They say that the greatest changes begin with silent decisions.
Closed meetings. Sealed orders. Nameless files.
In a region that does not appear on any official map, the lights of an underground base flickered on before dawn. The highest authorities of the country had requested a special meeting, one that would not be recorded in any public document.
Among the confirmed attendees was tactical agent Aiden Varela: impeccable, calculating, with a reputation built on precision and control. Some admired him. Others simply knew it was not a good idea to confront him.
The sound of boots echoed with almost robotic precision over the polished marble of the complex. Aiden Varela walked with elegant poise, his hands clad in black leather gloves, and a tactical briefcase slung over his left shoulder. The air smelled of ozone and metal, an unsettling perfume intertwined with unspoken secrets, creating an atmosphere of mystery.
"Did you arrive early or have you stopped sleeping, Commander?" Nathael Cruz, his joking companion, broke the silence as he walked beside him.
"I sleep just enough not to look like a zombie. Although... it's never a bad idea to have nightmares once in a while," Aiden replied, with his typical tone that was both sarcastic and cryptic.
"Nightmares or premonitions?" Nathael joked, adjusting his tactical vest.
"At this point... what's the difference?"
Both crossed the first security checkpoint. The automatic doors recognized their fingerprints and opened with an electric whisper. In the distance, the blue lights of the main laboratory flickered as if the very universe doubted what was about to happen.
Project Aether. The most ambitious experiment of the century. And also the most unstable.
The interior of the laboratory resembled a cross between a military base and a science fiction facility. Cameras, quantum sensors, holographic screens, and a central structure suspended: the dimensional core, still wrapped in energy fields.
Aiden paused for a few seconds in front of the large room, observing intently. He had that bad feeling again. That sensation at the nape of his neck, as if someone were watching him.
"If you frown any harder, Commander, you're going to get permanent wrinkles," said a firm female voice to his left.
Erika Sanz, impeccable as always. Short hair pulled back, a face of few gestures, eyes trained not to show weakness. But beneath that steel, Aiden knew her intentions.
"Relax, Sanz, my mirror still gives me a 9 out of 10 every morning," Aiden replied, easing the tension with a slight smile.
"For the suit or for the ego?"
"Both. They go hand in hand."
"No wonder you walk like you're parading for the UN."
"The high command is arriving. Everyone in position," a voice announced over the intercom.
On the upper walkway, figures in suits and ties appeared, including the president of the scientific council and other names that usually hid behind thousands of classified papers. Among them, a female figure, noticeably younger and visibly uncomfortable.
Lea Argent.
Daughter of the nation's president, sent as part of her "political training." She wore a professional white dress, but her eyes screamed boredom. Aiden saw her lean her face on one hand, as if she were forced to be there. She was.
"Don't you think she has a bit of a kidnapped princess vibe in her power tower?" Nathael commented over the internal communicator.
"More like a bomb waiting to explode," murmured Aiden.
She lowered her gaze for a moment... right toward him.
Had she noticed him? Had she been watching him?
"Commander Varela!" someone shouted from across the laboratory. "Dr. Klein needs you at the core."
Aiden walked firmly. The activation protocols were underway. The screens showed fluctuations in the dimensional data. They had had failures before, one even nearly causing a collapse in the test chamber.
"Everything under control, Doctor?" Aiden asked as he approached.
"Depends on who you ask. For me, it's just another Tuesday with a possibility of quantum fracture."
Dr. Klein wore magnifying glasses and a vest full of tools. He was older than most of the security systems there, but still retained the sharpness of a young man obsessed with physics.
"I want you ready, Aiden. If something goes out of control... I don't want another report with bodies."
The agent nodded.
Suddenly, a distinct buzzing filtered through the floor.
"What was that?" Erika asked, one hand already on her weapon.
"Don't worry, any noise is normal when the machine activates," Dr. Klein mentioned.
The protocols aligned one after another, like invisible gears fitting into an ancient machinery.
Inside the core, the walls vibrated with a barely perceptible frequency, as if the air itself breathed with a life of its own.
From the surveillance cameras, suited figures observed in complete silence. They were not scientists. They were political predators.
The Total Simulation Reactor —RST-9X— was beginning its sequence.
Aiden Varela stood firm beside the console, his face illuminated by a screen filled with numbers and lines of code sliding in real-time.
"Phase 01 initiated. Activating atmospheric quantum mesh..."
The lights gradually dimmed, and in the center of the sealed chamber, the dome began to glow with a hue that did not exist in the visible spectrum.
It was an unnamed energy, seeming to slide outside of time, emitting an imperceptible whisper to the ears... but some, like Aiden, could feel it in their bones, he was alert to the situation but noticed that someone was missing.
"...Where is Lea?" he whispered, frowning.
He searched among the team, but her place was empty.
Then he saw her.
There, walking barefoot toward the center of the reactor.
Her eyes wide open, fixed on the light. As if she were not there of her own will.
"No... it can't be!" His voice did not break the metallic silence of the laboratory.
He ran. He did not wait for orders. He did not ask for permission.
From the control room, someone spoke loudly:
"Agent Varela, stop. The experiment is in critical phase. Do not interfere."
But the words were useless to him at that moment.
His instinct screamed louder than any order.
Hasty footsteps against the titanium floor. Aiden descended the platforms, crossing the containment zone as the internal alarms began to flash in soft red.
The temperature suddenly dropped. The air became denser.
And then he felt it: the energy was not static. It was conscious.
A form... a presence... began to emerge within the distorted field. It had no body, but it possessed shape. It had no voice, but it resonated within thoughts.
Lea was right at the edge of the core when Aiden reached her.
He pushed her back with all his strength, away from the vortex that was now spinning like a hole in reality itself.
"Wake up, damn it!" he shouted, his throat raw from the tension.
The girl fell backward. The field oscillated. Something broke in the center.
And then it happened: the vortex swallowed Aiden.
Silence...
Darkness.
Cold...
He did not die. Not entirely...
His body had dissolved into fragments of light and shadow, but his consciousness remained there, suspended.
Among webs of information, timelines, and foreign memories.
A voice emerged. It was not a human voice, but it had intention.
There was structure in its way of thinking, and something resembling compassion... or judgment.
"The threads of judgment have been woven.
The cycle has been broken by your own decision.
Your soul has been torn. Diverted. Redirected.
Images. Memories. Futures that had not passed.
Aiden tried to speak, but he had no mouth. He tried to move, but he was no longer matter.
"He who interferes with the fabric... must traverse it in another form.
Not as punishment...
...but out of necessity.
One last image crossed his mind: Lea crying on the floor, surrounded by the lights of the laboratory, as his figure disappeared into particles that danced like fire.
Then everything was absorbed by the light.
And the final silence...
was not the end. Then something bright illuminated him.
The light was warm, almost unreal.
Aiden blinked, trying to understand where he was. His body... felt lighter. More fragile.
He leaned against a trunk, panting. In front of him, a small lake reflected his face.
Or so he thought.
Long silver hair.
Large, wet eyes.
Soft features.
He touched his cheek.
"What... the hell?" he whispered.
A gust of wind tousled his hair to his shoulders.
"Why does my voice sound like this...?"
He suddenly got up, tripping over a branch. He fell to his knees.
He looked at his reflection again. And screamed:
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
END OF CHAPTER 1