On the third day, during a grueling test where Echo was made to hold back a simulated Corrupted tide using only his blood manipulation, an anomaly occurred.
The simulation glitched. Not a system error—the corruption simulants themselves froze, then turned as one toward the observation booth where Technocrat Arcturus stood.
In unison, they spoke with a voice that was a chorus of whispers. "The Sovereign grows in the dark. The Court sees. The Court is… impressed."
Then they collapsed.
Alarms blared. Security teams swarmed in. Arcturus was furious, demanding to know how the simulation was hacked.
But Echo knew. The Shadow Court. They weren't just watching from afar. They had a presence inside the Forge. And they were sending a message: We see your hidden growth. We approve.
That night, in their suite, a small, dark parcel materialized on their table, bypassing all security. Inside was a single, perfect black rose, crystallized in void-ice. And a note:
"The Ordered would prune you to fit their vase. We would see you become the wild, thorned forest. When you tire of being a specimen, find the black rose. It will point the way."
Ryn analyzed the rose. "It's not matter as we know it. It's a conceptual anchor. A tiny, crafted piece of 'void.' It's a key to something, or a beacon for something."
"Do we destroy it?" Leyla asked, her claws hovering over the fragile, dark bloom.
"No," Echo said quietly, picking it up. It was cold, so cold it burned, but his bloodline warmth kept his fingers from freezing. "We keep it. Knowledge is power. Knowing what the Shadow Court wants is an advantage. We just have to be smarter about how we use it."
He placed the rose back in its box. It was a dangerous gift. An invitation to treason.
But in a war where his own side wanted to cage him, having options, however dark, was starting to feel like a necessity.