Tasik Harbor was a city of contradictions.
On one side, gleaming towers pierced the smog-choked sky—symbols of borrowed wealth and foreign control. On the other, broken alleys and rusted rooftops sprawled like scars, reminders of promises unkept.
Roman walked with his hood up.
His steps matched Misha's, but his mind wasn't steady. He hadn't slept. Not truly. Even when his eyes closed, fragments of other people's lives surged into his mind like broken film reels.
They made him feel fractured.
More ghost than man.
Ahead, the city throbbed with noise—cars, vendors, arguments, music. Roman's stomach churned. The farther they went, the more emotions bloomed around him.
Greed. Desperation. Hunger. Lust.
But beneath it all…
Envy.
This place overflowed with emotion—rich, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Now that Roman had begun trying to understand his power, something had shifted. Insights trickled into his mind, uninvited but undeniable, as if the truth had always been waiting just beneath the surface. He could feel it—his soul responding, reaching, adapting.
In the past, he hadn't just feared his power. He had feared himself.
Back then, he hadn't wanted to understand it. He'd denied it, buried it under layers of silence and solitude. He avoided crowded places like they were poison—because maybe, for someone like him, they were.
Too many emotions. Too much noise. Too many versions of himself waiting to surface.
But now… now he was starting to see.
Rage, Gains monstrous strength and durability. the more raging people around him the stronger the effects.
Fear, Becomes faster, shadow-like, with heightened senses. the more people feel fear around him the stronger the effects.
Sorrow Becomes weightless, the more sorrow around him the stronger the effects.
Hatred, mind becomes sharper, colder, cruel. He calculates. the more htred around him the stronger the effects.
Envy, Roman could feel it pulsing around him—raw, jagged, alive. He didn't just sense it; he could trace it back to its source.
He knew exactly why they envied him. It was her—Misha, walking beside him with quiet confidence and unreadable eyes. A beautiful girl with her arm around his. To strangers, they looked close. Intimate. Untouchable.
And that illusion was enough to stir resentment.
But Roman was no longer just a passive receiver. He understood his power better now. When someone envied him and stood within his line of sight, he could feel something deeper—what they possessed. Not just mutant abilities. Skills. Learned. Sharpened. Worn like muscle memory.
He felt it then, almost like files downloading in the back of his mind. One man knew how to pick pockets with ghostlike precision. Another carried years of experience in underground brawls. Someone else radiated instinctive street-fighting talent—raw, unpolished, but deadly.
He could take them, he realized.
Each of them.
A quiet whisper in his bones said the same thing every time: Yours, if you want it.
But he didn't reach.
Curiosity tugged at him. What would it feel like to hold all that in his body? To become something more than he was, piece by piece? But the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. It felt like theft—not of objects, but of essence.
So he didn't take them.
Not unless he had to.
Only what was necessary.
Only what would keep him alive.
Unlike any other emotions that enhancing him right now, he can only take the ability of those who envy him. For those who feels the envy from the other source he can feel them but he can't stole ability from them.
Misha stopped near an old pedestrian bridge. Below, a slum-market buzzed with energy. Overhead, loose wires tangled like vines across streetlights. Roman looked down.
Hex was already there.
Leaning against a railing, fingers snapping sparks between them like it was a game. His coat was filthy, his pants torn, but his body coiled like a spring. Alone. Always alone.
Roman watched the man grin at passersby, pretending not to care when they ignored him. Then a couple brushed past—laughing, arms linked. Hex's smile twitched. The sparks flared brighter.
Misha spoke without turning. "That's him."
Roman blinked. "What do you want me to do?"
She finally turned to face him.
"Make him envy you."
He stared at her, incredulous. "That's your whole plan?"
Misha's gaze was flat. "It's not about performance. It's about provocation. Envy doesn't need logic. It just needs a crack."
Roman exhaled through his nose. "So I'm bait again."
"No," she said. "This time, we both are."
She took his hand.
Roman stiffened. Her grip was soft. But he know it was strategic. Cold, dry fingers against his palm. Her body pressed just close enough to suggest something more.
Hex looked up.
Their eyes met.
Roman felt the current.
Not the literal one. Not yet.
But a shift.
Like wind changing direction before a storm.
Hex
He saw them before they even stepped down.
The couple.
The beautiful couple.
The girl with her aloof stare. The boy with haunted eyes. They didn't belong here. They weren't from here.
But they held hands like people who'd been through fire and survived.
Hex's fingers twitched. His breath grew shallow.
Why did it always come easy for others?
Why did people like him get the scraps?
Something inside him cracked.
And the sparks responded.
Roman
They walked into the market like any other couple. Misha steered them toward a food stall, ordered something sweet-smelling without asking, then leaned in close.
Roman felt her breath near his ear.
"You're doing well."
"I feel disgusting," he muttered.
"Perfect."
They sat on a crate beneath a swaying fan. Hex circled them now. Not approaching. Not talking. But watching.
Roman shifted uncomfortably. "He's staring."
"Let him," Misha said, then slipped her arm around Roman's shoulders.
That was when Roman felt it.
The jolt.
Not from her touch—but from inside himself.
A tingle beneath the skin. A crackle in the air.
He looked up—
—and saw the faintest flicker of light dance across his fingertips.
Static. Just for a second.
But it was real.
The mutation was responding.
Hex's envy was close—too close.
Roman's pulse quickened.
Hex
He couldn't stand it.
They sat so close, shared bites of food like lovers in a slow film. The girl's fingers brushed the boy's hair, her smile barely there but intimate.
It was all fake. He could feel it. No one that beautiful was ever real.
He took a step closer.
Then another.
"Hey," he said, voice crackling like loose wires. "You two need directions or something?"
Roman
He turned. Slowly.
Hex stood just three feet away now. Close enough to smell burned rubber. Close enough for the sparks to arc from his fingers without meaning to.
Roman smiled carefully. "No. We're good."
Hex's eyes narrowed. "Don't look like you're from here."
Roman tilted his head. "Yeah, we're just passing through."
Hex blinked.
Misha leaned her head gently against Roman's shoulder, her touch light but deliberate. The closeness startled him, and when he turned to look at her, she was already watching him.
Their eyes locked—quiet, steady, unblinking.
Then, without a word, she leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't hesitant.
It was quiet, deep, and disarmingly intimate.
Roman's breath caught in his chest. The world seemed to tilt, the noise of the street fading into silence. Her lips were warm, soft, and for a moment, he forgot everything—who he was, what they were doing, why any of it mattered.
The kiss made him feel like he was melting. Like his soul had been touched and reshaped in an instant.
Hex's jaw clenched.
The air shimmered—lightning dancing along his wrists now.
Misha squeezed Roman's arm—signal.
Roman felt it again.
His heart spiked. His skin tingled. And this time—his hand glowed.
Just faintly.
Just for a second.
But electricity pulsed beneath the surface of his palm.
"What was that?" Hex barked, stepping closer. "You mocking me?"
Roman stood.
The spark vanished.
But the soul mutation had ignited.
Misha stood too, placing herself subtly between them.
"No one's mocking you," she said gently. "We were just leaving."
Hex's face twitched. "Right. Just passing through."
He stepped back, tension still flickering in his eyes—but he didn't notice.
Something inside him was gone—subtle, almost weightless—lifted without a sound.
Roman turned to Misha, heart pounding.
"I felt it," he whispered. "I almost—"
She nodded once.
"Not yet. Don't draw attention. We leave now."
They walked away without looking back.
But Roman couldn't stop his fingers from twitching.
He felt it now.
Something electric lived inside him.
Armenia — Over the Zharin Republic Airspace
Darius Dorgu stirred in his window seat.
The stewardess had offered him a drink. He ignored her. His eyes remained closed, but his mind was already running simulations.
Roman Ravenscroft.
Unregistered. Untrained. Unstable.
Dorgu's fingers curled loosely. He didn't need orders to know what to do once he landed.