CHAPTER 11—The Fuse
The morning of the monthly beating began with a silence that felt wrong.
Not the usual cold, metallic quiet of the base.
This silence crawled.
It clung to the air like frost.
Balik woke before the pipe strike, eyes already open, breath steady but shallow. He didn't know when he had fallen asleep or if he had slept at all. The thin blanket over him felt heavier than it should, almost like someone had pinned it with stones while he wasn't looking.
He pushed it off and sat up.
His tied black hair slid forward, brushing his jaw. The cloth binding held, but barely. His movements felt both too slow and too sharp—like someone had tightened the screws on his bones.
The dorm around him was dim, still gray with pre-morning. Ishan's steady breathing came from the bunk beside him. Mira sat on her bed with her knees folded and her palms resting on them, already awake, already watching.
Her brown eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
Again.
He had noticed it every night for weeks now—the way the light behind her pupils flickered like something was stirring under the earth. Like her affinity was no longer only earth, but something deeper, something old and hungry.
When she saw him look, her gaze sharpened.
"You dream loud," she murmured.
"I didn't dream."
"You did," she said.
He didn't argue.
Because she was right.
He just didn't want to name what it was.
A breath brushed his mind—thin, fading.
Balik…
The voice was so faint he wasn't sure if he heard it or imagined it. A ghost of warmth inside a body that was turning cold.
Tejas.
He had once been a constant. A whisper. A guide. A soft glow in the corner of his mind that told him when something was wrong or when something was cruel.
Now he felt like a dying ember.
Balik waited, hoping for another whisper.
Nothing came.
Tejas had been silent more often lately—choked, smothered. And Balik couldn't tell if Tejas was fading because Balik was changing…
…or because Balik himself was killing him.
He stood and washed quickly at the bucket near the wall. The cold water bit at his skin. He didn't flinch. The numbness in him had grown roots.
He wiped his face dry, breathed once, and stepped into the hall.
Ishan followed a moment later, yawning loud enough to rattle the pipes.
"Big day," he muttered. "Tier-2 beating cycle. Try not to die. Or do, if you're bored."
Balik didn't answer. For now, to die. Suicide is the work of the brave cowards, and he was only a coward. Because he can be an asset, not a usual tool.
Mira walked silently beside them, her presence heavier than usual. The faint glow in her eyes didn't dim as they passed under the lamps—it sharpened. She looked like something half-awake inside her was trying to open its eyes fully.
"You're quieter," she said to Balik, almost curious. "And tighter. Like a string pulled too far."
He said nothing.
She smiled slightly. "Good. You're almost ready to break."
Ishan shot her a look. "Mira. Not helpful."
"It wasn't meant to be helpful," she replied.
They stepped into the courtyard.
The fog sat low over the stones, hiding ankles and casting thin threads around lampposts. Instructors were already forming lines. Senior Tier-2 operatives stood near the back—bigger, older, eyes colder. They looked like people who had been carved instead of born.
Balik felt something shift in his chest.
Not fear.
Not anger.
An emptiness opening wider.
Like a pit.
He took his place among the Tier-2 juniors. He is more talented than seniors, but it teaches some gaps you can't fill by simply being strong.
Limia was already there.
The boy stood with his arms crossed, chin raised, and lips curled in a smirk that he had polished for years. His dark blond hair was perfectly tied, as if the air itself moved around him to avoid touching it. His grey-green eyes flicked toward Balik with that familiar, poisonous delight.
Not because he hated Balik.
Because Balik made him feel superior.
Limia had awakened early at 15 and is ready for Tier-3. Natural talent. Good enough for instructors to praise him, not enough for them to fear him. Just enough for him to believe he was something.
"Look who crawled out of bed," Limia whispered loudly. "The empty little rat." They call him empty because, unlike them, he has very little presence. It should have been good that no one can detect him, but the issue is I find myself lost some time, and because of this, my awakening chance is reduced.
Balik didn't look at him.
Limia stepped closer, his perfume faint and sharp. "Don't break too fast today. I need practice."
Ishan's jaw tightened. Mira's eyes gleamed with interest.
Balik stood still.
Tejas's voice tried to rise.
Balik… don't—lose.....
But the moment the voice formed, Balik felt something clench inside him—like a fist tightening around Tejas's throat.
He didn't do it consciously.
It just happened.
And Tejas's voice faded again, choked into silence.
Balik blinked once.
He wasn't sure if he was horrified or relieved.
An instructor barked, "Form a circle!"
The trainees moved into formation—Tier-2 seniors on the outside, Tier-2 juniors inside, and Tier-1 pressed into the innermost ring.
The ritual was simple:
Seniors beat juniors. Juniors beat Tier-1. Tier-1 don't fight back.
The organization's way of reminding everyone that they were tools, not people.
Varun stepped into the center.
His coat looked unusually clean today. His eyes swept the formation like he was counting knives, not children.
"Today," he said, "we sharpen you."
No emotion.
No pause.
Just sharpen.
He looked directly at Balik for half a second.
Balik felt his spine stiffen.
"You will not hesitate," Varun said. "Hesitation breeds mercy. Mercy breeds weakness. Weakness is death."
Tejas stirred again—weak, panicked.
Balik… don't—
Balik exhaled. And the exhale cut Tejas off again.
He wasn't pushing him away. It felt more like he was… overriding him. Like his own voice was becoming louder than the one he'd carried since childhood.
The first strike rang out—flesh on flesh, sharp, painful. A junior hit the dirt. Another scream.
Limia stepped in front of Balik.
"You're mine," he said, smirk widening. "I'll help you learn your place."
Balik's fingers twitched.
Not in fear.
In something colder.
Limia's smirk faltered for a moment. "Don't look at me like that."
Balik didn't realize he was looking at him any differently. But from the corner of his vision, he saw Mira watching him, expression unreadable but hungry, and a glint of fascination.
Ishan's brows drew together.
Something is wrong, he seemed to realize.
The seniors barked orders. Juniors obeyed. It was Balik's turn to strike a Tier-1 child—a small boy, skinny, trembling.
He raised his hand.
The boy flinched.
Tejas's voice flared weakly—Stop…
Balik had hesitated before.
But now he didn't feel hesitation; he felt sorry but couldn't do anything.
Only for a second.
The instructor's eyes snapped to Balik.
"Do it," he said
Balik's jaw tensed. He struck the Tier-1 boy—controlled, precise. Enough to bruise, not enough to break. The boy fell silently.
Limia shoved Balik's shoulder again. "Pathetic. You hit like you want to apologize afterward."
Balik didn't react.
Inside his chest, something twisted—like a rope being pulled in opposite directions.
Tejas whispered, fading:
Balik… you don't have to… become them—
Don't lose yourself...ever...until...
Balik inhaled sharply.
And something inside him snapped—
Not fully.
Not the last break.
Just a crack.
And when he exhaled, the air felt colder.
Mira's eyes widened slightly. Not in shock—in fascination.
"Almost," she whispered under her breath.
The beating resumed around them—screams, shouts, and thuds. The organization's heartbeat.
Limia stepped around Balik and struck his back lightly—mocking, not painful. "I'll enjoy breaking you later."
His voice was sugary.
Fake.
Poison dipped in honey.
Balik looked forward, not at Limia, not at the child still shaking at his feet.
His heartbeat felt slow. Deliberate.
The world around him muted.
Fog drifted between legs. Shouts muffled. The courtyard seemed to shrink until only three people existed:
Limia, smiling like a god.
Mira, watching like a predator.
Ishan was worried in a way he didn't understand.
Balik's throat felt tight.
His chest is hollow.
Tejas was silent—
No breath
No whisper
Nothing
Like Balik had accidentally smothered him with his own numbness.
Or like Tejas had simply… given up.
The emptiness inside him widened.
He understood the voice in his head had been gone for a long time; his world became silent. He looked around and saw Limia, and the dam was cracking.
Limia leaned close, whispering:
"After this, I'll show you how a real awakened crushes a defect."
Balik blinked.
Slow.
Very slow.
He didn't feel fear.
He didn't feel anger.
He felt something unfamiliar.
Something heavy.
Something like a thread snapping one fiber at a time.
The instructor barked, "Next round!"
Limia stepped forward, smile razor-thin.
Balik stepped too.
But this time—
His heartbeat skipped.
Once.
Twice.
The fuse lit.
Not the explosion yet.
But the moment before it.
Mira saw it.
She exhaled, eyes brightening with a flicker of madness.
Ishan went still beside her.
Limia smirked wider.
Balik's fingers curled slowly into fists.
His mind felt quiet.
Too quiet.
Tejas was gone.
The world dimmed around the edges.
And from somewhere far inside himself, Balik finally understood:
He wasn't losing control.
He was building it.
Piece by piece.
Break by break.
Snap was coming.
Not yet.
But close.
Very close.