Location: Jerkins Base - Aetherium Foundry Vault / Training Grounds
Time: Present Day - After the Crucible Grounds
---
The Empty Vault
The Aetherium Foundry was a cathedral of secrets—a vast underground chamber carved from reinforced concrete and lined with vaults that had held treasures beyond measure. The air was cold, sterile, humming with the quiet pulse of dormant machinery.
Seraphina Jerkins stood at the center of the chaos, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides. Her body trembled—not with fear, but with a rage so pure it seemed to radiate from her very being. The air around her grew thick, heavy, charged with the weight of her fury. The ground beneath her feet trembled, small cracks spiderwebbing outward from where she stood.
Before her, the vault door hung open—its lock shattered, its interior stripped bare. The veinframes were gone. The Aetherium Loom was gone. Everything was gone.
Her left leg stomped down, the impact sending a shockwave through the floor. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.
"How the hell did this happen?!" she screamed, her voice cracking with rage. "Where were you all while this was happening?!"
The operative guards—men and women in prototype aethernova suits—stood before her, their bodies rigid, their faces pale. They trembled under the weight of her presence, their eyes darting nervously toward each other.
One of them—a young man with a nervous twitch—stepped forward, his voice trembling. "To be fair, Madam... Emilio was responsible for the nightshift of this place. He was the janitor here. If anyone should have noticed—"
Seraphina's head snapped toward him. Her eyes blazed with cold fury. The air around her grew hotter, thicker, as if the very atmosphere was reacting to her rage. The young man's voice died in his throat. He stumbled backward, his body trembling, his face pale with terror.
He could feel it—the weight of her anger pressing down on him like a physical force. His bones ached. His muscles seized. His lungs struggled to draw breath.
I shouldn't have said anything, he thought, his internal voice carrying a note of desperate regret. I should have kept my mouth shut.
---
Seraphina's gaze swept the room, her voice cold and sharp. "If word of any of this gets out... if anyone learns that our vaults have been emptied... do you have any idea what will happen to us? Especially after that Elijah fiasco at the Crucible Grounds?"
Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white.
"The holders for this base won't want more bad news. Especially not bad news that involves the loss of their own properties."
She paused, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"We need to find that mole before more damage is made."
---
The air shifted. A shadow moved.
One of the operative guards—a woman with sharp eyes and a scar across her cheek—suddenly lunged forward. Her body moved with unnatural speed, her hand shooting out with deadly precision.
Her fingers clamped onto the back of another guard's head. She squeezed.
The man's skull split with a sickening crack, blood spraying across the vault floor. His body crumpled, lifeless.
The other guards froze. Their voices died in their throats.
The woman moved again. Her hands shot out, grabbing two more guards by their heads. She twisted—one neck to the right, the other to the left. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the chamber.
Two more bodies hit the ground.
The remaining guards panicked. One of them—a young man with wide eyes—turned to run. He didn't make it far.
The other operative guards moved with practiced precision. They took him down in seconds, their movements efficient, their expressions cold.
Seraphina watched the carnage with cold satisfaction. Her voice was sharp, commanding.
"Word of what happened today does not leave these walls. Do you understand?"
The remaining guards nodded frantically, their bodies trembling. They could feel it—the weight of her presence, the pressure of her rage. It pressed down on them like a physical force, demanding submission.
They knelt.
Seraphina's expression remained cold, but inwardly, her mind raced.
This could be the Torrents, she thought. Trying to sabotage our family. Or...
Her eyes narrowed.
It can only be Elijah Isley. But why would he decide of all places us? This isn't good. As far as I have seen, everywhere that kid has passed left nothing but mess and destruction.
She paused, her internal voice carrying a note of quiet desperation.
Need to find that mole before more damage is made. Plus, my boring brother is actually planning on coming back. He was the one who informed the Mysterium clan about what transpired.
Her hands clenched at her sides.
Thanks to leaving a few pockets from our own treasury, we managed to prevent our family employers from finding out that their deposited treasures are missing. They aren't aware of it for now. But that doesn't mean we will keep it from them for long.
A flicker of fear crossed her features—quick, almost imperceptible, but there.
If they find out... if they learn that we've been hiding this...
She shook her head, forcing the thought away.
We need to find the mole. Before it's too late.
---
The training grounds of Jerkins Base were a stark contrast to the cold, sterile vault. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete. Trainees gathered in loose clusters, their voices carrying notes of excitement and exhaustion.
The Crucible Grounds tournament was the topic of every conversation—the unexpected victories, the shocking defeats, the chaos that had unfolded. It was the most talked-about event in years.
A group of trainees huddled near the edge of the grounds, their voices animated.
"That was the most epic crossover tournament I've ever witnessed," one of them said, his voice carrying a note of genuine awe. "Probably the most epic I'll ever see in my lifetime."
Another nodded, his expression one of agreement. "So many unpredictable things happened. The Torrents came with all their strong and talented prospects..."
He paused, mimicking a posture—a straight-backed, arrogant stance, his expression one of utter disdain.
"...and who knew that once-silent loser from Jerkins—Leo Jerkins—took some pill or something and became some kind of freak? He took out most of the competitors. Brought more confidence for the other competitors from our base."
A third trainee—a young woman with sharp eyes—laughed, her voice carrying a note of genuine amusement. "The most standout moment that really made my day was when Grace Barlow straight up mocked Evan Torrent."
She mimicked his posture—his whiny, entitled stance, his face contorted with rage. She yelled, her voice carrying a note of exaggerated mockery.
"'I won't let you make a mockery out of me!'"
The others laughed, their voices rising in a chorus of amusement.
"Then he blew up!" one of them said, his voice carrying a note of dark satisfaction. "Don't like silver-spoon, loose-pants men. All whiny and full of themselves. Felt great seeing that dummy get what was coming for him."
Another trainee's expression shifted to one of longing. "Yeah..."
The others noticed. One of them asked, "What's wrong?"
The trainee shook his head slowly. "If one thing all that happened in the Crucible Grounds showed me... it's that I'm not living life to the fullest. Especially Elijah. Must be cool—literally fighting big shots and walking away from it."
---
Caspian Jerkins stood apart from the others, his gaze fixed on a figure sitting alone on a bench.
Leo Jerkins.
But something was off.
Caspian had grown used to the Leo Jerkins who had emerged during the tournament—the confident, sharp-tongued, almost arrogant fighter who had taken the Crucible Grounds by storm. That Leo had been bold, decisive, and utterly unshakeable.
This Leo was... different.
He sat quietly, his posture soft, his expression kind—almost kiddish. His eyes were gentle, his demeanor one of quiet humility. He looked like a boy who had never hurt a fly, let alone fought in a tournament.
Caspian's brow furrowed. He walked toward his brother, his voice carrying a note of confusion.
"Hey... something's off about you."
Leo looked up, his expression one of innocent curiosity. "What do you mean?"
Caspian's eyes narrowed. "I don't know. You just seem... different. Not like yourself."
Leo's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance—a childish pout that seemed utterly out of place on the face of the fighter who had dominated the Crucible Grounds.
"Hey now, don't start getting all over me, brother. I'm not in the mood."
Caspian's voice carried a note of teasing. "Don't tell me you're upset that your girl stole the entire show at the Crucible Grounds. And might have eloped with that psycho killer or something."
Leo's expression flickered—a brief, almost imperceptible flash of pain. His internal voice carried a note of quiet sorrow.
You clearly don't know anything, he thought. Grace has been with me for so long. She brought joy to my misery here in the base. I thought we would be like that for long.
He paused, his internal voice carrying a note of bitter resignation.
But it seems a garden can only hold a rose for so long. Someone will always come with a bigger plot, a grander garden, and the rose will find a new home.
He sighed inwardly, his expression remaining calm, almost peaceful.
Some flowers are meant to be admired from afar. Not held.
-----
The training grounds hummed with the chatter of trainees, their voices carrying notes of excitement and speculation. The sun continued its slow descent, casting long shadows across the concrete.
Leo Jerkins sat quietly on his bench, his expression one of gentle resignation. His brother sat beside him, oblivious to the storm of emotions beneath the surface.