As Solin wakes up, he doesn't see any difference between his eyes closed and open. Even though his eyes are open, there's only darkness.
Am I blinded now? Solin thought.
But that was a foolish idea. He quickly realized it wasn't that he had gone blind—it was just pitch black all around him. He tried widening his pupils and blinking his eyes, desperate for any glimmer of vision, but it was hopeless.
He couldn't see anything. He couldn't even move. Something was holding him down, restraining his limbs. All he had was the dark—and his thoughts.
And pain.
A vivid, splitting pain was building in his head, likely from the injury to his right ear. He felt a strange mix of emotions:
relief to still be alive, but dread for what would come next.
He had survived. Somehow. But he knew that luck wouldn't last.
He remembered the pile of corpses. The orphans. Maybe he was far from them now. Maybe he was already dead and just part of that pile. A quiet part of him even wished that were true.
But then—
Footsteps.
Each step echoed in his skull like thunder, making the pain worse. Then came the hiss of air—a gate opening in front of him. His head screamed in agony.
Then—light.
No, flames.
His eyes burned from the sudden brightness. For a moment, he was blinded by the incoming firelight. As his vision slowly adjusted, he saw two shapes.
Shapes became figures. Figures became faces. Faces unlocked memories.
The first was a humanoid robot. It had no skin, no clothes—just mechanical parts, cameras, and sensors. But Solin remembered those hands. Hands that could morph into a gun capable of firing bullets faster than sound—bullets that left nothing but destruction in their path.
One of those bullets had torn through Solin's ear instead of his skull. Maybe it was this same robot. Maybe not. But it was certainly the same design.
The second figure—
The General.
Solin hadn't seen him in months, but there wasn't a single detail about the man that had changed. The short black hair, the golden-hued skin without a wrinkle, the black shirt and pants—it was all the same.
Solin was certain now: this man had stopped the robot from killing him. Not out of mercy. No—if he had saved him, it was for a reason. And that reason couldn't be good.
At first, the General's voice came through as nothing more than a headache—muffled, garbled pain. But slowly, Solin started to understand.
"So, friend," the General said to the robot in a calm, low tone, "is this the semi-fractal candidate we're supposed to send in there?"
"No, my lord," the robot replied. "He is the unselected fractal candidate. You are to either select him or discard him. The semi-fractal candidate has already been transported."
"Okay," said the General. "But I'm not your lord, friend. I'm simply your comrade. Humans think different duties mean different importance. But you and I—we're equal."
"Yes, my lo—" the robot glitched, paused, and corrected itself. "Yes, my friend."
It turned and left, leaving Solin alone with the General.
What is 'fractal'? Solin thought. He'd heard the word before, but never understood it. Now, terms like semi-fractal and unselected fractal made no sense.
All he figured was this: he was an unselected fractal candidate. And time would decide whether he would be selected—or discarded.
He didn't know what being selected meant.
But he did know what being discarded meant.
Death.
It echoed in his mind like a sentence.
If he was discarded, he would die. If he was selected, he'd probably end up in a nightmare worse than death. He wanted neither. But he had no choice.
Then the General asked:
"Tell me, kid. Why do humans need power?"
Solin didn't answer right away. The idea of being discarded—dying—was starting to feel more merciful than the mystery of what came with being selected.
If this man had saved him, it couldn't be for anything good.
But—
A spark.
A glimmer of hope.
Who is the semi-fractal candidate? he wondered.
Could it be… Elari?
It seemed impossible. A one-in-a-million chance. But even that tiny possibility lit a fire in his heart. A reason to live. A reason to try.
Suddenly, death felt much worse. If Elari was in there—wherever there was—he had to find her.
Then, pain again.
The General kicked him in the gut, dragging him back to reality. Solin coughed violently, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Answer me."
The voice was quiet, but carried a heavy weight.
Solin wiped his lips, looked up with shaky breath, and spoke:
"Because they want the opportunity to explore," he said.
He paused, his voice frail but defiant.
"We never get tired of discovering something new. That's why we need power."