Solin felt the bass thump in her chest as she slipped through the crowd, her neutral two-piece outfit unnoticed amid the neon haze. The bass thumping in her chest, but she kept her focus on the distant corridor, following the rumors of disappearing patrons to its hidden entrance.
Moments earlier, Glitch's voice crackled in her ear: "I'm watching. Your scythe's been tuned with resonance amplifiers that adjust its overall size on command—engage on impact and expand or contract to suit any situation." He added, in a low tone, "Next iteration will sync with your neural signature for true unison." She nearly laughed at the thought. This scythe was more than a weapon; it was her lifeline.
Navigating between bodies swaying in a trance, Solin spotted the signs: blank expressions, glowing tendrils of light snaking from wrist to floor. A trio of figures, draped in dark robes, guided each entranced soul into a side room.
She stalked their trail, every sense on high alert, her jaw clenching as her pulse quickened. Inside, under alien sigils etched on exposed skin, victims lay prone while a sculpted enforcer pressed a branding iron to their wrists. Blue fire bloomed on flesh, each groan echoing like a death knell.
Solin paused at the threshold, her scythe humming softly. Uncertainty flickered—could she free the captives or risk triggering a trap she couldn't control? Her breath slowed as she surveyed the branded wrists and the enforcer's precision.
She clenched her grip. This was too large an operation to rush in. Solin knew the location now, but she needed more intelligence: who orchestrated these abductions, and where to strike?
With silent resolve, Solin retrieved a small data-bot Glitch had slipped into her pocket and tossed it behind a stack of crates. The bot unfolded its sensors and began transmitting live data to her comms.
Satisfied, she let the scythe's faint hum fade and slipped out, blending into the club's throng with the information she needed to plan her next move. Every data point was a step toward stopping the kidnappings—failure wasn't an option.
The next afternoon, outside the academy courtyard, Eli moved through a fluid sequence of stances. Each extension of arm and pivot of hip carried purpose—a silent conversation with the air.
A young student emerged at the edge of the training yard, eyes alight with hunger. He leaned forward, voice trembling with excitement: "Your form—it's not merely practice. It's like you're reading the air itself. What discipline is that?"
Eli tossed a grin over his shoulder, attempting a lighthearted shrug. "Ah, you caught me. Just playing with some stances."
The student pressed in closer, unwavering. "No, really. It's too precise, too intentional. I need to understand it."
Eli's gaze narrowed, respect flickering in his eyes at the young man's fierce curiosity.
He paused, scanning the newcomer's energy signature at the edge of his awareness. "Combat is choreography, and every step taught me to read an opponent's weakness," he said, his tone shifting. "I perfect what works."
The student nodded, eager. "I'm Kiran Valen—Ascent Division. My family calls me the last samurai. May I watch?"
Eli allowed it with a brief nod. "But focus on what you learn, not just what you see."
That evening, Xilo pored over Resonance texts in the hushed library, chasing the memory of "Solstices." A familiar energy signature brushed against his awareness—an afterimage of something he'd sensed before. He looked up, heart racing, to find Tyren, the boy from the meditation course, standing in the soft lamp glow.
Xilo's pulse quickened as he recognized the afterimage—the faint warmth of his brother's hand under the hospital blanket, the soft hum of machines after six weeks of silence. Could Tyren's steadiness offer a clue to help him wake again?
Tyren emerged from the shadows, voice urgent but controlled. "Since our last session, I've noticed something... a thread of power that ties us together. We should meditate again—soon. It might help stabilize what's inside me, and you might discover answers of your own."
Xilo hesitated, recalling his promise to Bren. Tyren's determination shone in his eyes.
"All right," Xilo said quietly. "Later tonight, then—I promised Bren I'd meet some friends first."
Tyren exhaled, relief softening his expression. "Thank you. I won't let you down—but I'd like to tag along. I'm trying to expand my circle, and… let's just say there are opportunities I don't intend to miss."
As Xilo closed his book, he nodded to Tyren. Together, they stepped out into the quiet night, both weighed down by questions and an uncertain hope about where the night would lead them.