They left the outpost at dawn, riding north in a silent hover transport Jason had restored from near-junk. The vehicle hummed low against the cracked earth as they crossed into the badlands—flat stretches of land split by jagged scars, like the earth had tried to break apart and given up halfway. Lana sat near the front, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. The pulse inside her had grown steady now, like a second heartbeat. Always there. Always waiting.
Nyx manned the nav console, her fingers twitching slightly as she traced their path. Jason was at the controls, silent but steady, piloting the vehicle like it was an extension of his own limbs. He'd modified the transport on the fly—removed dampeners, rerouted cooling systems, tightened the throttle response so he could make it dance if needed. Even now, his foot stayed poised near the override, his eyes flicking from terrain to sensor feed.
Kieran rode beside Lana, arms crossed over his chest. He was quiet, but alert. Always watching.
They were an hour from the Eastern Divide—a region of broken terrain and unstable Queen signal fields. According to Nyx, the Divide was where one of Veliora's oldest signal nexuses had imploded during the collapse. No living Queen remained there. Just fragments. Echoes. And now, maybe, something worse.
As they crossed a shallow ridge, the sky above them darkened. Not gradually. Not like a storm. Instantly. The air grew heavy, pressing down. The vehicle's lights flickered. Static rose like dust.
"Signal disruption," Nyx said, voice sharp. "We're not alone."
Jason's grip tightened on the steering handles. "They're trying to isolate us."
The vehicle slowed to a halt. It wasn't Jason—it just stopped. Everything powered down. Silent.
That's when the Remnant arrived.
Three figures stepped out of the thickened mist, moving like blades through water. They weren't bulky or armored in the way traditional fighters might be. No, they were lean, tall, wrapped in matte-black segmented gear that clung to their frames like exoskin. Their masks were featureless, smooth as glass, marked only by a jagged crown split in two—branded over the eyes in red.
Nyx stiffened. "The Remnant."
Lana turned toward her. "Who are they?"
"They're what's left of the Queen's original loyalists. Scientists who fused their minds with her early signal code. They believe she should never be replaced or evolved. To them, you're a corruption. A branch that grew without permission."
Kieran stepped forward.
"Then let's prune them."
He glanced back at Lana once, eyes hard, then let the change take him.
His bones twisted and cracked, reshaping in a fluid, terrible grace. Unlike his shifts before the Bone Corridor—when he was bulkier, savage, uncontrolled—this transformation was smooth. Refined. His body grew taller, more compact. Not the size of a tank anymore, but of a precise weapon. His fur was darker now, streaked with matte lines that shimmered faintly with each movement, like something metallic had fused beneath the surface. His claws weren't jagged—they were long and elegantly curved, designed for speed, not just brute force.
And his eyes. Still gold. Still painfully human.
Then the Remnant attacked.
The first came at Jason.
Jason was ready.
His hands moved before his mind finished processing the strike. He dropped to a low crouch, flipped the pulse rifle off his back, and fired upward with a rotating three-burst shot. It wasn't just reaction—it was calculation. Jason wasn't enhanced in the traditional sense. He wasn't a hybrid. But Evelyn had hardwired his nervous system with response-boosters, allowing his body to sync with tech like second nature. He moved with his weapons—not just wielding them, but meshing with them. The first shot missed. The second clipped the Remnant's knee. The third went straight through its side.
The attacker faltered.
But didn't fall.
It pivoted.
Kieran slammed into it from the side, claws out, sending it tumbling into a rock wall.
The second attacker lunged for Nyx.
She didn't run. She opened her palm.
A thin line of red stretched from her fingertips—blood, humming with lattice energy, moving like a whip. She flicked it forward, wrapping the strand around the attacker's ankle. With a twist, the strand stiffened, and the hybrid's foot shattered like porcelain. It screamed.
Nyx stepped back, lifted both arms, and flung twin threads outward. They connected—one to the mask, the other to the spine. She pulled hard.
The Remnant dropped without a sound.
Then the third came for Lana.
It didn't swing.
It got close. Too close.
And whispered, "You don't wear the crown. You bleed for it."
Lana didn't move. Her whole body locked.
But inside—something burst.
Power rushed up her spine. Light curled behind her eyes. Her throat burned.
And then—
The Remnant touched her forehead.
It was like lighting a match inside a hurricane. Her body expelled something invisible, but crushing. A pulse that sent the figure flying backward, writhing mid-air, convulsing before it even hit the ground. The smell of charred nerves filled the air. Its chest caved inward. Its limbs stiffened. Then bent the wrong way. The body twitched once.
Then stopped.
Smoke rose from its skin. Not fire. Friction. Heat from within.
Jason stopped firing.
Nyx straightened.
Kieran, half-crouched in front of Lana, turned slowly. He looked at her—not afraid, but alert. Protective.
Lana stared at her hands. They were glowing faintly. Then the light faded.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered.
Jason stepped forward, rifle lowered. "That wasn't you. That was something through you."
"No," Nyx corrected gently. "That was her. A piece of her, waking up."
Lana sank to her knees. Her heartbeat thundered.
Kieran reached her, his clawed hand curling around her shoulder.
"You're still you," he said. "You're just more now."
Lana shook her head. "They didn't come to kill me. They came to activate me."
Jason didn't speak, but his stare said everything.
The other attackers dissolved—literally. Their forms breaking into granules of ash that scattered in the wind.
Nyx approached the last body. She bent low, pulled a small shard from its armor. It flickered once, then projected a message in red:
"This was not the trial. This was the welcome."
Lana stood slowly.
"Then what's the trial?"
No one answered.
In a sealed room far away, a woman in white watched it all unfold through cracked surveillance feeds. Her face was calm. Her hair perfect.
"She bled," the woman murmured. "That's all I needed to see."
A shadowed figure behind her asked, "Do we send the second wave?"
She turned, smiling faintly.
"No. We send the gift. Let her see what crownless really means."