The snow outside Haven-9 never stopped falling. It muffled sound, swallowed light, and made the world feel smaller.
Briar had stopped sleeping. The explosion haunted him — Seren's voice, the look in Rex's eyes, the crack of the inhibitor burning through his chest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flash again.
He sat alone on the outer wall, wrapped in a torn jacket, staring at the horizon. His breath fogged in the cold. Above the ice fields, faint streaks of violet shimmered and vanished.
He told himself it was the auroras. He didn't believe it.
"Still pretending you're on watch duty?"
Lyra's voice broke the silence. She climbed the steps, her coat lined with frost. She carried two ration cups and handed him one. It steamed faintly.
"Figured you'd rather freeze than eat," she said.
"Not far off," Briar muttered.
She sat beside him. "You shouldn't blame yourself."
"I blew up half the Crucible."
"You saved Eira's life."
"Almost got everyone else killed."
They drank in silence for a while. The wind howled across the wastes.
"Seren hasn't spoken to me since," he said finally.
"She's scared," Lyra said softly. "Of what you can do. Of what it means."
"She wasn't scared before."
"She didn't see it before."
Briar's hands tightened around the cup. "Rex did. He'll use it. He already is."
Lyra looked away. "He's training her, Briar. They're leading joint squads now."
He laughed without humor. "Figures. Two people who think control's the same thing as strength."
"She thinks she's doing what's right," Lyra said. "We all do. Even you."
Her words hung in the cold air, heavier than the wind.
Inside the base, Solis stood in the dim glow of the laboratory, watching data streams cascade across the screens. The readings from the broken inhibitor pulsed in irregular waves — energy signatures that didn't belong to anything human.
He frowned, tracing the waveform. "No… this isn't decay."
A voice behind him: "You're up early."
Commander Rex stepped into the light, his armor half-sealed, frost melting off his shoulders.
Solis shut down the display. "I could say the same."
"Patrol rotation," Rex said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I have." Solis adjusted his glasses. "The inhibitor didn't fail because of Briar's recklessness. It failed because the Genesis core inside him changed. It's adapting."
"To what?"
Solis looked toward the frosted window. "Something out there."
Rex folded his arms. "If you're saying he's turning into one of them—"
"I'm saying I don't know what he's turning into," Solis interrupted. "But whatever it is, it's rewriting the rules."
Rex was silent for a moment. Then, quietly: "If he becomes a threat…"
"I'll handle it," Solis said.
"I'm sure you will."
Rex turned to leave but stopped at the door. "You built a weapon you can't control, Doctor. Don't pretend you can leash it forever."
The following day, the recruits assembled in the hangar for tactical review. Briar stood at the edge of the group, silent while Rex briefed the mission.
Seren stood beside Rex now, not beside Briar. Her armor gleamed silver under the harsh lights, and when she spoke, her voice carried authority that once belonged to him.
"The next phase of training involves live recon," she said. "Outer-rim scanners picked up ion interference signals near the polar ridge. We'll investigate, neutralize any drones, and extract what we can."
Rex added, "Briar is not part of this assignment."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Lyra looked at him, but he shook his head before she could say anything. "Doesn't matter," he muttered.
When the dropship engines roared to life, Briar stood by the hangar window watching it vanish into the blizzard. He told himself he didn't care. The truth burned in his chest, bright and bitter.
Hours later, Haven-9's command deck was quiet. Solis moved between consoles, muttering to himself. The energy readings were spiking again — faint, rhythmic pulses echoing from the same direction as the recon mission.
He froze as the data aligned. The signals weren't random interference. They were transmissions.
He zoomed in, isolating the waveform. Embedded within the static was a symbol — ancient, geometric, unmistakable.
The mark of the ions.
"Impossible," he whispered.
The lights flickered.
Outside, the storm clouds shifted, and for the briefest moment, something vast moved within them — a shape, a shadow, a memory of wings.
The recon team didn't return on schedule.
Three hours past contact, Solis ordered search protocols. Lyra found Briar in the corridor, pacing.
"They're late," she said.
"I know."
"You can't—"
He was already moving. "If they're out there, I'm finding them."
Lyra grabbed his arm. "You're grounded."
"Then unground me."
The look in his eyes left no room for argument.
Minutes later, the two of them launched a stolen skimmer across the ice, engines cutting through the storm. The inhibitor thrummed faintly under his shirt.
The ridge came into view — a jagged expanse of shattered ice and violet mist. The snow was blackened with soot.
"Lyra," Briar said quietly, "that's not interference."
Below them, the wreckage of the recon ship smoldered, half-buried in the ice.
They landed hard. Wind screamed through the canyons of frost. Briar knelt beside the ruins, brushing away ash. No bodies, only scorched armor fragments — and a symbol carved into the ice itself.
The same one from Solis's scans.
He touched it. The ground vibrated.
Lyra drew back. "What did you—"
The ice cracked open.
A blinding column of violet light erupted upward, spiraling into the clouds. Briar stumbled back, shielding his eyes. Through the light, silhouettes emerged — tall, elegant, and familiar.
The ions.
Not drones. Not scouts. Soldiers.
Lyra whispered, "They're already here."
Briar's Pulse flared beneath the inhibitor, glowing white-blue. The harness screamed in protest.
He felt the old power clawing its way back, wild and alive.
"Briar, don't—"
But he already had.
The storm exploded.