Darius looked around, bewildered, his breathing a patchwork of hyperventilated gasps and dry, rasping heaves. His eyes darted frantically from one street corner to another, desperately scanning for anything familiar. But all he saw were gleaming, unfamiliar buildings and polished stone streets. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was all wrong. This place didn’t resemble his home by the coast, nor anything close to the rugged streets he knew. There were no sand-swept roads, no neon signs buzzing faintly in the daylight. Instead, elegant, polished stone paved the walkways, pristine water gleaming between them in an intricate canal system that stretched through the streets like glistening ribbons.

The atmosphere was pristine, almost serene—a stark, surreal contrast to the chaos he’d just been running from. Around him were upscale boutiques and bars, no rundown VR arcades here. Holographic displays floated elegantly above the storefronts, projecting delicate images that seemed to sway and shimmer with lifelike animation. In front of the nearest establishment, a koi fish with vibrant orange and white scales floated in the air, flicking its tail as though it were suspended in water. Above it, calligraphic letters spelling “The Emperor’s Pond” hovered like a gentle invitation.

Reality felt thin and frayed. Darius could feel the desperation clawing up his throat as he stumbled toward the doorway, his heart racing like a trapped animal. He threw open the door, and thick clouds of rich, smoky air met him, swirling as the golden sunlight from outside filtered into the dimly lit room. The smoke clung to the polished floors, curling around the furniture and wafting up to meet the elegant chandeliers that bathed the space in soft, warm light.

Inside, Darius felt the weight of stares shift toward him. The patrons, draped in luxurious attire, looked at him with thinly veiled disdain, their gazes cold and assessing. The men wore long, tailored coats with sharp edges, glinting wristwatches, and sleek rings, while the women adorned themselves in sequined dresses and fur-lined coats. Everything about them screamed wealth and formality, worlds away from the practical, weather-beaten attire of the coastal areas. Their eyes followed him as though he were an intruder, some alien presence that had no place in this exclusive setting.

Darius ignored their stares, fighting the urge to shrink under their scrutiny. He scanned the room, catching sight of a server weaving elegantly through the tables. Taking a shaky breath, he rushed forward, his voice hoarse as he called out, “Excuse me!”

The server turned, casting an arched look over his shoulder. His face was a mask of disinterest, his gaze traveling down Darius’ outfit with judging eyes, as though he were looking at something foul. “Yes?” the server replied, his tone clipped and impatient, each word laced with annoyance.

“Where... where am I?” Darius stammered, the desperation spilling into his voice despite himself. “I need to get back home. I need directions.”

The server’s mouth twitched in a faint sneer as he looked at Darius“You’re in the Rosedale district,” he said, his voice slow, as though explaining something to a child. “New Toronto, obviously. Or did you not even realize what Driftspire you were on?” His voice sharpened as he added, “How did you even pass the checkpoints? You clearly don’t belong here.”

Darius opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, a warm voice interjected from behind the server. “Back off, Aldrin.” The server—Aldrin, apparently—turned with a glare to see an older woman, shorter and dressed in the same sophisticated attire as the patrons. But unlike the others, her face was softened by a touch of kindness.

She nudged Aldrin aside, shooting him a reproachful look before turning to Darius. “I’m Lucy. Don’t worry about him; he doesn’t know how to be polite. Now, what’s going on? Did you miss your stop on the train?” She tilted her head sympathetically. “Though, that doesn’t really explain how you got past the security checkpoints.”

Darius exhaled shakily, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he mumbled, grateful for her empathy. He took a breath, the weight of the situation crashing over him. “I... I was at the Razorwing attack. I need to get back to help my mom. She was still there, and I don’t know what happened to her. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

Lucy’s expression softened, her eyes widening as she took in his words. “The attack…” She shook her head, her expression shifting to sorrow. “That attack yesterday was awful. We’re lucky the Guardians were able to stop it, or who knows what else it would have destroyed.”

Darius froze, her words slamming into him like a cold wave. Yesterday? “What do you mean, yesterday?” he demanded, his voice rising in disbelief. “I just saw it—it was still fighting the Guardians. Death Beam’s energy blast went wild. The Razorwing was still tearing through the city. It’s probably still attacking!”

Lucy’s brow furrowed, her own confusion mirroring his. “Yesterday morning, honey,” she said gently, worry creeping into her tone. “They took it down by noon. If you were there… you’re probably injured and don’t even realize it. I think we need to get you to a hospital, make sure you’re okay.” She reached for her pocket, pulling out a sleek communicator. “Let me call a medic. You could be in shock.”

Darius took a step back, his mind reeling. Everything felt disjointed, like a half-remembered dream dissolving into fog. Yesterday? The word echoed in his mind, foreign and impossible. His heart pounded, panic creeping up his spine as he reached out behind him, grabbing blindly for support. His hand met the edge of a nearby table, but in his disorientation, he gripped too hard, sending it and the drinks on it crashing to the floor.

The room erupted in a chorus of indignant gasps as the patrons leapt back to avoid the spill. He felt their angry glares, their murmurs of disgust and irritation swirling around him like a haze. The noise was deafening, a crescendo of voices that drowned out every rational thought.

“You need to get him out,” Aldrin hissed, his voice colored with irritation as he turned to Lucy. “He’s clearly not supposed to be here.”

Lucy held up a hand, her face torn between worry and exasperation. “He’s in shock, Aldrin. I told you, I’m calling the medics.”

Darius barely registered their exchange as his vision swam, dark spots dotting his sight. A ringing sound filled his ears, drowning out the din of voices around him. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, his body folding in on itself as he struggled to breathe. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Lucy’s concerned face, her voice calling out to him as if from a great distance.

And then, all went silent yet again.

Darius woke to a sterile room, filled with sleek machinery and cold, white walls. Blinking against the bright lights overhead, he tried to sit up, but a metallic weight tugged at his wrist—he was cuffed to the bed. His heart skipped a beat, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of where he was and why he was restrained. The adrenaline from the Razorwing attack had faded, leaving only an overwhelming exhaustion and a gnawing emptiness.

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His mind raced, struggling to understand his surroundings and the events that had led him here even though they had just occurred in his perspective. Before he could come up with a plan or figure out what to do, the door opened, and a handsome man in a sharp blue button-up shirt and pinstripe slacks strode confidently into the room. He looked polished, out of place in the sterile environment, smiling with an unsettling calm that made Darius’ skin crawl.

“Glad you’re awake, Darius,” the man said, his voice smooth. “They pumped you full of sedatives, unfortunately. Would’ve preferred you up sooner.” He gestured to the handcuffs. “And don’t mind those—you’re not in trouble.”

Darius’s pulse hammered in his ears, but he forced himself to focus. This man was giving off an air of importance, but Darius needed answers first. “Where’s my mom? I need to see her,” he said, his voice tight with urgency.

The man’s smile didn’t falter, remaining disturbingly polite. “She’s dead, obviously. By all accounts, you should be too.”

The words hit him like a blow. Deep down, a part of him had known, a sinking dread that had nestled in his stomach since the last time he’d seen her. But hearing it confirmed made the world tilt, made his stomach drop. The little strength left his body, leaving him feeling hollow and lost as he slumped deeper into the bed.

“Spare me the pity party,” the man continued, his tone clipped. “Sixty thousand people died in that attack, and you’re one of the few who survived. I see it all the time: powers popping up after major Breacher attacks. Haven’t you noticed how few Empowereds we have around here? Something about proximity to Breachers tends to awaken dormant powers” He said this like an actor delivering a rehearsed line, his voice full of impatient charm.

Darius’s head spun, his grief and shock tempered only by a dawning confusion. “What… are you talking about?”

The man leaned in conspiratorially, eyes glinting with interest. “What I’m here to find out is—what power did you get?”

The words barely registered, muddled by the storm of emotions roiling inside Darius. His mother was gone, his home destroyed, and now this man thought he had… powers? Everything was unraveling too quickly, and his thoughts were fraying. The room spun slightly as he fought to process, the taste of bile rising in his throat.

Before he could respond, the sharp sound of boots echoed down the hallway, growing louder until a tall, imposing woman entered the room. She wore a fitted dark crimson suit and an air of authority that rivaled the man’s. Darius’s heart skipped a beat—he knew her from countless news clips and VR replays. Phase.

“What did I miss, Ash-hole?” Phase said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she strolled in, hands on her hips. “Did you miss me?”

The man, whom she had so charmingly called Ash-hole, visibly tensed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face as he rolled his eyes skyward. “What the hell are you doing here, Gertrude?” he snapped.

Phase’s face tightened, her eyes flashing. “Don’t use my name in public, Ash.”

“You started it,” Ash muttered. “Those who live in glass houses…”

Darius watched, feeling like he’d stumbled into some surreal fever dream. “Your name is… Gertrude?” he asked, the disbelief evident in his voice at this revelation about a childhood hero.

Phase didn’t even look at him. “So, what’s the kid’s power?” she said, her attention locked on Ash. “For the love of god, tell me it’s something worthwhile.”

Ash sighed, irritation coloring his tone. “If you hadn’t barged in here with your lead boots, I might have found out by now. The kid was just about to tell me.” They both turned to Darius expectantly, their gazes intense.

Darius swallowed, shifting under their scrutiny. “I… I don’t have a power.”

Phase scoffed, crossing her arms. “Cut the crap, kid. What is it?”

Darius hesitated, then muttered, “I just… ended up here. I don’t know how. One minute, I was at the attack, then I was here.”

Phase let out a loud groan. “Great. Another teleporter,” she spat, her voice heavy with disdain.

“Teleporters are useful,” Ash countered, shooting her a warning glance.

“As useful as they are common,” Phase shot back. “Besides, haven’t you noticed we already have plenty of teleportation tech? We don’t need another kid hopping around.”

Ash’s jaw clenched, his voice taut with irritation. “Those ‘teleporters’ only work in short-range bursts of fifteen feet, and they cost a fortune. If this kid just jumped a hundred and twenty kilometers on his first go, completely unaware, that’s potential.” He looked back at Darius, his gaze sharpening. “Whether you realize it or not, that’s a powerful start.”

Phase rolled her eyes, already backing toward the door. “Whatever. I don’t have time to babysit another rookie. We need real firepower if we’re going to replace the Guardians we lost yesterday. I mean, how could they lose track of a Breacher that size?” She shook her head, her voice laced with disgust. “Idiots. A lot of heads are gonna roll for this one.” She shot Ash one last glare before turning on her heel and marching out.

Ash sighed as the door clicked shut behind her, a look of mild relief settling on his face. “Now that she’s gone, let’s talk business. What do you know about conscription?”

The sterile room suddenly felt stifling, the walls seeming to close in on him. Darius knew enough about the conscription program to feel a chill creep up his spine. Every Empowered was required to serve the Guardians for at least four years. It was presented as an honor—a duty to protect society—but the reality felt more like a set of shackles tightening around his wrists.

“I know enough to know I don’t want to be a Guardian,” Darius muttered, his voice defiant.

Ash let out a genuine laugh, the sound echoing in the room. “Guardian? Kid, do you really think we’d throw a teleporter onto the front lines? You’d last a day dealing with some low-level criminal, let alone a Breacher.” He smirked, leaning back casually. “You’ll be assigned to a cleanup crew. Paid well, top living arrangements, and once your service is over, you’ll live like royalty. Trust me, there’s a reason we reserve the Guardian teams for Empowereds with real combat potential.” He raised a brow, watching Darius closely.

“Like you?” Darius shot back, unable to hide his bitterness.

“Exactly but I’m closer to you than someone like Phase,” Ash continued, completely unbothered by Darius’s anger. “Deathbeam and others like him are… blunt instruments, let’s say. They’re not perfect—hell, they make mistakes that cost lives. But those are the only people who stand a chance of actually stopping the Breachers. They’re the only ones capable of taking down something that would obliterate everyone if left unchecked.” He looked Darius squarely in the eye, the intensity in his gaze unyielding. “You’re smart enough to understand this. If Deathbeam hadn’t been there, that Breacher would have killed millions, maybe even everyone on New Toronto. Sixty thousand deaths isn’t justifiable, but it’s a lot better than millions. Without him, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Darius swallowed, the weight of Ash’s words pressing down on him, hollowing out what little resistance he had left. He wanted to hate Deathbeam for his recklessness, wanted to hold on to the fury that had been his anchor since he woke up and a big part of him did. But Ash’s words left little room for illusion. The brutal, unsparing reality was right in front of him.

Ash leaned back, his tone shifting to something almost sympathetic but not quite. “Look, I know I’m being blunt. And yeah, I know you’re in pain. Losing your mom… I don’t take that lightly. But you have to understand, Darius—this isn’t about feelings or even fairness. It’s about survival. Your mother, your classmates, everyone… they’d all be gone without Deathbeam and the Guardians. That’s the ugly truth.”

Darius clenched his fists, feeling torn. He didn’t want to agree with Ash, didn’t want to accept that the system required such ruthless sacrifices. But the logic was undeniable, and he could feel his hatred and pain twisting into something else—a bitter acceptance.

Ash continued, his tone softening slightly. “I don’t seem like the type, but I do my research. I looked into you. I know you’re obsessed with these beasts, and I know your dad was one of our best researchers. It’s in your blood. You’re at the top of your class, bright enough to see I’m telling the truth. And if I didn’t think you could handle it, I wouldn’t be sitting here giving you the hard sell.”

Darius felt a numbness settle over him, a quiet resignation creeping into the spaces where his rage had once burned. Part of him wanted to argue, to find a flaw in Ash’s logic. But deep down, he knew Ash was right. If the Guardians hadn’t fought, New Toronto could’ve been completely annihilated. Sixty thousand lives weighed against millions… the numbers hung over him, grim and inescapable.

Ash leaned back, watching him closely. “I can see the gears turning in that head of yours,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of sleek, top-of-the-line Netacts. “Consider these a signing bonus,” he added, putting them on the bed beside Darius. “I’ve already deposited a good amount in the account linked to them. Take a week, do whatever you need to do—grieve, drink, party, I don’t care. But in seven days, we’ve got work to do.”

With that, Ash rose, nodding once before leaving as suddenly as he’d come. The door clicked shut, and the cuffs around Darius’s wrist released automatically. The silence that followed was heavy, settling over him like a shroud. And with nothing else he could do, Darius let himself finally feel the enormity of his loss.

He wept for his mother, for his friends whose fates were still unknown, and for the childhood that had been wrenched away by the Guardians and the Breacher’s unforgiving path of destruction.