Section 1 — Walking Through Pirate Island
The streets of Pirate Island were alive, or maybe dead. Crow couldn't tell which. The air smelled of salt, smoke, and spilled blood, layered over the stench of rot and rum. Men stumbled, knives flashing, women leaned too close, whispering secrets Crow didn't need to hear. Yet he listened anyway, as if the whole damn chaos was a lesson delivered directly to him.
He walked with the kind of quiet confidence that made people give him space. Not respect. Space. There was a difference. Respect could be feigned. Fear? Fear was instinctual, unavoidable. And instinct… instinct never lied.
Crow's eyes darted constantly, reading angles, measuring distances, catching the subtle signals others missed. A drunken pirate with a crooked sword swung wildly — too predictable. Two spies in silks ducked behind a vendor stand, their conversation clipped, cautious. And behind a curtain of smoke, he could just make out the shimmer of ki, faint, hesitant — a novice, or maybe a mark.
So many want something. They all do.
He thought about that. About the people in the streets, about the whispers of government informants, the smuggling rings, the mercenaries. Every pirate, every lowlife on this island was here for a reason — a goal they were desperate enough to chase with blades, fire, and betrayal. Crow had no goal but survival and observation. Survival meant staying unseen yet always aware. Observation meant reading lies before they were spoken.
A boy of sixteen walking into this hive of vipers might seem foolish. Crow knew better.
A woman brushed past his shoulder, perfume masking the hint of steel beneath her garments. She wasn't interested in him personally. She was interested in the threat he might represent, or the story he might tell. Crow's eyes flicked to hers for a second, neutral, unreadable. She didn't flinch. Good.
Patience. Patience is power.
He remembered what Newgate and Shiki had drilled into him — not techniques, not moves, but lessons in chaos. How to walk through it without being consumed. How to measure monsters against each other and pick which parts to absorb, which parts to ignore. How to survive. How to dominate without speaking.
I've seen the language of monsters. Now I understand it.
Crow's pace didn't quicken, though his senses stretched to the edges of the street. He noticed groups forming, piratical packs and lone hunters. He noticed who avoided who. The stronger avoided the stronger. The weak avoided everyone. And somewhere, beneath the noise and madness, the agents of the government were trying to map the chaos to a strategy.
They'll learn too late.
By the time he reached the cliffs where Rocks' hall loomed, carved into the rockface like the maw of some enormous beast, Crow's eyes had cataloged every movement, every intention, every threat. The hall above the streets glittered with torchlight, gold and bone mingled with the laughter spilling from inside.
He paused, taking a slow breath. The chaos of the island below and the monstrous palace above were connected by invisible strings, all pulled by the same hand — Rocks D. Xebec. Crow didn't know what to expect inside. But he knew one thing: no one here was innocent.
No one is innocent on Pirate Island.
The words echoed in his mind, a mantra. A warning. A promise.
Crow lifted his chin, golden eyes reflecting the torchlight. He stepped forward.
⸻
Section 2 — The Demon's Feast
The hall wasn't just loud.
It was alive — a monster of its own, breathing in laughter and exhaling madness.
Rocks' fortress glowed red with torchlight, the air heavy with smoke and sweat. Gold dripped from the walls like blood from a wound, banners torn and stained by years of drunken knife fights. The tables were littered with bones, half-eaten meat, and spilled rum. It smelled like salt and greed — and power.
Crow didn't hesitate. He walked straight in.
The room shifted when he entered. Not a hush — Rocks' crew wasn't the kind to quiet down for anyone — but the change was there. A flicker of interest, a ripple through the noise.
Some recognized him. Others didn't care. A few — the smart ones — studied him the way predators watch another predator cross their territory.
"Oi, the brat's here!" Shiki's voice cut through the noise, sharp and drunk with energy.
Crow's gaze found him instantly — golden hair wild, grin stretched too wide, drink in one hand, and the other slung around two women who looked equally eager and terrified.
Shiki's laugh rolled through the hall. "Didn't think you'd show, kid! Thought you'd still be nursing your pride after the last scrap!"
Crow didn't rise to it. He just smirked faintly. "You looked worse than me."
That got a roar of laughter from nearby crews. Shiki loved that — the back-and-forth, the challenge hidden in banter. He slammed his mug against the table, spilling half of it. "Hah! He's got a tongue, boys! Better hide your secrets before he cuts you with it!"
Crow didn't sit until Newgate motioned for him. The old man sat like a mountain, shoulders broad enough to hold up the room, his gaze somewhere between pride and warning.
"Sit," Newgate said simply, voice a rumble that silenced a few of the rowdiest nearby.
Crow did.
Food was pushed his way — roasted fish, meat dripping with fat, sake flowing endlessly. Newgate's men dragged him into their rhythm, the kind of camaraderie that came from shared bloodshed. It was loud, violent, but familiar.
Crow wasn't fooled. This wasn't kindness. It was initiation.
The real test was already happening — a test of patience, of control, of composure. Every eye in this room belonged to someone who'd slit a throat for a drink.
They're measuring me. Watching what I say. What I don't.
A pirate laughed too loudly behind him. A woman brushed against his arm, eyes too calculating for her smile. Another filled his cup before it was empty.
Every gesture, every sound, was a move in an unseen game.
And Shiki… Shiki kept the pace like a conductor.
"Drink up, boy!" Shiki shouted, tossing back another cup. "Can't sit quiet in Rocks' hall — the silence will eat you first!"
Crow raised his cup, the liquid shimmering faintly gold in the light. He sipped, letting it burn down his throat. Nothing. His body processed it instantly, the devil fruit burning away the alcohol before it could take hold.
He placed the cup down untouched by drunkenness, and the laughter around him only grew louder.
They didn't understand.
They thought he was too young to hold his liquor, too serious to relax.
They didn't realize he couldn't be drunk — not anymore. His blood rejected it like poison.
Rocks' test… this isn't just about strength. It's about control. How long can I play their game without losing myself?
The crowd blurred into colors — gold, red, smoke, and shadow. The room was moving faster now, the laughter sharper, the edges harder. Somewhere, Rocks watched it all, his grin hidden behind a glass of wine.
The man didn't need to move to command. His presence was gravity. Everyone orbited him — Shiki's chaos, Newgate's calm, LinLin's ambition.
Crow didn't need to look to feel it. Rocks was watching him. Measuring him.
And then, the first ripple hit.
Smoothie.
She was tall even by her mother's standards — a sculpted tower of cold beauty and unspoken rage. Her eyes caught his like blades crossing.
Crow didn't move. He didn't need to. Her steps drew the attention of everyone around. The air grew quieter as she approached — the kind of quiet that follows a dangerous animal entering another predator's space.
"You don't seem impressed," she said, her voice cool, measured. "Most men tremble when they see Rocks' feast for the first time."
"I've seen worse," Crow replied evenly.
Her eyebrow twitched. "From who?"
"From people who thought they were gods."
That earned a low whistle from someone nearby. Even Shiki paused mid-drink, grinning like a shark sensing blood.
Smoothie smiled faintly — the kind that wasn't a smile at all. "You think you're clever?"
"No," Crow said. "Just honest."
"You should be careful with honesty," she murmured, leaning closer. "It's a dangerous thing here. My mother says truth gets people killed faster than lies."
Crow's eyes flicked toward her — calm, but cold. "Then maybe the world deserves fewer liars."
The air thickened.
LinLin's laughter rumbled from the far end of the hall, a sound like rolling thunder. "Now, now, Smoothie! Don't kill the boy before the fun starts!"
Smoothie's gaze didn't leave his. "Maybe he wants to be killed."
Shiki barked a laugh. "Hah! She likes him already!"
Crow didn't smile. He didn't flinch. The heat under his skin burned, his blood humming with restraint. The golden flame inside him wanted to react — to lash out, to prove it could devour anything that challenged it.
He exhaled slowly.
Control. Always control.
The party swelled again — laughter, shouting, dancing. Shiki rose, arm outstretched, dragging attention back to himself. "Enough staring contests! The kid's too sharp to be drunk, so let's fix that — bring more sake!"
Smoothie held his gaze for one more second, then turned away. "We'll see," she said, voice low enough that only he heard it. "We'll see what happens when you stop pretending to be calm."
Crow said nothing. He just watched her walk away, knowing the confrontation wasn't over.
And behind her — unseen by most — Rocks' hand flicked, subtle but decisive.
The test was only beginning.
⸻
Scene 3 — The Real Test Begins
The music had stopped pretending to be music a long time ago.
Drums now pounded out of rhythm. Someone had broken a violin and was still trying to play it.
The air was sweat, smoke, and blood — the smell of victory and the fear that came after it.
Crow sat where Rocks had left him — alone in a storm of noise.
Half the pirates in the hall were drinking like the world was ending. The other half were fighting just in case it didn't.
Smoothie's perfume still hung faintly on his sleeve, sharp and citrus-sweet, like the memory of a blade pressed to his throat.
Her laughter had vanished somewhere among the crowd. He could feel her gaze even when she wasn't looking. That was the kind of woman she was — a presence that lingered, like the taste of iron.
He leaned back, cup in hand, letting the world blur.
Every vibration in the air stung against his skin, every laugh echoed too long. His body wasn't tired — his ki was restless.
Like something wild inside him wanted out.
He could feel the pulse of it, deep in his chest — the warmth that had once kept him alive now whispering to be fed.
Easy… he told himself. You're here to observe. Not to become part of the spectacle.
That's when he noticed the shift.
It started subtle — laughter bending a little too sharp, footsteps pausing for half a heartbeat too long.
The predators had scented him again. Not out of hate or challenge, but curiosity. The kind that kills cats and men alike.
A hand brushed his shoulder — soft, manicured, practiced.
"Pretty boy," a woman's voice purred, "you don't drink enough for a pirate."
Another joined her, giggling, sliding onto his lap without asking.
Then another.
And another.
By the fourth, he understood what was happening.
Shiki's women — handpicked distractions, eyes glinting with more calculation than lust. They leaned close, pretending to feed him fruit, whispering sweetly while their eyes scanned his every reaction.
He could almost hear Shiki laughing somewhere beyond the crowd.
The bastard loved games like this — testing composure, prying weakness out with a grin.
Crow tilted his cup, letting the sake run over his fingers before drinking it.
Sweet. Too sweet.
A faint powder residue at the bottom — the kind that should have clouded his mind.
But his Devil Fruit burned it away instantly. His blood was a furnace. Alcohol, toxins, poisons — none of it stayed.
His curse was that he could never truly lose control. Only simulate it.
He smiled faintly, letting the women think they were winning.
"So tell us," one whispered, lips brushing his ear. "What's Rocks want with you? You're not his usual type."
Another ran a finger along his jaw. "You don't look like a soldier. You look… cultured. Trained."
Their words laced with practiced venom — the kind meant to loosen lips, not hearts.
Crow didn't answer. He watched the way their pupils flickered when he didn't take the bait.
Spies. Not pirates.
And not all from the same hand.
He scanned the room again — beyond the dancing, beyond the laughter.
Half a dozen figures didn't belong.
Too clean. Too quiet.
Their smiles didn't reach their eyes.
He felt it then — the pressure of the island itself shifting.
The test had begun.
⸻
The party erupted fully into chaos.
Tables flipped. Fireworks meant for celebration were hurled as weapons.
Shiki was arm-wrestling two men at once while LinLin laughed loud enough to shake the rafters.
Newgate drank like a mountain with a heartbeat — calm but unreadable, watching everything from beneath his blond mane.
And somewhere high on his throne, Rocks D. Xebec watched with that wolfish grin — letting the madness bloom.
Crow understood now.
This wasn't a party. It was a purge.
Every man and woman here was being measured — loyalty, control, instinct.
The ones too weak to survive the night wouldn't see sunrise.
He's turning the island into a forge, Crow thought. He wants to see what burns hottest.
He felt his heartbeat rise — not from fear, but anticipation.
The wildness he kept caged began to scratch the bars.
And that's when the stranger appeared.
⸻
The man was out of place from the first step — too precise in movement, too clean in smell, too deliberate in his stillness.
A merchant's smile, a fighter's balance.
Crow had seen enough hunters to know one when he saw one.
The stranger approached like someone who believed himself invisible.
"So this is the boy Rocks plucked from nowhere," the man said, voice smooth, measured. "The one who survived the laboratory fire."
Crow didn't react — but his pulse slowed.
The laboratory.
Only government mouths used that word.
The man sat across from him uninvited, eyes sharp, smile soft. "You wear your calm like armor. Admirable. But useless, if you don't know who you are."
The words slid under Crow's skin.
"You don't even have a surname, do you? No past. No nation. A ghost walking among monsters."
Crow's cup trembled slightly in his hand.
"And yet," the man continued, leaning closer, "those eyes — they aren't human. I've seen them before, in the reports. The golden mutation. The failed project."
He smiled thinly. "Tell me, how does it feel to live as a mistake?"
Crow's knuckles whitened around the cup.
The air around him hummed — faint, golden, dangerous.
"Choose your next words carefully," Crow said quietly.
The spy misread the calm for control. "You were supposed to die with her. But the girl—"
He never finished.
Light erupted between them — pure, golden, and alive.
⸻
The explosion tore half the hall apart.
Tables splintered. Men screamed.
A shockwave of heat surged outward, melting the silverware where it sat.
Crow stood in the center of it, arm extended, eyes glowing like twin suns.
The spy was gone — nothing left but a charred outline on stone.
Every pirate who hadn't already hit the ground did now.
The laughter vanished. The only sound was the slow, hungry crackle of Crow's fire.
His ki poured from him unchecked — molten, living, wild.
It crawled up his skin, burning patterns that shifted like scales.
And then came the wings.
They tore through his back in a burst of light — black-gold feathers trailing fire, shadow and brilliance woven together.
The air warped around him. Every breath was a threat.
Crow felt the edge of himself slipping — the boundary between control and chaos burning away.
Stop, he told himself. You're losing it.
But the part of him that listened was drowning.
He saw flashes — the lab, the screams, the girl's hand reaching through smoke.
He felt the sear of the needle, the weight of fire flooding his veins.
He heard Rocks' voice echoing from somewhere far off, telling him to "embrace it."
He didn't remember roaring, but the hall shook with it.
Pirates stumbled back, faces blistering from the heat.
Even Smoothie hesitated — for once, her confidence faltering.
"Now that's the fire I was hoping for!" Shiki shouted over the chaos, laughing madly.
But nobody else joined him.
Because then Rocks moved.
⸻
No one saw him leave the throne. One moment he was seated, the next he was beside Crow — an eclipse wrapped in human form.
"Enough."
The word wasn't loud, but it cracked reality.
Crow froze mid-step, wings flaring.
Rocks' hand clamped down on his shoulder — a hand that carried the weight of oceans.
The floor shattered beneath them.
"Your fire burns clean," Rocks said quietly, almost kindly. "Don't let rage stain it black."
Then he struck him — a casual backhand to the chest, but layered with something more than strength.
A surge of Conqueror's Haki mixed with fire.
Authority made manifest.
The blow didn't send Crow flying — it unmade the transformation entirely.
The wings dissolved into ash. The glow faded.
He fell to one knee, coughing smoke, the tattoos across his skin pulsing like seals trying to contain something divine.
The silence that followed was worse than noise.
Rocks looked down at him, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Good," he murmured. "Now you've shown them what happens when they speak of ghosts."
He turned toward the rest of the hall.
"Anyone else curious about the boy's origin?"
No one answered.
Even LinLin's laughter was gone.
Rocks chuckled, low and dangerous. "Didn't think so."
He lifted his hand, and Haki surged from him like a storm.
The spies who'd survived the blast didn't last long.
Invisible pressure pinned them in place — then fire bloomed out of their mouths, eyes, and skin as Rocks' will crushed their bodies and souls alike.
The hall lit up in burning silhouettes — government men reduced to torches.
Rocks' Haki didn't just dominate; it consumed.
Fire fed on intent, eating through deception until only screams remained.
When it ended, the only light left was from the torches on the wall — and the slow, glowing smoke that curled from the blackened corpses.
Crow forced himself to stand, breath ragged.
Rocks' hand landed on his shoulder again, heavy but steady.
"You've got too much of the world in you, little bird," Rocks said. "Let's fix that."
The hall remained silent as he dragged Crow away, the commanders watching without a word.
They'd seen many things under Rocks' reign.
But this — this was something else.
⸻
By morning, the whispers said later, the island was still burning.
And far across the sea, in a quiet Marine office thick with cigar smoke and papers, Tsuru was already reading the report.
⸻
Scene 5 — Threads Pulled Too Soon
The hum of the Den Den Mushi was the only sound that dared fill the silence of Tsuru's office. The tiny creature's mouth flapped rhythmically, mimicking the tension in her voice as she stood beside her desk, motionless. Papers were scattered — not the way an unorganized mind left them, but the way a sharp one tore through the truth faster than the world could arrange it.
Outside, Marineford was calm. The sunrise painted the horizon in washed-out amber, the color of something beautiful that didn't last long.
On her desk, the reports gleamed under the faint light. Cipher Pol 0. Operation 0779.
Stamped in red: COMPROMISED.
"Multiple agents confirmed KIA. Cause of death — undetermined. Evidence of Conqueror's Haki fusion with high thermal output. Visuals suggest Rocks D. Xebec was present. Subject 'Crow' sighted prior to detonation."
Her lips tightened, fingers resting against the parchment like she could feel the heat still burning from the paper.
"The Elders wouldn't have signed off on this," she muttered. "Not this soon. Not knowing what Rocks is capable of."
She reached for the next file — a personal transmission bearing Kong's handwriting, uneven with the weight of hurried judgment.
Central Command approved limited infiltration. Target: survivor designated "Amber." Possible genetic overlap with Crow specimen data — confirmation required. Contact: Vegapunk, neutral consultant.
"Amber…" she whispered. The name stung.
Her gaze drifted to a separate folder — Project Resurgence: CROW-Ω. Vegapunk's signature lined the bottom, crisp and methodical. Every note was a map of the boy's body, mind, and the unknown energy flowing through him.
Subject's Ki is self-correcting. Training unnecessary. Natural synchronization observed during periods of emotional restraint. Fruit usage minimal — interference with Ki resonance detected. Recommend continued isolation and observation. Discharge approved: Hachinosu (under Shakuyaku's supervision).
Tsuru read it twice, then three times. Vegapunk's data was cold, exact, but beneath it she could feel a human undercurrent — a man studying something beyond science, perhaps even pitying it.
"He knew Crow didn't need guidance," she murmured. "He discharged him because the boy was already stabilizing himself."
Her reflection stared back at her from the glass pane — calm, but weary. "And now that stability's been dropped into the middle of Rocks' madness."
The Den Den Mushi rattled. Kong's voice came through, rough from sleepless nights.
"Tsuru."
She didn't sit. "You've read the casualty list."
"I wrote the damn list," Kong snapped. "We lost eight men before they even reached the interior. The rest—" He hesitated. "Rocks turned them into ash before they could report."
Tsuru's tone was level, almost gentle. "And who told you to send them?"
Silence.
When he didn't answer, she sighed, rubbing her temple. "You know what that island is, Kong. You know who sits at its center. Even the Elders avoid provoking Rocks directly — not because they fear him, but because they remember him. They know what happens when he smells government steel."
Kong grunted, low. "Then explain this to me — if the Elders didn't approve it, how did CP get the greenlight?"
Tsuru flipped to the final page, marked with an internal cipher: "Project Follow-Up Authorization — Section A13."
Her eyes hardened. "This came from the scientific division, not the Elders. Someone high up thought they could pull Crow's strings through Amber."
"So they used her to bait him."
Tsuru nodded. "And they just unleashed the wrath of Rocks' entire crew. Reports from our coastal scouts say the island's turned into a purge. Commanders are cleansing every ally tied to Cipher Pol. Shakuyaku's leading it personally — a hive tearing itself apart from the inside."
She opened another envelope — fresh reports still smudged with salt from the field couriers.
Visual confirmation: Pirate Island aflame. Unidentified pirate crews executed on suspicion of espionage. Air thick with debris and Haki traces. Shakky directing sweeps across all four sectors. Rocks sighted briefly — flames and black lightning observed. Civilian evacuations halted.
Kong exhaled through the line. "A bloodbath."
"A warning," Tsuru corrected. "Rocks didn't just burn the agents — he burned the idea of surveillance itself. And Crow was there to see it."
The weight in the air shifted.
Kong's voice was quieter now. "You think Rocks knows what Crow really is?"
"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not. But he's seen enough to know that the boy isn't ordinary. And Crow—" her voice dipped, almost reflective, "—Crow's seen something in Rocks too. Something that mirrors him."
She turned back to the report. Vegapunk's notes gleamed like scripture.
Subject CROW-Ω demonstrates exponential internal Ki evolution. Each adaptation stabilizes faster than predicted. Long-term isolation recommended — external emotional influence may trigger rapid resonance acceleration.
Tsuru closed the file. "Vegapunk was right to stop training him. You can't guide something that's already teaching itself. But now he's inside a nest where every monster is a reflection of what he could become."
"And Amber?" Kong asked.
Tsuru's voice softened — just slightly. "She's the only thread left. She's alive because Crow intervened. Her Ki resonance is weaker but compatible. Vegapunk's using his data to stabilize her, through controlled replication."
Kong caught the implication. "Enhancements based on Crow's blood?"
"Yes. The same method that saved him."
She paced slowly to the window. "But it's a dangerous foundation. Crow's Ki evolved on pain, rage, and survival. Amber's being forced to adapt through science. The balance is unnatural. Vegapunk can hold it — for now — but even he doesn't know what happens when her body finishes syncing."
"Then why let him continue?"
Tsuru looked out toward the horizon, where dawn light struck the sea like molten glass. "Because the Elders will demand results. If we cut him off, they'll go behind our backs again. At least this way, we control the data flow. Vegapunk's curiosity keeps him loyal — but his guilt makes him careful."
She set the last page down — an unsigned memo written in her own hand, dated that same morning:
Directive: Observation Priority — Project Amber. Secondary Directive — Containment through understanding. Direct engagement with Crow strictly forbidden until further notice.
Kong was silent. Then: "You think you can control this?"
Tsuru smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "Control isn't the point. Understanding is."
The line went dead.
For a long while, she stood alone — only the faint hum of the Den Den Mushi fading into stillness.
⸻
Transition: Vegapunk's Lab — "The Living Equation"
The air was cold, metallic, and filled with the faint thrum of generators buried deep beneath the surface. The lab was hidden somewhere no map acknowledged — an entire facility built under false registries, disguised as a research wing for naval logistics.
Rows of suspended pods glowed with sterile light. The hum of Ki sensors blended with the drip of condensed water from coolant pipes.
Vegapunk moved like a man possessed by purpose. His hair — already starting to silver — was tied back, his coat streaked with graphite stains. The files Tsuru referenced were open before him, holographic projections of blood cell resonance spinning like galaxies in miniature.
"Stabilization at thirty-four percent," one assistant murmured.
"Thirty-four is chaos," Vegapunk muttered. "Too low to sustain a proper pattern, too high to classify as human tolerance."
He stepped to the main chamber — where Amber floated in a column of pale fluid, eyes closed, her skin faintly glowing with veins of light running beneath it. Her breathing was shallow, mechanical, but steady.
"Her system's rejecting the external inhibitors," another scientist said. "It's like her body's trying to evolve faster than we can measure it."
"Of course it is," Vegapunk whispered. "Crow's data was never static — it adapts. He adapts. What we're seeing isn't replication, it's continuation."
He stared at her for a moment, his voice dropping to a low murmur only the glass could hear.
"Crow refined his own Ki. Alone. Without instruction. That's why he survived. If she can do the same…" He trailed off, thoughts spiraling. "Then maybe she can carry what he couldn't."
Behind him, one of the monitors flickered — faint heat traces from Hachinosu still streaming in from distant sensors. The flames of Rocks' feast burned like a storm on the map, and within it, a faint pulse signature — one that didn't fade with the others.
Vegapunk's hand froze. He adjusted the scope, zooming in.
KI SIGNATURE MATCH — CROW-Ω — ACTIVE / UNSTABLE / ADAPTIVE.
He exhaled sharply. "He's still evolving…"
Then, quieter: "And he's angry."
⸻
Final Sequence — "The Quiet Between Storms"
Back in Marineford, Tsuru stepped out onto the balcony. The wind carried the salt of the sea, but also something else — the faint sense of something moving far beyond the Marines' reach.
The sun had risen fully now, but its light felt dim. She thought of Rocks, of the agents burned alive in that feast of monsters, and of the boy standing quietly among them — 16 years old, too aware, too silent.
She could feel it. Crow wasn't a weapon anymore. He was an echo. A product of what the government made and what the world turned him into.
She closed her eyes, whispering to herself, not as a soldier, but as a weary woman who'd seen too much of the same cycle.
"We built this storm," she said. "Now all we can do is pray it doesn't remember who started it."
The tide crashed below, and somewhere far away — deep beneath the surface of a hidden lab — Amber's heartbeat synced with the faint pulse of something vast and familiar.