Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
The transport arrived exactly on schedule—a sleek, armored vehicle with the grey markings of Architect engineering. Its engines hummed with barely contained power as it settled onto the forest floor.
Wolfen stood at the edge of the clearing, watching it descend. "Only Jordan and I are going."
Eva stepped forward. "I'm going too."
Zoey moved to stand beside her. "Same."
Wolfen shook his head. "No."
Zoey's foot connected with his groin before anyone could react.
Wolfen folded like a cheap chair, a strangled sound escaping his throat. He hit his knees, then his side, then just lay there making noises that didn't sound human.
Zoey looked down at him, her scarred face utterly expressionless. "I'm going."
Eva stared at her with something approaching awe. Even Maya, leaning against a tree, raised an eyebrow in grudging respect.
Wolfen, still on the ground, gave a weak thumbs up.
They all got in the vehicle.
---
Twenty-five minutes of tense silence passed before the facility emerged from the jungle—a low, sprawling complex of grey concrete and reinforced steel. The transport settled onto a landing pad, and the doors slid open.
Superior-1 stood waiting.
Her grey mask caught the harsh lights of the facility, her posture radiating the cold authority of her position. Behind her, a squad of white-masked soldiers stood at attention.
Then she saw Zoey.
"You." Her voice was ice. "Why are you here, traitor?"
Zoey stepped off the transport, meeting the grey mask without flinching. "You have a problem?"
"Yes. I do." Superior-1's hand drifted toward her weapon.
But then Wolfen emerged from the transport.
Superior-1 froze.
Her hand stopped mid-motion. Her head tilted—just slightly, just enough to show the shock she couldn't quite hide.
Wolfen Welfric. Back. Alive.
That universe was supposed to be inescapable. Unsurvivable. A void with no exit.
He smiled at her.
Behind Superior-1, another figure stepped forward. Dark grey mask. Imposing presence.
Prime 10.
Wolfen's smile widened. He raised a hand in casual greeting.
"Hey. Long time no see, Architects."
The silence that followed was deafening.
---
They were escorted through sterile white corridors, past laboratories and observation rooms, until they reached a meeting chamber. The door slid open, revealing a long table surrounded by grey masks.
And one new face.
Superior-4 was young—fifteen at most—his mask slightly too large for his frame. He sat slouched in his chair, radiating the particular arrogance of someone who had been given power before they'd earned it.
Superior-5 sat beside him, older, more cautious, watching the door with wary eyes.
Superior-2 was notably absent.
The boy—Superior-4—was speaking as they entered. "I'm telling you, if Wolfen Welfric showed up right now, I could take him alone. He's probably not even that tough. Just old. Old means slow."
The room went quiet.
Wolfen stepped through the door, his golden eyes fixed on the boy.
"Oh, really?" His smile was sharp, dangerous. "Why don't you try, boy?"
The energy in the room shifted.
It was subtle—a pressure in the air, a weight on the shoulders, the particular stillness that comes when a predator enters the room. Every Architect there felt it. Every instinct they had screamed one word:
Danger.
Wolfen Welfric had returned.
None of them knew how. None of them cared. All that mattered was that he was here, standing in their meeting room, smiling that terrible smile.
Wolfen walked to the table. He sat down on it—not in a chair, but on the table itself, directly in front of Prime 10. His legs swung slightly as he settled, his boots inches from her folded hands.
He looked around the room, at the grey masks, at the frozen soldiers, at the boy who had gone very, very quiet.
"Well, then." Wolfen's voice was light, almost cheerful. "Let's start, shall we?"