**Chapter 2: The Namless Boy.**
Researchers from the Observation Bureau were quick to react. Their boots pounded against the cobblestones as they pushed through the chaos, shouting for space and order. Panic rippled through the crowd like a wave.
"Make way! Observation Bureau—move aside!" one of them barked.
Lyra ducked behind a fallen stall, heart hammering. She peeked between the splintered boards as the white-coated figures surrounded the fallen boy. Their leader, a tall woman with sharp eyes and streaks of gray in her hair, knelt beside him.
"Still alive," she said, her voice steady but strained. "Get the stretcher. And for the kids' sake—don't let anyone else see this. No word leaves this plaza, understood?"
The others nodded quickly. They lifted the boy with practiced care, though his body seemed impossibly fragile, skin pale beneath the dirt and blood. As they moved him, faint particles drifted from his wounds, tiny, luminous motes that shimmered like fading stars before dissolving into the air.
Lyra caught a glimpse of his face. It was almost too perfect. Soft and symmetrical, like a sculpture chiseled from ivory. Yet his eyes… they were hollow. Not unfocused or blind, but empty, as though someone had scraped away whatever made him human.
The Bureau team carried him toward the medical wing near the city's edge, their silhouettes fading into the haze of smoke and dust.
While all this was happening, all that the boy could hear at that moment was a disorienting voice shouting at him.
Please—
StopStopStopStop-
NO!
What—It hurts— IT HURTS!!, too… bright…—can't—can't see—
My—. My head hurts.
Falling hard. It hurts. Everything is spinning. What the—what's hap—
Stop—//////!,NO!! //////! PLEASE STOP—
The voice lingered in the boy's mind like smoke curling through a dark room. He woke to a world of white light that was neither warm nor comforting. The ceiling above him glowed softly, smooth metal and tubes reflecting thin shafts of sunlight that had no reason to be inside a room.
Voices spoke around him, muffled and urgent.
"Pulse is stable."
"Neural link holding."
"Check the actuator integrity."
He tried to move, but his body did not respond. Panic prickled along his spine. He then desperately tried to get out of bed. But then realized that his arms, legs, and all his memories were gone.
When his vision cleared, he saw his limbless body.
A figure in a white coat leaned over him. Her face was masked, but her voice was calm. "You are awake. Try not to move too quickly. You've lost almost all your blood already."
Almost was an understatement. He remembered a little bit, falling, felt the wind tearing through his limbs and face. Remembering the ground approaching far too fast. And yet here he was. Alive.
"Where… am I?" he whispered. His throat was dry, hoarse. Then the voice appeared again, this time louder, causing his head to go into extreme pain.
"I DON'T REMEMBER! I don't remember ANY OF THIS!!"
"Who are You!? WHO ARE YOU!?!"
"WHO ARE YOU ALL!?!"
"WHO ARE YOU ALL TALKING ABOUT!?!?!
He shouted with a raw intensity, his voice echoing off the sterile walls of the lab as he strained against the confines of his limbless body. The researchers watched in a mix of bafflement and trepidation, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Despite the dire state he was in, his spirit burned with an unyielding determination, radiating energy that seemed almost supernatural. It was as if, in that moment, he was transcending his physical limitations, channeling every ounce of willpower into his desperate struggle for freedom.
The sight left the scientists both inspired and terrified, grappling with the implications of such resilience in the face of profound adversity.
"That's it! Quickly put him to sleep before he does something crazy!" the woman shouted. The tube connected to his navel thrummed, flooding him with propofol injection. A heavy wave of dark sleep immediately overtook him.
"Wow, that was something," she said, slowly relaxing her body.
"We need answers from him. We need to know how he survived falling from the spiral and how he's able to withstand it," she rambled, a nervous look crossing her face as she started biting her nails.
"Well, we do know he's not human, that's for sure," one of the researchers commented.
"I mean, look at this data we've collected from him. It's crazy! His body is abnormally different from ours, yet he needs what we need to survive. It's like..."
"He's human, but looking at his features, he's either evolved or, more accurately, adapted."
"Maybe this adaptation is a result of the spiral? Or maybe he's gifted? But none of that matters right now. We need to get answers from him immediately."
As they discussed the boy, Sylvan appeared.
"I just received word from the other guardians that there have been massive signs of disturbances coming from, you know where." he stated, a worried look on his face.
"Whatever it is they're upset about, I think it has something to do with this boy right here."
"Hmm. That's indeed troubling," the woman said, continuing to bite her nails. "Well, Sylvan, please notify the others that we'll try to figure something out." After that, he left, still looking disturbed.
"You all heard that, right? Let's quickly get answers from him. Maybe if we give him arms and legs, he'll talk," she proposed.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" someone asked.
"Well, no, but we don't have a choice. Just in case, let's hire a 'contract' to watch his every move in case he goes rogue. And worst-case scenario, we'll have the contract execute him, and we'll be informed about his every move aswell." she replied with a stern expression.
While all of that was happening, Lyra found herself in the bustling plaza, which was guarded by stern personnel from the Bureau facility. The atmosphere was thick with tension, punctuated by hushed conversations and the occasional clatter of equipment. Her gaze flicked around, and when she noticed guards distractedly examining an ancient relic unearthed nearby, a sense of urgency surged within her. Seizing the moment, she slipped away toward the crater that lay just beyond the plaza's edge.
As she approached, wisps of gray smoke curled upward, mingling with the tangy scent of scorched earth. Amidst the debris of twisted metal and shattered stone, something faintly glimmered. A crystal not larger than her palm, nestled precariously among the rubble.
"Whoa, what are you?" she whispered, her breath quickening as she knelt closer to inspect the peculiar object.
When Lyra reached out and picked it up, it pulsed once against her skin, sending a wave of warmth coursing through her hand. In an instant, her surroundings blurred and fragmented as if the very fabric of reality had torn.
She found herself transported far from the plaza and Hira; instead, she stood in an otherworldly realm where the air was thick and suffocating, saturated with drifting ash that hung like a shroud. Towering mountains of bleached bone loomed ominously against a turbulent red sky, their jagged peaks clawing at the clouds.
A figure emerged in the distance, her back turned to Lyra, long hair whipping wildly in the frigid wind. Despite her small frame, the stillness and silence of her stance radiated a sense of unfathomable gravity. Four elongated shadows stretched out from her silhouette, undulating and shifting. Impossible to discern if they were arms or mere illusions cast by fractured light.
"H-Hello...? Who are you?" Lyra stammered, her voice quaking with a mix of fear and curiosity as her heart raced within her chest. Every instinct screamed for her to step back, yet an invisible force compelled her to move closer.
Before she could take another step, the vision shattered like fragile glass, disintegrating into shards of darkness.
Suddenly, Lyra was back in the crater, gasping for breath as panic washed over her. The crystal burned fiercely in her hand, a relentless heat that felt both alien and dangerous. Pain lanced through her chest, sharp and twisting, forcing her to drop to her knees on the jagged stones. Her vision narrowed, everything around her going white at the edges, a disorienting haze creeping in.
Distant shouts echoed from the guards, their voices distorted as if coming from underwater, the world spinning chaotically around her. But all she could focus on was that figure—immaculate in her stillness, the haunting silence, and the overwhelming sensation of being seen by something ancient and powerful, something that had forgotten how to blink.
Then, as her body reached its limits, Lyra succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness. The crystal slipped from her fingers, rolling once before settling against the broken stones, its faint glow flickering like a dying star in the enveloping darkness.