The air in the Gamma Wing of the Red River Institute was usually a stagnant, recycled thing—a blend of artificial pine, floor wax, and the metallic tang of high-voltage training equipment. But following the news of Emma's imprisonment in the "Dark Box," the atmosphere around Vaun Meyer had become something predatory. He didn't just command the wind; he seemed to have turned the very oxygen in the room into an extension of his nervous system.
Reggie and Kevin felt it the moment they woke up. The barometric pressure in their shared quarters was slightly higher than normal, a heavy, expectant weight that made their ears pop and their pulse quicken.
"Vaun, you're vibrating the glass again," Reggie muttered, sitting up in his bunk. He was rubbing his temples. The speedster's metabolism was already a chaotic furnace, but the pressurized air Vaun was unconsciously maintaining made Reggie feel like he was trapped inside a piston.
"I'm adjusting the density," Vaun replied. He was hovering in the corner of the room, his knees pulled to his chest, eyes fixed on a holographic display of the morning's schedule. "Silas Thorne is in the arena today. His father pulled strings with the Board. They've changed the parameters of the 'Duo-Combat' assessment."
Kevin looked up from his foot-basin, his hands dripping with saltwater. The iridescent scales on his neck were flared, a sign of high stress. "What do you mean, changed them? We're a Trio. We always train together."
"Not today," Vaun said, descending to the floor with a silent hiss. He walked over to Kevin and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. He felt the cold, damp skin and the frantic thrum of Kevin's heart. "They've separated us. You and Reggie are in the primary circuit. I'm being 'benchmarked' against Silas in a solo endurance trial. They want to see if the 'Prince of Petals' can out-produce the 'Vanguard'."
"They're trying to break the set," Reggie realized, his sneakers sparking as he stood up. "If they separate us in the rankings, they can sell us off individually. They want to see if the 'Trio' brand is worth more than a 'Silas-Aero' rivalry."
"They want to see who is more profitable," Vaun corrected. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dried-up piece of the contraband chocolate bar from Manhattan. He broke it into three microscopic pieces. "Eat. We need real glucose today. No slurry. No V-paste. Just us."
As they shared the tiny, bitter-sweet fragments, the bond between them felt less like a corporate contract and more like a pact. For Vaun, the sugar was a reminder of Emma. He could almost feel her in the Dark Box—three hundred miles away, terrified and hungry, but finally, stubbornly human.
The mid-day report from Elena Meyer arrived via a high-priority data burst. It wasn't a video call; it was a series of incident logs and biometric alerts that Elena had forwarded to Vaun to "shame" him into better performance.
INCIDENT LOG: ASSET 413 (EMMA MEYER)
STATUS: DARK BOX ISOLATION - HOUR 14
OBSERVATION: SUBJECT HAS REFUSED THE LIQUID NUTRIENT FEED.
NOTES: SUBJECT ATTEMPTED TO USE SIZE-SHIFTING TO BREAK THE FEED-TUBE. RECOVERY SUCCESSFUL. SUBJECT IS EXHIBITING 'UNEXPECTED SPITE.'
Vaun stared at the text. A small, jagged smile touched his lips, hidden from the drones. Emma wasn't just refusing to shrink; she was refusing to be fed. She was using the only weapon a Meyer child had—the denial of the product. If she didn't eat, she couldn't maintain the "Ethereal" glow. If she didn't eat, she became a PR nightmare.
She was fighting in the dark, and Vaun knew he had to fight in the light.
The Central Combat Arena was a tiered stadium of white titanium, currently flooded with high-spectrum grow lights. Silas Thorne stood in the center, looking every bit the Vought royalty. He was draped in a custom-weave silk jumpsuit that mimicked the pattern of oak leaves. His father, a man with a face like a polished stone, sat in the Executive Box alongside Dr. Aris.
"The trial is Resource Domination," Aris announced. "The arena contains a limited supply of bio-organic nutrients within the soil. Aero and Cypress, you will compete to manifest a 'Grand Structure.' The asset with the highest biomass at the end of ten minutes takes the #1 ranking."
Vaun felt the trap immediately. He reached out with his Nature affinity and felt the soil. It was dead. Silas's father hadn't just changed the rules; they had chemically treated Vaun's side of the arena with a growth-inhibitor—a lead-based salt that would kill any plant Vaun tried to manifest.
"You look worried, Meyer," Silas called out, his hands glowing with a vibrant, emerald light. "Maybe you should have stayed in the kitchen. My father says a 'lifestyle brand' doesn't belong in the Godolkin prep-tier."
The buzzer sounded.
Silas didn't just grow plants; he orchestrated them. A forest of exotic, violet-flowered vines erupted from his side of the arena, surging upward with a beauty that made the engagement tickers on the walls go insane.
[CYPRESS: +8,000 FOLLOWERS]
[TRENDING: #PRINCEOFPETALS]
Vaun tried to reach into his own soil, but he felt the poison. The roots he attempted to manifest withered the moment they touched the lead-salted dirt. He looked up at the Executive Box. Silas's father was smiling.
Vaun didn't panic. He thought of Emma. He thought of her refusing the feed-tube in the dark.
If the ground is poisoned, Vaun thought, then I will take the air.
He descended into a deep, meditative crouch, his violet-green eyes turning a dark, abyssal shade. He didn't use his Nature power on the ground. He used his Aero-kinesis on Silas's side of the room.
He didn't create a wind. He created a Nutrient Vacuum. He manipulated the air pressure to pull the water, the $CO_2$, and the microscopic pollen directly off Silas's blooming garden. He turned the very atmosphere into a siphon.
Then, he used his Nature affinity on the air itself.
He didn't grow plants from the dirt. He used the moisture he had stolen from Silas to trigger Air-Root Manifestation. He utilized the lichen and moss spores that lived in the ventilation system—tiny, overlooked things that Vought's poison couldn't touch.
The arena didn't see a garden grow from Vaun's side. They saw the very air turn green. Thick, corded strands of Spanish Moss and parasitic ivy began to weave themselves into a colossal, floating fortress in the center of the arena. They weren't beautiful like Silas's lilies; they were jagged, grey-green, and hungry.
Vaun triggered the Parasitic Synthesis.
The air-vines lashed out, not at Silas, but at Silas's plants. They didn't crush them; they grafted onto them. Vaun's "Nature" was literally eating Silas's. He was siphoning the biological energy of the Thorne legacy to fuel his own expansion.
"No! Stop it!" Silas screamed, his hands glowing brighter as he tried to over-power the drain. "Those are V-Standard hybrids! You can't just... consume them!"
"I am the Vanguard," Vaun said, his voice a low, terrifying hum that was amplified by the vibrating vines. "And everything in this room is mine to breathe."
The floating fortress grew until it shadowed the entire arena floor. It was a massive, pulsing heart of grey wood and sharp thorns, held aloft by Vaun's absolute control of the air pressure.
[AERO: +12,000 FOLLOWERS]
[PQ RANK: #1 SOLIDIFIED]
[TRENDING: #THEAEROKING #NATURESDEATH]
The engagement spike was a physical blow. Vaun felt his lungs expand, his vision sharpening until he could see the sweat on Dr. Aris's brow in the observation deck. He was being fed by the total destruction of a rival.
The trial ended in a hollow silence. Silas Thorne sat in the dirt of his withered garden, his "Prince" brand shattered. His father had already left the Executive Box, his face a mask of corporate fury.
Vaun landed softly beside Reggie and Kevin, who had been watching from the sidelines. They didn't look at him with the same awe the drones did. They looked at him with a quiet, somber understanding.
"You didn't just win, Vaun," Kevin whispered. "You humiliated him."
"I did what I had to," Vaun said, his eyes returning to their natural violet. "The board needs to know that the Trio is the only viable investment. If they try to separate us again, I'll turn the next arena into a graveyard."
Reggie gripped Vaun's arm. "Hey, look. I got an alert."
Reggie held up his private tablet. It was a leaked clip from the Meyer penthouse, likely sold by a disgruntled junior producer to a gossip blog. It showed Emma being led to the "Dark Box." But as the guards tried to force her inside, she didn't scream. She bit one of them. She bit him hard enough to draw blood, and as they shoved her in, she spat at the camera.
"She's fighting, Vaun," Reggie said, a grin breaking across his gaunt face. "She's actually fighting."
Vaun felt a warmth in his chest that the followers could never provide. He looked at the drones, at the white walls, at the clinical depravity of his world.
"Then so are we," Vaun said.
He reached into the air and, for a fleeting second, he didn't use the air to move a block or kill a drone. He used it to create a soft, cooling breeze that felt like a secret between friends.
Vaun whispered. "And by the time we leave this place, we won't just be the 'Chosen.' We'll be the owners."
That night, for the first time, the Trio didn't eat their slurry. They sat in the dark, and Vaun used his Nature power to grow a small, hidden patch of real berries in the corner of their room—the energy stolen from the arena. They ate in silence, three young monsters sharing a meal that wasn't for the cameras.
It was the best thing Vaun had ever tasted.