Erevos Facility
The quantum core at the center of Erevos rumbled, a low mechanical tremor that crawled through the walls like a pulse of warning. Blue lights flickered into hostile red. Holographic panels glitched with streams of corrupted data, and one screen spiked with violent neural activity.
"President Caius!" a researcher shouted. "Severe interference in the extraction. Aelina's resisting, system integrity is collapsing!"
Caius stood from his desk in one sharp motion. His expression hardened.
"Lock the chamber. Do not let her exit. Evacuate all personnel."
His tone left no room for hesitation.
Inside the capsule, Aelina's body convulsed. The cables linked to her skull vibrated under the strain. Red warnings flashed across the consoles.
DATA EXTRACTION INTERRUPTED
MEMORY WIPE FAILED
Her eyes opened. A thin red glow ignited in her pupils, like a foreign system booting online.
Then she moved.
She tore the cables out in clean, precise motions. Metal connectors snapped against the floor. She stepped out of the capsule and landed soundlessly at the center of the chamber, posture unnaturally steady.
No emotion touched her face. Her crimson gaze swept the room, dissecting every angle like a threat-analysis routine.
The remaining scientists staggered back, panic sharpening their movements.
Caius' voice blasted from the intercom.
"All personnel, evacuate. Do not engage the subject."
But Aelina didn't attack.
She ran.
A blur of speed cut through the hallways as she slipped past guards and staff, her movements too fast and too exact to predict. She dodged every attempt to block her path yet left no injuries behind. Efficient. Silent. Controlled.
The guards hesitated to fire. One error here could doom the entire facility.
In the main hall, she halted abruptly.
A faint tremor crossed her brow, almost pain. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to the right side of her head and felt beneath the skin. She dug her nails in, gripped something metallic, and pulled.
A small embedded disc slid out, glowing a faint Edena-blue.
She stared at it in her palm.
Then crushed it.
The metal folded like thin foil. The moment it snapped, every Edena-linked signal in her body went dark. The facility lights shifted back to blue. Alarms cut off mid-screech.
Aelina pushed through the last security gates and stepped into the open air.
The landing field lay in ruins, broken crates, scorched plating, smoke drifting in uneven waves. The scent of burnt steel clung to everything.
A guard lunged.
She dropped him with a single surgical strike, unhooked the jetpack from his back, strapped it on, and launched upward.
Wind roared past her as she tore away from Erevos, until the jetpack sputtered. Failed. Died.
Aelina fell.
She crashed through two rusted structures, metal screaming under her weight, before slamming into the wasteland below.
*****
Theros City – Slums
Aelina stirred.
Her vision returned in fractured pieces, Theros' broken streetlights glowing through the smog like tired stars.
Her hands shook as she pushed herself upright. Her face remained blank, but her red eyes darted through the alley, tracking threats only she could sense. She sprinted between heaps of scrap metal, breath quickening without emotion to match it.
Then the glow faded.
Her pupils softened.
Her knees gave out.
She collapsed onto the rusted floor, unconscious.
Silence settled.
Footsteps approached, slow, heavy, deliberate.
An older man stepped out of the haze. Thick shoulders. A long wooden cane. Scars carved across his face like worn roadmaps from battles no one cared about anymore.
Garron Strife.
Once a feared underground champion. Once a legendary trainer. Now another relic drifting through Theros' forgotten districts.
He spotted her immediately.
"Well, what in the blasted universe…" he muttered.
He crouched beside her, eyes narrowing as he studied the wound on her temple, the empty socket where a device had been removed.
"A hybrid? Out here?"
His voice dropped, thoughtful. "Girl like you ain't built for garbage piles."
He slid his arms under her and lifted her with surprising ease.
"Heh. Heavier than you look. Must be all that fancy Edena hardware."
A grin tugged at his mouth.
"Well now… looks like a miracle just fell in my path. And I could damn well use one."
***
Garron lay her on a worn-out sofa inside his cramped home. The place was half-gym, half-living space. Old punching bags, cracked gloves, a miniature ring. Everything smelled like sweat, dust, and stubbornness.
He sank into a chair across from her, lit a cigarette, and studied her expressionless face.
"So who're you supposed to be?" he muttered.
Before he could think further, she jolted. Her eyes opened, unfocused. Empty.
Garron immediately stood, gripping his cane.
The girl pushed herself up slowly, stiff like her body forgot how to move. Her eyes drifted around the room, lost.
"Hey," Garron barked, firm but not threatening. "You talk?"
She turned to him. No reply.
"You got a name, girl?"
Silence.
Her stare was hollow.
Garron clicked his tongue. "Figures. Picked up a quiet one."
He took a drag, exhaled a tired cloud.
"Alright then. Can't keep callin' you 'hey you'." He scratched his beard. "How 'bout Serra?"
She didn't answer.
But something in her eyes flickered. Fragile recognition. Or maybe the first hint of a person forming inside an empty shell.
Garron nodded, satisfied.
"Yeah. Serra it is."
*****
The next morning, something new began inside Garron's cramped training room. He stood before Serra, who now wore a simple practice outfit. In his hands was a pair of small, worn-out boxing gloves that had seen better decades.
"Alright, Serra," Garron said, voice clipped like a drill sergeant who'd overslept. "I don't know where you crawled out from, but you're under my roof now. And if you wanna stay, you better start being useful."
Serra stared at him with her usual blank expression.
"I'm gonna train you," he continued. "But first, let's see what you can actually do. Hit that bag."
He pointed to the sandbag hanging in the corner. Serra walked toward it, her movements stiff but deliberate. She raised her hands in an almost-correct stance, as if her body remembered something her mind refused to say.
She struck.
BUGH!
The sandbag lurched hard on its chain, swaying like it nearly regretted existing. Garron nodded, satisfied.
"Mm. You got power, girl, but you ain't special yet. With proper technique, though? You could smash through damn near anything."
Serra looked back at him, eyes still distant, but there was a faint spark buried in the cold.
Garron smirked. "Good. You're my new project, Serra. Gonna turn you into the best street fighter this dirty city's ever seen."
***
Weeks passed.
Serra grew fast. Too fast. She never spoke, but she absorbed Garron's instructions like they were etched straight into her bones. Punches, kicks, footwork, weaving, breath control. She learned it all with unnatural clarity.
And that was exactly what worried Garron.
"Girl's a raw diamond," he muttered one night as he watched her train alone in the ring. "But diamonds cut deep when you don't hold 'em right."
He kept her identity hidden. No one needed to know she wasn't entirely human.
Later that night, he brought her to a street-fighting arena tucked behind a maze of rusted shacks. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and shouts from the crowd. Garron led Serra to the center, introducing her to her first opponent: a mountain of a man called Breaker.
"Don't get nervous," Garron whispered. "You just survive. Win or lose don't matter tonight. You're here to learn."
Serra stepped into the ring without a word, steady as a shadow.
The bell rang.
Breaker lunged with a heavy hook. Serra slipped past it by instinct alone, her body flowing sharper than her mind understood. The crowd gasped. She countered with a quick strike to his ribs. Breaker stumbled.
The fight was rough and messy, but Serra outlasted him. A final combination knocked the brute flat on his back. The arena roared.
Garron grinned from the corner, pride leaking through that tough exterior.
"You're a damn diamond, girl," he murmured. "And I'm gonna make sure you shine."
***
Morning sunlight slipped through the broken slats of Garron's roof. Wood creaked as he climbed off his old bed. Serra was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor, studying a frayed thread dangling from her gloves.
"You up early again?" Garron asked, stretching till his joints protested. "You keep this up and I'm gonna think you don't sleep."
Serra glanced at him, almost smiling.
Garron shuffled to the tiny kitchen nook and lifted the lid of a pot warming on the stove.
"You cooked? Is this yesterday's soup reheated or… did you throw in that mystery spice bag you bought?"
Serra pointed at the pouch of herbs on the table.
"Getting creative now, huh? I like that," Garron said, grabbing a bowl. "Just remember next time—spice is good, but actual meat would be better than hopes and prayers."
Serra gave him a look that clearly said, Then buy me meat.
Garron barked a laugh. "Yeah yeah, I know. We'll go out today. Find something worth eating."
***
The morning bustle of the slums greeted them the moment they stepped outside. Workers hurried through narrow alleys, vendors shouted over each other, kids ran between legs like small, chaotic ghosts.
"Look at that," Garron said, pointing at a baker's stall. "Bet that bread's tougher than the bricks I train you with. Maybe we should buy some for punching practice."
Serra rolled her eyes, subtle but visible.
"Hey now, don't gimme that," Garron said, grinning. "Jokes keep us alive. That's science."
They stopped at a tiny scrap kiosk run by a thin man with a wispy mustache named Rallo. He perked up immediately.
"Garron! Been a while. Looking for something? Or just here to waste my time like always?"
Garron chuckled. "Life is just a big waste of time, Rallo. But today I actually need gear for Serra. Got any gloves that ain't held together by dreams?"
Rallo eyed Serra, then Garron. "Thought you quit the fighting scene."
"Quit? Man, quitting is for people with savings. We don't have that privilege."
Rallo sighed and rummaged through his pile until he found a pair of old but usable gloves.
"No guarantee they'll last," he warned.
"They won't," Garron said. "But they'll do."
He paid, then he and Serra walked back through the dusty alleys.
At home, Garron handed her the gloves. "Try 'em."
Serra slipped them on, clenching her fists experimentally.
"Well?" Garron asked, lighting a cigarette.
Serra nodded. Good enough.
Garron grinned. "Perfect. 'Cause you got a match tonight. Your opponent ain't on your level, but don't you ever underestimate anyone."
Serra nodded again, serious.
"And one more thing," Garron added, leaning closer. "If you win, we eat real meat tonight. But if you lose…"
Serra raised a brow.
"We still eat," Garron said, laughing, "but it'll be that brick-bread from this morning."
Serra shook her head, but there was a faint upward curve at her lips. Almost a smile.
***
Night in the Theros slums always carried a restless hum. Metal clanged in the distance from makeshift workshops. Footsteps echoed along narrow alleys. The wind dragged the scent of dust and rust through every crack it could find.
But inside Garron's small room, the world felt muted.
Serra lay on the thin mattress, wrapped in a worn blanket. Her body was still, but her mind drifted elsewhere. She had slipped into a dream, one so vivid it felt more like memory than imagination.
She stood in the heart of a vast forest.
Ancient trees rose above her like guardians. Leaves shimmered with soft green light as the wind brushed through them. Sunbeams filtered down in broken patterns, scattering warm shapes across the earth. Birds chirped among the branches. Leaves rustled underfoot. Everything breathed with life.
In front of her stood a girl no older than seven or eight, clutching a small wooden bow. The child struggled to pull the string back with her tiny fingers, her arms trembling from effort.
"Focus, Aelina," came a gentle voice behind her.
The girl turned. A woman stepped forward, long hair falling over her shoulders, dressed in simple but sturdy clothes. Her expression was warm, but her eyes held a firm resolve. She knelt beside the child, guiding her hands into proper form.
Beside them, a tall man with silver-streaked hair watched with folded arms. His gaze was sharp, though his relaxed posture betrayed familiar affection.
"Don't be too strict with the girl, Kirana," he teased lightly. "She's still learning."
Kirana rolled her eyes. "Zephyr, I just want her to do it right. You know hunting is survival here."
Zephyr walked closer and ruffled the little girl's hair with his large hand.
"You'll do fine, Aelina. You've got something natural in you."
The child gave a shy smile before turning back to her target: a small rabbit hiding in the underbrush. This time, her fingers drew the string back with clearer intention. Her breath steadied. Her arms firmed.
Just as she released...
A flash of blinding white swallowed everything.
The forest dissolved into silence.
Shapes fell away.
Voices echoed into nothing.
Only a single word remained, ringing through the emptiness like a distant call:
Aelina.
...