The surviving children marched silently through the frozen corridors of the laboratory, their bodies still numb from the icy trial. The metallic walls echoed their bare footsteps, and the pale light of crystals overhead bathed everything in a cold, sterile glow. Each of them understood that this moment of respite was temporary at best.
The familiar feminine voice spoke again, calm yet devoid of emotion:
"You have survived. You deserve a reward for your endurance. Return to your cells."
At the entrance of their rooms—small, confined chambers—each child found a thick, warm blanket neatly folded on their simple metallic beds. The sight was so unexpected that they hesitated, their gazes wary as if suspecting a trap.
The first to move was a girl labeled with the number "12." She collapsed to her knees, trembling fingers brushing against the soft fabric. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she clutched the blanket to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Others remained still, their faces betraying disbelief or quiet suspicion.
Seyrin, marked with the number "4," approached his own cell. He paused briefly, his crimson, slit pupils narrowing as he took in the sight of the blanket. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling its softness, but his expression didn't change. A single thought lingered in his mind: "A reward… or a calculated manipulation?"
He entered his cell without a word. The magical barrier sealed itself behind him with its usual faint hum. The room was as sterile as the rest of the laboratory—metallic walls, a basic cot, and an unrelenting cold that seemed to sap the life out of everything. Seyrin lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over himself. Its warmth was soothing, a rare sensation in this lifeless place. But comfort alone wasn't enough to quiet the turmoil inside him.
Sleep came quickly, but it was anything but peaceful.
In the depths of his mind, a vision unfolded. A dark red flame flickered before him, its edges blurred as though it were alive. It burned silently, emitting no heat, yet its presence was suffocating. Seyrin could feel its power—wild, destructive, and deeply entwined with him.
The flame twisted and coiled like a serpent, inching closer. He tried to back away, but his feet felt rooted in place. A sharp, searing pain tore through his chest as the fire touched him, and he gasped, unable to breathe.
"What… is this?" he thought, struggling against the invisible force holding him still.
Suddenly, the dream shifted. The flame erupted, expanding into a vortex of red and black. Seyrin found himself surrounded by an ocean of fire. The flames licked at his skin, but instead of consuming him, they seemed to feed on his fear, his anger, and his loneliness.
"It's you… this thing inside me," he whispered in the dream, his voice trembling.
Seyrin woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. His breathing was ragged, and his heart pounded against his ribs. The familiar, acrid smell of ashes filled the air.
He looked down. The blanket that had been his reward, his momentary comfort, was now reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes scattered across his cot. The faint remnants of the fabric floated in the air, catching the dim light.
His skin radiated heat, as though the fire from his dream had bled into the waking world. He felt a strange tingling sensation in his eyes. Glancing at the broken shard of a mirror on the floor, he saw his reflection.
His crimson, slit pupils were glowing with an eerie, fiery intensity. The light in his eyes pulsed like embers, illuminating the metallic walls of the cell in brief flashes.
Seyrin clenched his fists, his breathing slowing as the heat within him began to subside. He stared at the ashes on his bed, his thoughts heavy.
"You want out," he murmured to himself, his voice low. "But so do I."
The cell returned to its oppressive silence. Seyrin sat on the edge of his bed, his expression calm, though his mind raced. Sleep would not come again that night.
Overhead, the pale crystal flickered, casting faint, dancing shadows on the walls as the glow in his eyes lingered in the darkness.
In a secluded room deep within the laboratory, a woman sat upon a throne carved from obsidian. The space was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from red lanterns hanging along the walls. Before her floated a series of translucent holographic screens, each displaying live footage of the children in their cells.
She held a slender glass in her pale hand, the iridescent liquid inside shifting between shades of purple and black as she swirled it absently. Her piercing blue eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on a single screen: Cell Number 4.
"Seyrin," she murmured, her lips curving into a faint, intrigued smile.
The screen showed the boy sitting on the edge of his cot, surrounded by the ashes of his destroyed blanket. His glowing eyes pierced the dimness of the room, a sight that made her pause.
She set her glass down on the armrest of her throne, leaning forward slightly as she studied his face. Her gaze softened, though a faint blush rose to her cheeks.
"Magnificent," she whispered to herself. "Such raw beauty… such untamed power."
Her smile widened as she reclined in her chair, crossing her legs elegantly.
"They would pay a fortune for him. The merchants, the warlords… even the nobles of Eryndia wouldn't dare place a price on such a treasure."
Her eyes lingered on the faint glow in Seyrin's eyes, a flickering reminder of the fire within him.
"Not yet," she continued, her tone turning serious. "He's not ready. That fire of his has yet to reach its full potential. Such a prize mustn't be wasted."
She rose gracefully from her throne, the soft fabric of her black dress rustling as she moved. Her gaze never left the screen as she spoke again, her voice low but resolute:
"Patience. He will become our greatest weapon… or the key to our undoing."
With that, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving the screens to hum faintly in the dim light. On the central screen, the image of Seyrin re
mained, his glowing eyes a silent defiance in the cold confines of the laboratory.