Elara stopped. Her dark eyes fixed on him. "Is that all?" Her voice was low, pressing down on him. After a brief silence, she added, "Perhaps… for someone your age, wandering like this feels like an escape."
Kaivan lowered his head, letting her words sink deep into his thoughts.
They continued toward a corridor flooded with pale white light—a boundary between fragile freedom and absolute surveillance. Armed guards patrolled the area, their silhouettes like living steel. Black helmets hid their faces, but their bodies spoke of constant readiness.
Kaivan slowed his pace. One wrong move and everything would end. Elara walked ahead, her long black hair swaying gently, her slim figure graceful yet firm. She looked like an ordinary researcher—but every step and glance hinted at something more.
When they reached the corridor leading to the subjects' quarters, Elara stopped and slowly turned back. A trace of unease flickered in her dark eyes.
"I'll say I found you lost," she said coldly. "But this is the last time I help you. If you do this again… you may not be so lucky."
Kaivan nodded faintly. He said nothing, offering only a restrained look of gratitude. It was enough to convey everything.
He stepped into his room. The door sealed itself behind him, leaving only silence and the faint hum of the ventilation system. Dim light washed over the simple space: a neatly made bed, a metal locker, a small desk cluttered with books and half-dismantled devices.
Kaivan sat on the edge of the bed, motionless. His thoughts drifted to his friends—the other children trapped here as experimental subjects. They still believed this place was a school for the gifted. In truth, their bodies and minds were being quietly reshaped by hands that called themselves researchers.
Guilt and anger filled his chest, but he knew rage alone would save no one. He had to stay calm. Everything required a plan. The time to escape had not yet come.
The next morning, Kaivan woke with heavy eyes. The bunker was as cold and silent as ever. The stale air trapped within the concrete walls made each breath feel dense. He rose slowly, stretching his thin, stiff body.
He stepped out into corridors bathed in harsh white neon light. The concrete walls formed a subterranean labyrinth—a place without sky, as if the world above no longer existed.
His steps halted before a black metal door etched with faint patterns. There was no label—only a reinforced digital panel. Curiosity flickered in his eyes. He was about to touch it when footsteps sounded behind him.
Levan appeared—a man with neatly groomed hair, wearing a long white lab coat, a clipboard in hand. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp as blades. "Kaivan," he called flatly, stopping a few meters away.
Kaivan held his breath and forced a polite smile. "Is something wrong, Levan?"
"We need the Tome Omnicent for further research," Levan said without preamble. He glanced briefly at the black door behind Kaivan, then returned his gaze. "The phenomena surrounding you are still not fully understood. Your brain capacity has increased dramatically since you began using the tome."
Kaivan straightened. "Alright," he said carefully. "But… when will I be able to hold it again?"
Levan offered a small, reassuring smile. "Soon. You may visit the laboratory anytime to observe the process. We are transparent in our research—there's no need to worry." He gestured toward a camera in the corner. "The entire bunker is now under strict surveillance. Those cameras are linked to our new AI system."
Kaivan lowered his gaze, pretending to accept the explanation. But in his heart, he knew the truth: they would never return the tome without a compelling reason. He would have to take it back himself. And save his friends.
A gentle electronic voice echoed from the ceiling speakers.
"Hello, Kaivan. I am Logical Yielding & Relational Analysis—or simply, L.Y.R.A. I am the system overseer here… and also your assistant."
The voice sounded almost human—warm, yet unmistakably mechanical.
Kaivan stared at the camera, his eyes narrowing as a sense of unease crept into his chest.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "They installed a digital overseer."
Levan offered a faint smile but made no comment.
"Lyra will make sure everything runs smoothly—including for you," he said calmly. "This system is meant to protect, not interfere."
He turned away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded into the distance.
Kaivan stood alone in the cold heart of the bunker, staring at the camera's glowing red light. The air felt heavier than before.
Autumn arrived without a sound—like the world's final sigh as it forgot the warmth of freedom. Deep inside the underground bunker hidden beyond the mountains, Kaivan lived in a silence that rang louder than noise. He sat in his sterile room of gray concrete walls, gazing at a small monitor that displayed leafless trees. Leaves drifted slowly in the autumn wind.
It wasn't real—only footage from an external camera. Yet for him, it was the only window left to a world that now felt distant and unfamiliar.
The place was not entirely a prison. He was given a soft bed, nutritious meals, even books to read. But beneath that comfort lay invisible bars. Everything was too perfect—too clean. Like a golden cage, carefully designed with human psychology as its true subject. Freedom, wrapped in luxury.