The training session had been disastrous and Amelia stood in the center of the training grounds and her fists were trembling with a mixture of anger and shame. Broken targets lay scattered around her, their edges jagged and smoking. Master Ilyren's sharp and unrelenting voice still echoed in her ears, each word a dagger to her pride.
"Reckless! Uncontrolled! You may have power, Amelia, but it's useless if you can't control your temper!"
She had pushed too hard. Again. Her anomalyte's raw strength had sent shockwaves through the arena, shattering the carefully constructed targets and destabilizing the field. Her siblings had dodged out of the way, but the looks on their faces—shock, frustration, even fear—were far worse than Master Ilyren's biting criticism.
Leo had muttered something about her temper while leaning against a wall. Gavin, as usual, couldn't resist a jab. "Maybe if you thought with your head instead of your fists, we wouldn't need to keep fixing everything you break."
Nola had simply sighed, her new glasses glinting in the light as she tried to smooth things over with Master Ilyren. Amelia had wanted to snap back, to defend herself, but she couldn't find the words. Instead, she stormed off, leaving the training grounds behind her.
The sound of her siblings' voices faded as she walked through Nexuria's streets. Her breath came in short bursts, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. It wasn't fair. They didn't understand what it felt like—to have so much power, so much expectation, and still feel like it was never enough.
Her fingers tightened around the straps on her gloves, the leather creaking under the pressure. She turned a corner sharply, her thoughts swirling like a storm. And then, she tripped.
The uneven cobblestone caught her foot and she stumbled forward, bracing for the impact. But a firm hand shot out, catching her arm with a grip that was both steady and unyielding.
Amelia looked up, her breath hitching. The woman before her was striking, with sharp features and an air of quiet dominance. Her tailored black coat seemed to blend with the shadows, and her piercing eyes bore into Amelia with an intensity that made her feel exposed.
"You alright?" the woman asked, her voice calm but carrying an edge that made Amelia instinctively straighten.
"I—yeah, I'm fine," Amelia stammered, brushing herself off. She hated how small she felt under the woman's gaze, like a child caught doing something wrong.
"Careful," the woman said, her lips curling into a faint smile. "These streets have a way of tripping up even the strongest among us."
Amelia frowned, the comment striking a nerve. "I can handle myself."
The woman tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I'm sure you can. But strength without balance... well, it can lead to dangerous falls."
The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Amelia's jaw tightened. "Who are you?"
The woman's smile widened, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Someone who understands what it means to carry the weight of expectation. And the cost of failure."
Amelia took a step back, her instincts screaming that there was more to this woman than met the eye. "How do you know me?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.
The woman's gaze didn't waver. "You're well-known in certain circles. The daughter of Elora Amaranthe? Hard to miss. But it's not your name that interests me. It's what you'll become."
Amelia's heart raced. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just a piece of advice," the woman said smoothly. "Don't let the weight of your family's legacy crush you. But don't ignore it, either. There's strength in what you carry, if you know how to wield it."
Before Amelia could respond, the woman stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared. Amelia stood there for a long moment with her mind racing. Who was she? And how did she know so much?
By the time she returned home, the encounter still weighed heavily on her. She slipped inside quietly, hoping to avoid her siblings. The house was unusually quiet, except for the faint sound of Silas and Elora talking in the next room.
She passed by the cracked mirror in the hallway, catching her reflection. Her hair was disheveled, her gloves scuffed, and her eyes held a shadow of doubt she hadn't noticed before. She reached up to touch the pendant around her neck, her mother's initials cool against her fingertips.
Elora's voice carried through the house, sharp and commanding. "We can't afford any more mistakes. They have to understand what's at stake."
Amelia swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She pushed open the door to the living room, where Silas and Elora stood in deep conversation. Elora turned, her gaze softening slightly when she saw Amelia.
"You're back," she said, her voice gentler than before.
Amelia nodded, unsure of what to say. She hesitated in the doorway, her thoughts still tangled from the day's events. Finally, she spoke. "I… I'll do better."
Elora's expression softened further, and she stepped closer, placing a hand on Amelia's shoulder. "You don't have to carry this alone, Amelia. We're all in this together."
Amelia nodded again, though the weight in her chest didn't lift. She excused herself and headed upstairs to her room, where the cracked mirror greeted her once more. She sat on the edge of her bed, her gloves still on, and stared at her reflection.
The woman's words echoed in her mind. Strength without balance…
She tightened the straps on her gloves, determination flickering in her eyes. Whatever was coming, she wouldn't let it break her. Not again.
Lyssa Holloway walked with purpose through the crumbling streets of Nexuria's forgotten edges. The light of a flickering neon sign barely illuminated her path as she moved toward the hollowed-out industrial district. This place had long been abandoned by the bustling life of Abranta's neighboring regions, left to decay in silence. It was perfect for what she had planned.
Her steps echoed as she entered the building. Inside, the space was eerily silent except for the sound of machinery and the occasional hiss of steam escaping from rusted pipes. Tables lined the walls, cluttered with strange, grotesque experiments—limbs preserved in fluid-filled jars, strange mechanical constructs fused with organic material, and tools that looked better suited for a medieval dungeon than a lab.
At the center of it all sat Cassius Voss.
The man was hunched over a workbench, his burned face was illuminated by the soft glow of monitors displaying incomprehensible data. His thin, bony fingers worked methodically with delicate tools, mixing a viscous, greyish liquid that swirled ominously in a small vial. The substance shimmered faintly, as if imbued with an unnatural energy, exuding an aura that made even the air around it feel heavier.
Lyssa approached him, her presence commanding. "Cassius," she said, her voice smooth and sharp, like a blade gliding across glass. "Is it ready?"
Cassius didn't look up from his work, his voice barely more than a raspy murmur. "It's close. Very close. But it requires... precision."
Lyssa's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her gaze flicking over the chaotic workspace. "You said that last time." She picked up a scalpel from the table, examining it idly. "This better not fail like that Voidreplicant program."
At that, Cassius froze for a moment, his hands gripping the vial a little tighter. Slowly, he straightened, his burned face half-shrouded in shadow. "That... that was different," he said, his tone defensive but firm. "That was an unwanted situation. This," he gestured toward the shimmering liquid, "this is perfection."
Lyssa raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Prove it."
Cassius didn't argue. He turned to a small cage on the table, where a trembling animal—a hybrid of some sort, part mechanical, part organic—cowered in the corner. He reached for a syringe and carefully filled it with the grey liquid, the vial's contents glowing faintly as it moved.
With a quick, practiced motion, he injected the substance into the creature. At first, nothing happened. The room was silent, save for the sound of the animal's heavy breathing. Then, suddenly, it began to convulse violently. Its body twisted unnaturally, muscles bulging and expanding as its mechanical parts fused further into its flesh. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and a guttural growl escaped its maw. When it finally stilled, it was unrecognizable—a monstrous, hulking version of itself, its breath fogging the glass of the cage.
Lyssa's lips curled into a smile, genuine this time. "Impressive," she murmured. "And this... this won't kill the host?"
Cassius shrugged slightly. "Depends on the host."
Lyssa chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Then let's find out."
A small group had gathered in the nearest room, a mix of Lyssa's subordinates and various criminals who owed her their lives—or feared losing them. Sorin was among them, his eyes darting nervously as Lyssa entered the room, her commanding presence silencing the faint whispers of unease.
She looked around, her piercing gaze sweeping over the group. "We're conducting a... trial," she said smoothly, her tone almost playful. "Who wants to volunteer?"
The group froze. No one moved, no one spoke. The air grew thick with tension.
Lyssa's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "No takers? Shame." Her eyes landed on Sorin. "You'll do."
Sorin took a step back, his face pale. "M-me? I... I'm not... I can't—"
Lyssa's expression darkened, and the air around her seemed to grow colder. "You can," she said softly, her voice laced with an unspoken threat. "And you will."
Before Sorin could protest further, Lyssa's men grabbed him, dragging him toward the chair in the center of the room. He struggled, his pleas falling on deaf ears as he was forced into the restraints. Cassius approached with his tools, his face expressionless as he prepared the syringe.
Sorin's struggles grew more frantic as the needle drew closer. "Please, no! I'll do anything! Don't—"
The moment the liquid entered his veins, his screams echoed through the room, raw and guttural. His body convulsed violently, the transformation ripping through him like a storm. His muscles swelled grotesquely, his skin darkening as veins pulsed with the same greyish light as the liquid. His eyes burned with a feral intensity, and with a final, earth-shaking roar, he broke free of the restraints.
The room shook as the monstrous version of Sorin rose to its feet, towering over everyone. The ground beneath him cracked, the sheer force of his presence sending shockwaves through the space. The bystanders began to back away, terror etched into their faces.
"Stay where you are," Lyssa's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Her tone carried a weight that froze everyone in their tracks. "Move, and you'll wish you hadn't."
She shrugged off her coat and handed it to her masked lieutenant. Her toned frame was revealed, every muscle polished and ready. She stepped forward, unflinching, as the beast's wild eyes locked onto her.
Sorin—or what was left of him—charged, the ground trembling with each step. Lyssa didn't move until the last possible second. Then, with a speed and precision that defied belief, she struck, her anomalyte flaring to life in a display of pure, unrelenting power.
The battle was over in moments.
Lyssa stood on the creature's back, one foot planted firmly as she pressed it to the ground. Her breathing was steady, her expression calm, as she surveyed the room. The others weren't looking at the monster anymore—they were looking at her, their faces pale with fear.
Cassius watched from the sidelines, his burned face unreadable. Lyssa looked at him and smiled, a cold, satisfied smile. "You've outdone yourself, Cassius," she said. "This... will do nicely."
She stepped down from the subdued beast, retrieving her coat. With a flick of her wrist, she signaled for the others to clean up the mess. "Let this be a lesson," she said, her voice carrying across the room. "Loyalty isn't optional. And power... true power... is earned."
As she walked away, her coat trailing behind her, the room remained silent, the weight of her words—and her actions—settling over everyone. Cassius returned to his work, his eyes lingering on the creature's still form before he turned back to his experiments, the faintest hint of a smirk on his burned lips