They looked at her the way starving animals looked at glass.
Not with desire—no.
With confusion. With irritation. With the kind of hunger that came from wanting something to break, just to prove it was fragile.
Elowen Kryse stood at the far end of the training hall, hands clasped behind her back, posture perfect, eyes lowered just enough to seem obedient. She had learned that much early on: weak people survived longer when they didn't meet anyone's gaze.
"Stop staring at me like that," Drake Hollow snapped, rolling his shoulders as kinetic energy rippled faintly beneath his skin. "I don't want your hungry eyes all over me."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Elowen flinched—not outwardly, never outwardly—but something tight and sharp twisted inside her chest. Hunger. That was what they called it when she watched. When she observed. When she measured.
She said nothing.
Captain Alaric Voss stood at the center of the arena, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Time shimmered faintly around him, fractured seconds folding into themselves like obedient servants. An A-rank hero. A leader. A man who could bend moments to his will—and yet somehow never seemed to notice what truly mattered.
"Kryse," he said, without looking at her. "Report."
Elowen stepped forward, boots echoing too loudly in the vast hall. Every eye followed her. Some amused. Some bored. Some openly contemptuous.
"Mission parameters achieved," she said calmly. "Civilian extraction complete. Structural collapse delayed by fourteen seconds. Casualties reduced by—"
"Enough," Alaric interrupted. He finally looked at her then, and his gaze slid over her like she was furniture. "That's support work. Anyone could have done it."
Anyone.
Elowen inclined her head. "Yes, sir."
She was ranked E-class.
The lowest possible classification the World Order Council allowed before outright dismissal. Officially, her ability was listed as Energy Sensitivity—a harmless, non-combat power that allowed her to "detect fluctuations in hostile environments."
Unofficially, it meant she was useless.
Drake scoffed. "She didn't even fight. Again."
Lyra Fenwick glanced at Elowen, something uncertain flickering across her features. Lyra's power—emotional resonance—made her sensitive in ways the others weren't. She could feel when something was off. But even she had learned not to ask questions.
"Enough," Alaric said. "Kryse, you're benched next mission.
A murmur of approval followed.
Elowen nodded once. "Understood."
She turned and walked away, spine straight, steps measured, face blank.
Inside, however, her thoughts were alive.
Fourteen seconds.
That was how long she had delayed the collapse of a building that should have fallen instantly. Fourteen seconds bought by analyzing stress patterns, energy fractures, and redirecting force without ever touching it.
Fourteen seconds that saved twelve people.
Anyone could have done it.
The locker room smelled of metal and ozone. Elowen changed in silence, ignoring the conversations that flowed around her like she didn't exist.
"Why does she even bother?" someone muttered.
"She just watches," another replied. "Creeps me out."
Elowen's fingers paused briefly on the zipper of her uniform.
Watching was survival.
She left the headquarters just before dusk, the sky over Solvaris bleeding gold and gray. Towers rose like monuments to power—heroes' names etched into steel, holograms flashing their victories across massive screens.
She was never on them.
Elowen walked instead, past crowds that parted instinctively around uniformed heroes, past children pointing excitedly at A-ranks soaring overhead.
No one pointed at her.
That night, she didn't go home.
She went underground.
The tunnel entrance was hidden beneath an abandoned transit station, sealed off after an incident years ago. Elowen slipped inside easily, senses extending outward—not flashy, not visible, but precise.
Energy sang down here.
Old. Layered. Dangerous.
"You came alone," a voice said from the darkness.
She didn't startle.
"Yes."
Light flared, soft and controlled, revealing a tall figure standing several meters away. He wore no insignia, no uniform, no mask. Just dark clothing and calm eyes that seemed to see through her rather than at her.
Kaelen Nocthyr.
Leader of the Umbral Covenant.
A-rank villain.
World-level threat, according to Solvaris propaganda.
"You were followed?" he asked.
"No."
He studied her for a long moment. Elowen resisted the instinct to lower her gaze. Something about him made pretending pointless.
"They call you weak," he said.
She shrugged. "They rank me E."
"And what do you think?" he asked.
Elowen hesitated.
"I think," she said carefully, "that they don't know what they're measuring."
A smile—faint, almost sad—touched his lips.
"That's what I thought too."
He gestured, and the air shifted. Power moved—not violently, not impressively—but perfectly balanced. Elowen felt it like a chord struck inside her bones.
"I won't insult you by asking you to join us," Kaelen said. "You already know why you're here."
Elowen's heart beat faster, though her face remained calm.
"I want to learn," she said. "I want to be stronger."
"For what purpose?"
She met his gaze then, fully.
"So no one ever looks at me like I'm disposable again."
Silence stretched between them.
Kaelen nodded once. "Very well."
He stepped aside, revealing a corridor descending deeper into darkness.
"But understand this," he added. "Power does not love you back."
Elowen followed him anyway.
Training with the Covenant was nothing like hero drills.
There were no cheers. No rankings posted on walls. No applause.
There was only failure.
Her first lesson lasted three hours. She collapsed at the end of it, body shaking, nerves screaming as foreign energy burned through her veins.
She bit back a scream.
"Again," Kaelen said calmly.
She did.
Again.
And again.
By the time she returned to the surface, dawn was breaking.
Elowen looked at her reflection in the glass of a closed storefront. Pale. Exhausted. Eyes too bright.
Hungry.
At headquarters, nothing changed.
They benched her. Mocked her. Ignored her.
And Elowen smiled, nodded, and watched.
Weeks passed.
Her control sharpened. Her perception deepened. She began to see threads where others saw chaos. She learned how power flowed, how it bled, how it could be unmade.
No one noticed.
Except Lyra.
One evening, Lyra caught up to her outside the training hall. "You're different," she said quietly.
Elowen tilted her head. "Am I?"
"You feel… quieter," Lyra frowned. "Like something's missing."
Elowen smiled faintly. "You worry too much."
Lyra didn't look convinced.
That night, Elowen stood alone at the edge of the rooftop of her apartment building, arms folded loosely ,eyes fixed on the distance,city lights flickering below.From up here Solvaris looked invisible- towers gleaming ,heroes soaring ,systems perfectly aligned .
Kaelen joined her without a sound.
Kaelen watched her for a long moment before speaking.
"You understand more than you let on," he said.
Elowen didn't turn. "Understanding doesn't mean they listen."
"No," he agreed. "It means they never will."
The wind tugged at her coat, cool against skin still humming from underground training. Her body ached, but beneath the pain was something else—clarity. Control. Hunger sharpened into purpose.
Kaelen stepped closer, stopping just short of her space. Not invading. Never forcing.
"The Covenant has an operation that will take place today ," he said. "We have to make a move quickly ."
Elowen's fingers twitched.
"A trap?" she asked.
"A necessity," he corrected. "If mishandled, it will end up in a bloodbath."
She finally looked at him then. "And you want my opinion."
"No," Kaelen said softly. "I want your support."
The words settled between them, heavier than any command.
Elowen searched his face, expecting calculation. Manipulation. Threat.
There was none.
Only expectation.
"You trained me," she said slowly. "You hid me. You watched me grow."
"Yes."
"And now," she murmured, "you want something back."
Kaelen held her gaze. "Power is never free."
A smile curved her lips—small, unreadable.
"You don't want the E-rank hero," she said. "You want what they don't see."
"I want what you are," he replied.
Below them, a hero streaked across the sky in a blaze of light, cheered by crowds who believed strength was loud and obvious.
Elowen looked away.
"Don't look at me like that," she said quietly.
Kaelen stilled.
"Like what?"
"Like you already know what I'll choose."
Silence.
Then she exhaled, slow and steady, and stepped back from the ledge.
"Tell me the plan," Elowen said.
Kaelen's eyes darkened—not with triumph, but with something closer to concern.
As they disappeared into the stairwell, the city continued on, blissfully unaware that one of its weakest heroes had just agreed to tip the scales.
Not out of loyalty.
Not out of belief.
But because power, once tasted, demanded to be fed.
And Elowen Kryse was done pretending she wasn't hungry.