The storm hadn't stopped for three days.
The wind howled across the ice fields surrounding Haven-9, scattering ash and snow in the same breath. From the ruins of the outer wall, Briar watched the horizon burn violet where ion wreckage still smoldered. The night after the attack, the survivors had buried the dead in the frozen ground—if it could still be called ground. Now only silence lingered, heavy and waiting.
He was alive, but changed. The Genesis energy hadn't left him; it moved constantly beneath his skin, like a second pulse. He could feel every current in the air, every heartbeat within a dozen meters, every crackle of residual aether in the snow. It frightened him and thrilled him all at once.
Lyra stood nearby, her arms crossed against the cold, eyes on the sky. "They'll come again," she said.
"They always do," Briar answered.
Below them, the camp had become something else. The survivors no longer looked like refugees. Engineers rebuilt the fortifications with scavenged ion plating. New recruits arrived daily, shivering in threadbare coats but carrying the same look in their eyes—the will to fight. Haven-9 was transforming into a fortress.
Inside the command dome, Dr. Solis had turned the medical wing into a lab again. The walls glowed faint blue from suspended Genesis fluid, and rows of new pods lined the hall. The Second Genesis Program had officially begun.
Briar stepped inside, greeted by the low hum of machines and the smell of antiseptic metal. Solis looked up from his console. "Your vitals are stabilizing. Power readings are… abnormal."
"Define abnormal."
"You're generating output equal to six Genesis subjects combined. Your control is the only thing keeping you alive."
"That's comforting."
From the corner of the room, a deep voice spoke. "Power doesn't mean control."
Briar turned to see Rex Vance leaning against the wall. He'd survived the fall of the southern cities, his armor still scorched, his left arm wrapped in synth-bandages. The former Crimson Order cadet had the build of a soldier and the eyes of someone who'd seen too much.
Solis gestured toward him. "Rex will lead the defense units. He's volunteered to train the new subjects."
"Train?" Briar frowned. "You mean experiment."
"Call it what you want," Rex said. "If we don't learn to fight together, we won't last the next wave."
Lyra entered just then, accompanied by two others—Eira Vale, the quiet telepath from the Aether Dominion, and Nova Quinn, the teleporter with the sly half-smile who never seemed to stay still. They looked weary but alive.
"This all feels wrong," Nova said, glancing around the glowing pods. "Like we're repeating history in prettier armor."
Solis didn't look up. "History is the only teacher left that works."
He handed Briar a small device—a neural regulator the size of a coin. "Keep this near your heart. It'll help anchor your energy while your body adjusts."
"What happens if I don't?"
"Then you explode," Nova muttered.
Solis ignored her. "Your next assignment starts now. The ions left scavenger drones across the perimeter. We need one captured intact for analysis. Take your team. Learn to work as one."
Briar looked at the group. Lyra met his gaze, calm but determined. Eira avoided his eyes, already reading the storm of thoughts in the room. Nova twirled a dagger made of compressed light between her fingers. Rex cracked his neck.
It wasn't a team—it was chaos waiting to ignite.
The mission began at dawn. The wind sliced across the frozen wastes as their hover-sled glided over cracked ice and scattered debris. The wreck of an ion drop-ship loomed ahead, black metal twisted like bone.
"Readings show movement," Eira murmured, fingertips pressed to her temple. "Something's alive in there. Not human."
"Good," Rex said. "We need it alive."
They disembarked quietly. Briar's skin prickled—the hum of his power reacting to the residual ion energy in the wreck. The air shimmered faintly violet. Inside, the drop-ship was a cathedral of ruin—walls scarred by battle, runes carved into the hull, faint light pulsing in alien patterns.
Lyra whispered, "What is this place?"
"Not a ship," Briar said. "A nursery."
Pods lined the walls, smaller than human-sized, each containing a fragment of something organic and metallic. One pod still glowed. Inside, a creature stirred—half-formed, its features like liquid glass.
Solis's voice crackled over comms. "We need that sample intact. Proceed carefully."
Rex approached the pod, rifle raised. "Looks dormant."
"Don't touch it," Eira warned.
Too late. The creature's eyes snapped open—pure silver.
The pod exploded outward in a burst of energy. Briar raised his hand instinctively, the shockwave stopping mid-air, rippling against an invisible barrier. The creature screeched, its body morphing, limbs elongating into blades of light.
"Contain it!" Rex barked.
Lyra flared with golden energy, forming a shield of refracted light. Nova blinked behind the creature, striking fast—but it turned, faster, slashing through her after-image. Eira screamed, clutching her head. "It's inside my mind!"
Briar moved before he thought. Energy surged through him, wild and uncontrollable. He thrust out his palm—an arc of blue lightning tore through the creature, slamming it into the wall. The explosion of light filled the wreck, then faded into smoke.
When the haze cleared, the creature was gone—evaporated into ash.
Rex lowered his weapon slowly. "You were supposed to capture it."
Briar's hands trembled. "I didn't mean to—"
"Intent doesn't matter when everything you touch burns," Rex snapped.
Lyra stepped between them. "Enough. He saved our lives."
Rex stared at her, then at Briar. "Maybe. But if he can't control that, he's more dangerous than they are." He walked out, his breath fogging in the cold.
Nova exhaled. "Well. That went great." She vanished in a blink, reappearing near the sled. "Next time, remind me to stay invisible."
Eira touched Briar's arm gently. "It wasn't just power. It was something else. When you struck, I felt… consciousness. Like the ions were speaking through you."
Briar frowned. "What did they say?"
She hesitated. "They called you a name. Seed of Genesis. Then everything went dark."
Back at Haven-9, Solis studied the readings in silence. "You absorbed its energy. Completely. That's not possible—not even with the new formula."
"So what does it mean?" Briar asked.
"It means," Solis said, "the ions weren't wrong. You're something new."
Rex entered the lab, armor streaked with frost. "If he's something new, we need to know whether he's still human."
Solis's expression hardened. "Watch your words."
"I watched him annihilate a living weapon with a thought," Rex said. "If that's our savior, maybe we're already doomed." He turned on his heel and left.
Lyra's voice was quiet. "He's scared."
"He should be," Nova said from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Fear keeps people alive."
Solis closed the console. "All of you, rest. We start control trials tomorrow."
As they left, he stared at Briar's Pulse still glowing faintly blue. His own reflection looked older, more haunted. "Seed of Genesis," he whispered. "What have I created?"
Later, Briar found Rex outside near the wall, watching the auroras burn above the ice. "You think I'm a threat."
"I think you're unpredictable," Rex said. "That gets soldiers killed."
"You weren't always a soldier."
Rex's jaw tightened. "The Order taught me to survive. Now I teach others. That's all that's left."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Briar said, "If we win this war, what will you do?"
Rex looked out across the frozen wasteland. "Find a reason to keep fighting. There's always another war."
The wind howled between them. Briar realized then that Rex wasn't fighting for humanity—he was fighting because he didn't know how to stop. The thought stayed with him, lingering like an echo.
That night, Briar dreamed of the ions again—vast figures of light standing in a storm of stars. One reached toward him, its voice like thunder in his mind.
You are ours.
He woke gasping, the neural regulator on his chest flickering. The Pulse burned hot, and for a moment he saw his reflection in the metal wall—eyes glowing white, lightning veins alive under his skin.
He closed his fist until it stopped.
For now.