"They made it?"
Ash's voice cut through the heat as the wall of fire faded.
Kael rolled his shoulder, the last of the glow leaving his skin.
"Looks like it. You're off the hook—for now."
Ash growled low, eyes sweeping the ruined room.
Flames had blackened the walls. The floor split in spiderweb cracks. Bots lay scattered, nothing left but broken parts and scorched metal. Heat still clung to the air, thick as smoke.
He turned in a slow circle.
"What a mess."
From the far corner, a low hum rose. Maintenance units rolled out—short, round, and efficient. They moved through the wreckage like ants, sweeping ash into small piles, lifting twisted steel like it weighed nothing.
Kael nodded toward them.
"Max sent them. Don't worry."
Ash reached down and picked up his sheath, half-buried in soot. The blade slid in with a clean click.
They stepped into the hallway.
Cool air rushed in, brushing against their sweat-damp skin. The scent of metal filled the corridor—sharp and clean, with a faint trace of citrus.
Boxes lined the walls. Some were neat, labeled by hand. Others had names scratched in crooked letters. One sat half-open, three question marks scrawled on the side.
Ash glanced at it.
'Max's work, obviously.'
Kael stretched, fingers locked behind his head. He looked down at his blackened uniform.
"This one's done. Need a new set."
Ash gave his own scorched gear a look. It was no better.
"Same."
Kael waved over his shoulder.
"Main room. Ten minutes."
He turned the corner and vanished.
Ash stood for a second, then followed the hall to his own door.
Inside, the lights blinked on.
The room was quiet. Too neat. The bed hadn't been touched in days. Sheets still folded at the corners. No sign of sleep, no sign of rest.
Ash moved to the corner. Boxes stacked three high. He pulled one open. Shirts, pants—folded tight. He lifted a layer.
His hand stopped.
A book sat underneath, wrapped in a brown cover. Simple letters stretched across it:
[My Lightning Skill Book.]
Ash stared at it.
Fingers curled, then relaxed.
Max's voice came through the intercom, sharp in the quiet:
"[Kael. Ash. Where are you guys?]"
Ash blinked.
'Right. I forgot.'
He shut the box, grabbed fresh clothes, changed quick, and stepped back into the hall.
————
Ash moved down the hall, boots silent on the floor.
The main room opened wide before him. Sleek walls. Sharp corners. Nothing out of place—except for the couch. It stretched along the wall, black leather with red trim, the same one he'd used last night.
At the center, a round white table waited—plain, spotless. Around it, boxes sat open. Half-folded shirts spilled out. A set of tools lay tangled with spare gear. The room felt like a snapshot frozen mid-move.
Max stepped up to the table and tapped once.
The big screen in front of them blinked to life.
A low hum rose, followed by static. The display cracked and bent, jagged lines cutting across the feed. Slowly, a shape began to form—shifting, hard to read.
Then a voice pushed through.
"Can you hear me?"
Ash leaned forward, brow low.
"Yeah. We hear you."
Kael moved in beside him, arms at his side, eyes locked on the screen.
"It's been a while."
A dry chuckle slipped through the broken signal.
"Still calling yourself Son of Flame?"
Kael didn't blink.
"Of course. Someone has to."
Ash didn't move. Arms crossed, eyes steady. The screen bent again, edges glitching, color slipping out of place.
"Signal's bad. You alright?"
For a second, nothing answered.
Then the voice came clear, stronger than before.
"Ash. You worry too much. You really think anything out here can take me down?"
Ash breathed in, slow.
"No. Just making sure."
"Good. Now listen."
The room settled.
The voice sharpened—low, even. It carried weight. The kind that made you stand straighter without meaning to.
"I want to say it directly. You three did well. Tier 5s aren't a joke. But I knew you could handle it."
Max stepped forward.
"There's more to that mission than we thought. A cult triggered it. One of them caused the creature attack. That means they're active in Sector 4 now?"
A pause.
"Yeah. I saw the report. Military's already moving. HQ's pulling resources. They want it shut down before it spreads further."
Kael stepped closer, his voice cutting through the room interrupting thier conversation
"Dad. How long this time?"
The screen flickered again, the image twisting.
Then came the answer, steady but low.
"Don't know yet. Could be days. Could be weeks. But I'll reach out again soon. In the meantime—"
The feed stuttered again. Static cracked. For a second, their father's voice broke into fragments, swallowed by the noise—then snapped back, whole.
Max's fingers moved across the edge of the table. Taps turned sharp. His brow knit tighter with each beat.
"What's the deal?" His voice was low, edged. "Wasn't Selene supposed to handle this?"
A rough breath came through the signal—part sigh, part growl.
"She's on it. It's not that simple."
Max leaned back, arms folding over his chest. His jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth.
"I'd have fixed it by now. Should've been me. You know I'm better than her."
Then a new voice broke in. No static. No lag. Just a clear cut straight to the bone.
"You? Better than me?"
Max froze.
His shoulders locked. Hands dropped to his sides like they forgot what to do.
"…Oh no."
Selene's voice followed, steady and cold.
"You forget the match? Or the bet that came with it? Winner goes. You lost. So stop whining."
Max's eyes narrowed. The air around him seemed to shift—tightening, heating.
"I know you cheated. There was water on the board. You used it."
A soft laugh slipped through the feed.
"You think I rigged the field?"
Max jabbed a finger at the screen like he could pierce through it.
"You're the only one with water affinity. Who else would it be?"
Ash leaned in, elbows resting on his knees. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sparked.
"Max, you sound like a guy who sees a puddle and blames the weather for plotting against him."
Selene didn't miss a beat.
"Yeah. Real genius move. Water exists, so it's clearly me. Stunning logic."
Max let out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair.
"Why does this always happen when I'm arguing with you?"
His fingers curled again, knuckles white.
"Alright. You're saying it wasn't you? Then explain the water."
Silence stretched.
Ash stare at everyone. Then he noticed something. He could hear an heartbeat beating faster than anyone in the room.
Kael.
He didn't speak. He shifted just slightly, one foot angled back, posture too casual. Too clean.
Ash's gaze locked on him.
'That look… seen it before. He definitely did something.'
He sat up straighter, voice cutting through the air.
"Kael. What did you do."
Kael didn't flinch. His body straightened like nothing was wrong.
"What do you mean?"
Max's head snapped toward him.
"Wait. Kael?"
Kael lifted his hands. Not innocent—just practiced.
"Let's not point fingers yet. Could've been a leak. Condensation. Who knows? It's a big base."
Selene's voice cut through like a blade.
"Or maybe some genius melted a dummy too close to the main coolant intake."
Max stared.
"You didn't."
Kael ran a hand through his hair.
"Alright, fine. Maybe I went a little overboard. But come on. It was one dummy."
Ash pinched the bridge of his nose.
"And now we're leaking water in the comms room."
Selene didn't even sigh. Her voice was cold.
"You could've fried the signal relays. Next time, just set the base on fire and skip the warm-up."
Kael raised a finger.
"I didn't technically—"
"Shut it," Max growled.
Static buzzed again, then a deep voice rolled through the feed, amused.
"You three haven't changed."
Ash leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the screen.
"We fixing this signal, or are we doing stand-up now?"
The screen glitched once, then steadied. Their father's voice came through, clear and grounded.
"I'll take care of it. For now…"
The feed warped again. Faces blurred, voices cracked apart, then everything snapped back—clearer this time. The weight in their father's voice had changed.
"…Selene's been solid. Her old man… looks different now. Lighter, maybe. Haven't seen that in him before. Having his kids nearby—it reminded him why he started all this."
Kael leaned back in his chair, arms folding tight across his chest. His brow twitched.
"Yeah? That's great and all. But let's be real. I'm stronger than everyone here. You should've taken me."
A sharp laugh split through the speakers.
Selene.
"Stronger? You?"
There was a pause. Then another burst of laughter, sharper than the first.
"You forget how many times my brother wrecked you?"
Kael sat up, back straight. His jaw locked, stare flat.
"Eighty-three. And two of those don't count. Elias had more years under his belt. It's normal he's ahead."
On the screen, their father's voice returned. This time, firm.
"And that's exactly why I didn't take you."
Kael blinked. The air in the room turned heavy.
"…What?"
"You're not ready. And I'm not sending my boys into something that eats people alive."
Max stretched, one arm slung over the back of the couch. He kicked his feet up like he didn't have a care in the world.
"Yeah, leaving the galaxy's not a casual road trip."
Kael rolled his neck, tension crackling through his shoulders.
"Fine. Whatever. If I'm stuck here with you guys, I'm calling the shots now."
Silence.
Ash didn't even blink. Max glanced at him, then back at Kael. No words passed—just a slow, unblinking stare that said enough.
Kael's chin lifted. His voice tightened, defensive.
"…What?"
Their father let the silence breathe. No rush. No stammer. When he finally spoke, it came like stone dropping into still water.
"…Already chose a leader."
Ash's mind moved fast.
'No way it's Kael.'
Max sighed, leaning deeper into the couch.
"Here it comes."
No hesitation on the line.
"Max will lead Team Vortex while I'm gone."
Kael didn't speak at first. His body spoke for him—arms stiff at his sides, shoulders squared like he'd just been struck.
"What?! I'm the strongest!"
"That's why," their father said.
"Strength alone doesn't cut it. Max looks ahead. He's older. And if it came down to it—"
A pause.
"My bet's on Max."
Max leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a grin sliding into place.
"Fighting you would be like brawling a torch with legs and no plan."
Kael stood frozen, mouth open. Not from anger—but from something deeper. Something close to betrayal.
Max stretched, barely glancing up.
"You throw flames. That's it. No rhythm. No mind. You're a fuse waiting to burn out. I'd read you before you even warmed up."
Kael's hands curled. Heat shimmered at his knuckles.
"Ohhh, I get it. You're pissed because your Vessel's trash."
Max didn't blink.
"Mad? At you?"
Kael's smirk cut in—quick, cruel.
"You throw sparks of fire. I melt rooms. Sounds like someone's jealous."
Max exhaled slow, controlled.
"My brain works fine. That's what wins fights."
Ash leaned back. He didn't look at them—just past them. He'd seen this show too many times. Words like blades, always trying to draw blood.
'If I say anything, they'll drag me in. I'm not in the mood.'
Max and Kael could go at it for hours. Pride always lit the fire. But Ash wasn't part of their fire.
He had something else inside him.
Something colder.
'I'm strong… but not enough.'
The couch creaked under his weight as he shifted. His gaze dropped to the sword resting across his knees.
'The dark Soulcore.'
The thought came like a shadow sliding up his spine. That was the wall in his path. Poison to his soul.
The war in the past had burned the last dark skill book to ash. The last dark Soulcore user had died four years ago.
'Four years ago… Mom.'
His fingers tightened around the hilt.
The blade didn't care what flowed in his soul. No soul skill. No energy manipulation. Just form. Just movement. Just steel.
That was enough.
For now.