CELESTIA - CHAPTER 47: The Kairos Eyes
The labyrinth held its breath.
Its corridors of black stone stretched endlessly, lit by suspended torches whose flames did not flicker. The air was heavy, still, filled with a silence that was anything but peaceful. It was the silence of a beast that waits. That listens. That watches.
Zayn and Yojuro walked side by side.
Their footsteps echoed against the damp flagstones, returned as distorted echoes that seemed to come from several directions at once. Sometimes Zayn thought he heard a whisper. Sometimes, a scratching sound. But when he turned around, there was nothing. Just the shadow. Just the labyrinth.
"How long have we been walking?" Zayn asked, his voice low, almost reluctantly.
Yojuro did not answer immediately. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his eyes half-closed, like someone listening to music that others could not hear.
"Long enough for you to have asked three times," he finally said.
"I don't ask three times."
"You do."
Zayn was about to reply when a glow appeared before them. An iridescent glow, moving, almost unreal.
Bubbles.
Large colored spheres floated in the air, slowly rising through the corridor like jellyfish forgotten in the depths of an invisible ocean. Each contained a different light – red like a sunset, blue like a deep glacier, green like a poisoned forest, gold like a dying god. They danced between the torches, carefree, almost beautiful.
"What are those?" Zayn murmured.
Yojuro did not answer. His eyes scanned the darkness beyond the bubbles, beyond the walls, beyond what ordinary senses could perceive.
One of the spheres drifted toward Zayn. It floated lazily, as if drawn by his warmth. He stepped back. Too late.
The bubble exploded.
A burning blast swept through the corridor. Flashes of blinding light burst in all directions, slicing through the air like invisible blades. Zayn rolled to the ground, narrowly avoiding the main detonation, but the shards grazed him, burning, almost liquid. Another bubble, behind him. He dove, landed on his shoulders, rolled again. His clothes smoked.
"Yojuro!" he shouted.
Yojuro had already dodged. Three bubbles had exploded around him, but he already stood further away, motionless, his hands still in his pockets. He had not run. He had simply slipped between the explosions, as if chaos danced around him without ever touching him.
"Those aren't bubbles," he said calmly.
Zayn stood up, out of breath, his heart pounding.
"What, then?"
"Disguised explosives. Chewing gum. He chews it, he blows it, and the bubbles rise up here."
Zayn blinked.
"Chewing gum?"
"A boy. Three levels down. He launches his projectiles through the stone. His bubbles pass through walls. He doesn't."
"You see him?"
Yojuro did not answer. He closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, his gaze was no longer human.
His iris, usually dark, an ordinary deep black, lit up with a cosmic violet. It was not a natural color. It was the hue of a distant galaxy, of a nebula being born, of a black hole sucking the light from the world.
At the center of his eye, a symbol appeared.
A brilliant violet circle, perfect, like a ring of frozen light. A vertical line crossed its center, cutting the circle into two perfect hemispheres. Two inverted crescents rotated around the pupil, one clockwise, the other counterclockwise, their movement slow and hypnotic. Several circular marks, engraved like ancient runes, gave the impression that space itself was folding around his gaze.
The Kairos Eyes.
Zayn had seen it once. Maybe twice. Each time, it chilled his blood.
The air became heavy. Oppressive. Sounds seemed to slow – the crackle of the torches, Zayn's breath, the distant pulse of the bubbles rising. The colors of the corridor lost their brightness, as if the violet of his eye was sucking all the light from the world.
A fine violet dust floated around Yojuro's face, particles of dead stars, fragments of a time that no longer existed. His expression did not change. He was still calm. But it was the calm of an ocean before the tsunami.
"Do you see something?" Zayn asked, his voice strangled.
"Yes."
"What?"
"A boy. Brown hair. He's chewing something. He blows his bubbles and releases them. They go through the stone as if it didn't exist."
Yojuro turned his head slightly. The symbol in his eye turned slowly, like the hand of a divine clock.
"There's someone else. A girl. Scarlet Class. She's coming from the north."
Zayn clenched his fists. Borealis, on his wrist, began to vibrate softly, like an animal sensing the approach of danger.
"I'll handle the launcher," he said.
"You?"
"Water Pulse."
Yojuro nodded. Not a word more. He knew that Zayn knew this form. It was not a new transformation, not a surprise. It was an old companion, a faithful beast, a Primal he had tamed through countless battles.
Zayn closed his eyes. Let Borealis speak.
And his body changed.
It was not brutal. Not painful. It was fluid, almost organic, like water taking the shape of its container. His silhouette stretched, grew, crouched. His shoulders widened, forming a wall of muscle and armor. His chest became as wide as a battering ram, thick, massive, capable of withstanding blows that would have pulverized a tank. His waist, by contrast, remained narrow – everything was concentrated in the upper body, like a beast designed for the charge, for impact, for crushing.
Thick plates covered his shoulders, his forearms, his back, part of his chest. Night blue. A blue so dark it appeared black, mineral or crystalline in appearance – an extraterrestrial carapace, smooth and cold, like the skin of a meteorite. Translucent blue-cyan spheres embedded themselves in his body: a huge one in the center of his chest, pulsing like a second heart; one on each shoulder, shining with a liquid light; one on each forearm; a large one on his back, radiating a supernatural warmth. These nuclei were at once his engine, his power source, and perhaps his secondary brain.
His head transformed into that of a great prehistoric feline or a carnivorous reptile. His snout became short and robust, capable of crushing stone. His jaws thickened. Two long white fangs emerged from his mouth, pure ivory, sharp as spears. His eyes turned emerald green – a deep green, almost liquid, shining in the darkness like two cold embers. His gaze was no longer human. It was that of a predator constantly analyzing its next prey.
His arms became disproportionately large, enormous, ending in curved claws capable of tearing flesh, eviscerating creatures, climbing rock faces. His legs, massive and muscular, resembled those of a great terrestrial predator – thick thighs, solid joints, wide feet capable of supporting colossal weight. Each step, when he moved, would make the ground tremble.
A thick, long tail extended behind him, a living counterweight, a striking weapon, a balancing tool. Its shape evoked that of a crocodile or a dragon – powerful, scaly, ready to mow down anything that came too close.
Water Pulse.
Zayn was no longer Zayn. He had become the ancestral guardian of a forgotten cave. A beast capable of remaining motionless for centuries before suddenly awakening to crush any intruder foolish enough to enter its domain. His silhouette, massive and compact, gave the impression of a living fortress. He stood nearly three meters tall when fully upright, but his forward-leaning posture, always ready to pounce, made him even more threatening.
His green eyes gleamed. He did not speak. He lunged.
His steps made the corridor tremble. He passed through a volley of bubbles – they exploded behind him, but he was already too far. He plunged into the lower darkness, toward the boy with explosive chewing gum, his claws ready to tear.
Yojuro remained alone.
The Kairos Eyes still turned in his eye, slow, tireless. The violet symbol shone like a divine clock whose hands moved backward. Around him, stardust floated, fell, rose again, as if gravity itself hesitated to apply.
He sensed her approach before seeing her.
A step. A breath. An aura.
She had just turned the corner. Her steps were slow. Detached. Almost casual. She was not running. She was not hiding. She approached as if she had all the time in the world, as if the labyrinth, with its traps and shadows, was her garden.
She was tall. Taller than average. Her long, thick black hair was pulled back, revealing a face with fine, almost angular features. Her scarlet uniform was impeccable, without a crease, without a stain. No rank insignia. As if ranks did not concern her. Or as if she had surpassed them.
In her hand, she held a staff.
It was long, thin, pure white, as if carved from an ancient bone or from wood turned to stone. A symbol was engraved on its surface – a broken circle, curved lines, something that resembled a schematic soul. The artifact radiated a gentle warmth, almost maternal, but Yojuro was not fooled. Artifacts never lie through their appearance.
The girl stopped a few meters from him. She noticed him. Her eyes – a light gray, almost transparent – scanned his face, lingered a fraction of a second on his violet eye, then withdrew.
She began to applaud.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sounds echoed through the corridor, distorted by the labyrinth's strange acoustics. They seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Bravo," she said. Her voice was soft, almost singing, but there was a hardness beneath it, like honey hiding a blade. "You saw me. Not many manage that."
Yojuro did not answer. His violet eye did not blink. The symbol turned.
"You know, I've heard about you. The receptacle of Lucifer. The calm one. The dangerous one."
She took a step. Then another. Her feet made almost no sound, as if she were floating.
"Me, they call me Alexandra."
Yojuro knew that name. Alexandra. "Soul Tyrant," the rumors said. Scarlet Class. Ability to manipulate souls. The UAP files, which some students had secretly consulted, classified her as platinum – a monstrous potential, reserved for a handful of elites capable of changing the course of a war.
"You want to know a secret?" she asked.
"No."
"I'll tell you anyway."
Her smile widened. Not a mean smile. Worse. A sad smile.
"The UAP uses us. Since we turned thirteen. We're weapons. They send us to this bloody academy so we can suffer, kill each other, become stronger. For them. Not for us."
Yojuro remained motionless.
"You know it too, don't you? You feel it when you wake up at night, that someone programmed your life like you program a missile?"
"I know."
"And you keep going."
"I have no choice."
"Neither do I."
She raised her white staff. The artifact began to glow – first faintly, then more brightly, until a cold white light illuminated the entire room.
Yojuro had no time to react.
An invisible force struck him in the chest. It was not physical – it was elsewhere, deeper, as if someone had seized his soul and shaken it. His body followed the movement despite himself.
He flew.
He shot backward through the air, arms dangling, eyes wide open. The corridor streamed past him – torches, stones, shadows – everything became blurred. Then his back hit a wall. A dull sound, an explosion of pain in his neck, his shoulders, his back. He slid, fell to his knees, spat a trickle of blood onto the flagstone.
He had just entered a circular room.
Blue torches lined the walls. Their flame was cold, unreal, like that of a dead moon shining without heat. They illuminated faded frescoes, forgotten symbols, cracks that seemed to tell a story that no one would ever read.
At the center, a statue.
A knight. Tall. Imposing. Made of gray stone, veined with black, like ancient granite. He sat on a pedestal, his sword resting on his knees, his hands clasped over the pommel. His helm was lowered, his face invisible. He looked like he was waiting. For centuries, perhaps.
Yojuro stood up.
His legs trembled. The pain in his chest was dull, throbbing, but he ignored it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The blood glistened on his fingers, black in the blue torchlight.
Alexandra entered the room.
She was still smiling.
"You're tough," she said. "I like that."
She raised her white staff. The engraved symbol began to glow with a violet light this time, a deep hue that resembled that of the Kairos Eyes, but darker, heavier.
"You want to see my miracle?"
She released her blessed energy.
Luminous lines appeared all over her body – on her arms, her legs, her neck, her temples, even on her closed eyelids. Fine lines, violet, tracing a complex network that resembled veins, circuits, ruins. Her aura became thick, oppressive, almost solid. The air around her began to vibrate.
She pointed her staff at the statue.
"Soul... give it life."
The statue moved.
The stone groaned. A dull, deep sound, like a distant earthquake. The knight's joints cracked – millennial dust fell from his shoulders. His helm rose slowly, slowly, revealing the inside.
There was nothing. Just a shadow. Just a void.
But the statue rose.
It stood to its full height, over three meters of stone and rusted steel. It grasped its sword with both hands, lifted it as if it weighed nothing, and planted it before itself. The sound of metal against stone echoed through the entire room.
"My miracle is soul manipulation," Alexandra said. Her voice was calm, almost professorial. "I give a soul to anything. Objects, statues, corpses – anything with a form can receive a spark of life."
She stroked her white staff.
"My artifact allows me to control what I animate. I tell them what to do. And they obey."
The statue took a step. The room trembled.
"The UAP classifies my miracle as platinum. Because I have potential, they say. But I think they're afraid."
She raised her head. Her gray eyes gleamed.
"Afraid of what I might become."
Her smile disappeared. Only hardness remained.
"Statue."
The stone creature turned its helm toward Yojuro.
"Crush him to pieces."
The sword rose.
The room held its breath.
The blue torches flickered.
And Yojuro, standing before the stone colossus, did not move. His violet eye turned. The symbol of the Kairos Eyes shone like a condemned galaxy.
He waited.
In the depths of the labyrinth, the heavy footsteps of Water Pulse moved away toward the boy with explosive bubbles. And in the room with the blue torches, an ancient statue prepared to strike.
The labyrinth, for its part, held its breath.