The infirmary at Regis Institute was silent, sterile, and overexposed with white light. Kael lay on a bio-bed, his shirt torn, muscles twitching with aftershocks. Medical drones hovered over him, scanning, beeping quietly.
"Vitals are within range," the nurse bot reported. "No sign of internal injury. Cellular regeneration active."
Kael blinked, breathing slowly. His bones ached—not from pain, but from growth. Like his entire body had shifted one degree closer to something new. Something... more.
Across the room, Commander Ryce stood with her arms folded. Watching. Not with concern—but with calculation.
"You should be unconscious," she said coldly.
"I'm not," Kael replied.
Ryce nodded once. "Of course not."
She stepped closer and slid a file across the side table—his combat log from the last simulation. The display showed his heart rate flatlining mid-fight, then suddenly spiking—only to stabilize at a higher level than before.
"You adapted mid-pressure collapse. Oxygen deprivation. Muscle lock. Full adrenal override. That's not training. That's a response we've only ever seen in auto-evolution types."
Kael didn't respond.
"Tell me," she asked, "did it hurt?"
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Only for a second."
She smiled—thin, unreadable. "Get dressed. You're being transferred to advanced tracking."
As she turned and left, Kael sat up and slowly exhaled.
He knew it now.
This wasn't just physical. It wasn't just speed or strength.
This was his ability.
A power that didn't show up on scans. A trait that no gene analyzer could define.
Adaptive Growth. Not just in power. Not just in skill.
But in evolution.
Hours later, Kael returned to Dorm Sector 13.
He walked through the low-lit hallway of his block, passed faded banners, flickering lights, and into his private room—bare but familiar. His thoughts spun.
He had no legacy. No bloodline crest. No one to explain what this ability was, or what the Vire name meant.
But deep inside, something stirred again. A voice—not external, but internal. A kind of instinct rising from the silence.
Keep going. Keep moving. Grow.
He opened the pendant again. The cracked crescent glowed faintly now—pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
The light was stronger than before.
Like it could sense the changes.
The next morning, Class 13-Z was summoned to the adaptive combat dome, a rotating environment that adjusted itself to each participant's fighting style.
Instructor Breshk stood waiting. "Today, you fight solo. Real-time arena adjustment. You win by outlasting the environment."
Dane rolled his shoulders. "Sounds fun."
"It's not," Breshk said. "The dome feeds off your energy signature. It becomes what you fear. What you're weak against."
Renna muttered, "Lovely."
Breshk pointed at Kael. "You first."
Kael stepped forward. The others exchanged glances, but no one stopped him.
He entered the dome.
The doors sealed.
Darkness.
Then light.
The world changed around him.
The floor shifted to a ruined city—familiar, too familiar. Crumbled walls. Towering shadows. Red skies like the ones from Sector 7. The air smelled of ash.
He was standing in his own past.
Footsteps echoed.
He turned.
Figures emerged—faceless soldiers in black armor. Their rifles glowed with blue plasma. One by one, they raised their weapons.
Kael moved.
He dodged the first volley, diving into cover. The instincts kicked in immediately—but something was wrong. Each enemy moved like someone he remembered. The way one pivoted—like Garran Lux. Another had Ryce's stance. A third mimicked Dane's heavy punches.
The dome was replicating him.His fears, his opponents, his style.
And it was growing faster.
Kael struck first, dropping one with a palm to the throat. Another came in from behind—he swept the leg, ducked a punch, and countered with a rising elbow. But they kept coming. Each one better. Tighter. Smarter.
He was fighting himself.
Sweat ran down his back. His arms screamed with exhaustion. Ten minutes had passed. Then twelve. Then fifteen.
Faster.Sharper.
One clone grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into a wall.
Kael gasped.
Pain. Blood.
Then—
The pulse.
The surge.
It ripped through him like a second heartbeat. Every nerve alight. Every sense suddenly clear.
Kael's eyes glowed faintly, the gold in his irises shimmering with light. Time slowed again.
He tore free, twisted mid-air, and drove a foot into the clone's chest. As the projection shattered into sparks, he flipped, landed, and roared—a deep, primal cry from somewhere ancient in his bones.
The remaining clones hesitated.
That was all he needed.
Kael struck with speed he hadn't accessed before—his own version 2.0. Within seconds, the dome cleared. Sparks rained down. The floor dimmed.
Trial Complete. Survivor: Kael Vire. Time: 17:42. Rank: Cleared.
Outside, Breshk grunted. "That dome's never lasted more than ten minutes on a first run."
Lira tilted her head. "He's evolving faster than the simulation can keep up."
Dane let out a low whistle. "We're gonna need better enemies."
Renna, silent as ever, just said, "He's waking up."
Kael emerged from the dome.
Sweat dripped from his brow, but his breathing was steady. His fists were clenched tight. That power—it wasn't just raw anymore. It had rhythm. It had will.
He wasn't fighting instinctively anymore.
He was fighting with awareness.
Breshk handed him a towel and met his eyes. "You're no ordinary Unranked."
Kael said nothing.
He didn't have to.
The others looked at him differently now.
Not with doubt.
With recognition.
And somewhere deep inside the institute, behind layers of glass and encrypted files, Commander Ryce reviewed the footage alone.
She paused on the moment his eyes lit gold.
Then whispered to herself, "The Vire bloodline wasn't supposed to exist anymore…"