John’s awareness returned gradually, piecing itself together in the void. First, there was pain—searing, all-encompassing pain. His body felt like it was on fire, every muscle and bone aflame. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe without the pain crashing over him in relentless waves. But he was alive. Alive. He clung to the word, to the single spark of hope it offered amidst the agony.
Then came the sounds—muffled at first, distant. Footsteps, voices, movement. He couldn’t make out words, only fragments of conversation slipping through the haze. Clayton’s voice was the most familiar, his gruff tones lingering longer than the others. Crystal and Max’s voices darted in and out, too fast for him to catch. Clarissa arrived, her soft murmurs lost in the storm of pain, and finally Liz. She stayed by him, steady and unwavering, as he rode the sharp edges of consciousness.
In the back of his mind, a voice surfaced. Light, teasing, and disturbingly familiar. “You’ve really done it this time. Death—it hurts, doesn’t it?”
John’s heart pounded in response, fighting the weight that threatened to drag him under. “I’m not dead,” he ground out in his mind, wrestling with the suffocating pain. “I’m still here!”
The voice chuckled, soft and mocking. “Are you sure? Because I don’t think they know that. Shame, really, when they bury you too soon.”
John tried to move, to break free of the weight pressing down on him, but his body felt distant, detached. He was trapped inside his own mind, the pain the only connection he had to the world outside. The voice slithered through the cracks in his defenses, gentle, coaxing. “Aren’t you tired of all this? The constant pain, the endless struggle. You keep fighting, but for what? Why not let go? Why keep suffering when it could all end so easily?”
At the voice’s suggestion, the pain eased—just a little, a subtle relief. It felt good, so good to let go, even for a moment. The temptation was undeniable. The pain never really stopped, did it? It was always there, clawing at him from the inside. Wouldn’t it be better to lay his burden down, to stop fighting?
But as he began to drift, other voices called to him. Liz’s voice, welcoming him when his family had abandoned him. His cousins laughing, sharing their lives with him. Clayton’s steady guidance, helping him find his way. And even Aurora, her quiet surprise each time he helped others, as if she could hardly believe it.
No. The thought broke through the fog. I can’t leave them. I can’t leave everyone like this.
“But going back will hurt,” the voice whispered, creeping back in. “It will hurt again, and again, forever. Just let go. You’ve done enough.”
No!
John fought against the pull, the pain rushing back with brutal force. It tore through him, sharper than before, trying to break him down.
“Just let go, John.”
The voice was persistent, insidious. John’s life had been shaped by others—pushed in different directions, molded by expectations. He had never truly known what he wanted, always being pulled one way or another. But through it all, he had learned that life, in its smallest moments, brought him joy. Watching people live, seeing them thrive, watching them find their paths and shine brightly. That was what he wanted—to shine alongside them, to help lift others up. That was enough.
“It’s too hard, John. You’ll burn out before you ever shine like that. Just give up.”
No! John roared, defiant. “I want to live! I’m not ready to give up yet!”
The pain surged, coursing through him in violent waves, but this time, John embraced it. He clung to it, let it ground him in reality. The pain was proof he was still alive, proof that he hadn’t given up. It was agony, but it was his agony, and he would not let it break him.
Faint voices echoed around him, panicked, urgent. Footsteps hurried away, but John barely registered them before the darkness swallowed him again.
John woke again, this time sensing a shift. The pain was still there, but it had dulled to a distant throb, no longer the all-consuming force it had been. His senses came alive slowly—the sterile smell of disinfectant filled his nose, and faint voices drifted around him, though they were unfamiliar and distant.
A hospital. The thought crept in sluggishly. He hated hospitals.
He tried to move his hands, to rub his eyes, but something held him back. Confusion prickled at the edge of his mind as he struggled to lift his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. His fingers flexed, straining against the resistance. He blinked, squinting against the harsh light overhead, and looked down. Straps. Thick, padded straps bound his wrists to the sides of the bed. His legs too. He tried to sit up, instinctively pulling against the restraints, but a sudden, sharp pull at his neck jerked him back down painfully.
The rattling of the restraints and the thud of his body hitting the bed made a sharp sound that echoed in the sterile room. A muffled shriek broke the quiet, and John turned his head, his heart pounding. Across the room, a nurse stood frozen, her hands clamped over her mouth in shock, half-cowering behind a doctor. The doctor, wide-eyed, looked just as stunned, his clipboard lying forgotten on the floor. Both of them stared at John like they’d just seen a ghost.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat rebelled, sending him into a fit of coughing. His chest ached with the effort, the rawness of his throat burning like fire. He twisted his head to the side, grimacing through the coughs, and when he tried to speak again, the words caught in his throat. Before he could say anything, the doctor bolted from the room, the nurse scrambling after him in a hurry, the door slamming shut behind them.
What the hell? John lay back, his mind racing. Why did they run? He knew he wasn’t the best-looking guy around, but he didn’t think he was scary enough to send people fleeing in terror. Something was wrong. His eyes flicked to the straps again, confusion knotting in his stomach.
Then it hit him. The memories came rushing back in a flood—his breath caught in his throat as the images flashed behind his eyes. The kids. The rescue. The grenade. His heart lurched, and panic clawed its way up his chest. His hands jerked toward his stomach, his knees pulling in reflexively. The restraints bit into his wrists and legs, pulling him to a stop, but his mind raced ahead, desperate to make sense of what had happened.
I should be dead. The thought sent a cold shock through him. He glanced down at his body. He was wearing a hospital gown, the thin fabric barely covering him as his legs stretched out awkwardly over a mess of blankets hanging off the side of the bed. An IV needle was poking out of his arm, though it was bleeding slightly from where he had thrashed around. There were no bandages. No blood. No signs of injury.
How? He couldn’t feel any of the damage from the grenade, no searing pain from the blast, no shattered bones. He’d felt it explode. He’d felt it tear through him, lifting his body like a rag doll. How am I still here? The thought echoed in his head, disbelief and fear twisting together.
The door creaked open, pulling John from his frantic thoughts. Clayton strode in, his face tight with concern. Without a word, he reached for the strap around John’s neck, unbuckling it with quick, precise movements. John raised an eyebrow as Clayton moved to release the ones on his wrists.
“Not worried I’ll bite?” John asked, his voice hoarse as he made loud chomping noises with his teeth.
Clayton shot him a dry look but said nothing as he freed John’s hands. No jokes then. Once his arms were free, John sat up, rubbing at the red marks the straps had left on his wrists. His mind was still spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened. Clayton dropped into a nearby chair, watching him carefully.
“So… hi,” John said, glancing down at the straps again. “What’s with the restraints?”
“They’re heat-resistant,” Clayton replied, his voice flat. “Doctors thought it was the easiest way to keep you from burning them alive.”
John’s eyes widened. Heat-resistant? That was new. Sure, he had trouble controlling his powers sometimes, but never while he was unconscious. The idea unsettled him. Could he lose control even in his sleep? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he accidentally hurt someone? What if this was worse than he thought?
“What do you remember?” Clayton asked, his tone more serious now.
John rubbed his temples, trying to recall the events before the hospital. “I remember the operation. I remember DeVito throwing the grenade.” His voice caught. “Then… nothing. Just pain. And rage.” His hands clenched into fists as he felt a flicker of heat in his veins. He forced himself to stay calm. “The kid?”
Clayton nodded. “The kid’s fine. But you shouldn’t be.”
John couldn’t meet Clayton’s gaze. “I know.”
“What do you know, John?” Clayton’s voice was sharp, the tension in the air thickening. John could see the fear in his eyes, not just for him, but maybe of him. He glanced at the restraints again, feeling a chill run through him.
“What happened?” John asked quietly.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Clayton hesitated, searching for the right words. “You protected the children. I don’t know how, but they’re alive.”
“That’s good, right?” John asked, his voice uncertain.
Clayton didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled a tablet from his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. John swiped through the images, his stomach turning with each one. The shipyard was in ruins—containers twisted and melted, skeletons charred and frozen in place, evidence of his magic’s destructive power. There were blue flames in some of the photos, small forms inside proof that he had saved the children, but the rest… the rest was carnage.
John’s breath hitched as he scrolled further, the images growing more disturbing. That’s not possible. He didn’t remember this. He didn’t remember any of it.
“What the hell is this?” John asked, his voice shaking.
“That’s you, kid.”
John stared at the tablet, a knot forming in his stomach. The photo showed a mass of flames where his body should have been, but this wasn’t an explosion like any he had ever seen. The camera zoomed out, revealing that the blast itself hadn’t been that large, but from its center, tendrils of blue fire had erupted like the limbs of some monstrous creature. They snaked through the maze of the shipyard, leaving trails of melted steel and devastation in their wake. A few photos later, the flames took shape—the demon he had seen chasing Kieren through the city.
“That’s impossible, Clay. I’ve never even used that much magic,” John said, shaking his head. “You think I did that?”
“I didn’t think it was possible either,” Clayton replied, his voice steady. “You told me you’ve had control issues, but have you ever pushed yourself this far? What happened out there?”
John’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t make sense of it—none of this was possible. “No… no, not like this,” John stammered, his voice edging toward hysteria. He gestured at the tablet, his hands trembling. “I don’t know what this is! This isn’t me!”
He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, his fists clenching. His breath came in ragged bursts as he fought to keep control. He couldn’t lose it now. Not here.
Clayton just watched, his expression unreadable, like he was waiting for John to come to a realization on his own. After a long pause, Clayton nodded. “We figured as much. It’s too far from what you’ve ever done. There’s no way you could have done this intentionally. Not alone.”
The words hung between them like a weight.
John’s frustration flared. “You know I don’t mess with anything like drugs. You think I’d stoop that low, huh? You think I’d—”
Clayton held up a hand. “I know that, John. I’m not accusing you of anything like that. But there’s something you don’t know.” Clayton paused, his voice lowering. “Do you know what your father did for a living?”
John blinked, caught off guard by the question. His anger deflated in an instant. “What? He was a scientist. He worked on a lot of things. Why?”
Clayton leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “We didn’t know at first why your father disappeared. But after he left, we started finding his labs—abandoned from one day to the next. What we found inside was… horrifying.” Clayton took a breath. “Your father experimented on people. He was trying to understand how magic worked, pushing the limits. Innocent people died, John. He didn’t care about human life—nothing was off-limits to him.”
John’s mind went blank. That couldn’t be true. Everything he’d ever heard about his father had been good—how smart he was, how important. Even his mother, through her drunken rages, had never spoken ill of him. What was Clayton talking about?
“What does this have to do with me?” John asked, his voice thin, barely holding it together.
Clayton’s eyes narrowed, watching John closely. “We think your father did something to you. Something… experimental.”
John stared at him, the weight of the words crashing down like a sledgehammer. My father? Experimented on me?
“How is that possible? I—how could she not know?” John asked, his voice cracking. “Aunt Liz—how could she not know?”
“Because he wasn’t really her brother,” Clayton replied. “The name your father gave when he joined the Nexus was Acaius Thornheart. He used ‘Walker’ as a cover when he was working with Liz. They kept up the act after he fled. She didn’t know the full extent of what he’d been doing. Not until after.”
John sat up straight, the shock hitting him like a physical blow. “What? That can’t be right.”
“It’s the truth. Your aunt thought it was a good idea at the time, and he helped establish the Nexus. But after everything we’ve uncovered, she’s not so keen on the name anymore.”
John’s head spun. Everything he thought he knew about his family felt like a lie. His entire history, his childhood, his identity—it was all wrong.
“Not all of it is a lie,” came a dark whisper in his mind. “But you should have died. You are a monster.”
The voice was cold, layered—male and female, intertwined and distinct. John gasped as memories slammed into him: the burning flesh, the screams. His stomach churned violently, and he doubled over, falling to the side of the bed. His knees hit the ground, and he grabbed a trash can just in time to vomit into it, his throat burning as the acid clawed its way out.
He barely registered Clayton helping him back onto the bed, his muscles weak and trembling. The room spun, his body shaking uncontrollably. As his breath began to slow, he felt the trickle of blood running down his arm from where he had yanked out the IV. Great.
“How long was I out?” John croaked, his voice strained.
“Two weeks,” Clayton answered.
Two weeks? That made sense, but the complete weakness he felt didn’t. Something was deeply wrong.
“And now that you’re awake,” Clayton added, “the clock’s ticking. That doctor wasn’t running to get me. The Commander’s coming. The Nexus wants to figure out what to do with you.”
John sat there, head in his hands, his whole world unraveling. What the hell had his father done to him? He had only wanted to protect the kids—innocent lives caught in something they didn’t understand. But now everything had spiraled so far out of control that he didn’t know which way was up anymore. Was his father really capable of experimenting on his own son?
The door swung open with a bang, snapping John out of his thoughts. Liz rushed over to him immediately, pulling him into a crushing hug, but John barely had time to register her before a voice bellowed from across the room.
“Who released him?!”
John looked up and saw Commander Tarik, glaring at him with rage in his eyes. Behind him, two guards hovered, ready to move. The destruction from the photos flashed in John’s mind, and he had no words. I don’t even know what I did.
“Because he is a patient, not a prisoner!” Liz shouted, spinning around to face Tarik.
“That thing is dangerous!” Tarik pointed a finger at John, his words cutting through the air.
John pushed himself back, trying to stand, but his legs wobbled beneath him. He raised his hands in surrender, knowing the guards were ready to move. One of them—a woman—had powers he knew too well. A single touch from her, and he’d be writhing on the ground in pain.
“Now, now. No need for that,” Clayton said, stepping between John and the guards. Liz joined him, her body tense with protective energy. John glanced at them, their presence warming his heart.
The guards hesitated, looking to Tarik for orders. The Commander’s face twisted with anger.
“He needs to be locked up before he destroys the city,” Tarik growled.
“He’s under control,” Liz shot back. “You saw what happened to him—he’s not resisting.”
John tried to force a smile. “Yeah… not resisting,” he said, his voice shaky. His attempt at humor only earned him a groan from Liz and a headshake from Clayton.
“Shut up, John,” Liz muttered.
Clayton nodded. “He’s cooperating. There’s no need for this. He’s got his magic under control.”
John swallowed hard and nodded, deciding it was best to keep quiet. His life was spiraling, and the last thing he needed was to make things worse by running his mouth. Just keep calm.
But Tarik wasn’t backing down. “You can’t prove he’s in control! I won’t let you endanger the entire city. If we let this go, all of Qorluna could be at risk!”
John raised his hands again, waving them frantically. “Hey, I don’t want that either! I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to hurt anyone! I’m calm.”
Tarik’s eyes narrowed. “Then submit to the Nexus and let us take you in.”
John felt Liz and Clayton stiffen at the suggestion. He knew this wasn’t the first time Tarik had asked, but now that John was awake, the stakes felt higher. He wasn’t about to let them throw him in some Nexus prison. He’d cooperate, but he wasn’t about to be locked away.
“I’ll work with the Nexus,” John said, trying for a grin. “But I’m not getting locked up. Doctor says I’m low on Vitamin D. Not enough Scar-Light, you know?”
He chuckled awkwardly. Too much. Definitely too much. Clayton shot him a look that told him to stop.
John swallowed, suddenly aware of the tension in the room. I’m making things worse. He watched as Commander Tarik’s face turned a darker shade of red, his fists clenching at his sides.
“Don’t play with me, boy!” Tarik snapped.
John winced at the word boy. He’s only a few years older than me. It stung, but he kept quiet this time, deciding to hold back any more smart remarks. He wasn’t in any shape to make this situation worse.
He took a step back, jaw clenched, his mind racing. All I want is to go home. His apartment, his bed—anything that didn’t involve standing here, feeling like his life was spiraling out of control. He glanced at the restraints still hanging from the bed, a reminder of how dangerous they thought he was.
Tarik was still fuming when a voice from behind him interrupted.
“Gentlemen,” the voice was calm, firm, cutting through the thick tension in the air.
John noticed Aurora, standing just behind Tarik, her presence understated but unmistakable. She looked like a porcelain doll—petite, with her makeup, hair, and clothing immaculate. But despite her delicate appearance, her voice carried the weight of millennia’s authority as she stepped forward, gracefully weaving around the fuming commander and the uncertain guards.
“Perhaps I can suggest a compromise?”
The room fell silent, all eyes on her. When no one spoke, she continued, her tone measured and calm. “Commander, your concerns are valid, and they should take priority. I believe we can all agree on that.”
Liz made a sound of protest, her frustration evident, but Aurora raised a hand to stop her. “By that, I mean we should always prioritize the safety of the many over the few. That is something we all must accept.” Her gaze flicked to Liz for just a moment, then back to Tarik.
“However,” she added, her voice sharpening, “we cannot simply throw a man into quarantine indefinitely because we’re afraid.”
“I am not scared!” Tarik roared, his fists clenched.
Aurora snapped back instantly, her voice like a whip. “Yes, you are! We all are!”
The force of her words hung heavy in the room. Slowly, she turned, her sharp eyes passing over each person, lingering just long enough to make them feel the weight of their own fear. Finally, she locked her gaze on John. She had seen the pictures, heard the reports about the docks, yet she didn’t look afraid. There was no hesitation in her eyes—only determination. Determination to do what, though? John wasn’t sure. She had mentioned a compromise. He glanced at Clayton, whose confused expression mirrored his own.
“But fear does not dictate our actions,” Aurora continued. “Send him away from the city if you’re concerned. From what I’ve heard, I doubt even blood magic could contain him.”
The room went silent. Blood magic—the ultimate defense against rogue magic users. If they didn’t have that… the only remaining option was drastic: the method of Filious Vires. Execute the magic user before they could lose control completely, or burn out in a catastrophic blaze.
“Or,” Aurora said softly, “put him under house arrest. If there’s anyone who can keep him in check, it’s Elizabeth.”
John felt a surge of relief wash over him. House arrest? Fine. A trip out of the country? Hell, I’ll take that too. He knew for a fact his aunt kept his cousin’s and his room exactly the way they used to have it. He smiled gratefully at Aurora, but she didn’t meet his eyes. She was smiling, though—only it wasn’t at him. Her smile was directed at Liz. A cold weight settled in John’s stomach. No…
Aurora never smiled at Liz. The two women had a long-standing dislike for each other. And yet here she was, smiling. It wasn’t the kind of smile that came from mutual respect—it was a smile of agreement. That’s what Liz had wanted, wasn’t it? To get him out of here. John hadn’t thought much of it at first, but now he realized—once he left, would she ever let him go?
Across the room, Commander Tarik’s expression darkened as well, the realization dawning on him. He was coming to the same conclusion as John. A compromise, yes—but not one that left anyone satisfied. And if neither side was willing to concede, there would be a fight.
John swallowed, his relief turning bitter. Damn.