Chapter 24 – The Silent Game
The classroom smelled of chalk and floor polish, the kind of scent that should have been boring, grounding. But to Jack it was suffocating.
Every scrape of a chair, every whisper of pages turning, every cough felt sharpened. He could hear too much. The fluorescent lights above hummed, not just with electricity but with rhythm — like faint voices trapped in their flicker.
His pen scratched across his notebook, though he hadn't registered a single word the teacher was saying. History. Dates. Wars. Empires. All meaningless noise compared to the war that lived under their skin.
And then —
"Онвпорядке?" whispered a voice from two desks behind him. Russian again. "Is he alright?"
Jack's fingers tightened on the pen. He hadn't turned his head, hadn't given them reason to think he understood. But the question was about him. He knew it.
A laugh answered, sharp and cruel, in French:
"Il n'a aucune idée. Il est juste un pion."
He has no idea. He's just a pawn.
Jack's pulse hammered.
The chalk squeaked at the front of the room. The teacher hadn't noticed anything. None of the other students had either. To them, it was just two foreign-exchange kids chatting. But Jack knew better. Every group had members here. Every clan was seated among the rows, playing the role of ordinary classmates.
And they were watching him.
He could feel it.
Iris sat near the window, sunlight painting her hair the same shade as her flames. She looked serene, legs crossed, one hand lazily sketching in the margins of her notebook. But her eyes flicked toward him with surgical precision whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
Ghost sat at the opposite corner. Her posture was perfect, her handwriting immaculate, her gaze fixed on the board. If not for the faint glow that bled through her wristband when the light caught it, she could have been any overachiever in the school. But Jack knew. He knew.
His pen broke in his grip. Ink smeared across his fingers.
"Jack?" the teacher said, pausing mid-sentence. "Something wrong?"
Dozens of eyes turned toward him. He swallowed, forcing the words out.
"No, sir. Just… slipped."
The teacher nodded, unconcerned, and turned back to the board.
But Iris's smile curved in the corner of his vision. Ghost's jaw tightened. And the whispers resumed — this time in Japanese.
"Kare wa mezameta." — He has awakened.
"Demo kare wa seigyo dekiru no ka?" — But can he control it?
Jack squeezed his ruined pen, ink dripping into his notebook like blood. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to throw the words back at them in their own tongue and watch their faces crack.
But he didn't.
Instead, he sat in silence, drowning in the hum of lights, the scrape of chairs, the endless game of masks.
They thought he didn't understand.
And maybe, for now, that was his only weapon.
Chapter 25 – Between Masks and Shadows
Lunch at Westbridge High was supposed to be loud, chaotic, harmless. Plastic trays clattered, conversations overlapped, and the smell of greasy fries and reheated noodles floated across the cafeteria. To anyone else, it was normal.
To Jack, it was war disguised as chatter.
He sat with his untouched food, ears pricked like antennae. Every word was coded. Every laugh was sharpened. He could pick apart the languages now without even trying.
At one table, members of the Green Griffins muttered in clipped Japanese:
"Kare wa mada kidzuiteinai." — He still hasn't realized.
From the opposite corner, a girl in yellow — her hair braided tight like coils of rope — leaned close to a boy with silver piercings, whispering in Mandarin:
"如果他真的是镜子...我们都完了."
If he really is the Mirror… we're all finished.
Jack's appetite vanished.
Iris walked past his table then, her tray balanced gracefully in one hand. She didn't look at him, didn't slow. But her shadow stretched across his table longer than it should have, flickering like firelight. A silent message: I see you.
Moments later, Ghost entered the cafeteria. Her presence was quieter, but no less suffocating. Students shifted subconsciously to give her space, as though her aura bent the room around her. She caught Jack's eye for the briefest second, and though her expression was cool, the pulse of her bangle lit blue, soft and quick. A warning.
Jack forced himself to stand. His tray clattered onto the counter as he walked out, muttering something about fresh air. The game of masks was pressing in too tight.
By the time the last bell rang, he almost convinced himself the day had been survivable. He'd made it through without snapping, without slipping, without revealing that he understood everything.
But evening fell differently.
On his walk home, the air thickened, humming with that same pressure he now recognized: assassins nearby. The world itself seemed to lean, shadows lengthening unnaturally as though pulled toward a rift.
The alley ahead pulsed red.
Jack's heart thudded. Another portal.
A voice cut the air — not Iris, not Ghost, but deeper, rougher. Russian laced with menace:
"Приведимальчика. Оннашключ."
Bring the boy. He is our key.
Then came the screech — high, metallic, unnatural. Out of the portal burst figures in silver masks, wings etched into their armor like blades. Not Iris's flames. Not Ghost's feathers. A different clan.
Jack stumbled back, pulse hammering. He shouldn't be here. He knew he shouldn't be here. But his reflection in a puddle beside him grinned wide, whispering words he hadn't wanted to hear:
"Run or fight, Jack. Either way… you'll reveal yourself tonight."
Chapter 26 – The Hunted and the Hunter
The night wind carried the echo of footsteps that weren't his own.
Jack sprinted down the narrow street, sneakers slapping asphalt, lungs burning. Behind him, shadows shifted unnaturally — three silver-masked figures fanning out, their movements too smooth, too deliberate.
The city itself seemed against him. Neon signs flickered, alleyways funneled him deeper, and every turn closed like a trap.
He leapt a chain-link fence, landing hard, palms scraped raw. His reflection in the metal glinted back at him, distorted and grinning.
"You can't outrun them forever, Jack."
He ducked into a construction site, weaving between stacks of steel beams. His ears caught snatches of their voices, low and sharp:
Russian — "Онбыстродвигается…нонебыстреенас."
He moves fast… but not faster than us.
Mandarin — "逼他用出来.我们要看."
Force him to use it. We want to see.
Japanese — "鏡を暴かせろ."
Make the Mirror reveal itself.
Jack's chest tightened. They weren't just chasing him. They wanted him to break.
He scaled another ledge, pulled himself onto the scaffolding. For a second he thought he'd lost them. Then a silver blade cut through the dark, inches from his face, sparking against steel.
The nearest assassin tilted his head, mask gleaming under the moonlight. "Stop running, boy," he said in broken English, voice muffled and cold. "Your power belongs to us."
Jack's fists clenched. "I don't even know what you're talking about!" he snapped, though every nerve screamed otherwise.
Another shadow lunged from behind. Instinct — not thought — twisted his body aside. His hand shot up.
And light erupted.
A flare of mirrored energy burst from his palm, slamming the assassin into a wall with the force of an explosion. The scaffolding rattled, metal screaming.
The alley fell silent.
The three assassins froze, staring at him. Even through their masks, Jack felt the chill of recognition. Their whispers returned, but this time in a language Jack couldn't name, syllables jagged and ancient.
He still understood.
"It's him. The true Mirror."
His reflection in the nearby glass pane leaned forward, smiling wide, eyes glowing like silver fire.
"Now they know. Now you can't go back."
Jack's breath came ragged. His palms shook. His heart slammed against his ribs — half from fear, half from the terrifying exhilaration of what had just surged through him.
The assassins recovered, their blades igniting with pale fire. "Then we take him," the leader said.
The night split open.
They charged.
And Jack, for the first time, didn't run.
Chapter 27 – The Mirror Unleashed
Steel screamed as blades clashed.
Jack stumbled back, parrying with a pipe he had ripped from the scaffolding. Sparks burst with each strike, the assassins pressing him from all sides — silver masks gleaming like faceless predators.
One slashed low; Jack jumped, twisting midair. Another stabbed high; Jack's palm glowed, a mirrored burst flinging the attacker across the site.
For a heartbeat, he stood tall, chest heaving, hands glowing faintly with rippling silver light.
Then the glow flickered. His knees buckled. His lungs felt like fire.
The assassins closed in again, blades catching the moonlight.
"You're not ready," his reflection taunted in the steel beam beside him, its grin wide and cruel. "But wouldn't it be fun to see how much of you breaks before you become me?"
Jack roared and swung his pipe, shattering a blade clean in half. His body moved faster than thought, sharper than instinct — but his mind screamed with every strike, like he was borrowing something not meant to be his.
One assassin went down. Two remained.
And then—
A streak of blue light cut through the night.
The remaining assassins reeled back as Ghost landed between them and Jack, her blade glowing, her blue phoenix aura flaring against the shadows. Her mask was half-lowered, her eyes burning as she glanced at Jack.
"You're reckless," she snapped, but her voice carried something else — urgency. "And stupid. But you're not theirs."
The assassins shifted, uneasy. "Stay out of this, Phoenix," the leader hissed. "He is the Mirror. He is ours."
Ghost's blade lifted higher. "He is no one's."
The air trembled.
Before either side struck, crimson fire spiraled into the site. Iris stepped out from a burning sigil etched across the ground, her red dragon aura flickering with heat. Her eyes fell on Jack, then on Ghost.
"Interesting," she said softly, her words crisp as flame. "The boy reveals himself… and you protect him? Why?"
Ghost answered , curt, sharp: "Because he's not yours."
Iris' lips curved into a dangerous smile. "No… but perhaps not yours either."
Jack swallowed hard, chest heaving. They thought he didn't understand. But he did. Every word. Every threat hidden beneath their voices.
His reflection shimmered in a broken shard of glass at his feet, whispering in a language older than all of them.
"They will fight over you until there's nothing left. Unless you decide. Unless you become."
The assassins circled, now forced to face not just Jack, but Ghost and Iris — enemies, rivals, lovers of war, bound by secrets Jack couldn't untangle.
The night snapped like a bowstring.
Blades clashed. Fire roared. Energy crackled.
And Jack, standing at the storm's center, realized with dread and awe that this was no longer about survival.
This was about choosing.
Chapter 28 – The Shattered Reflection
The construction site became a war drum.
Metal screamed. Fire hissed. The air cracked with blue lightning.
Ghost moved like a storm, her blade glowing as she parried three assassins at once, the sweep of her wings illuminating the half-built walls. Iris was fire incarnate, her sword cutting arcs of flame that melted steel like butter, scattering two more assassins with each strike.
And in the center — Jack.
His pipe had shattered. His hands bled. But the glow from his palms only grew brighter, silver ripples crawling up his arms like living tattoos.
"Focus!" Ghost shouted, her voice clipped between Russian and English, as though to confuse him. "Don't lose yourself!"
Iris snarled in Japanese, fire trailing her words: "Yes… lose yourself. Show me what you are."
Jack understood both. Too clearly. And the weight of knowing pressed against his skull until he thought it might crack.
An assassin lunged, blades catching his ribs. Jack gasped—then his reflection caught the blade first.
The shard of glass at his feet shimmered, and for an instant, another Jack — silver-eyed, sharper, crueler — stepped forward, parrying with a perfect strike.
The assassin reeled back, confused.
Jack blinked, trembling. The reflection merged with him again, heat flooding his veins. His breath fogged. His eyes burned silver.
The Mirror was waking.
The assassins faltered. "Impossible," their leader muttered, voice trembling under the mask. "He cannot—"
Ghost's blade cut him off, slamming his weapon away. "He can," she hissed, eyes locked on Jack. "But he shouldn't."
Iris laughed, crimson flames coiling around her like serpents. "Oh, but he should. He was born for this."
Jack roared, silver light exploding outward. The scaffolding bent and twisted, every reflective surface vibrating with impossible force. In a dozen shards of glass, he saw himself — not one self, but many, each moving differently, each grinning with secrets he did not yet know.
He swung his arm — and the reflections moved too, unleashing a wave that slammed half the assassins flat against concrete walls.
Ghost froze, horror flashing in her eyes. "Jack—stop!"
But Iris's laughter rang above the chaos, wild and hungry. "Yes! More! Break it all!"
Jack's chest heaved. His body screamed. His mind splintered between voices — Ghost's warning, Iris's lure, and his reflection's whisper:
"You are not fighting them. You are fighting me. And you are losing."
For a heartbeat, the battlefield slowed. Ghost's blue light clashed with Iris's red fire, both bleeding into Jack's silver glow, the three colors writhing like war banners across the night.
And Jack stood at the center, his body trembling, his choice narrowing:
Hold back — and collapse. Or let go — and become something none of them could control.Chapter 29 – The Mirror Awakens
The night cracked apart.
Jack's scream wasn't just sound — it was vibration, resonance. Every pane of glass, every shard of metal, every faint reflection in puddles and polished concrete shivered with his voice.
The assassins recoiled, some clutching their heads, others backing away as the silver light deepened, shifting from a glow to a storm.
His skin rippled with mirror-like sheen. His eyes were no longer just silver but filled with a depthless light, as if a dozen other selves stared out from behind them.
Ghost's breath caught. She stepped forward, blade lowered, horror etched in her every movement. "Jack, stop. If you cross this line, you won't come back."
Iris, by contrast, smiled, her fire curling eagerly toward him. "No, let him. This is what he was meant to be."
The reflections in the shards around him began to move. Not like echoes. Not like copies. They moved independently.
One smiled cruelly.
Another tilted its head like a predator.
Another whispered in languages Jack didn't recognize — and yet he understood them all.
"We are you. We are waiting. Break the glass, and we are free."
Jack staggered, clutching his head. The battlefield spun.
An assassin lunged, perhaps foolishly thinking Jack was distracted. Jack's reflection moved first. A mirrored hand burst from the puddle beneath the assassin's feet, dragging him screaming into nothingness.
The battlefield went still.
Ghost's eyes widened. Iris laughed, clapping her hands like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Jack's veins blazed silver. His reflection-self stepped halfway out of the glass, fusing with him, their shapes overlapping, unfinished — half Jack, half something more, taller, sharper, glowing with fractured light.
His voice was layered when he spoke, a dozen Jacks at once:
"I… am not afraid of you."
The assassins broke. Some fled. Others threw smoke bombs and retreated into shadows, unwilling to face what stood before them.
But Jack's body was tearing itself apart. The silver light flickered, unstable, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst. He staggered, dropping to one knee. His half-formed reflection sneered at him.
"Weak. Not ready. Soon."
With a shudder, the mirrored form shattered like glass, collapsing back into him.
Jack fell face-first onto the cracked concrete, unconscious.
Ghost was already moving, catching him before his head hit the ground. She cradled him, her blade dissolving into light. For the first time, fear touched her face — not fear of the assassins, not fear of Iris, but fear of what she had just seen.
Iris crouched across from her, her crimson fire softening to embers. She tilted her head, studying Jack with fascination. "He is the mirror. The one the prophecies warned of."
Ghost shot her a look of pure venom. "Stay away from him."
Iris smirked. "You can't keep him from me. Not now. Not after this."
Above them, unseen, the Green Griffins watched from the skeletal framework of the construction site. Their leader's voice was a whisper, carried through comms to the rest of their squad:
"Confirm it. The Mirror has awakened."
Chapter 30 – The Battle for the Mirror
The night pressed down heavy, the air thick with ash, smoke, and the shimmering aftertaste of Jack's awakening.
Ghost knelt over him, her hand on his chest, feeling the shallow but steady rise and fall. Relief was fleeting. She knew — everyone knew — that he was no ordinary boy now.
Iris's crimson glow swirled like living flame, her blade already in hand. She circled Ghost like a predator. "You can't protect him, little bird. He's more dangerous than you realize."
Ghost tightened her hold on Jack, shifting his weight against her. Her voice was steady, but beneath it was a tremor even she couldn't hide. "I don't care what he is. He's under my protection."
Iris laughed, the sound soft and cruel. "Then you'll die first."
The ground quaked.
A flash of green light slashed through the night. Figures landed from the steel framework above, boots cracking against the concrete. Ten shadows in emerald cloaks — the Green Griffins.
Their leader stepped forward, his uniform torn at the sleeves, his pale scarred arms exposed. His presence radiated fury and discipline all at once. His voice was low, dangerous.
"Enough games. The Mirror is ours."
Ghost spun, blade raised, her phoenix aura crackling. Iris smirked, fire curling higher.
And from beneath Jack's wrist, the bangle Ghost had given him earlier flickered weakly, as if straining to shield him even in his unconsciousness.
The Green Griffins spread out in formation, their weapons humming with strange hybrid energy — blades that gleamed like plasma yet carried inscriptions like ancient runes.
The leader raised his arm. "Take him."
Ghost's wings of blue fire erupted, shielding Jack. "You'll have to cut me down first!"
Iris snarled, raising her crimson blade. "Over my corpse!"
The air between them snapped, three forces ready to tear each other apart.
Then — sirens.
Distant but growing louder, cutting through the chaos. A high, urgent whine that didn't belong to school halls or secret clans. The sound of the outside world, intruding.
Iris's fire flickered with irritation. Ghost's eyes narrowed. The Griffins froze.
From the end of the street came a convoy — black armored vans, their lights killing the night. The insignia stamped on their sides was unmistakable: a silver bangle encircling a sword.
The Cops.
Doors slammed open. Armored figures poured out, each one wearing a bangle on their wrists, glowing faintly in defensive synchronization. They raised weapons that weren't guns, but rods of condensed light, forged for one purpose: to fight assassins.
Their commander's voice boomed through a speaker, steady and authoritative:
"Step away from the boy."
Ghost's grip on Jack tightened. Iris hissed like a cornered animal. The Griffins spread wider, their leader smirking.
The commander lifted his rod, pointing it directly at the group. "This is no longer your war. The Mirror is classified. By order of the Council, he belongs to us."
The battlefield held its breath.
Four sides.
One unconscious boy.
And the knowledge that whoever claimed him first would hold the power to change everything.
The silence broke — with the sharp clang of Iris's blade striking Ghost's.
The night exploded into war.
Chapter 31 – Shadows Before the Storm Perspectives
The night smoldered, every breath heavy with anticipation.
Ghost bent low over Jack, shielding him with wings of shimmering blue flame. She could feel his pulse beneath her hand, faint but steady. Every instinct screamed to fly, to vanish into the shadows where the others could never touch him. But she knew it wasn't that simple. If I run, they'll chase. If I fight, I risk exposing everything. But if I do nothing… he's theirs.
Her jaw tightened. She had already broken her clan's most sacred rule by intervening. If the Council learned she had protected Jack instead of eliminating him, she would be branded a traitor. Still, when she looked at his face—bloodied, innocent, unaware of the fate that surrounded him—she knew she couldn't let him go.
Iris watched from across the battlefield, her crimson blade resting at her side, eyes narrowed like a predator waiting for weakness. Rage burned hot within her, but under it lay something else—a sick twist of dread.
She had been told the prophecy since childhood: The Mirror will come, the one who reflects all power. A boy who could steal the gifts of every clan. A boy who could end them all. For years, it was just myth. And now, here he was… unconscious, helpless, already tugging at threads of destiny he didn't understand.
"If Ghost thinks she can keep him," Iris whispered in Japanese, her words like venom, "she's more naïve than I thought."
The flames at her feet licked higher. "This is bigger than mercy. Bigger than friendship. He must be controlled—or destroyed."
The Green Griffins stood poised, blades humming, eyes locked on the boy they had been hunting for months. Their leader—tall, scarred, carrying the cold aura of discipline—studied Jack like a soldier would study a weapon.
To him, Jack was not a child. He was a tool. A weapon waiting to be sharpened.
"Mirror or not," he murmured in Russian to his squad, "power belongs to those who claim it first. Tonight, we take him. And when he awakens, he will kneel to the Griffins, or he will bleed."
His squad answered in unison, a chorus of sharp voices echoing off steel beams. They weren't here to debate prophecy or morality. They were here to conquer.
And finally…
The Cops.
From behind black visors, their commander observed it all. He saw Ghost trembling with loyalty. Iris vibrating with fury. The Griffins, disciplined and hungry.
But his orders were clear. "Contain the threat. Secure the Mirror. Bring him in alive."
To the Cops, Jack wasn't prophecy or destiny. He was a classified anomaly. A breach in the balance between reality and myth. The bracelets on their wrists pulsed with blue defense screens, proof they were not just law enforcers, but guardians against the impossible.
The commander's grip on his light-rod tightened. "They'll all fight to the death for him," he muttered under his breath. "Then so will we."
The four sides tensed.
The storm was seconds away.
The All-Out Fight
The silence shattered with a roar.
Iris lunged first, her crimson blade slashing downward in a comet of fire. Ghost countered instantly, phoenix wings flaring, blue sparks colliding with red flame. The impact shook the asphalt, spraying embers into the night.
The Griffins surged forward like a single organism, their formation flawless. Two broke right, blades whistling through the air, while others unleashed energy bolts that spiraled with green light.
Ghost parried one, twisting her body to shield Jack as a bolt scorched past her cheek. Iris snarled, pivoted, and redirected a second blast toward Ghost instead of letting it strike the boy.
"You don't get to kill him!" she spat, fire roaring at her back. "Not until I say so!"
Ghost's reply was a clash of steel.
The Griffins pressed harder, their leader vaulting high, his scarred arms raised, blade glowing with runes. "Seize him!"
Before they could close in, a beam of pure white light cut through the night, forcing them back. The Cops advanced, shields deployed, moving in tactical precision. Their commander's voice thundered:
"Stand down or be neutralized!"
The Griffins met their advance head-on, green against silver, steel against light. Sparks flew as blades screeched against shields. The alley became a war zone, every strike deafening, every scream swallowed in the chaos.
Amidst it all, Jack stirred. His head lolled weakly, eyes fluttering open for a second. Through blurred vision, he saw Ghost fighting like a storm, Iris blazing like a goddess, Griffins circling like wolves, and armored men clashing in disciplined fury.
His lips parted. He tried to speak, but the noise drowned him. Only the bangle at his wrist answered, glowing faintly—then brighter, then blinding.
The battlefield froze for a fraction of a second as light poured from him like a second sun.
Jack was awakening again.
Chapter 32 – The Light That Burns The Awakening
The light was unbearable.
It burst from Jack's body in blinding waves, swallowing fire, steel, and shields alike. The ground quaked, cracks zigzagging outward like veins of lightning. The night sky above split with a scream of thunder as if the heavens themselves were tearing open.
Ghost staggered backward, her wings folding reflexively to shield herself from the blast. She could feel his energy clawing at hers, wild and unshaped, demanding to be answered. It wasn't the flame of her phoenix, nor the silent steel of the assassins—it was all of them at once.
"Jack—stop!" she cried, but her voice was lost in the hurricane of sound.
Iris skidded to a halt, fire vanishing from her blade as she stared, wide-eyed. The prophecy she had mocked now towered before her, undeniable. His aura pulsed in colors she had no names for—crimson flame, sapphire frost, emerald lightning, golden echoes of something older than time itself.
"He's… speaking in power," she whispered in Mandarin, hoping Ghost wouldn't understand. But Ghost's head snapped toward her, eyes narrowed, proving once again that nothing escaped Jack's circle.
The Green Griffins tried to advance, but the moment they crossed the circle of light, their blades shattered like glass. One of them screamed as green energy turned against its wielder, searing his arm. Their leader barked in Russian—"Fall back! Don't let it consume you!"—but Jack's aura understood, twisting his command into glowing chains that bound his squad to the ground.
Even the Cops faltered. Their shields flickered under the strain, bangles sparking wildly as they struggled to hold formation. The commander slammed his staff into the asphalt, shouting, "Neutralize!"—but his own light rods dimmed, swallowed by Jack's radiance.
And Jack…
Jack stood, though his body wavered. His eyes burned silver, his chest heaving, every breath dragging more of the world into his orbit. He didn't swing a blade. He didn't cast a spell. He simply was, and that was enough to unmake everything around him.
"I don't… want this…" His voice cracked, raw and terrified, carrying across the battlefield in every language at once—Japanese, Russian, Chinese, English, even the harsh clicks of tongues no human throat should know.
The world bent.
Steel liquefied into molten streams. Flames turned cold, coiling like frost-bitten serpents. Gravity itself twisted, pulling fighters toward him and then hurling them back as if reality couldn't decide what to obey.
Ghost lunged, forcing herself into the storm, wings tearing under the strain. She reached him, grabbed his wrist, and screamed, "Jack, listen to me! You're not alone!"
The light faltered. Just for a moment. His gaze flickered, finding hers through the storm.
And then—everything went black.
The Aftermath
Silence.
The battlefield was ruined. Asphalt split open like broken glass. Cars twisted into grotesque shapes. The very air hummed, thick with the taste of iron and ozone.
Jack lay unconscious in the center, his chest rising faintly, his bangle cracked and smoking. Ghost knelt beside him, her wings folded tightly around his body as if shielding him from the eyes of the others.
Iris staggered to her feet, clutching her blade. She glanced at Ghost, then at Jack, and muttered something in Russian—sharp, bitter, and afraid. Ghost narrowed her eyes but said nothing; she already knew Iris's tone well enough to translate the intent.
The Green Griffins regrouped, their leader grim-faced, scarred cheek twitching. He spoke low to his squad in clipped Mandarin, but Jack stirred faintly, and Ghost caught the way his lips moved—he understood every word.
The Cops were the last to rise, battered but alive. Their commander pressed a hand to his bangle, his visor cracked. He looked at Jack, then at the three factions circling him, and finally spoke in English:
"This… is no longer a mission of containment." His tone was hollow, almost reverent. "This is war."
Ghost tightened her hold on Jack. Iris's flame reignited. The Griffins raised their blades. And high above them, the city's skyline flickered with strange auroras, the scars of Jack's awakening painted across the sky.
The boy was unconscious. But the world would never be the same.
Chapter 33 – Fractures in the Dawn Jack & Ghost
Jack awoke to silence, broken only by the faint hum of broken neon lights overhead. His body ached as if lightning had struck him from every angle. He forced his eyes open and found himself lying in a hollowed-out classroom, walls cracked and ceiling half-collapsed.
And beside him—Ghost.
Her wings folded in, feathers dull but intact, her pale hair falling loosely across her shoulders. She sat against the wall, her assassin's blade resting across her lap, but her eyes never left him. Not even when he stirred.
"You're awake," she whispered. Her voice was flat, calm… but her fingers trembled against the steel of her weapon.
Jack swallowed, throat dry. "What… what did I do?"
Ghost tilted her head, studying him as though weighing whether he could handle the truth. Then, in Japanese, she said softly, "Kami ni fureta." — You touched the gods.
Jack blinked. He had never studied Japanese. Yet the words landed in his chest as clear as English. His lips parted. "I… understood that."
Her eyes narrowed. "Of course you did."
When she leaned closer, her voice dropped low, sharp with fear she could not fully hide. "You didn't just fight, Jack. You broke the rules. Every rule. You wielded flame, frost, steel, gravity—things no single clan has ever balanced. And you did it without dying."
Jack sat up, clutching his head. Images slammed into his mind—flames bending like water, swords melting into air, Ghost's hand clutching his wrist while his world burned white.
"I didn't want it," he muttered, voice breaking. "I don't want any of this."
Ghost's lips pressed tight, unreadable. "That doesn't matter anymore. They've seen you." She jerked her chin toward the shattered horizon beyond the classroom. "The Griffins. Iris. Even the Cops. You can't hide now. Every clan will want your power—or your head."
Her hand brushed his shoulder, hesitant but steady. For the first time, she let herself speak plainly. "And I… don't know which one I want."
Jack froze, breath caught in his throat.
The Cops' Headquarters
Far across the city, inside a steel tower shielded by energy wards, the Cops gathered in their war room.
Screens flickered with footage of the ruined streets, crackling static as drones tried to process the impossible readings. Lights glowed red across the tactical board, every district flagged as compromised.
The commander stood at the center, visor cracked but intact, his staff planted firmly on the floor. His face was pale with exhaustion, yet his voice carried sharp authority.
"You all saw it. That wasn't a clan skirmish. That wasn't even rebellion. That was a convergence event. A power we cannot categorize."
His officers murmured, trading glances. One slammed his fist against the table.
"Containment is over. The boy is a bomb. If he wakes again like that, the city won't survive!"
Another shook her head violently. "You didn't see him—he wasn't trying to fight. He was drowning. If anything, he needs protection, training. He could end this endless cycle if we—"
"—or destroy us all," another cut in, voice sharp as glass.
Languages clashed in the chamber—Russian curses, Mandarin whispers, clipped French orders—an intentional tactic to exclude outsiders. But the commander raised his hand. Silence fell.
"We don't have the luxury of ignorance anymore." He pulled up a holographic still of Jack, lying unconscious, Ghost's wings wrapped protectively around him. "The clans will fight for him.
Chapter 34 – The Mirror's Center The Reset Morning
The school bell rang sharp and shrill, the kind of sound that normally faded into background noise. But today it cut through Jack like a blade, echoing far too loud, as if the world wanted to remind him how ordinary it was.
Except it wasn't.
He drifted through the hallways, books tucked under his arm, listening. Most students chattered about homework, about crushes, about basketball tryouts. Normal noise. But here and there, he caught fractures in the mask: a boy staring blankly at a locker as if he remembered it exploding. A girl clutching her bag straps too tight, whispering something in rapid-fire Mandarin under her breath.
Jack's ears twitched. He shouldn't have understood, but he did.
"It happened again."
She gasped when she saw him looking, snapping her head down, pretending she hadn't spoken.
Jack moved on, pulse racing.
By the courtyard fountain, Iris waved him over. Her smile was sunlit, but her voice was hushed when he reached her. "You saw it too, didn't you?"
He froze. "What?"
She leaned closer, whispering in Japanese this time—"The world resets, but the cracks are staying."
Jack's stomach dropped. She was testing him. Seeing if he could follow.
He answered without thinking, in the same language: "I know."
Her eyes widened. And for the first time, the cheerful façade slipped.
Ghost arrived then, silent as shadow, sliding into their orbit without invitation. She didn't speak at first. She just glanced at them, then at Jack, and murmured "You shouldn't be able to understand this, Starboy."
But Jack did.
His reply came low, steady, "Stop underestimating me."
For a heartbeat, all three of them just stood there. Iris biting her lip, Ghost unreadable, Jack caught between wanting to run and wanting to demand answers. The courtyard buzzed on around them like nothing was happening, but beneath the laughter and chatter, a new silence pooled between the three of them.
The silence of shared memory.
The Watchers Outside
Miles away, in the Special Division's underground HQ, the bangles on each officer's wrist pulsed faintly in unison. They always did on reset mornings.
"Right on schedule," muttered Torres, scrolling through live surveillance feeds of the high school. "Everything neat and tidy. Streets repaired, witnesses scrubbed, history rewritten."
But Yelena wasn't looking at the city. She was looking at him. At Jack.
She froze the feed when she saw it: Jack by the fountain, responding in languages he had no business knowing. She rewound. Played it again. Watched him switch tongues seamlessly—Japanese, Russian, Chinese—like flipping cards in a deck.
Her throat tightened. "Captain," she said. "You need to see this."
Darius leaned over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "He's breaking through."
The room went silent. Even the humming bangles seemed to pause.
"No student has ever carried their memory across a reset," Yelena whispered. "Not fully. Not like this."
"Which means," Darius said grimly, "the resets don't erase him anymore. They strengthen him."
On screen, Jack walked with Iris and Ghost, unaware of the eyes burning into him from afar.
Torres swore softly. "If he's outside the loop… he's like us."
"No," Darius corrected, his gaze hard as iron. "He's worse. Because unlike us… he's inside and outside."
The bangles pulsed again, brighter this time. The officers exchanged uneasy looks. The city had reset, but its seams were tearing wider, and Jack—whether he wanted to or not—was at the center.