The hum of the transport pod faded behind him as Riven stepped onto the familiar pavement of the Lower District of Caelmire. The sky above Earth-1 was a cool slate-gray, brushed faintly with drifting clouds. Unlike the sterile glow of Nova Arcanum's underground facility, the Lower District buzzed with a quiet, lived-in energy—small vendors, flickering neon signs, and pedestrians who moved quickly and rarely looked up.
It had only been a few days, but somehow it felt longer.
Riven adjusted his new coat—the adaptive relic still set in its urban configuration—and moved toward the alley that led back to his apartment. Nullshift remained dormant, disguised as a sleek, metallic cuff wrapped around his left wrist. Silent. Watching. And still loaded with potential.
He hadn't spoken much during the ride back. Arien had offered a brief farewell at the Nova Arcanum checkpoint before leaving him.
"Try not to make Lyra regret this," she'd said. Riven had merely nodded, unsure what kind of reply that warranted.
Now, back in his neighborhood, everything felt... too normal.
He passed by a noodle stand where a man argued with an automated vendor bot, and an old Hunter hunched over a worn relic map. A faint notification from a holo-screen caught his eye, projected over a nearby convenience kiosk.
BREAKING: Dungeon Break in Upper District of Caelmire—Entire Response Team Lost.
Riven stopped in his tracks.
The broadcast continued in clipped, urgent tones. "...Initial responders included B and C-ranked Hunters stationed in the Upper District. No survivors. Authorities have yet to confirm the dungeon's classification, but sources suggest a possible S-rank emergence. Cleanup teams have been dispatched, and relic containment specialists are en route. Citizens are advised to avoid the Upper District until further notice."
He stared at the glowing text, jaw tightening.
No survivors. Even in the Upper District. Even with trained Hunters.
The message ended with a looping map highlighting the sealed sector—cordoned off with blinking red barriers. Whatever broke through had done so violently. Quickly.
Riven moved again, slipping into his apartment complex without a word. His room hadn't changed—dimly lit, sparsely furnished, clean but cold. A place for someone who never intended to stay long.
He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, letting out a slow exhale. The silence of the room was oddly loud.
His fingers hovered over the Omnitrix.
With a light tap, the surface pulsed—silent mode still active. The interface projected just above the dial in faint green light.
Three entries pulsed in slow rotation:
Heatblast – DNA Stable.
Artiguana – DNA Stable.
Diamondhead – DNA Integration: Recent.
Three alien forms.
Three different answers to the same question: what was he becoming?
He turned his hand slowly, watching the projection respond. So far, he hadn't tested any of them outside of combat. Everything had been reactive, born of survival, not choice.
But the Upper District news changed something.
A break that left no survivors.
He stared at Diamondhead's icon—a crystalline core rotating silently.
"I need to be ready," he murmured.
There was no hint of immediate threat, not yet. But the silence left behind by the Nova Arcanum facility felt deceptive now. There had to be more coming.
He navigated to the Omnitrix's secondary functions, testing responsiveness. Silent transformation still held. Interface toggles were working. Nothing malfunctioned. No new alien silhouettes. No corrupted signals. Just clean, locked potential.
Outside, the distant hum of a passing cruiser filled the air.
Then a soft knock.
Riven stood up cautiously, checking the doorway monitor. No one visible.
He opened the door slowly. No visitor. Just a small capsule sitting on the mat—silver, unmarked, and humming faintly.
Nova Arcanum tech.
He bent down and picked it up. As soon as he touched it, a small light blinked once. A projection bloomed above it.
Lyra's voice.
"Stay low for now. The relic you're wearing is already drawing enough attention. Consider this… reinforcement."
Her tone was calm but firm.
"This is just a communication device—encrypted, short-range adaptive. It doesn't link to the system grid, and it can't be tracked unless you allow it. Think of it like a burner line, but relic-based. No location tracker embedded, so don't worry about being followed."
"You can use it to contact me—if absolutely necessary. Otherwise, keep your head down."
A short pause.
"And try not to ruin that coat."
The message ended.
Riven stood there in the hallway for a moment, capsule in hand, expression unreadable.
Then he turned back inside, placed the capsule on the desk, and sat down once more.
The Omnitrix glowed softly in the dim light.
Three aliens.
A world spiraling further into chaos.
His own silence.
"I need to change my home address."
End of Chapter.
Thank you for reading.