The first thing Lysandra Vale remembered was the sound.
A click — small, sharp, deliberate — like a key turning inside her skull.
Then came the pain.
White light bled through her eyelids. Her wrists ached, her lungs struggled for air. She opened her eyes and saw the ceiling above her — metallic, sterile, humming with electricity. A restraint field glowed faintly around her, thin blue lines wrapping her body like spider silk. Every breath made the energy ripple.
She was in a containment room.
> "Subject 7-11 is conscious," a voice said beyond the glass. "Begin neural scan."
Lysandra blinked against the brightness. Two men in white lab coats and one soldier in black armor stood behind a reinforced window. She could barely move. Her arms were locked to the table by magnetic cuffs. Even her ankles were pinned.
She tried to speak, but her throat burned. "Where… am I?"
The soldier didn't answer. He typed something into a console. The restraints tightened.
Lysandra's heartbeat quickened — not from fear, but instinct. Something in her wanted to resist. It wasn't just panic; it was focus. Every pulse in her chest matched the rhythm of the locks around her wrists.
She could feel them.
Not just the cold metal, but the mechanism — the subtle gears and electric nodes, the precision of a lock waiting to turn. Her fingertips twitched. It felt as if the restraints were alive, whispering, turn me.
Then she heard it again.
Click.
The right cuff opened by itself.
The scientists jumped back from the glass.
> "Restrain her!"
The soldier reached for his weapon, but Lysandra's other cuff snapped open with another click. The energy field around her table flickered. She sat up, feeling adrenaline ignite like fire in her veins.
She didn't understand what was happening — only that everything that bound her wanted to obey.
When the soldier burst into the room, she raised her hand instinctively. The gun in his hands jammed, the slide frozen mid-pull. His armor locks sealed themselves. He stiffened, unable to move.
> "What— what did you do?"
She didn't answer. She could feel the locks in his suit, the magnetic seals along his chest plate. She turned her wrist slightly.
Click.
The man dropped like a puppet with cut strings, armor locking entirely, trapping him in his own shell.
The alarm sounded immediately. Red lights strobed through the hallway outside.
> Facility breach. Containment failure. Sector B-4 lockdown initiated.
Lysandra staggered forward, her legs weak but moving. The floor was cold under her bare feet. Her mind was a blur of voices — not external ones, but mechanical whispers, like thousands of locks vibrating in harmony. Every door, every gun, every machine in the building was singing to her.
She reached the first security door. It was sealed tight, code-protected, multiple magnetic latches. She pressed her palm against the surface.
> "Unlock."
The word slipped from her lips like instinct.
Click.
The door parted silently.
The corridor beyond was long, lined with white panels and flickering red alarms. She moved through them one by one, unlocking every path in her way. Each click made the air hum — as if reality itself was obeying her command.
Then she heard footsteps — a squad of soldiers rushing from the far end.
"Subject 7-11! Get down!"
They raised their rifles.
Lysandra's pulse slowed. She extended her hand.
> Lock.
Their guns seized up mid-fire. No bullets. No recoil. The safeties locked themselves in place. The soldiers froze in confusion. One tried to retreat, but his boots locked to the floor with a metallic snap.
Panic spread among them.
She walked past silently, eyes glowing faintly gold.
Behind her, the emergency doors slammed shut — locked tight.
---
She made it to the observation control room. The monitors displayed hundreds of subjects in containment pods. Most were unconscious; some were struggling weakly. Every cell door bore a numeric lock — red light, sealed tight.
She stared at them through the glass, her breath shaking.
So many prisoners. So many locks.
Her father's voice echoed in her head, a ghost of memory:
> "Every lock exists because someone fears what's behind it."
She clenched her fist. The locks on the screens glowed faintly — a thousand tiny lights waiting for her touch.
> "Then let's see what you're all so afraid of."
She pressed her hand to the main console.
Click.
Every door in Sector B-4 slid open at once.
The alarms turned to chaos. Scientists screamed through the intercom. The entire wing flooded with movement — people emerging, coughing, dazed, free.
But freedom came with a cost. From the deeper chambers, a roar echoed — something huge, something never meant to be released.
The lights flickered. Lysandra turned toward the hallway, eyes wide.
She could feel its locks breaking. Someone — or something — was unlocking itself.
She whispered, "No… that's not me."
Then came a heavy metallic crash, and the wall at the far end burst open, smoke and light pouring through.
A figure emerged — armored, inhumanly tall, its body covered in sigils of locks and keys that glowed like molten gold.
> "You woke me," it said in a deep mechanical voice.
"The first Keybreaker."
Lysandra's heart stopped for a second. She could feel its power — the same vibration as hers, but ancient, stronger.
Her eyes glowed brighter.
> "Then teach me what I am."