Erevos Facility
The quantum core at the center of Erevos let out a deep mechanical hum, vibrating through the walls like a warning pulse. The usually steady blue lights flickered into harsh red, bathing the laboratory in a hostile glow. Holographic panels crackled with erratic waves of data, and one screen in particular flashed a violent spike of brain activity.
"President Caius!" one of the researchers shouted, fingers flying across the console. "Severe interference in the extraction process. Aelina's body is actively resisting. We're losing system control."
Caius, watching from his office holo-feed, rose sharply from his seat. His face tightened.
"Lock the chamber. Do not let her escape. Evacuate all personnel immediately." His voice held no room for argument.
Inside the lab, Aelina's body convulsed inside the capsule. The cables connected to her skull shook under strain. Warnings strobed across the panels.
DATA EXTRACTION INTERRUPTED
MEMORY WIPE FAILED
Her eyelids parted. A faint red glow flickered in her pupils like a system booting awake.
With sudden precision, she ripped out the cables one by one. They clattered to the floor with metallic snaps. In one fluid motion she leapt out of the capsule and landed silently at the center of the chamber.
Her face remained blank. Emotionless. Her crimson eyes scanned the room, dissecting every inch.
The remaining scientists stumbled back, fear etched across their faces.
Caius' voice thundered through the intercom. "All personnel, evacuate now. Do not approach the subject."
But Aelina didn't strike. She sprinted for the exit, weaving through guards and researchers with inhuman speed. Every movement was sharp and calculated, yet she harmed no one.
The guards hesitated to fire. One mistake could end everything.
At the main hall, Aelina abruptly stopped. With a tense breath she pressed her fingers against the right side of her head. Her brows tightened as if in pain. Slowly, she pulled out a small metallic disc embedded under her skin, still glowing faint blue.
She held it in her palm for a moment.
Then crushed it.
The shard crumpled like thin foil. As it broke, all Edena-linked signals in her body severed instantly. The lights across the facility dimmed back to blue. The alarms fell silent.
Aelina pushed through the final security doors and stepped outside. The landing field was littered with debris and twisted cargo crates, the air thick with the scent of scorched metal.
A guard lunged. Aelina disabled him with a single precise strike, then unlatched the jetpack from his back. She strapped it on and launched into the sky.
The wind tore past her as she soared away from Erevos. But the fuel didn't last. The jetpack sputtered. Failed.
Aelina plummeted.
She crashed through two rusted structures before hitting the ground in a wasteland of abandoned metal.
Theros City – Slums
Aelina stirred. Her eyes fluttered open to the dim shimmer of Theros' broken streetlights, glowing through the smog like tired stars.
Her body trembled as she stood. Her face was still blank. Her red eyes scanned the alley, tracking movement that wasn't there. She ran between piles of scrap as if fleeing something unseen.
Then
the red glow dimmed.
Her pupils softened back to normal.
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed onto the rusted ground, unconscious.
Silence wrapped the alley.
Footsteps finally approached. Slow. Heavy.
An older man stepped into view, broad-shouldered despite his age, leaning on a long wooden cane. Scars riddled his face like old roadmaps, each one a history of fights he no longer bragged about.
Garron Strife.
Once a feared underground champion. Once a legendary trainer. Now just a man wandering a city that forgot him.
He spotted her immediately.
"Now what in the blasted universe..." he muttered.
He crouched and inspected her. His gaze zeroed in on the small wound at the side of her head where something had once been embedded.
"A hybrid? Out here?" His voice dropped lower, thoughtful. "Girl like you ain't meant for trash heaps."
He slid his arms under her and lifted her with surprising ease.
"Heh. Heavier than you look. Must be all that fancy Edena stuff in you."
He smirked.
"Well now... looks like a miracle just dropped on my doorstep. And I could use one."
Garron's Gym House – Theros Slums
Garron lay her on a worn-out sofa inside his cramped home. The place was half-gym, half-living space. Old punching bags, cracked gloves, a miniature ring. Everything smelled like sweat, dust, and stubbornness.
He sank into a chair across from her, lit a cigarette, and studied her expressionless face.
"So who're you supposed to be?" he muttered.
Before he could think further, she jolted. Her eyes opened, unfocused. Empty.
Garron immediately stood, gripping his cane.
The girl pushed herself up slowly, stiff like her body forgot how to move. Her eyes drifted around the room, lost.
"Hey," Garron barked, firm but not threatening. "You talk?"
She turned to him. No reply.
"You got a name, girl?"
Silence.
Her stare was hollow.
Garron clicked his tongue. "Figures. Picked up a quiet one."
He took a drag, exhaled a tired cloud.
"Alright then. Can't keep callin' you 'hey you'." He scratched his beard. "How 'bout Serra?"
She didn't answer.
But something in her eyes flickered. Fragile recognition. Or maybe the first hint of a person forming inside an empty shell.
Garron nodded, satisfied.
"Yeah. Serra it is."
*****
The next morning, something new began inside Garron's cramped training room. He stood before Serra, who now wore a simple practice outfit. In his hands was a pair of small, worn-out boxing gloves that had seen better decades.
"Alright, Serra," Garron said, voice clipped like a drill sergeant who'd overslept. "I don't know where you crawled out from, but you're under my roof now. And if you wanna stay, you better start being useful."
Serra stared at him with her usual blank expression.
"I'm gonna train you," he continued. "But first, let's see what you can actually do. Hit that bag."
He pointed to the sandbag hanging in the corner. Serra walked toward it, her movements stiff but deliberate. She raised her hands in an almost-correct stance, as if her body remembered something her mind refused to say.
She struck.
BUGH!
The sandbag lurched hard on its chain, swaying like it nearly regretted existing. Garron nodded, satisfied.
"Mm. You got power, girl, but you ain't special yet. With proper technique, though? You could smash through damn near anything."
Serra looked back at him, eyes still distant, but there was a faint spark buried in the cold.
Garron smirked. "Good. You're my new project, Serra. Gonna turn you into the best street fighter this dirty city's ever seen."
Weeks passed.
Serra grew fast. Too fast. She never spoke, but she absorbed Garron's instructions like they were etched straight into her bones. Punches, kicks, footwork, weaving, breath control. She learned it all with unnatural clarity.
And that was exactly what worried Garron.
"Girl's a raw diamond," he muttered one night as he watched her train alone in the ring. "But diamonds cut deep when you don't hold 'em right."
He kept her identity hidden. No one needed to know she wasn't entirely human.
Later that night, he brought her to a street-fighting arena tucked behind a maze of rusted shacks. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and shouts from the crowd. Garron led Serra to the center, introducing her to her first opponent: a mountain of a man called Breaker.
"Don't get nervous," Garron whispered. "You just survive. Win or lose don't matter tonight. You're here to learn."
Serra stepped into the ring without a word, steady as a shadow.
The bell rang.
Breaker lunged with a heavy hook. Serra slipped past it by instinct alone, her body flowing sharper than her mind understood. The crowd gasped. She countered with a quick strike to his ribs. Breaker stumbled.
The fight was rough and messy, but Serra outlasted him. A final combination knocked the brute flat on his back. The arena roared.
Garron grinned from the corner, pride leaking through that tough exterior.
"You're a damn diamond, girl," he murmured. "And I'm gonna make sure you shine."
Morning sunlight slipped through the broken slats of Garron's roof. Wood creaked as he climbed off his old bed. Serra was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor, studying a frayed thread dangling from her gloves.
"You up early again?" Garron asked, stretching till his joints protested. "You keep this up and I'm gonna think you don't sleep."
Serra glanced at him, almost smiling.
Garron shuffled to the tiny kitchen nook and lifted the lid of a pot warming on the stove.
"You cooked? Is this yesterday's soup reheated or… did you throw in that mystery spice bag you bought?"
Serra pointed at the pouch of herbs on the table.
"Getting creative now, huh? I like that," Garron said, grabbing a bowl. "Just remember next time—spice is good, but actual meat would be better than hopes and prayers."
Serra gave him a look that clearly said, Then buy me meat.
Garron barked a laugh. "Yeah yeah, I know. We'll go out today. Find something worth eating."
The morning bustle of the slums greeted them the moment they stepped outside. Workers hurried through narrow alleys, vendors shouted over each other, kids ran between legs like small, chaotic ghosts.
"Look at that," Garron said, pointing at a baker's stall. "Bet that bread's tougher than the bricks I train you with. Maybe we should buy some for punching practice."
Serra rolled her eyes, subtle but visible.
"Hey now, don't gimme that," Garron said, grinning. "Jokes keep us alive. That's science."
They stopped at a tiny scrap kiosk run by a thin man with a wispy mustache named Rallo. He perked up immediately.
"Garron! Been a while. Looking for something? Or just here to waste my time like always?"
Garron chuckled. "Life is just a big waste of time, Rallo. But today I actually need gear for Serra. Got any gloves that ain't held together by dreams?"
Rallo eyed Serra, then Garron. "Thought you quit the fighting scene."
"Quit? Man, quitting is for people with savings. We don't have that privilege."
Rallo sighed and rummaged through his pile until he found a pair of old but usable gloves.
"No guarantee they'll last," he warned.
"They won't," Garron said. "But they'll do."
He paid, then he and Serra walked back through the dusty alleys.
At home, Garron handed her the gloves. "Try 'em."
Serra slipped them on, clenching her fists experimentally.
"Well?" Garron asked, lighting a cigarette.
Serra nodded. Good enough.
Garron grinned. "Perfect. 'Cause you got a match tonight. Your opponent ain't on your level, but don't you ever underestimate anyone."
Serra nodded again, serious.
"And one more thing," Garron added, leaning closer. "If you win, we eat real meat tonight. But if you lose…"
Serra raised a brow.
"We still eat," Garron said, laughing, "but it'll be that brick-bread from this morning."
Serra shook her head, but there was a faint upward curve at her lips. Almost a smile.
Night in the Theros slums always carried a restless hum. Metal clanged in the distance from makeshift workshops. Footsteps echoed along narrow alleys. The wind dragged the scent of dust and rust through every crack it could find.
But inside Garron's small room, the world felt muted.
Serra lay on the thin mattress, wrapped in a worn blanket. Her body was still, but her mind drifted elsewhere. She had slipped into a dream, one so vivid it felt more like memory than imagination.
She stood in the heart of a vast forest.
Ancient trees rose above her like guardians. Leaves shimmered with soft green light as the wind brushed through them. Sunbeams filtered down in broken patterns, scattering warm shapes across the earth. Birds chirped among the branches. Leaves rustled underfoot. Everything breathed with life.
In front of her stood a girl no older than seven or eight, clutching a small wooden bow. The child struggled to pull the string back with her tiny fingers, her arms trembling from effort.
"Focus, Aelina," came a gentle voice behind her.
The girl turned. A woman stepped forward, long hair falling over her shoulders, dressed in simple but sturdy clothes. Her expression was warm, but her eyes held a firm resolve. She knelt beside the child, guiding her hands into proper form.
Beside them, a tall man with silver-streaked hair watched with folded arms. His gaze was sharp, though his relaxed posture betrayed familiar affection.
"Don't be too strict with the girl, Kirana," he teased lightly. "She's still learning."
Kirana rolled her eyes. "Zephyr, I just want her to do it right. You know hunting is survival here."
Zephyr walked closer and ruffled the little girl's hair with his large hand.
"You'll do fine, Aelina. You've got something natural in you."
The child gave a shy smile before turning back to her target: a small rabbit hiding in the underbrush. This time, her fingers drew the string back with clearer intention. Her breath steadied. Her arms firmed.
Just as she released—
A flash of blinding white swallowed everything.
The forest dissolved into silence.
Shapes fell away.
Voices echoed into nothing.
Only a single word remained, ringing through the emptiness like a distant call:
Aelina.