He woke to the same translucent screen hovering before his blurry vision. But the message had changed, glowing with cold finality.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: 100% COMPLETE]
[SYSTEM OFFLINE UNTIL CRIMSON MARK ACTIVATION]
'Crimson Mark?' Before the question fully formed, new text flickered.
[SHUTTING DOWN...]
The rectangle dissolved like smoke, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. A cold pit opened in Zion's stomach. The last link to understanding this impossible existence had just been severed. He was alone again, sealed in helpless flesh with nothing but a name that wasn't his and a promise that had gone dark.
Frustration coiled in his gut. He turned his head and froze.
A stranger stood sentinel by the crib.
She was a woman of hard edges: obsidian hair braided severely tight against her scalp, flint-sharp eyes that scanned the room without rest. A bulky chestplate covered her torso, etched with the sigil of a stone golem trimmed in moss-green. Calloused hands rested near the hilt of a blade. A scar cut through her brow. Her stance was rooted, immovable, like an oak prepared for a hurricane. Soldier. Zion's instincts screamed the word. Dangerous.
"ELOWEN!" Her shout cracked like a whip. "The baby's awake!"
Footsteps rushed in. Elowen appeared, wiping flour-dusted hands on a sunflower-yellow apron, a wooden spoon jutting from her pocket. She swept him up without hesitation, and the scent of honey and rosemary enveloped him. Moon-pale skin, hair like spun gold, a smile so tender it almost hurt. Zion tried to demand answers. Who was the soldier? Why had the System vanished? But only a choked gurgle escaped his throat. Trapped. Seething in useless flesh.
Elowen carried him into the kitchen, humming softly as she moved. Sunlight streamed through a window, revealing a world of impossible produce spread across the wooden counter. Bulbous violet tubers sat beside feathery carrot-tops. Peppers gleamed with an oil-slick shimmer, shifting colors as she reached for them. Her knife flashed, quick and practiced, dicing the alien vegetables into jewel-bright pieces. Zion watched, mesmerized. The ordinary rhythm of her work made the whole scene feel even more surreal. Here, in this impossible world, someone still had to make stew.
The back door banged open.
Cassian strode in, heaving a carcass onto the butcher's block. The creature defied reason: six stilt-like legs, obsidian-branch antlers, a body caught somewhere between stag and nightmare. "Thornstag," Cassian announced, sweat gleaming on his brow. Elowen glanced up, pointing with her knife. "The haunch, love. Stew meat."
"Aye, Captain." Cassian winked down at the baby. His dagger slid through sinew with lethal grace. Zion watched, mesmerized, until Cassian's fingers found something buried in the beast's chest. He pried it free: a walnut-sized crystal pulsing with viridian light. Raw energy hummed from the stone, thick and primal. It pulled at something deep inside Zion's chest, a strange hunger older than memory, reaching toward the glow without his permission. He stretched out a chubby hand and whined.
Cassian chuckled, rinsed the crystal clean, and pressed it into Zion's tiny palm. Liquid emerald power flooded his veins, warm and electric. The light swirled inside the stone like captured stars. Behind him, Elowen laughed softly. Heat rushed to Zion's cheeks. Then the warmth dropped away, replaced by something else.
Damp. Heavy. Cold.
He had soiled himself. Mortification burned through him. He had faced the unraveling of reality, the dissolution of his very soul, and yet here he was, reduced to this. A damp, heavy, cold shame that no amount of past heroism could erase. Zion Astrea, who once stood at the edge of a dying star, now lay in his own mess, utterly helpless.
"Bath time!" Elowen announced, noticing instantly. Her gentle tone somehow made it worse.
Scrubbed pink and re-swaddled, Zion stewed in the humiliation of his crib. Cassian loomed over him, grinning broadly. "Entertainment for His Grumpiness!" He launched into an off-key tavern song, jigging like a spooked chicken. Zion stared, stone-faced.
Undeterred, Cassian pulled a scrap of lamb's wool from his pocket. He raised his thumb. Fwoosh. A tiny flame ignited at its tip. Zion's eyes snapped wide. Magic.
Cassian touched the fire to the wool. The flame bloomed, then shaped itself. A finger-sized man of fire pirouetted on his palm. It cartwheeled, bowed with exaggerated formality, and then tripped over its own feet, scattering into dying sparks.
A giggle burst out of Zion, sharp and surprised, utterly beyond his control.
Cassian beamed. "Gotcha!"