The liquid inside the cylinder did not obey gravity.
It floated.
Not like vapor, nor like something held aloft by visible magnetic fields, but as if the very concept of falling had been temporarily suspended within that space. The translucent substance pulsed in blue-green hues, emitting a calm, almost hypnotic glow that illuminated the underground hall.
Hector Virell watched in silence.
The light reflected subtly off his dark attire—a perfectly tailored, classic-cut suit whose sobriety contrasted with the faint violet tone of his tie. His hair, long enough to fall to his shoulders, was gray only at the tips, as if time itself had given up advancing any further. His neatly trimmed beard reinforced firm features, and his eyes…The eyes were the most unsettling detail.
Not steel-gray.But like a sky before a storm.
They didn't blink often. Not from coldness.
From absolute attention.
His hands were clasped behind his back—the posture of someone who had stood before heads of state, secret tribunals, and rooms where irreversible decisions were made without witnesses.
"How long is it stable?" he asked.
The voice was low, controlled, yet heavy enough to silence the entire laboratory. It did not demand attention.
It simply took it.
"Thirty-six continuous hours," replied the scientist beside him. "No crystallization, no structural collapse. The Mana remains liquid."
Hector tilted his head slightly.
"It remains obedient," he corrected.
The scientist felt her stomach tighten.
"Yes, sir."
He took a step forward, approaching the cylinder. The Liquid Mana reacted to his presence with a slow, almost respectful ripple, as if it recognized something in him.
"Mirrors lie," Hector said, more to the liquid than to anyone else. "Reflections always distort. They create imperfect duplicates. They promise control, but deliver instability."
He touched the glass with his fingertips.
"Water, however…" he murmured, "…accepts the shape we give it."
"Helix wouldn't agree," commented an older man leaning against a steel table, eyes fixed on unstable holographic projections. "Drexler is investing heavily in reflective structures. Containment fields derived from impossible surfaces."
Hector smiled.
There was no humor in it.
Only a shadow of condescension.
"Drexler has always been fascinated by shortcuts," he replied. "And shortcuts charge a toll."
He turned slowly, fixing the analyst with his gaze.
"Report."
"We detected irregular activity in one of the experimental reflections," the man said. "A partial collapse… followed by spontaneous stabilization."
One of Hector's eyebrows rose.
"Spontaneous?"
"Yes, sir. As if something… from within… learned how to sustain itself."
The silence that followed was not immediate.
It was constructed.
"How long has this been happening?" Hector asked.
"Days. Maybe weeks. It's hard to say. The reflection doesn't follow our temporal line precisely."
Hector began to pace through the laboratory, his steps slow, deliberate.
"That shouldn't be possible," he said, almost to himself. "The human mind cannot endure prolonged reflective permanence. It fragments. Dissolves."
"Unless there's affinity," the scientist ventured.
Hector stopped.
Turned.
"Affinity is not enough," he replied calmly. "It requires vocation."
He returned his gaze to the cylinder of Liquid Mana.
"The Fissure revealed humanity's fundamental mistake," he said now, with an almost didactic tone. "The belief that power must be seized. Forced into submission. Reflected until it loses meaning."
He slowly closed his hand.
"The true future lies in what flows. In what can be shaped… without breaking."
"Pure Mana," said the analyst.
"Pure Mana in liquid state," Hector corrected. "The rest are trials. Dangerous toys."
A discreet alarm sounded.
"Sir," said the scientist, "we've received a cross-signal. The origin… is ancient."
Hector turned immediately.
"How ancient?"
"Pre-exposure. Pre-official records. The pattern resembles something…" She hesitated. "…something prior to the Fissure itself."
Hector's eyes narrowed.
For a single instant, something rare crossed his expression.
Genuine curiosity.
"So we're not dealing only with consequences," he said. "But with survivors."
"Helix has noticed it too," added the analyst.
"Of course they have," Hector replied. "Drexler always notices."
He walked toward the exit.
"The problem," he concluded, "is that he never knows what to do afterward."
He stopped at the door.
"Prepare an observation cell. No direct intervention. Not yet."
"And if the reflection collapses?"
Hector did not turn right away.
"Then we learn," he said. "But if it sustains itself…"
He cast one last glance over his shoulder.
"…then someone in there is learning far too quickly."
The laboratory lights dimmed.
The Liquid Mana continued to float—serene, perfect.
And far away, in a colony hidden among ancient roots, another kind of power was awakening—not liquid, not pure, but capable of turning reality itself into a surface.
Hector Virell did not yet know her name.
But, as always, he could feel when the world began to move.