The rangers sat around the table in tense silence as Siegwick stared at the screen below. He gripped the beacon tightly, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of words being exchanged. A few minutes went by until the comms system in the station crackled to life.

“T-trant…D—” The transmission was garbled. “ —o you c-co..py?”

The ranger assigned to the communications unit promptly replied, “This is Trant station. We’re having trouble hearing you. Over!”

“Hos—ti—pre-p—for defen—measures…over,” the voice stuttered.

Gira watched as the rangers seemed to acknowledge each other before they all split into groups and left the room. Calli tapped Gira on the shoulder as she waved away before joining her squad, leaving Lucas, Gira, Siegwick, and one other ranger in the room.

Gira moseyed over to Lucas. “Pssssst. Hey, what’s happening?” he whispered.

Lucas looked like an old puppet that had been laid down to collect dust for decades in some forlorn attic. His expression was melancholic and distant.

“Lucas?” Gira asked, circling around his friend, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Leave him be,” came a firm commanding voice.

Gira turned to see the gray-faced Siegwick. He was a tall man with a sharp, well-kept white beard. He had a foggy silver iris that ran the line of looking like a blind eye, while his right iris was a warm golden hue that contrasted the other eye. Both eyes were piercing, hawk like in their intensity. His hair was either naturally silver or grayed from age. It was kept clean, with a distinguished look. The sharp hair that was oh-so meticulously groomed gave Gira the sense that he was a person of high authority. Unlike the other rangers, his uniform stood out—sleeveless, revealing his muscular arms lined with deep scars that spoke of countless battles. The contrast between these old wounds and his otherwise high-class, fatherly demeanor was striking. His dignified air and commanding presence clashed with the weathered engravings on his arm, giving him the appearance of a sensible crook.

“What’s wrong with Lucas?” Gira asked, trying to mirror the sensible demeanor of the grayed ranger, but the underlying naivety had not left him.

Siegwick walked over and grabbed Gira by the scruff of his neck. Shocking the boy as he was dragged out of the room. Dropping him in the hallway and, with a sharp click, closing the door behind them. “You must be the boy Xizu called about.” Siegwick said, his voice oddly oppressive.

Gira’s eyes wandered away, feigning ignorance. “X-Xizu? Who might that be?”

“Listen here, you little freak. I’m not in the mood for games, alright? Use that Kyyr skin of yours and stay hidden in the room we put you in. You’re nothing more than a liability for us right now.” Siegwick growled, his fowl scowl sharp and unforgiving. ‘You got that?”

Gira shrank under his first real scolding, his voice small and hesitant. "Y-yes, sir…”

“Good,” he said, pointing down the hallway, his gaze slicing through Gira’s entire demeanor with overpowering authority.

Sheeeesh! Gira thought as he walked back towards the cramped, windowless room. But—looking back to see Siegwick disappear behind a door, Gira decided he would in fact not go back to the cramped little room and instead follow his earlier whim to explore. Checking every door that lined the dreary hallway on his way back to the lobby, only to find them all either locked or filled with bland nothingness. The white halls seemed a little haunting in their blandness the more closely he examined. Absentmindedly dragging his hand along the wall, Gira meandered his way into the lobby.

Sitting on the chair facing the wrong direction was Denver precariously balancing his weight on the edge of a chair as he tinkered with a device. When he noticed Gira, he gave a casual wave.

“Hey sleeping beauty! How was the flashy systems room? Exciting right?” Denver called out with a grin.

“Hey Big D, how’s your little d?” Gira asked, pointing at his crotch.

“He’s been through worse—hey, wait a second—didn’t you have green eyes a minute ago?” Denver asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Why does everyone keep talking about my eyes?” Gira asked himself, puzzled.

“I swear they were green.” Denver added, scratching his hair as he studied Gira like some zoo exhibit.

“Well. maybe?" Gira responded genuinely confused, “I honestly don’t even know what I looked like earlier. Or now…” His eyes widened as the awkward reality of his own perception began to brew around him.

“Weren't you taller too? Actually… weren’t you older?” Denver asked, straightening up in his chair as he scooted his seat to face the odd Gira.

“Isn’t it because of my shoe?” Gira asked, pointing down at his feet.

“But you were wearing those when I first met you.” Denver replied.

“True…” Gira said, tapping his fist into his other hand's palm. “I must’ve shrunk.”

Denver studied Gira, trying to make sense of the changes—the new eye color, the brighter demeanor, and the most obvious loss of height. “Are you sure it’s not your Kyyr ability? I swear you looked a little different earlier.”

“Well, if it is my Kyyr thing, then I have no idea what it does.” Gira remarked, glancing down as he tried to study his own body.

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“Oh, figuring out your ability isn’t too hard,” Denver explained, waving his hands around. “All it takes is focus and meditating in a quiet room while you move Kyyr around your body.”

“How do I move Kyyr around?” Gira asked.

“Oh, umm, you just focus really hard on part of your body. Like, super hard. Just keep doing that until you feel something changing around you.” Denver explained with a clueless smile.

“Huh?” Gira tilted his head. “Is everyone here just really really really bad at explaining things?”

Denver gave Gira a reassuring smile. “Trust me,” he said with the clear confidence of a moron.

"Alright, I’m in. I’ll go figure this out while you guys do whatever you guys are doing out there.”

"Oh, apparently a pack of monsters is coming this way or something,” Denver explained, oddly nonchalant. “They haven’t really explained much to me, but since I’m a combat medic, I’m hanging back here in case anyone gets hurt.”

“Ohhh, I just thought you were scared of the dark Big D.” Gira added bluntly.

“What kind of lame impression did I give you?” Denver asked, looking a little defeated.

“A good one?” Gira replied, sounding a bit conflicted.

The two bantered for a minute or two more before Gira headed back to test out this Kyyr thing. He found himself sitting in the middle of one of the hallways. Since he’d forgotten where he’d even come from. Settling down, he closed his eyes and began to focus his being on sensing this Kyyr stuff.

As he sat on the carpeted floor, his ears picked up on the soft buzzing of the lights above and the distant echoes of those beyond the walls of the hallway. He tried to concentrate, clenching his body in every which way as he adjusted himself on the carpet floor. He scrunched his face, tense and confused, trying to find something within. An echo of the enigmatic Kyyr they all kept prattling on and on about.

He focused on the darkness before him. Watching the faded light from his iris twist into a myriad of colors, the more he focused, the more he could see. Etched across the sharp, vast void of the black, an odd little line began to crease the darkness around it. The strange lights seemingly bending inward until it was only the line. Then nothing. There was just a ghostly line stretching across the horizon of his mind. He focused on the line. Watching for anything, but the shoestring line sat still.

There was something about it—a magnetism that drew him in. Emotions began to contour the line in a myriad of colors. Gira concentrated harder on the line; after all, this was all he could give, all that he could dare to offer the fragile thread before him.

“At the very least… be kind—”

A voice called out from behind him as he fell lightly forward. He had a body within this esoteric mindscape—an avatar, allowing him to relay his sensibilities to the abstract. He approached the line, stretching his hand toward it, but he quickly retreated in a panic.

From somewhere between and within the line, something began to emerge. An oily black form appeared—a long, alien finger grasping the rim of the line, pulling itself through. It propelled itself out of the realm beyond the line, a single arm, a seven-fingered hand outstretched and unnatural. As Gira watched, another hand materialized, this one scaly and clawed, its scales a blend of blacks, oranges, and reds as it blossomed next to the oily black hand.

More arms followed, each stranger than the last. A crimson clawed arm, etched with splintered geometric cracks that revealed a strange glow below. Then another, larger than the rest, its skin ablaze in a mixture of dark void and searing amber fire beneath. Even more arms pushed their way through—one was a celeste crystal hand that emerged as a fist, another a bony six-fingered claw that twisted violently. Finally, the last arm appeared, ivory-scaled, ending in a twisted, jagged claw.

The arms all reached for Gira at once; their movements swift and unsettling. Acting purely on raw stupidity, he randomly grabbed two—the cracked crimson crystal arm and the oily black hand. He pulled on them until their visages half emerged in shadow, which seemed to snap him out of the trance.

“What? Did…did that mean anything?” Gira exclaimed to no one as he sat, unchanged, in the dreary hallway. Clearly disappointed, he tried once more to focus Kyyr into his hand. To his surprise, a tingling warmth twisted around his hand.

“Uhhh.. fizzy,” he muttered, concentrating more Kyyr into his hand. Suddenly, “OUCH!” His skin turned red and stung sharply. “What was that?” He asked, though no one was around to answer.

“It’s your blood…” A deep, coarse, and rugged voice spoke from behind him.

Gira whipped his around, searching for the source of the voice, “Hello?” But there was only silence. After a moment of thought, a smile crept across his face. “Hmmmm, what a silly-sounding voice.” He remarked mockingly.

“WHAT?” The voice shot back, sounding indignant.

“AHA!” Gira spun around, but there was no one there. “What the—huh?” Or so he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he had spotted a blurb at the end of the hallway. So—with no regard for his own safety—he stood up and went to investigate. He followed the hallway until he reached an intersection, where he noticed an open door to his right. A sign stuck to the ceiling read "bathroom," with an arrow pointing toward the entrance. Curious, he wandered over and stepped inside. To his left was a mirror.

Gira saw himself for the first time. His reflection revealed messy, spiky black hair and a rather slender build with fine features—not that he stood out much compared to anyone else he’d met, but curious enough, his eyes weren’t black or teal. They were heterochromic—one a vibrant, deep red, while the other was a deep, dark blue with hints of a spacey purple tinge that gave one eye the illusion of a void, contrasting the crimson tinge of his other iris.

“Ha?” he laughed triumphantly for some reason. “My eyes aren’t even teal or black; they look cool though,” Gira muttered as he studied his reflection in the mirror. He began making faces, striking a series of odd poses as he admired his newfound self.

Half way through a pose, Gira suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment washed over him. Shaking it off, he looked back into the mirror—and froze. His eyes were now teal, and he had clearly grown a little taller. He even looked noticeably older.

“What in the world?” He murmured softly, studying his now-aged appearance. As he continued to observe himself, he suddenly felt giddy as his eyes seemed to become black as he cracked up at himself. But just as quickly, his mood mellowed out and his eyes became a bright electric blue as he watched himself get a little older again. “What in the world am I?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Who knows!” The same coarse voice chimed in, now with a more lighthearted tone. Gira blinked and looked past his own reflection—his crimson and blue eyes wide in shock. Rating heavy hands on his shoulder was a massive creature, smiling at him. It’s skin was a crimson, crystal-like texture that seemed to crack with every subtle movement.

It’s visage was surprising, to say the least. It was a vaguely humanoid form with two poky ear bits that looked almost like cat ears. They were sharp and from their origin point, they seemed to crack the featureless face. No eyes, no nose—just an impossibly wide grinning mouth. Rows of sharp teeth decorated its mouth as it seemed to force a smile. Its face cracking the wider the smile grew.

“W-what are you?” Gira asked his eyes wide as he examined the monster that was holding onto him.

“You.” It answered.