Yesh Academy
Luna, Terra
Tellus Solar system
Milky way Galaxy
Neutral Free Zone
3rd March 2019
Leon stepped out of Phoebe's office and into the training facility, the atmosphere shifting from quiet intellect to controlled violence. The air hummed faintly with energy regulators embedded in the walls, each one calibrated to withstand the force of Ascendant-level strikes.
He found Sam at the center of it all.
She moved with a rhythm that bordered on instinct.
Dressed in a fitted white training suit, her green hair drawn into a tight bun, she drove her fist into a reinforced combat dummy. The impact landed with a sharp, concussive thud—followed by a ripple of force that shimmered across the dummy's surface. A holographic interface flared to life beside it, numbers climbing rapidly, recalibrating after each strike.
Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.
That level of force… it wasn't just impressive—it was excessive for her stage. Enough to crumple layered steel into nothing more than warped scrap.
But it wasn't just the strength.
It was the control.
Each strike carried precision. Each movement was refined, deliberate. The weight of her blows, the alignment of her stance, the way her shoulders and hips synchronized—it all spoke of someone who had already brushed the peak of Minor Mastery within the Adamantium Fist Style.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
Leon remained silent, watching.
There was something unsettling about it—not fear, but a quiet disturbance in expectation. Sam's growth wasn't linear. It wasn't even exponential.
It was… accelerated, as though something within her was skipping the natural order.
At this rate, she wouldn't just reach the Master stage.
She would collide with it.
And then there was her Ability Factor.
Leon's gaze sharpened slightly as he observed the subtle fluctuations in the space around her—barely noticeable distortions, like a pulse beneath reality itself.
She was using it.
Casually.
That alone defied logic.
An Adept shouldn't be capable of that—not without tearing their body apart in the process. The activation of an Ability Factor required deep biological restructuring—nerve adaptation, cellular reinforcement, even changes to the soul-body interface. Those transformations didn't stabilize until the higher stages… typically the Superior realm.
And yet—
She was doing it as if it were second nature.
Leon exhaled slowly, piecing it together.
Before her Awakening… she had already shown signs.
Her ability to read emotional wavelengths, to feel others beyond the surface—it hadn't been training.
It had been instinct.
Now that her body had Awakened, that latent potential hadn't just surfaced…
It had evolved.
"...Interesting," he murmured under his breath.
—
Across the room, Sam already knew he was there.
She had felt him the moment he stepped inside.
At first, she ignored him, continuing her training with forced focus. The memory of his earlier words still lingered, a faint irritation sitting at the edge of her thoughts.
But something else crept in.
A familiar presence.
And then—
That scent.
Citrus… layered with something softer, like lavender carried on a quiet breeze.
It slipped into her senses, subtle but undeniable, and without realizing it, the tension in her chest eased.
Her rhythm broke.
The next strike slowed.
Then stopped.
Sam exhaled, turning to face him.
"So," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, her tone steady but edged with curiosity. "What's the verdict?"
Leon met her gaze, a faint smile forming—calm, composed… and just irritating enough to make her brow twitch.
"You should rest," he said simply. "You're going to need it."
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters right now."
That smile again.
She clicked her tongue softly. "How long?"
She had already lost a week. The idea of sitting still any longer made her restless.
Leon studied her for a moment—not just her expression, but the intent behind it.
He understood.
"You've got five days," he said at last. "After that… we move."
Something in his tone shifted at the end—subtle, but heavy enough to linger.
Sam caught it.
But before she could press further, Leon had already turned away, his footsteps echoing faintly as he exited the training floor, leaving her alone with the quiet hum of the facility.
—
—
The clearing of Menhirs stood silent beneath the open sky.
Ancient stone pillars, weathered by time, rose from the earth like remnants of a forgotten age. Energy lingered there—old, rooted deep into the land, threading through the grass and soil like unseen veins.
Sam sat at the center, legs crossed, her breathing slow and measured as she cultivated.
The world around her softened.
Then—
A presence.
"You called for me."
Sam's eyes opened.
Emani stood at the edge of the circle, her presence calm yet imposing, as though the very air adjusted to her arrival.
Sam rose from her lotus position, brushing the grass from her hands.
"Yes," she said. There was a pause—brief, but weighted. "I need your help."
Her gaze hardened slightly.
"I'm still angry you didn't tell me about Rosa's mission… or my aunt." Her voice lowered. "I don't like being kept in the dark."
Emani didn't flinch.
"I understand," she said calmly. "At the time, there was nothing you could do. I chose to let you focus on your growth."
A beat.
"But that time has passed."
The air shifted slightly, her tone sharpening with intent.
"What do you need?"
Sam inhaled, steadying herself.
"When I fought those assassins—"
"Sinutu and Anuntium," Emani corrected without hesitation.
Sam blinked.
"…Right."
It struck her then—how little she actually knew. Not their origins. Not their purpose. Not how they had even reached her.
Questions for another time.
She shook her head slightly.
"That doesn't matter right now."
Her expression tightened as she recalled the moment.
"I let myself get hit."
Emani's eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
"I thought I could tank it with Validus," Sam continued. "That was the plan."
Her fingers curled unconsciously at her side.
"But… it didn't feel like that."
She looked up, meeting Emani's gaze directly.
"The attack didn't affect me at all."
Silence stretched between them.
"He reacted," Sam added quietly. "Like he'd seen something impossible."
Her voice lowered.
"He called it a Perfect Counter."
A faint wind moved through the clearing, rustling the grass around them.
"I don't understand what I did," she admitted. "I wasn't trying anything new. I was just… reacting."
For the first time, Emani's composure wavered—just slightly.
Not outwardly.
But within her gaze… there was something else now.
Recognition.
And beneath it—
Shock.
She exhaled slowly, studying Sam as though seeing her anew.
"…Of course he did," Emani murmured.
Her voice carried a quiet weight now, something deeper than instruction.
"Sam… what you experienced wasn't Validus."
A pause.
"It was something far beyond it."
"Punch me."
Sam blinked. "...Huh?"
Emani only smiled in response, calm and assured. She stepped back, planting her feet several meters apart, her stance widening—not defensive, but grounded, as though she were anchoring herself into the earth itself.
And then Sam felt it.
Something shifted.
The air around Emani warped subtly, not visibly, but perceptibly—like the unseen currents of the world had begun to spiral around her. The natural flow of Odyllic energy bent inward, folding into a quiet, invisible field that clung to her skin like a second existence.
"Punch me like you mean it," Emani said, spreading her arms open, exposing her entire body without hesitation. "And infuse your mana properly."
Sam hesitated for only a second.
She didn't understand what her master was trying to show her—but she trusted her.
Drawing in a breath, she circulated her mana, guiding it through her channels and into her fist. The energy gathered cleanly this time—denser, sharper—before she launched forward with a quick, precise jab aimed at Emani's shoulder.
The strike landed.
But—
Nothing happened.
No resistance.No recoil.No impact.
Sam's eyes widened.
Instead of meeting flesh, her fist slipped into something formless, her mana unraveling the moment it made contact. It dispersed—no, it dissolved—bleeding out of her strike and merging seamlessly into the strange field surrounding Emani.
Her arm halted mid-motion, suspended in confusion.
"…What?"
"That," Emani said softly, lowering her arms, "is Perfect Counter."
Sam pulled her fist back slowly, staring at it as if it had betrayed her.
Emani stepped forward, the invisible field still humming faintly around her.
"It's a Mystic technique," she continued, her tone measured, instructive, "one that allows you to neutralize incoming attacks completely. Not block. Not endure. Neutralize."
She gestured lightly toward Sam.
"What you experienced against Sinutu… was the same phenomenon."
Sam's breath caught slightly.
"Counter is not the same as Validus," Emani went on. "Validus reinforces the body. It creates a mana skin—dense, resilient. Its effectiveness depends on how much mana you can sustain within it."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But Counter is different. It doesn't rely on output… it relies on precision."
She lifted a hand, the air around it faintly distorting.
"A true Counter doesn't require continuous mana flow. At its peak—what we call a Perfect Counter—it reaches one hundred percent efficiency. At that point… it doesn't matter how strong the attack is."
A pause.
"It simply ceases to exist."
Sam swallowed.
"…Then why doesn't everyone use it?"
Emani's lips curved faintly.
"Because it's nearly impossible."
She stepped closer, her presence pressing gently against Sam's senses.
"To achieve even partial efficiency requires absolute control—over your mana, your body, and your mind. In battle, where chaos rules… that level of clarity is rare."
Sam's thoughts drifted back to that moment.
The assassin's strike.The certainty of impact.And then—
Nothing.
"What about the power surge?" Sam asked, her voice quieter now. "When I did it… my mana spiked."
Emani nodded.
"That's the response of the Odyllic."
She folded her arms, eyes steady.
"Most Counters fall short of perfection. They reduce damage based on their efficiency—fifty percent, seventy percent… sometimes less."
Her gaze deepened.
"But when someone achieves a Perfect Counter—especially at the last possible moment…"
The air seemed to tighten around her words.
"The world responds."
Sam felt a chill run down her spine.
"You are rewarded with a surge of power. A return. A reinforcement."
Emani's voice softened slightly.
"It's a risk-and-reward principle. You place yourself at the edge of failure… and if you succeed, the Odyllic pushes you beyond your limits."
Sam looked down at her hand again.
She remembered that feeling.
That clarity.That stillness.That overwhelming sense of being exactly where she needed to be.
For the first time… she had felt completely in control.
"I want to learn it," she said.
Emani fell silent.
For a brief moment, her gaze drifted—not unfocused, but distant, as though she were looking beyond Sam… into something only she could see.
The truth was clear to her.
Sam didn't need to be taught.
Her body… her soul… it was already remembering.
The more she awakened that hidden power within her, the more naturally these techniques would surface—as if they had always belonged to her.
Even so—
Emani exhaled quietly.
She couldn't refuse.
After all…
Sam was her responsibility.
"Hello…? Emani?" Sam waved a hand in front of her. "Can you teach me or not?"
Emani blinked, the moment passing.
"…Yes," she said. "I will."
She met Sam's eyes fully now.
"But don't misunderstand what you're asking."
Her tone sharpened slightly.
"What you achieved before—it wasn't skill. It was instinct born from a life-or-death threshold. Your body was forced into perfection."
She took a step closer.
"To reproduce that… consciously… is far more difficult."
A pause.
"Even Adept-level cultivators can't perform Counter properly. That's how advanced it is."
The weight of her words settled in the air.
"Are you prepared for that?"
Sam didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Her answer came with certainty—no doubt, no fear.
Because she understood something now.
In five days… everything would change.
And if she didn't rise to meet it—
She wouldn't survive what came next.
-
Five days later…
After rinsing away the last traces of sweat and exhaustion, Sam stepped out of her quarters, clad in the black combat suit Emani had prepared for her. The material clung to her form like a second skin—flexible, reinforced, and alive with faint threads of Odyllic conductivity. It wasn't just armor.
It was a statement.
She adjusted the sleeves slightly before stepping into the corridor—and found Leon already waiting.
He stood with effortless composure, dressed in a long black coat that fell just past his knees. Beneath it, a tailored jacket lined with gold accents traced the edges of his sleeves, framing a crisp white shirt beneath. His black trousers were secured by layered beige belts studded with gold, a chain swaying lightly at his side with each subtle shift of movement. Three pins adorned his lapel—a griffon, the Golden Dawn crest, and a third symbol Sam didn't recognize.
There was something radiant about him.
Not just his appearance—but the way the light seemed to settle on his skin, as though drawn to him.
Sam caught herself staring.
"Black suits you," Leon said, his gaze drifting over her with quiet approval.
The combat suit emphasized her physique—stronger now, more refined. The past weeks had carved definition into her body, shaping her into something sharper… yet she hadn't lost the softness that made her unmistakably herself.
Sam folded her arms lightly. "You don't look too bad yourself."
Leon smirked faintly, and without another word, the two of them began walking.
—
They left the Southern Tower behind and entered the Western Tower—the domain of Golden Dawn's technology division.
The shift was immediate.
Sam slowed slightly, her eyes widening as she took it all in.
This wasn't just a department.
It was a different world.
Towering machines hummed with restrained power. Transparent panels flickered with streams of data. Researchers in white coats moved with purpose between stations, their hands weaving through interfaces of light. Autonomous drones hovered silently overhead, ferrying materials from one end of the hall to another.
It felt… futuristic.
Alien.
Leon, however, walked through it all as if it were nothing.
He led her deeper into the facility, past layers of security and sealed chambers, until they reached a heavy door at the end of a dim corridor. He knocked once—then pushed it open without waiting.
Heat rushed out to meet them.
The room beyond was dark, illuminated only by molten orange light that pulsed through thick pipes lining the ceiling and floor. The rhythmic clang of metal striking metal echoed through the space, steady and relentless.
Sam stepped inside slowly.
Weapons lined the walls—rows upon rows of them. Blades, gauntlets, spears, daggers—each one humming faintly with contained power.
At the center of the room stood a workbench encircled by a glowing magic array, its sigils rotating slowly as mana flowed through it like liquid fire.
And standing within that circle—
Emily Legens
She was completely absorbed in her craft.
Dressed in worn overalls, she brought a silver hammer down again and again onto a forming blade. Each strike released a burst of orange sparks that scattered like embers, dissolving into the air before they could touch the ground.
Her senses weren't here.
They were within the weapon.
Mana flowed from the magic circle into the blade, guided by her will. The pathways she carved into the metal weren't visible—but Sam could feel them, threads of power weaving through the structure of the weapon itself.
Emily adjusted her grip and struck again—refining, shaping, aligning.
She wasn't just forging metal.
She was building a system.
A core had already been formed within the blade, and now she was connecting it—channeling precise mana circuits through the weapon's body, stabilizing runic engravings that would dictate how it functioned in battle.
Finally—
She stopped.
The hammer lowered.
With a controlled exhale, she deactivated the magic circle beneath her feet. The glow dimmed, the flow of mana retracting back into the forge system.
She lifted the finished weapon.
A short blade—somewhere between a dagger and a sword. Its hilt burned with a warm orange hue, while red guards flared at its base like restrained flames. Runes traced along its surface, subtle yet intricate, pulsing faintly with contained power.
Stronger than it had any right to be.
Sam stepped closer, drawn in.
"What is this?" she asked quietly.
"Forgemastering," Leon answered. "Emily's specialty."
"Just a hobby," Emily said, wiping sweat from her brow with a cloth as she stepped off the still-heated platform.
Sam frowned slightly. A hobby?
"This isn't just forging," Leon added, drawing one of his own blades—a silver weapon of elegant design. "It's the creation of spell blades."
Emily glanced at the weapon briefly, then away.
"Adamant ore," she said, almost absentmindedly. "Durable. Efficient at conducting mana… but limited."
She placed the dagger among others she had crafted.
"It doesn't grow."
Her gaze flickered slightly, thoughtful.
"Seriphium would be better. It sustains its own mana, evolves naturally… no need for forced pathways."
A pause.
"But we work with what we're given."
Sam absorbed her words slowly, her curiosity deepening.
"Forgemastery…" she murmured.
Emily turned toward her.
"If you're interested, I could—"
"We're not here for that," Leon cut in smoothly.
Sam blinked, momentarily forgetting.
Right.
The mission.
Her excitement faded into focus.
Emily sighed softly, already understanding.
"So it's time."
Leon nodded. "Ginny's workshop. Meet us there."
With that, he turned, and Sam followed, casting one last glance at the forge before leaving.
—
Emily remained behind for a moment.
Then she exhaled.
The silence returned to the workshop, broken only by the fading heat of the forge.
She peeled off her work clothes and stepped into the attached shower, letting the water wash away the residue of heat and mana. This place—this forge—was hers. A sanctuary carved out within Golden Dawn, granted by Phoebe herself.
But now—
Duty called.
—
When she emerged, dressed once more in her combat suit, her orange-red hair tied into a neat bun, she made her way to the rendezvous point.
Leon and Sam were already waiting.
Together, they entered the next chamber.
Inside, a small figure sat hunched over a workstation, grease-stained blonde hair tied messily as goggles rested on her forehead. Her purple eyes lit up the moment she saw Leon.
She broke into delighted laughter.
Ginny
Emily groaned quietly. "Of course…"
Leon chuckled, patting Ginny's head.
"So," Ginny said, hopping off her chair and circling Sam with curious energy. "You're the Sinclair girl."
Her gaze sharpened as she examined her.
"…You don't look like James."
Sam froze.
Her heart skipped.
"You knew my father?" she asked, turning sharply.
Ginny tilted her head, casual.
"Acquaintances," she said lightly. "Though I spoke more with your mother."
The world seemed to pause.
Sam's breath caught.
"My… mother?"
Emotion surged through her before she could stop it. She reached out instinctively—but Ginny slipped away effortlessly, her small frame darting behind Leon with surprising speed.
Sam blinked in shock.
Leon continued patting Ginny's head as if nothing had happened.
And in that moment—
Sam realized.
This girl…
Was not normal.
Not even close
"
"Sorry," Ginny said, her voice dropping—sharper now, edged with something cold. "I don't want to talk about Sophia… or your family."
The shift was immediate.
The playful curiosity from moments before vanished, replaced by a quiet, menacing intensity in her gaze. Her violet eyes locked onto Sam with a warning that didn't need to be spoken twice.
Sam felt it.
The pressure.
A subtle instinct told her not to push—not here, not now. Questions burned in her chest, but she swallowed them down, letting the moment pass.
Leon stepped in smoothly, his tone neutral. "So… what do you have for us?"
Ginny clicked her tongue lightly, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had come. She slipped away from Leon's side and darted toward one of the cluttered worktables in her lab.
Sam's eyes followed her.
The workspace was chaotic—monitors flickering with fragmented data, dismantled machines strewn across the surface, weapon components lying beside circuitry in a way that made no immediate sense. It looked less like a lab… and more like the aftermath of relentless experimentation.
Ginny slipped on a metallic glove and reached into a sealed glass container, retrieving a small orb.
It glowed faintly.
Not brightly—but enough to draw attention. Its surface pulsed with a soft, inner light, and something about it felt… off. Not dangerous—just unfamiliar. Like it didn't belong.
"What is that?" Sam asked, unable to hide her curiosity.
"It's a core we recovered from a Starlight base," Emily said, stepping closer. "The place had already been overrun—Abominations, most likely. We were there investigating traces connected to the Fallen Stars."
"The Fallen Stars?" Sam echoed.
She glanced between them. "What is that?"
Emily exhaled and tilted her head slightly toward Leon. "You should explain."
Leon's expression darkened.
"Twenty years ago," he began, his voice quieter now, "there was an uprising within the Divine Federation. A coordinated attack… carried out by a faction that came to be known as the Fallen Stars."
Sam felt it again.
That heat.
That restrained anger simmering beneath his words.
"They struck the Stellar Council," Leon continued. "Half of Starlight's leadership was wiped out in a single day. At the same time, multiple outposts across the Federation were attacked."
His jaw tightened.
"If those locations hadn't been warned ahead of time… it would have been far worse."
"They were extremists," Emily added. "Fanatics who abandoned everything Starlight stood for. That's why they're called Fallen."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"If not for one man," Emily continued softly, "the damage would've been catastrophic. A Pleiadian named Jonathan Haravok."
Sam's breath hitched slightly.
"Haravok…" she murmured.
"My father," Leon said.
The words came out flat—but the emotion behind them wasn't.
"He led the counteroffensive," Leon continued, though his voice thinned slightly near the end. "Before he…"
He stopped.
Didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
The air grew heavy.
Sam felt it clearly this time—the molten weight of grief and rage coiling beneath his composure. It pressed against her senses, suffocating in its intensity.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Leon exhaled, forcing the moment aside.
"That's what we were investigating when we found the core."
Silence lingered again—thick, uncomfortable.
Until—
"Can I continue?" Ginny snapped, cutting through it.
She rolled her eyes, already moving past the emotional weight of the conversation.
"This core," she said, lifting the orb slightly, "is unlike anything I've ever seen."
Her tone sharpened with interest now.
"After analyzing it, I was able to identify the type of energy inside."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"Vitanium."
Emily immediately frowned. "That's not possible."
She stepped closer, studying the orb again. "I examined the core myself. That energy doesn't feel anything like Vitanium." Emily had spent some time studying the core, trying to find out the mystery of it, and she had reached dead ends, so she had gone to Ginny to get some help.
Sam glanced between them. "Okay… what is Vitanium?"
Leon answered this time.
"Those blue crystals in the Echo Field," he said. "The ones you saw when we first met."
Sam blinked.
"The glowing ones?"
He nodded. "That was Vitanium."
Realization dawned slowly.
"They're that valuable?"
"More than that," Emily said. "Vitanium is one of the purest sources of Lifeforce energy in existence. It can regenerate tissue—organs, limbs… even stabilize dying bodies. It's used in high-grade medicine, potions, cultivation refinement—"
She paused.
"And it's rare. Rare enough to start wars."
Leon's gaze hardened slightly. And far more important than just medicine…
Ginny waved a hand impatiently.
"If you'd let me finish," she said, "you'd know this isn't normal Vitanium." She raised the orb slightly. "It's been refined… purified to an extreme degree. The energy inside has been completely transformed into something else. That's why you couldn't tell it was Vitanium." Emily hissed, knowing full well that was not an excuse she could accept for missing something like that in the first place.
Sam leaned in slightly.
"What kind of energy is it?" She asked.
"At first, I couldn't identify it," Ginny admitted. "But after running multiple comparisons…"
Her grin widened.
"It matches the energy signatures found in Automaton cores."
"Automatons?" Sam echoed.
She knew the name—one of the Nine Races—but the concept still felt strange. Machines… as living beings?
Leon's eyes sharpened. "You're certain?"
Ginny scoffed lightly, gesturing toward the mechanical components scattered across her lab.
"I think I know Automaton physiology better than most," she said.
Then she tapped the orb.
"This is artificial."
A pause.
"Or rather… it's the result of an experiment."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"It's producing something extremely similar to Energion."
Leon turned back to Sam.
"Energion is what powers Automatons," he explained. "It converts Odic energy into whatever form is needed—fuel, output, function. It's one of the most efficient energy systems in existence."
"More efficient than Seriphium," Emily added quietly. "If you can combine Vitanium's regenerative properties with Energion's conversion… the results would be…"
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
Leon's expression darkened. "And how does this connect to the data you found?"
Ginny's excitement returned instantly.
"Oh, right. That."
She rushed back to her terminal, dragging a holographic display forward.
"I cracked the encryption," she said. "Barely. Most of the data wiped itself before I could extract it… but I salvaged fragments."
Her tone shifted—less excitement now, more unease.
"And this is where things get strange."
Leon stepped closer. "Go on."
Ginny brought up a series of fragmented logs.
"The base wasn't just storing energy cores."
She looked at them.
"It was conducting genetic research."
Emily's brows furrowed immediately. "Enhancement?"
Ginny nodded. "Biological modification. Artificial evolution."
"That's prohibited," Emily said. "Federation law strictly forbids that kind of experimentation."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "Why would a Starlight facility be running illegal research?"
Sam crossed her arms, frowning. "What's wrong with genetic research? Isn't that… normal?"
Leon exhaled slowly.
"According to Anunnaki doctrine," he said, "tampering with genetic structure violates the natural order of the universe."
Sam blinked.
"There's one term that kept appearing in the data," Ginny said.
Her voice dropped slightly.
"Starseed Genes."
The room went still.
"It looks like their objective," Ginny continued, "was to artificially awaken them."
Leon's gaze sharpened immediately.
"…Celestial Physiques."
Sam frowned. "What does that mean?"
Leon turned to her.
"According to myth, Pleiadians are descended from the Celestials." He said.
"I'm aware of that," Sam said. Emani had explained to her things about the nature of the universe, such as Celestials. They were some kind o interdimensional beings that existed beyond their plane of existence. Some even believed that most of the mortal races were created by them. At least those in the Divine Federation seems to believe it.
"And a gratia is the Divine blessing, right?" Sam asked, her gaze drifting to the Celestial seal etched into the back of her hand.
The mark pulsed faintly, as if responding to her awareness.
"Yes," Emily said. "Among Pleiadians, the gods who grant these blessings are known as Household Gods. Each one serves as the patron and guardian of a Celestial House."
Without hesitation, Emily tugged at the collar of her suit, revealing the mark along her collarbone.
It was elegant—sharp, deliberate.
A glyph resembling the Scorpio sigil, like a stylized M with a barbed tail curling upward, as though ready to strike.
"My House is the House of Scorpio."
Sam studied it, then turned to Leon.
He smiled faintly, already knowing what she was about to ask.
"House of Leo," he said simply.
Of course.
It fit him too well.
Sam's fingers brushed against her own mark again. Hers was different—foreign in design, almost archaic in nature. It didn't resemble the refined sigils of the Houses.
It felt… older.
Or perhaps—
Out of place.
Asha.
A heretical god, according to the Divine Federation.
The thought lingered, unsettled.
—
"Yes, the Starseed genes play a critical role in Awakening the Celestial Physique," Ginny continued, pulling Sam back into the conversation. "They purge the impurities within a mortal body—refining it, strengthening it—so it can withstand the surge of energy released during core awakening."
She tapped her monitor, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And from what I've gathered… the Stellar Council and the Federation Congress have no knowledge of this research."
Her lips curled faintly.
"This is off the books. Completely."
Emily folded her arms.
"Ever since the uprising, the Federation hasn't been as strong as it once was. Starlight included. It makes sense… that someone would start looking for alternatives."
"Alternatives that don't rely on the gods," Leon added quietly.
The implication hung in the air.
Sam frowned slightly.
"So… this base was experimenting on humans?"
Leon nodded.
"Vashin Priyham—the Erlking we tracked—was connected to it."
Sam blinked. "Wait… I'm lost."
Leon exhaled lightly, softening his tone.
"He was a Beastman. Infected with Infernal energy. We hunted him down during a mission."
Sam processed that quickly.
"So he was supplying humans to this base… for the experiments?"
"Yes," Leon said. "Or at least, that's what we believe."
"And before he could tell you anything…" Sam's voice lowered.
"He turned into an Abomination," Leon finished. "And was eliminated."
Sam's brows knit together.
"By who?"
Leon didn't answer immediately.
"Unknown," he said at last.
The word lingered, heavy with implication.
"And you think this is connected to the Abomination that attacked me in the Echo Field?" Sam asked.
Leon's gaze sharpened.
"Because the Infernal energy that infected Vashin… matches the one we encountered there."
A beat.
"The Great Ape."
Sam felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Leon turned to Ginny.
"Do you have anything else?"
Ginny nodded, scrolling through fragmented data.
"I accessed what remained of the base's security system," she said. "From what I can piece together… something went wrong."
"How wrong?" Emily asked.
Ginny hesitated briefly.
"Catastrophic."
She tapped the screen again.
"I don't have bodies to confirm this, but based on the readings… there was likely a Vitanium radiation breach."
Sam stiffened slightly.
"Radiation?"
"Yes," Ginny said. "Vitanium is incredibly valuable—but it's also unstable under certain conditions. If improperly handled, it releases lethal levels of radiation."
Her expression darkened.
"And the logs suggest the experiments weren't succeeding."
Another screen flickered to life.
Footage.
A containment chamber.
Inside—
Humanoid figures slammed violently against reinforced walls. Their bodies were warped—elongated limbs, reptilian scales tearing through skin, eyes glowing with feral madness. Mechanical arms extended from the ceiling, injecting, probing, restraining.
Sam felt her stomach twist.
"Mutation," Ginny said flatly. "Severe. Irreversible."
Leon's jaw tightened.
"That's why they're using humans," he said. "If it works on them… then it becomes safe for Pleiadians."
Sam looked away from the screen.
The thought alone felt wrong.
"Unfortunately," Ginny continued, shutting the footage off, "that's all I could recover. Most of the data wiped itself."
A pause.
Then her expression shifted—lighter, almost excited.
"But… I do have something useful."
Leon glanced at her. "Go on."
"The second dataset you gave me?" Ginny said. "I figured it out."
Leon's interest sharpened. "Did you?"
Ginny tapped the display again.
The screen changed.
A structure appeared—ancient, engraved with intricate runic formulas etched deep into stone.
"This," Ginny said, "is a Tempus Warp Gate."
"A gate?" Leon murmured.
Sam leaned forward slightly. "What's a warp gate?"
Ginny turned toward her.
"An ancient transportation system," she explained. "Long before modern ships, these gates allowed instant travel between planets."
Sam blinked. "Like… teleportation?"
"Exactly," Ginny said. "But far more complex. They draw from World Energy—only planets with high concentrations could sustain them."
Leon nodded slowly. "And they're rare."
"Extremely," Ginny confirmed. "Most planets don't even have one."
Emily crossed her arms. "I didn't think Terra would."
"That's the strange part," Ginny said. "Based on the runic calibration… this one doesn't connect to other planets."
She zoomed in on the inscriptions.
"It's localized."
Leon frowned. "Meaning?"
"It only transports within Terra."
Silence fell briefly.
Then Leon spoke again.
"How old is it?"
Ginny hesitated—just slightly.
Then:
"Millions of years."
The room went still.
Leon exhaled slowly, something clicking into place behind his eyes.
"…So Terra is one of those planets."
He turned, already moving toward the exit.
"Cedar Lake," he said. "That's where this leads."
A faint, dangerous edge crept into his voice.
"Let's go see what's waiting for us."