Unknown Location
New Boston, North Atlantic Federation arc zone
Western Hemisphere,
United Earth Federation
2435 A.D.
Xer and Nine emerged in the new hideout—a secure site established well in advance—stepping out of the starlight gateway Archie had prepared. The luminous weave shimmered once, then dissolved behind them, leaving the room dim and silent.
Nine's gaze wandered across the chamber. Even now, he couldn't comprehend what he had witnessed. The way Elias Vasselheim had fought—the way his blade had cut through cause and effect itself—defied all logic. The explanation Xer had given him still refused to make sense. How could mere martial power distort reality like that? Yet Xer stood calm, unbothered, as if she'd already accepted it.
Archie approached, her steps sharp, arms crossed. The tribal markings along her face caught the faint light as her eyes narrowed on Nine—like she was assessing a piece of trash Xer had dragged in.
"Looks like you made it through my gateway on time," she said flatly, before her gaze shifted to him. "And you… getting your ass handed to you? Pathetic. You even let the enemy find our base. I thought you could see the future."
"I can," Nine said, jaw tight. "But only when I consciously calculate the outcome. I wasn't—"
"It wouldn't have mattered," Xer interrupted.
Both Archie and Nine turned to her. "What do you mean?" Archie asked.
"I reviewed the footage of Elias's arrival," Xer said. "He tracked us using a Resonant creature. Your precognition only works on those of your own kind, doesn't it?"
Nine hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
"And ever since Project Heliospire, you've gained partial hybrid awareness," Xer continued. "You can read the probabilities of both humans and Luminia—but not Resonant lifeforms. Their existence is beyond your lattice range."
Her eyes hardened. "Which means Elias and his tracker were always beyond your foresight. You could never have seen that future."
Nine stared, disbelief hot in his chest. Was it luck—or fate—that Elias Vasselheim had once again found a way beyond his reach? His ability to read futures, once absolute, had failed him against that man. Somehow, Elias had managed to outshine him. Again, he was outshone by a corporate scion.
"What do you have for me, Archie?" Xer's voice cut through his thoughts.
"I did as you instructed," Archie said. She and Xer walked ahead toward the command center, their steps echoing softly through the metallic corridor. Nine followed in silence, simmering frustration hidden behind his blank stare.
"I kept my eyes on Naia Vasselheim and Elira Solenne."
The air shimmered faintly as mirror-like reflections rippled across Archie's irises. Her bloodline ability—Mirror Synapses—expanded her perception through reflective channels scattered across multiple networks.
"It seems the Vasselheim girl and Elira infiltrated Auralis Haven and broke into Celestex's offsite records," Archie continued. "They were ambushed by Celestex assassins. Most of the team was wiped out. It's safe to assume they've realized Malcolm's death wasn't terrorism—but an assassination."
Xer nodded slightly. "We anticipated this. Thanks to Nine's projections, we knew they'd follow the trail back to our past."
Archie gave a sharp grin. "Then maybe we should've used a stronger bomb. You wouldn't have needed to do the deed yourself."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Xer turned her head slightly. "And kill Elira?"
Her tone wasn't loud, but the pressure that radiated from her was enough to make both Archie and Nine stiffen.
"N-no, of course not," Archie stammered. "I only meant—"
"It's fine," Xer said, her voice returning to calm. "It doesn't matter whether they uncover the truth or not. Let them come. We'll achieve our goal before they even understand what's happening."
They entered the command center—a vast chamber of steel and light. A massive holo-screen filled the far wall, displaying the glowing map of the UEF's dominion: the six Federation zones under its control.
The North Atlantic Federation Zone, spanning North America; the South American Federation Zone; the European Federation Zone; the African Federation Zone; and the Asian Federation Zone—each pulsing faintly with the markers of active surveillance grids and troop movements.
As the map rotated slowly, the light from the display washed across Xer's face, her expression unreadable.
"Soon," she murmured, "the balance of the Federations will shift—and they'll finally understand what true coexistence means."
****
Elias stepped out of the bath, steam rolling off his skin as the glow from the machine's screen dimmed behind him. The warmth did little to ease the deep ache running through his body—a lingering consequence of pushing his limits.
He'd modified his Base Facet on instinct during the last battle, expanding his sensory field and merging it with his martial rhythm. The process had nearly torn his body apart, but it worked. The synergy was real. The cost had been pain, but the reward—growth.
Elias flexed his sword arm, muscles tensing, the faint hum of energy still resonating beneath his skin. His reflection on the glass wall wavered in the rising steam. For a moment, he saw her.
Xer.
The memory came unbidden.
~
"What are you doing?" Elias asked, his voice lighter, younger. He couldn't have been more than nineteen. There was an unfamiliar warmth in his tone—a softness rarely seen in him.
The door slid open, and a girl entered. Midnight hair that caught the light like liquid glass. Pointed ears. Faint tribal markings along her cheeks. She carried a tray loaded with food, her smile disarming in its brightness.
"I made you breakfast," she said, setting the tray between them as he sat up. "I saw some ME clips online. It's what partners do for each other on their birthdays."
"Is it?" Elias asked, amused.
"I don't know," she admitted, tilting her head. "It's your human tradition, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know," Elias said with a half-smile. "You're the first to do this for me."
"Am I?" she teased.
"Yeah."
He studied her face, unable to look away. Though she was Luminia, her appearance was more human than most of her kind—skin of a warm carbon tone rather than crystalline translucence, eyes bright but gentle. She wore no glamour, yet she was radiant in a way that words couldn't touch.
He reached out, brushing a lock of her luminous black hair behind her pointed ear. Her breath caught as his lips found hers.
Xerna Solenne.
The most beautiful woman he had ever known. And in that fleeting moment, he'd believed she was his future.
~
The shrill tone of his Lumenpad shattered the memory. Elias blinked, the vision dispersing like mist. He exhaled slowly, dragging a towel across his face as the call signal pulsed on the screen—pulling him back to the present.
The message flashed across his Lumenpad—a text from Ryn.
Lost the trail. Can't pick up their Lumenis scent anymore. They wiped it clean.
Elias exhaled through his nose, setting the pad down on the counter beside the sink. Even Ryn, a Resonant lifeform tracker whose olfactory and energy perception could dissect a person's wavelength signature from miles away, had hit a dead end. Whoever Xer and her group were working with, they had access to something far beyond standard concealment protocols.
Steam still drifted lazily from the bath, the faint hum of the apartment's purification filters filling the silence. Elias ran a hand through his damp hair, frowning at the floor.
"They scrubbed their scent," he murmured. "Even Ryn can't follow them. That's… impossible."
His thoughts turned to the stranger—Nine. That same eerie calm, those eyes that saw too far. A human capable of manipulating a Luminis-derived weave with that level of sophistication—it shouldn't have been possible.
"He called himself Chorumsman Nine…" Elias muttered under his breath. "That name sounds familiar."
He needed to know why.
After his shower, he slipped into his standard field uniform—white shirt and black dress vest under reinforced military trousers, a black trench coat draped over his shoulders. The coat's inner lining flickered faintly as the defensive lattice engaged, resonating with the Emberstone at his chest. He took one last look at the cityscape outside his apartment window—the towers of New Boston, their chrome edges glowing under the morning's violet haze—and then stepped out.
His hover bike drove through the Wardspire district towards Wardspire annex, cutting through the fog-choked airways. GSA towers loomed ahead like spears of glass, each humming with containment wards and communication relays. The city's pulse thrummed beneath him, an endless rhythm of light and industry.
When Elias arrived at the Negotiation and Intelligence Division, Ryn was already waiting in the observation hall, leaning against a pillar with his usual half-smirk.
"So what now?" Ryn asked, tossing his Lumenpad between his hands. His sharp gray eyes gleamed faintly with embedded optics, scanning Elias's expression. "You've got that look again."
"I think I might have something," Elias replied. His voice carried that restrained certainty Ryn had learned to trust.
He moved past him, entering his sister's cubicle. The space was tidy, filled with faint traces of Naia's presence—notes, scattered field logs, and an unfinished cup of synth-coffee that had long gone cold. For a moment, he paused, feeling the faint pulse of her gem signature lingering in the air. Then he placed his hand on her holo-monitor.
"Clearance ID: Vasselheim-3A."
The console beeped, scanning his palm print before flaring to life. Lines of encrypted code unraveled into data feeds as the GSA network synced to his access level. Elias's fingers moved across the light keys, opening directories, cross-referencing logs, and entering one term into the database:
CHORUMSMAN.
The system began its deep scan, light fractals reflecting in his eyes as the screen scrolled with classified data.
Ryn leaned against the frame of the cubicle, watching him work. "You think GSA has him in the records?"
Elias didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the holographic display as line after line of redacted data scrolled past. The interface flickered, then resolved into an image—a grainy photo of a man in his fifties.
Gray hair. Sharp cheekbones. The same cold, analytical stare.
He looked eerily similar to the Nine Elias had fought—only older. Much older.
Elias leaned closer. The text beneath the photo pulsed faintly with redacted overlays. What fragments remained painted a strange picture:
Affiliation: Chorumsman Order
Status: Dissolved – Fifty years ago
Classification: Religious Radical Organization
Objective: Worship of the Luminia as angelic envoys of divine origin
Threat Level: High (Ideological Subversion / Technological Exploitation)
Elias's brow furrowed. It wasn't the first time he'd seen cults rise around the Luminia. Some humans still clung to the old belief that the Luminians were divine—messengers sent from heaven rather than refugees from the stars. The GSA usually dismantled such groups quickly, especially the dangerous ones.
But this… the Chorumsman Order was different. Their hierarchy was numbered—One through Twelve—each denoting a rank within their creed. And their doctrine was more militant than religious. They didn't just worship the Luminia; they fought for them, declaring war on the corporations that, according to their writings, had enslaved humanity and polluted the "purity of the angelic kind."
Elias's gaze moved to the next line.
Subject 09 – Codename: Nine
Captured: Year 2385 – Neo-Sahara Conflict
Sentence: Life Imprisonment – GSA Supermax Facility, Black Verge
Status: [REDACTED]
He froze.
"Captured fifty years ago?" Elias whispered. "But he looks the same."
He scrolled further. Every page beyond that point was locked under Omega-tier clearance. No access. No history. No ability records. Nothing. Just a classified void.
It made no sense. Gemcrafters, even Resonant-tier ones, aged more slowly than normal humans—but they didn't reverse age. They couldn't erase five decades.
"How the hell are you still alive, Nine?" Elias muttered under his breath.
The holo-screen dimmed, its glow fading across his reflection. His own face looked back at him—tired, shadowed, and suddenly uncertain.
He stood, turning toward Ryn, who had been watching silently from the doorway.
"Keep tracking them," Elias said. "If they wiped their scent once, they can do it again. I want you to monitor every fluctuation, every signal spike. Who knows what they'll pull next?"
Ryn gave a curt nod. "You got it."
Elias deactivated the terminal and walked past him, his coat flaring slightly as he moved. His mind raced—through names, records, fragments of memory that refused to align.
By the time he reached the Wardspire Annex parking deck, the city lights had dimmed under a curtain of evening rain. Hovercars glided between lanes of glowing blue streams. Elias swung a leg over his hoverbike, the engine pulsing to life beneath him.
As he sped out into the storm, the reflection of the city shimmered against the wet chrome of the streets—ghostly and distorted. His next destination was clear.
The Vasselheim Estate awaited.
****
The rain had stopped by the time Elias reached the Vasselheim grounds. The estate stretched across the hillside like a self-contained city—an expanse of silver spires, glass corridors, and terraced plazas surrounded by blooming luminis gardens that shimmered faintly under the night lamps.
From above, the property resembled a constellation of domes and courtyards woven together by elevated walkways. Families of retainers and workers moved along the lit avenues, tending to the hydro farms and lumenis reactors that powered the estate. Even in the late hours, the grounds were alive with quiet motion.
The Vasselheim Estate had long ceased being a simple home—it was a living fortress, a miniature township sustained by the wealth and influence of one of Earth's oldest Gem Houses.
Elias's hoverbike slowed as he passed through the outer security gates. Silver-armored figures stood at intervals along the main road—Silver Wardens, elite retainers of House Vasselheim. Each bore a polished chestplate etched with the family insignia: a winged gem encircled by light. Their helms emitted faint blue pulses as they scanned his signature.
"Agent Elias Vasselheim, Crown-tier access confirmed," one of them intoned. The automated barrier hissed open.
Elias gave a curt nod and continued up the incline toward the central compound. He passed the training grounds where younger cadets practiced facet control under the supervision of instructors, the radiant energy from their practice blades cutting arcs through the dusk. Beyond them, the manor itself rose—a fusion of old stone architecture and modern photon latticework, its walls veined with luminescent circuits that pulsed in time with the estate's energy core.
He dismounted near the inner courtyard and walked past the reflecting pool. The quiet hum of the air felt almost sacred here—still, balanced, aware. This place held his family's legacy, and every breath of luminis energy in the air was a reminder of it.
Elias moved toward the Central Nexus Pavilion, where the Personal Transport Gate was housed—a shimmering archway of engraved crystal, suspended within a ring of rotating focus coils. It was calibrated exclusively to the Vasselheim lineage, keyed to their bio-signatures and gem resonance patterns.
He placed his palm against the gate's sigil panel.
Access Code: Vasselheim-01. Destination: GSA Supermax Facility, Europe Federation Zone.
The gate pulsed. Concentric rings of light flared outward, bending space as the surrounding air vibrated. Elias took one steady breath, his eyes narrowing as the blue-white luminis field enveloped him.
He thought briefly of Nine, of the mystery buried beneath fifty years of silence.
Then the world folded inward—light and motion spiraling together.
In the next heartbeat, Elias vanished from the courtyard, the gate's glow fading behind him.
The Silver Wardens resumed their silent patrol as the estate returned to calm, unaware that their master was now on his way to one of the most secretive prisons on the planet—where the truth about Chorumsman Nine waited in the dark.
****
Nine saw everything. The path of the future stretched before him, each possibility narrowing into certainty. Elias's movements branched away from that of the Resonant creature, forming a separate line of causality that glowed bright in Nine's perception.
He could see where Elias was going—his ride through the city, the turn into his family estate, the passage through the private gate network. He saw him appear at the Supermax prison, the same one where Nine had spent the most uneventful years of his life.
He saw the meeting with the warden, the slow unveiling of truths, the pattern of cause and effect spiraling toward revelation. And beyond that, he saw a fragment—Naia Vasselheim, holding the remaining pieces he needed.
"Elias is on his way to my prison," Nine said quietly.
Xerna turned toward him. Her helmet was off now, resting on the table beside her. Without it, her face was revealed—cold, beautiful, and eerily identical to Elira's. The only differences were stark: black hair instead of golden color, red markings along her cheeks, and eyes of deep crimson instead of golden green. The warmth that Elias had once known was gone. What remained was frost and steel—the kind of cold that could freeze hell itself.
Xerna reached for her helmet, sliding it back into place before glancing toward Archie, who stood by the console.
"Can you hijack the gate's network?" Xerna asked.
Archie nodded, but hesitated. "Sure, but…"
Nine tilted his head. "You want to confront him."
"I told you not to look into my future without my permission," Xerna said sharply.
Nine lowered his eyes. "Sorry. It just happened." He didn't like what he had seen there.
"Do it, Archie," Xerna said.
"Sure," Archie replied. She activated her Facet, and the space around her distorted in a spiral of pale light. The distortion coalesced into a portal—her personal Starlight Gate, a spatial control technique tuned to her own resonance.
The air shimmered as the gate stabilized, its mirrored surface glowing like a captured star.
****
The light dissolved around him, and in its place came the cold hum of containment fields. Elias materialized within a circular chamber of reinforced quartzsteel, the faint blue shimmer of the transport gate fading behind him. The air was sterile—recycled, dry, and cold enough to sting the lungs. The walls bore hexagonal plates layered with suppression sigils, and each plate pulsed faintly with power drawn from the prison's central reactor core.
He was inside the GSA Supermax Facility—codename Black Verge. A fortress buried beneath the continental plate of the Europe Federation Zone, rumored to hold the kind of criminals the world preferred to forget.
Armed guards in composite armor flanked the arrival platform. Their visors lit up as they scanned his credentials.
"Agent Elias Vasselheim," the lead officer said, lowering his weapon in acknowledgment. "Your arrival was logged fifteen seconds ago. Warden Rygal is waiting for you in the main corridor."
Elias nodded and stepped through the security gate. The corridor beyond stretched long and narrow, its lights dimmed to conserve energy. Energy conduits ran along the floor like veins of captured lightning, humming softly beneath his boots. Every few meters, massive cell doors lined the walls—black monoliths carved with containment seals and numerical codes. Behind each was something dangerous enough to warrant silence.
He finally reached a security checkpoint where a tall man stood waiting. The uniform was unmistakable—black coat, gold insignia at the collar, and the rank sigil of a Warden Commander.
"Agent Vasselheim," the man greeted, his voice gravel-edged but calm. "Rygal Faen. I oversee this facility."
"Appreciate the clearance, Warden," Elias replied. "I'm here to speak with a prisoner—designation Chorumsman Nine."
Rygal's brow furrowed slightly. He gestured toward the observation chamber beside them. As they walked, the warden keyed in a series of codes, opening the transparent blast doors to a secured hall lined with inactive containment cells.
"I reviewed your request on the way down," Rygal said. "But you should know… the Chorumsman registry is old data. You won't find your man here."
Elias stopped. "What do you mean?"
Rygal clasped his hands behind his back. "Prisoner Nine was transferred out of Black Verge approximately six years ago. Destination classified."
The words hung heavy in the sterile air.
Elias's jaw tightened. "Transferred where?"
"I don't have that information," Rygal said. "The directive came from above my authority—Omega-tier clearance. All I received was a closure order and a relocation confirmation. After that, every record tied to his case was sealed."
Elias's expression darkened. "Six years ago…" He did the math quickly—six years before Nine's sudden reappearance.
It lined up perfectly.
Rygal studied him for a moment. "If I may speak freely, Agent… that man wasn't normal. Even in confinement, he was calm. Still. The kind of calm that feels planned. As though the cell was never meant to hold him, just delay him."
Elias turned toward the glass wall, where the empty cell reflected his face. The containment field flickered faintly—like a ghost of something once caged there.
"Thank you, Warden," Elias said finally. "That's all I needed."
Rygal nodded slowly. "I'll forward you what little documentation remains—though most of it's been scrubbed."
Elias inclined his head and started back toward the exit corridor, his coat trailing behind him like a dark banner. Each step echoed against the metal floor, merging with the low hum of the facility's power core.
As the transport gate came into view, his mind was already racing. Six years ago, Nine vanished from this place. Six years ago… Naia had nearly died in the Luminis Rebellion incident. Six years ago...he had lost Xernia for good. Coincidence—or connection?
Just as Elias reached the transport platform, his Lumenpad buzzed with an incoming call. The screen flashed with a familiar ID—Naia.
He answered immediately. "Naia, have you found anything yet on Malcolm?"
Her voice came through, edged with tension. "Yes… and you won't like what I found."
Elias stopped mid-stride, his eyes narrowing. "Go on."
Naia's voice steadied as she began recounting what she'd uncovered. "Malcolm was involved in something called Project Heliospire. It was a joint operation between Celestex Corporation and several GSA branches that existed off-record. The project's goal was to engineer compatibility between humans and Luminia."
She paused briefly, then continued, her tone quieter. "They were trying to create hybrids—humans with Lumenis circulatory organs and cores like the Luminia… and Luminia modified to possess human socket and lattice networks. Malcolm was one of the lead architects."
Elias's jaw clenched. "That explains why the files were buried."
As Naia spoke, fragments of recent events aligned in his mind like pieces of a broken mosaic. Nine—a human capable of forming advanced weaves. Xernia—a Luminia with a functioning Facet system. The connection was too precise to be a coincidence.
Project Heliospire. Malcolm. Celestex. Nine. It was all part of the same chain.
"Naia," Elias said, his voice low, "you're telling me they actually succeeded."
There was silence on the line. Then Naia whispered, "I think so."
Elias took a slow breath, stepping onto the glowing platform. "Send me everything you have. I'm heading out now."
The gate's core began to hum, rings of luminis energy rotating around him as the system calibrated his destination. White-blue light cascaded across the chamber, wrapping around his form.
Naia's voice lingered over the static, distant but firm. "Be careful, Elias. If Heliospire's still active, we're standing in the middle of something much bigger than we thought."
Elias gave no reply. His thoughts were already elsewhere—on Nine's ageless face, his new skillset, and his involvement with Malcolm's death.
Elias stepped forward into it, the world dissolving into brilliance. He had new questions—and far too few answers.
The light of the transport gate flared—and then fractured.
Elias felt the familiar pull of the luminis stream, the compression of matter as space folded around him. But something was wrong. The harmonics were off. The usual calm hum of his family's gate network distorted into a grinding shriek, like two frequencies colliding out of sync.
His instincts flared. Hijack.
The light twisted, bending sideways, and the world ripped open. The next moment, Elias stumbled out of the gate—not into the courtyard of his estate, but onto a rain-slick street under a storm-gray sky. The skyline of New Boston loomed ahead—neon lights cutting through the drizzle, the towers glowing like fractured glass spires.
Steam hissed from the cracked pavement where he'd landed. The air smelled of ozone and metal.
"This isn't the estate," he muttered, scanning the area. His visor flickered as he activated his visual feed. The coordinates were scrambled—someone had redirected the terminal mid-transfer. "I'm in the Fracture belt district."
He activated his Resonant facet, Solid Sun, using solar sun array to forge a plasma sword. His Saber was still in its drone, waiting for him to summon it, but until he met the right conditions, he could not use it. A familiar voice drifted through the rain.
"Still as sharp as ever."
Elias turned sharply. From the mist ahead, a figure approached—armor dark as midnight, her movements smooth and deliberate. She removed her helmet, and for a moment, time itself seemed to hold still.
Xerna Solenne.