The Red River Institute was a temple of artificial perfection, but even a temple has its cracks. Following the Resource Domination trial, the power dynamic in the Gamma Wing had shifted from a corporate hierarchy to a cold, biological siege. Silas Thorne had the lineage, the executive backing, and the "Prince of Petals" brand that made the Vought marketing board weep with joy, but Vaun Meyer had something Silas would never understand: the predatory patience of a boy who had learned to breathe in the gaps between his mother's ring lights.
Vaun sat in the common room, suspended in the air as was his custom, his violet-green eyes fixed on a small, shimmering vial of "V-Enriched Phloem" that he had siphoned from the arena. Beside him, Reggie was a blur of blue, his sneakers making a soft shhh-shhh sound as he paced. Kevin was hunched over a tablet, his brow furrowed, the iridescent scales on his neck pulsing with a dull, rhythmic light.
"Sloane is furious," Kevin whispered, his voice vibrating with a wet, nervous energy. "I intercepted a memo on the internal server. Silas's father is demanding a re-evaluation. He's calling your 'Air-Root' technique a 'biological hazard.' He says it's not hero-material—it's too... invasive."
"Invasive is just another word for effective, Kevin," Vaun said, his voice a low, resonant thrum. He reached out with his mind, feeling the air pressure in the room. He could feel the tiny, frantic heartbeat of a fly three rooms away. "Silas thinks he can win by being beautiful. He thinks the fans want a garden. But the fans only want a garden so they can watch the storm try to tear it down."
Reggie skidded to a halt, his hands twitching. "We need a win, Aero. A real one. Not a 'humiliation' win that gets the suits all worked up. We need something they can put on the cover of the Vought Annual Report. Something that makes Silas look like a hobbyist."
"I'm working on it," Vaun said. He looked at the vial. "Silas's game is aesthetics. He creates things that are meant to be looked at. I'm going to create something that is meant to be survived."
The rebellion in New York was continuing in the dark. Every morning, Vaun received the biometric updates from the "Dark Box." Emma's heart rate was stable, but her metabolic output was dropping. She wasn't shrinking. She was holding her size, a three-foot-tall act of defiance that was costing the brand millions in lost "Micro-Goal" sponsorships.
Vaun felt a fierce, jagged pride. His sister was a prisoner, but she was the only one in the Meyer family who was truly free. Elena's messages were becoming increasingly frantic, filled with threats of "Optimization" and "Permanent Resetting."
"We need to send her a message," Vaun said, his voice dropping into a localized air-vortex that only his roommates could hear. "She needs to know we're hitting the #1 spot. She needs to know the Trio is holding the line."
"How?" Reggie asked, leaning in. "Sloane monitors every outgoing packet. The comm-booths are hardwired."
"We use the drones," Vaun said, a cold smile touching his lips. "The Mark-V units use a low-frequency atmospheric ping to maintain their hover-stability. If I can modulate the air pressure around a drone during the next trial, I can 'Morse-code' a vibration into its telemetry data. It'll look like atmospheric interference to the monitors, but to a size-shifter with Emma's sensitivity? She'll feel the vibration in her bones."
"That's insane," Kevin breathed. "If they catch you—"
"They won't," Vaun said. "Because they'll be too busy looking at what I'm building."
The "Aesthetic Remediation" trial was held forty-eight hours later. This wasn't a combat trial; it was a pure branding showcase. The arena had been cleared of the poisoned soil and replaced with a high-nutrition "V-Substrate." The VIP boxes were packed with fashion influencers, luxury brand ambassadors, and Silas's father, who looked like he was ready to sign a death warrant with his eyes.
"The objective is Structural Elegance," Dr. Aris announced. "You are to manifest a landmark. A symbol of Vought's grace and power. Cypress, you are first."
Silas Thorne stepped forward. He didn't look at Vaun. He pressed his hands to the ground and unleashed a symphony. A colossal cathedral of blooming white lilies and golden sunflowers surged from the earth, the stems weaving together to form intricate, Gothic arches. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a masterpiece of traditional Nature-affinity that smelled of summer and expensive perfume.
[CYPRESS: +15,000 FOLLOWERS] [TRENDING: #THEFLOWERPRINCE #VOUGHTGRACE]
The audience cheered, the engagement tickers on the wall glowing a brilliant, victorious gold. Silas stood in the center of his floral cathedral, looking like a god of the spring.
Vaun stepped into the center of his plot. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked at the hovering drone—the one he knew was linked to the Vought-Plus "Meyer Legacy" feed.
"My turn," Vaun whispered.
He didn't kneel. He hovered six inches off the ground, his violet-green eyes glowing with a dark, abyssal light. He reached out with his Aero-kinesis and pulled the moisture from the air, but he didn't turn it into a mist. He used a technique he had been perfecting in the dark: Atmospheric Crystallization.
He pressurized the humidity in the air until it froze into jagged, razor-sharp shards of translucent ice. Then, he used his Nature power. He didn't grow soft vines; he triggered the growth of Glass-Sedge, a genetically modified grass known for its high silica content and serrated edges.
The arena didn't see a garden. They saw a Fortress of Crystal and Thorn.
The Glass-Sedge erupted in a swirling, spiral pattern, the blades of grass weaving together with the pressurized ice shards. It formed a jagged, shimmering spire that looked like a mountain of diamonds, but as it grew, the "Parasitic" nature of Vaun's power manifested.
The spire began to "breathe."
Vaun used his air control to create a rhythmic, low-frequency hum that vibrated through the structure. To the audience, it was a haunting, beautiful sound—a song of the wind. But to Silas's cathedral, it was a death knell. The vibration was tuned to the exact frequency required to shatter the cell walls of Silas's lilies.
As Vaun's Glass-Petal Bastion grew taller, more imposing, and more terrifyingly beautiful, Silas's flowers began to liquefy. The beauty of the Prince was being consumed by the utility of the King.
[AERO: +20,000 FOLLOWERS] [PQ RANK: #1 ABSOLUTE] [TRENDING: #THECRYSTALKING #NATUREOFWAR]
Vaun stood at the base of his shimmering, jagged tower. He looked directly into the lens of the primary drone. He felt the engagement surge—a flood of liquid power that made his muscles feel like they were made of iron.
Under the cover of the "Song of the Wind," he modulated the air pressure in a series of sharp, rhythmic pulses against the drone's stabilizers.
...- - - ... (S-O-S) ... - .- -. -.. (S-T-A-N-D)
He pulsed it over and over. Stand, Emma. Stand.
The trial ended with the total collapse of Silas's floral cathedral. The Glass-Petal Bastion remained, a shimmering monument to Vaun's "Depraved Beauty." The fashion influencers were ecstatic; the "Luxury-Aggressive" aesthetic was the new trend of 2026.
That night, the Trio sat in their room. They weren't looking at their scores. They were looking at the latest update from the Meyer penthouse.
Elena had posted a video of her "Correcting" Emma. But something was wrong. In the background of the shot, Emma wasn't crying. She was standing in the center of the Dark Box, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her hands were pressed against the walls, and her lips were moving.
"She's counting," Reggie whispered, his eyes wide. "She's counting the vibrations."
"She felt it," Vaun said, a fierce, protective warmth spreading through his chest. "She knows we're here."
The door to their room hissed open. Sarah Sloane stood there, her face a mask of cold, corporate satisfaction.
"Meyer. The Bastion was... adequate," she said, though the twitch in her eye suggested she was terrified of the engagement spike. "The board has decided to expedite your 'Advanced Tactical Training.' You're being moved to the High-Altitude Simulation tomorrow."
She looked at Reggie and Kevin. "And you two... try to keep up. Aero is pulling the brand too far ahead. We need a Trio, not a soloist with two backup singers."
Sloane left, but she didn't see the way Reggie and Kevin looked at Vaun. They didn't look like backup singers. They looked like a pack.
"High-Altitude," Reggie grinned, his sneakers sparking. "That's your playground, Aero."
"It's our playground," Vaun corrected. He reached out and touched the wall, feeling the air, the fans, and the distant, stubborn heartbeat of his sister.
Emma was still in the box, and she was still refusing the food. She was starving, but for the first time in her life, she was starving for something other than a camera. She was starving for a world without ring lights.
"We're coming, Em," Vaun whispered to the vents.
He reached into the air and, with a flick of his mind, made the atmosphere in the room so dense that it felt like they were being hugged by the world itself. They weren't assets. They weren't products. They were the Meyer Rebellion. And the air was finally starting to clear.