A student's glowing holo‑cup hummed past Xilo as laughter rippled across the academy's common grounds, ember‑lite trees casting soft, warm shadows. Bren stood by a low heat stone, motioning for Xilo to join him. Around them lounged five figures—Bren's new cadre of friends—each bearing the curious energy of youth on the brink of something greater. Tyren slipped in behind Xilo, eyes scanning the circle.
"Everyone, this is Xilo," Bren announced, voice steady with pride. "Xilo, who's this friend you've brought along?"
A chorus of greetings rose, casual but genuine. Xilo stepped forward. "This is Tyren Valen," he said simply. "He's a friend from the Kuro division." Bren nodded and turned back to the group. "Let's talk paths—what brings each of us here?""
A tall youth with spiked hair threw back his head, laughter rumbling in his chest before he spoke. "Fame. I don't care how—I just want my name on every holo‑screen."
A lean girl rolled her shoulders. "Escape. My home's as stifling as these walls. I'm just grateful to be anywhere else."
The third, a quiet boy, traced the stone's edge. "Honestly, survival. I want to make it to twenty-five. That's all."
The fourth, tapping her staff against the ground, declared, "Legacy. Leave a mark that outlives me."
Silence fell, and all eyes drifted to the fifth member—a soft‑spoken girl whose gaze was steady. "I'm here to support whoever can stabilize this world. Chaos is all I've ever known."
Xilo felt those words resonate with him. When the pause stretched too long, he exhaled and spoke softly: "I'm trying to heal my brother. He's been in a coma for Three months. I don't know how yet, but I have to find a way."
A hush followed. Tyren's interest flickered—he leaned forward, studying Xilo.
Tyren rose to his feet, voice low but carrying, his fingers brushing a pendant at his throat in a moment of hesitation: "I want to build a sanctuary for those with nowhere to go. But to protect them, I'll need power."
Applause rippled around the circle. Bren raised a hand for silence. "If we pass each other again, let's give a proper nod—no skipping."
A chorus of agreement rose at once: "Deal." "Count me in." "Nod every time."
With that simple pact, they went their separate ways into the night. Xilo and Tyren slipped toward the training pavilion, drawn by quiet purpose. Unseen, Bren narrowed his eyes and trailed them at a distance, curiosity piqued.
Night surrendered to dawn's pale glow as the first rays slipped through the windows. Boomslang awoke to a gentle knock on her door—rhythmic, deliberate She swung her boots on and opened it to the young clerk, tray in hand.
"Breakfast, miss," the girl said quietly, offering steaming satchel tea and crusty bread. In her other hand, she held the blue metal rose.
Boomslang's gaze softened. "Thank you—for the flower. It means more than you know."
The girl hesitated, then met Boomslang's eyes. Boomslang's gaze softened. "Why are you working so young?"
The girl swallowed, shoulders trembling. "My parents ran off… left me with debts. They said they'd come back, but I can't wait. I work here to earn enough to cover the payments."
A deep concern warmed Boomslang's chest. "They left you all alone? That's not right—how could anyone take advantage of you like that?"
Tears welled. The girl nodded.
Boomslang set down the tray. "I want to meet that debtor. Tell me where—"
The girl blinked. "They… they come tonight for payment," the girl whispered, eyes downcast. "I—I'm sorry. I don't want to drag anyone else into my mess."
"Then tonight we meet. You deserve a fresh start—no more running."
Relief and fear mingled in the girl's eyes. "Thank you, miss."
Boomslang closed the door gently and leaned against it, determined to right a wrong born of callous cruelty.
At the NGN base, the control room lay in near silence, screens dimmed and cables humming faintly. Glitch prowled the empty consoles, restless for a spark of challenge. Out of the corner of his eye, a ripple of light—too precise to be a glitch—drew him in.
He crouched beneath a dormant holoscreen and tapped a quick series of commands, rerouting power through energy calibrators and neural-feedback loops. Above the projector, the scroll took shape, its ancient symbols glowing with unexpected life. A surge of excitement warmed Glitch's chest; this was more than code—it felt alive.
"Show yourself," he murmured, extending a link from his emotion-mapping rig to the scroll's aura.
The glow intensified, then the scroll spoke, its tone both gentle and firm: "You dissect me like raw data, but I am not mere code."
Glitch's breath caught. "I'm—trying to learn—"
"Learning is familiar," the scroll replied, glyphs shifting. "Understanding requires change."
Static flickered around the holoprojector as Glitch's hand hovered, torn between curiosity and respect.
"If you remain unchanged," the scroll continued, "you will never see what lies beyond your own designs."
With a final pulse, the scroll dissolved into sparks and vanished. The consoles died, leaving the room in shadow and silence. Glitch stood amid the darkened screens, haunted by the scroll's demand: change yourself or remain forever blind. Pride surged—could he abandon years of relentless tinkering to embrace something greater, or would stubborn certainty seal his fate?