a pipe somewhere behind him.
The sound echoed through the district like a dragon exhaling.
Xavier's eyes moved slowly across the horizon.
Buildings here did not resemble houses.
They looked assembled rather than built.
Metal beams crossed each other like exposed bones.
Ladders clung to the sides of towers.
Pipes ran along walls and disappeared into vents that constantly released plumes of steam into the night air.
Lanterns hung from cables overhead, casting an amber glow that mixed with the cold blue light of welding sparks deeper in the district.
Somewhere far below, a hammer struck metal.
CLANG.
A pause.
CLANG.
The rhythm carried through the air like the heartbeat of the city.
Workers moved through the district in scattered groups.
Mechanics with soot-stained gloves carried engine components larger than their torsos.
Engineers in leather coats leaned over work tables illuminated by portable lamps.
Sparks rained from a welding torch high above, briefly lighting the steel ribs of a half-constructed airship.
None of them paid Xavier much attention.
Travelers were not uncommon here.
But there was still something about him that made a few glances linger a moment longer.
The sword around his waist.
The stillness in his posture.
The way the noise of the district seemed to move around him rather than through him.
A small mechanical drone buzzed overhead, its brass wings fluttering unevenly before disappearing between two towers.
Xavier stepped forward.
The metal walkway beneath his boots rattled faintly with each step.
He paused beside a railing and looked down.
Far below, the district continued in layers.
Platforms stacked upon platforms.
Ship hulls hung in repair frames like massive skeletal remains.
Cargo cranes lifted crates filled with unknown metals while long chains dragged across the ground with a slow grinding scrape.
Everywhere he looked, machines were being built.
Repaired.
Disassembled.
Improved.
This place did not sleep.
It worked.
Xavier exhaled quietly.
For a brief moment, the faint scent of the ocean still clung to his coat.
It did not belong here.
He adjusted the strap of his sword and continued deeper into the district.
As he moved, the sounds shifted.
Less industry.
More precision.
Smaller tools.
Faster hands.
Somewhere ahead, a burst of sparks shot upward like a brief artificial firework.
A voice shouted.
Metal clattered across the floor.
Then—
Above a shop door, the bell doesn't ring.
It stops spinning.
Inside, the room stretched wider than expected—half workshop, half living space.
Machines hummed softly along the walls while worktables overflowed with tools and scattered parts.
But the first thing Xavier noticed wasn't the machines.
It was the young woman standing between him and the interior of the shop.
She hadn't moved when he arrived.
She was watching him.
Not aggressively.
Just… carefully.
She stood near the center of the room with a relaxed posture, arms folded loosely across her chest as if she had been expecting someone eventually, even if she didn't know who.
Her gaze studied him the way a guard might examine a stranger entering a gate.
Then her eyes dropped briefly to his hip.
To the sword hanging at his waist.
That was the moment Xavier noticed the tail.
It swayed behind her slowly, almost lazily.
Thick.
Fluffy.
The same deep orange-red as the hair framing her face.
Xavier's eyes shifted upward.
Two triangular ears poked through her dense curls, twitching faintly as she continued observing him.
Not human.
Not entirely.
Theran.
Fox-blooded.
Vulpiran.
Therans were easy to recognize once you knew what to look for.
Their bodies carried pieces of the creatures they descended from—tails, ears, sometimes eyes that reflected light differently than a human's.
The traits varied depending on lineage.
But the fox-blooded ones were unmistakable.
Sharp instincts.
Quiet eyes.
And tails that never fully stopped moving.
This one was half human.
Xavier could tell by the balance of her features.
Her face carried mostly human structure, but the ears and tail betrayed the other half of her bloodline easily.
She didn't look surprised to see him.
Just curious.
The tail behind her flicked once.
Then settled again.
"…You're not a mechanic," she said.
Her voice was calm.
Measured.
Xavier didn't answer.
She tilted her head slightly.
Still studying him.
Then, after another moment, her gaze returned briefly to the sword.
"Traveler," she corrected.
The faintest smile touched her lips.
"Or trouble."
Before Xavier could respond—
A loud crash echoed deeper inside the workshop.
Metal clattered across the floor.
A second voice shouted:
"MOMO!"
A smaller voice shouted back from somewhere under a table.
"IT WAS ALREADY BROKEN!"
Mariko didn't even turn around.
She simply closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled.
The tail behind her flicked again.
"…Ignore that," she said calmly.
Then she stepped aside and gestured toward the interior of the workshop.
"You must be here to see Mamiko, right?"
Another crash echoed from inside.
Mariko sighed.
"…She's the one not destroying the workshop."
Mariko stepped aside and Xavier entered the workshop.
The interior was larger than the outside suggested. Metal worktables filled the space, each one covered in different machines at various stages of construction. Blueprints overlapped across the walls in layered sheets of paper, pinned wherever space could be found.
Some machines were running.
Others were half open.
None of them looked simple.
Xavier took two steps inside before he heard the voice again.
From beneath a nearby worktable.
"I swear I didn't even touch that wire!"
Metal clattered loudly against the floor.
Two small legs kicked out from under the table as someone struggled inside the mess of tools and cables.
A girl's voice shouted upward from underneath it.
"MARIKO! The capacitor exploded again!"
Mariko sighed quietly behind Xavier.
"It exploded because you put it in backwards, Momo."
A muffled pause.
"…That seems like bad design."
Xavier's eyes shifted.
Under the table, a smaller girl was lying completely upside down, half buried in wires and metal components. Her legs stuck out from beneath the workbench while her arms disappeared somewhere inside the open machine she was trying to repair.
She kicked her feet once in frustration.
A wrench fell from the table and hit the floor beside her.
The girl ignored it.
"Mamiko said this one was stable!" she complained.
From somewhere across the workshop, a calm voice answered.
"I said it was stable before you opened it."
Xavier turned.
And finally saw Mamiko.
She sat in a worn rolly chair, leaned back just enough that the front wheels hovered slightly off the ground. One boot rested against the side of a workbench to keep herself balanced.
A lollipop stick tilted lazily between her lips.
She didn't appear concerned about the small explosion that had just occurred three feet away.
In fact, she looked like she had expected it.
Her eyes were fixed on the machine in Momo's hands.
Watching.
Calculating.
Without getting up, Mamiko reached behind her and grabbed a small screwdriver from the workbench beside her.
She flicked it through the air.
The tool landed perfectly beside Momo's head.
"Left side panel," Mamiko said calmly.
"Third connector down."
There was a pause.
Then Momo's voice from under the table:
"…Oh."
A quiet click followed.
The machine powered back on with a steady mechanical hum.
Momo slid out from beneath the table triumphantly, holding the repaired device above her head.
"I fixed it!"
Mamiko didn't react.
She simply nudged the floor with her heel and allowed the chair to roll slightly to the side.
"You corrected the mistake you made," she replied flatly.
"That isn't the same thing."
Momo stuck her tongue out at her.
Then finally noticed Xavier standing there.
She froze.
"…Oh."
Her eyes widened.
"Whoa."
Momo scrambled to her feet and ran over, stopping just short of him as she stared up at the sword at his waist.
Mariko pinched the bridge of her nose behind them.
"Momo."
"I'm just looking!"
The younger girl leaned slightly left.
Then right.
"…That sword looks expensive."
Mamiko finally shifted her gaze away from the machine and looked at Xavier for the first time.
Her eyes moved once over him.
Head to toe.
Posture.
Weight.
Sword.
The lollipop rotated to the other side of her mouth.
"…You're blocking the airflow."
She nudged the floor again, rolling the chair a few inches to the side.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
Her eyes drop immediately to his blade.
Not the steel.
The holster.
It's subtle — most people wouldn't notice.
The casing along the sheath is slightly thicker near the spine.
Vent slits barely visible.
A reinforced heat-lock seam near the guard.
The lollipop lowers from her mouth.
"…That's not standard."
He says nothing.
"Black sunstone blade," she says quietly.
Not a question.
Her eyes trace the holster mechanism again.
"Special containment sheath. Temperature-regulated core. Keeps the edge primed."
Mamiko looks back at Xavier.
"You must be a spartan."
Not a question.
Just recognition.
Mamiko leaned forward in her chair and reached for a small metal device sitting on the workbench beside her.
It looked like a cluster of tuning forks connected to a thin glass tube filled with dark liquid.
The liquid was still vibrating slightly.
She tapped the device with the end of the lollipop stick.
"See this?"
Momo leaned over immediately.
"I broke that earlier."
"You tried," Mamiko corrected.
She nudged the instrument again.
The liquid rippled faintly.
"Something produced a pressure wave this morning," she said.
Mariko glanced at the device.
"How far?"
Mamiko shrugged.
"Far enough that the first sensor cracked."
She gestured toward a small pile of broken metal rings sitting in a tray.
"Second one survived."
Xavier's eyes moved across the instruments in the room.
They weren't random machines.
They were sensors.
Delicate.
Precise.
Homemade.
Mamiko leaned back again, chair tilting.
"Whatever caused it was unstable," she continued.
"Energy spikes like that don't happen naturally."
She pointed vaguely at Xavier.
"So when a guy with a sword and portal residue on his coat shows up…"
The lollipop shifted.
"…the math checks out."
Momo blinked.
"…Wait."
She looked at Xavier again.
"Portal residue?"
Mamiko pointed lazily at the floor near his boots.
"Metal dust is clinging to the fabric fibers."
Xavier glanced down.
Mamiko shrugged.
"Dimensional tears distort magnetic fields."
"Machines notice."
She nodded toward the sensor again.
"I build machines."
The bundle lands on Mamiko's desk with a dull clack.
Wood creaks beneath the weight.
Xavier unwraps the cloth slowly.
Inside rests a jagged shard of black sunstone.
Raw.
Unforged.
The metal absorbs the lamplight instead of reflecting it. Shadows cling to its surface like they belong there.
The workshop grows quieter.
Mariko notices first.
Her fox ears twitch slightly beneath the thick curls of her orange-red hair.
Her eyes lower to Xavier's waist.
To the sword at his hip.
Then to the metal.
"…That isn't something travelers carry."
Momo slides halfway out from beneath the table she was working under, hanging upside down with a wrench still in her hand.
"…Wait."
Her eyes widen.
"…Is that—"
Mamiko hasn't moved.
She's staring at the metal.
Not surprised.
Studying.
Finally she speaks.
Mamiko rolls her chair closer to the metal again.
She doesn't touch it this time.
She studies it like a mechanic looking at an engine.
"…Black sunstone."
Her voice is quiet, but the certainty in it fills the workshop.
Momo squints at the shard.
"It just looks like a weird rock."
Mamiko shakes her head slightly.
"It's not a rock."
She gestures toward the metal.
"It's the reason the Black Sun Syndicate exists."
Mariko's ears tilt slightly.
Mamiko continues calmly.
"The stones were discovered deep in the mountains inside Syndicate territory."
Her finger hovers just above the shard.
"The Blacktongue family found them first."
She taps the table beside it.
"And then hid the discovery."
Momo blinks.
"…Why?"
Mamiko glances at her.
"Because if your enemies discover the strongest material in the world…"
"…they stop being your enemies."
"…and start being your executioners."
Momo slowly nods.
"…Fair."
Mamiko gestures again to the metal.
"These stones power everything the Syndicate builds."
Her finger moves across the surface of the workbench.
"Armor."
"Weapons."
"Artifacts."
"Even their castles."
She lightly taps the shard again.
The metal hums faintly.
"They mine the mountains for it."
"But raw black sunstone is incredibly dense."
She flips a small wrench in her hand and lightly taps the shard.
The sound it makes is deep.
Heavy.
"But when it's chipped, melted, and forged…"
She lifts the wrench.
"…it becomes lighter."
Her chair rolls slightly closer.
"Much lighter."
She glances at Xavier.
"That's why knights and Spartans can move the way they do in their armor."
Mariko nods slowly.
"Looks heavy."
"Feels like nothing."
Mamiko nods.
"Exactly."
She gestures toward the shard again.
"The material loses weight during forging…"
"…but it keeps its durability."
Her eyes narrow slightly.
"Which is why Syndicate walls are nearly impossible to destroy."
Momo whistles.
"…So basically this stuff is ridiculous."
Mamiko shrugs.
"More or less."
Then she pauses.
And adds one more thing.
"…But it isn't indestructible."
Mariko crosses her arms.
"The Purified."
Mamiko nods.
"Yes."
She taps the metal again.
"With enough force…"
"…or the right weapon…"
"…black sunstone can shatter."
Her eyes flick briefly toward Xavier.
"The Purified specialize in that."
Momo grimaces.
"…Of course they do."
Mamiko looks back at the shard again.
"And that's why Spartans use it."
She leans back slightly.
"Most materials fail under powered stress."
"But black sunstone doesn't."
Her eyes move back to Xavier.
"…Which means the weapon you want built…"
"…is going to experience a lot of it."
Silence hangs in the room.
Xavier watches her for a moment.
Then a faint smirk touches the corner of his mouth.
"Well."
He gestures lightly toward the metal.
"You certainly know your way around dangerous rocks."
Momo snorts.
Mamiko blinks once.
Then shrugs.
"…Rocks are honest."
Everyone looks at her.
She gestures toward the workbench cluttered with tools and half-finished mechanisms.
"They don't lie about what they are."
Her fingers lightly tap the shard again.
"They either break…"
"…or they don't."
She leans back in her chair.
"…People are much harder to work with."
Momo points at Xavier.
"See? She already likes the rock more than you."
Mamiko glances at the metal again and says quietly:
"…The rock hasn't asked me to build it a weapon yet."
Mariko exhales through her nose, clearly amused.
Xavier's smirk deepens just slightly.
Momo drops the wrench.
"WAIT WHAT IF THIS IS ALL TRUE—"
Mariko grabs her ankle and drags her fully out from under the table before she can start shouting.
"Inside voice."
But Mariko's tail has gone stiff behind her.
She crosses her arms and returns to swaying slowly behind her.
"…Only Spartans carry black sunstone."
Her gaze sharpens.
"You know that."
Momo's head whips toward Xavier.
"WAIT—"
Mariko's voice lowers.
"…Who are you?"
Xavier exhales quietly.
Then steps forward.
"My name is Xavier."
His hand rests lightly against the hilt of his sword.
"I serve the Black Sun Syndicate."
Mariko's eyes narrow.
That name is known.
Feared.
Xavier continues.
"I am also a Spartan."
Silence fills the workshop.
Then he finishes.
"When I accepted my mantle…"
"…I was given a name."
His gaze settles calmly on Mamiko.
"Grey Wolf."
Momo stares.
"…Okay that is a cool name."
Mariko rubs her temple.
"…Why are you here, Grey Wolf."
Xavier gestures toward the metal.
"There is a boy under my protection."
"He possesses a power he cannot control."
Mamiko nods slightly.
She already knew that much.
Xavier continues.
"If he continues releasing it the way he does now…"
"…he will destroy himself."
Mamiko leans forward again.
"…So you want a weapon that channels the energy away from his body."
"Yes."
"…A conductor."
"Yes."
"…Something that allows the power to flow through it instead of building pressure inside him."
"Yes."
Mamiko spins slowly once in her chair.
Thinking.
Then she stops.
"…I need to meet him."
The room goes quiet.
Mamiko gestures toward the shard.
"If the weapon is meant to stabilize his power…"
"…the weapon needs to understand how that power behaves."
She looks back to Xavier.
"…Bring him to me."
Xavier answers instantly.
"No."
His voice is firm.
Unmoving.
Mamiko blinks.
Mariko raises an eyebrow.
Momo whispers:
"…That sounded serious."
Xavier's gaze hardens slightly.
"The boy's identity must remain secret."
"Very few people know he exists."
"And it will remain that way."
Mariko exhales slowly.
"That's… strange."
Momo nods.
"Yeah that's super strange."
Mamiko studies Xavier for several seconds.
"…If I build this weapon wrong…"
"…it could kill him."
Xavier answers calmly.
"Then don't build it wrong."
Momo snorts.
"…Bold strategy."
Mariko shrugs slightly.
"Well."
She gestures toward the metal.
"You're the one making the weapon."
Momo nods.
"Yeah."
"Your call."
The room goes quiet again.
Mamiko rolls her chair closer to the metal.
Her fingers hover above it.
Thinking.
Long pause.
Finally she says quietly:
"…Alright."
She taps the black sunstone once.
"If I can't study the boy…"
"…then the metal will have to tell me what I need."
Xavier nods once.
Mamiko adds calmly:
"But if this works…"
"…the weapon won't stay the same forever."
Momo blinks.
"What?"
Mamiko shrugs.
"…Power that wild doesn't like cages."
She taps the metal again.
"So whatever I build…"
"…it'll grow with him."
Xavier watches her carefully.
"Good."
Mamiko smiles faintly.
"…Then bring me more black sunstone."
She gestures toward the shard.
"…because this one piece won't survive him."
Xavier wraps the shard of black sunstone back in cloth.
Mamiko stops him.
"…Leave it."
Xavier studies her.
Then sets it back on the workbench.
Silence fills the workshop for a moment.
Mariko crosses her arms.
"So… that's it?"
Momo looks between them.
"You're just going to build a legendary weapon like it's just another day?"
Mamiko doesn't answer.
She rolls her chair away from the desk.
Across the workshop.
Toward the back wall.
Xavier watches quietly.
Mamiko pulls a long iron lever.
For a moment…
nothing happens.
Then—
WHOOM
A deep furnace roars to life beneath the stone forge.
Orange light spills across the room.
Metal tools rattle softly from the sudden heat.
Mamiko walks back to the table.
She picks up the black sunstone shard.
The firelight disappears inside the metal instead of reflecting off it.
She studies it for a moment.
Then quietly says:
"…Let's see what you survive."
She drops the shard into a heavy iron crucible.
The furnace roars louder.
The workshop fills with firelight.
Xavier watches the flames rise.
And for the first time since arriving…
He allows himself to relax slightly.
The process had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED