In the forgotten part of the city, where the streetlights barely worked and time seemed to stop, there was an old shipping yard. Most people passed it without thinking twice—just a field of rusting containers and shadows. But for Jayden, Amara, and Malik, it had become something more. Something dangerous. Something alive.
Jayden stood in front, his hoodie glowing with the shape of a butterfly. Not painted. Not printed. *Glowing*. Blue light pulsed from his chest in slow beats, like a second heartbeat. His eyes, usually calm, were wide with confusion. This glow hadn't appeared since the day his mother vanished without a trace.
He glanced at Amara, who stood to his right, holding a sword made of orange light. It wasn't made of metal or anything they could name. It just *appeared*—when she touched the strange panel on the wall inside the cargo container. The blade thrummed with heat and energy, yet it didn't burn her. It felt like it belonged in her hands, like it had been waiting years for someone to claim it.
"We shouldn't be here," Jayden muttered, but even he didn't believe it. He had dreamed about this place for months. The same nightmare every night—his mom standing at the edge of a glowing door, whispering his name before being pulled into the dark. He couldn't walk away now. Not when the butterfly symbol had come alive again. Not when something inside him whispered: *She's still alive.*
A deep voice echoed through the yard. Not human. Not exactly.
*"You have activated the Sequence. The Chosen have arrived."*
Malik dropped the journal. Amara raised the sword, ready to fight. Jayden's glow pulsed faster, brighter. The air around them shimmered. A ripple, like heat off pavement, spread across the sky.
Then something stepped out from behind the crates.
Tall. Shadowed. Mechanical, but not fully machine. Its eyes glowed red, scanning them like prey. It didn't speak. It didn't need to.
Jayden stepped forward, instinct pulling him. "We didn't come to fight."
The machine raised its arm. Energy charged.
Amara lunged first, her blade clashing with the machine's arm, sending out a shockwave of sparks and flame. Jayden raised his hands instinctively—and a wave of blue energy burst from his chest, knocking the machine back.
Even Malik was stunned. "What the hell are we?"
Malik stood a few steps behind them, flipping pages in a leather-bound journal—his late uncle's. A scientist. A dreamer. A madman, some said. The journal was full of impossible theories and messy sketches of ancient tech. But tonight, it was making sense. Malik traced a sketch of the butterfly symbol with shaking fingers. "This is it," he whispered. "This is what Uncle Elijah meant. The Core. The last gate."
Jayden frowned. "What core?"
Malik looked up, face lit by the dim blue glow of Jayden's chest. "A power source. Ancient. Alive. Said to be able to reshape matter. Maybe even time. Hidden for centuries. Guarded by people like your mom."
Amara tightened her grip on the sword. "And now it's waking up."
The ground vibrated faintly beneath them. Somewhere, deep in the shipping yard, a humming sound rose—a low, metallic whine. The containers groaned like old beasts, and a cold wind swept through the cracks in the steel.
Jayden looked down at his glowing chest, then at Amara's burning sword, and Malik's book still humming with heat.
He finally understood.
"We're not just here to find the Core," Jayden said. "We are the Core. Or what's left of it."
The machine rose again, damaged but not done.
And the real fight was just beginning.