The New Dawn (Part 2)
We chose the old square by the river for the first containment ritual.
It was meant to be simple: a soft "pulse" of light at exactly 7 p.m., a subtle correction of the city grid, followed by a public announcement explaining that Vale Corp's "experimental energy surge" had been stabilized. No magic, no myth—just a controlled display.
Jase had arranged the crowd. Marta had set the ground wards. Damian had built the signal dampeners himself, soldering wires like a surgeon. All I had to do was stand at the center, channel a controlled flicker of power, and smile.
For the first ten minutes, it worked.
The sky over the square was a burnished copper. People gathered, murmuring, phones out. Cameras hovered like metal insects. When I lifted my hands, light spilled gently from my skin—warm, steady, harmless. Streetlamps across the square glowed in perfect synchrony, a pattern of quiet heartbeat. Children clapped. Even the news drones held still.
"This is how we do it," Damian murmured beside me. His palm was at the small of my back, a tether. "Small, repeatable. Give them a miracle they can believe in but not worship."
"Right," I whispered. The Core inside me hummed, patient but restless.
Then, without warning, the pattern faltered.
The light surged—an unplanned spike. Streetlamps flickered violently, sending sparks across the cobblestones. The crowd gasped. Phones caught the glitch, broadcasting it instantly.
"What's happening?" I hissed.
"Something's hijacking the signal," Jase said over the earpiece. "It's coming from inside the grid—every node's echoing Evelyn's pattern."
The Core inside me roared awake. I felt the city pulse like a heart skipping beats. I tried to push it back, but instead of calming, the power spiked again, hotter, brighter. The air trembled. Puddles rippled. Shadows elongated.
And then her voice was everywhere—through every speaker, every phone, every reflection.
> "They call you saviors," Evelyn said, her tone smooth. "But the city knows better. The city knows its gods."
The crowd murmured, restless. Some backed away. Some fell to their knees.
Damian's hand tightened on me. "Stay with me," he said. "Anchor now."
I fought to breathe. The Core wanted to flood everything—to rewrite the ritual, turn it into a mass binding. I could feel it reaching for the crowd, for their fear, their awe, their bodies as nodes.
"No," I gasped. "Stop."
But the presence inside me purred. They are already yours. Let them in.
Damian stepped in front of me, blocking the crowd's view. His eyes were silver fire, jaw clenched. "Look at me," he said.
"I can't hold it—"
"Yes, you can. Look. At. Me."
I did.
The noise receded. His face filled my vision. He was bleeding again, small cuts from the soldering job, but his expression was steady, focused entirely on me.
"Anchor," he said softly. "Right here."
He pressed his forehead to mine, palm on my chest over the mark. It wasn't a kiss. It was an emergency tether, a pulse aligning two heartbeats.
"Breathe," he murmured. "In. Out. No one else matters. Just us. Just here."
The Core shuddered inside me. For a terrifying second, I felt it slip — not away, but deeper, as if Damian's presence gave it a path to coil around both of us. My power flooded through the bond, tasting him, tasting the city through him.
He didn't pull back. "Take what you need," he whispered. "Just don't lose yourself."
Our bond blazed. The Core screamed once—and then steadied. The streetlamps flickered, then held. The puddles calmed. Evelyn's voice cut off mid-sentence.
Silence.
The crowd exhaled as one. Phones captured an image of two figures locked together in light. Murmurs swelled—some reverent, some fearful. A child started to clap. Others joined, hesitant, as if applauding the end of a storm.
I pulled back, trembling. Damian's eyes were still silver but softer now, threaded with exhaustion.
"We can't do that again," I whispered. "I almost—"
"I know." His hand stayed on my arm a moment longer, then dropped. "But you didn't."
We left the square quickly. Jase's voice in my ear was tight. "Damage control's already spinning it. They're calling it a 'pulse stabilization.' But you've got about twelve hours before Evelyn's next move."
In the car, rain streaked the window again. My reflection didn't lag this time—it moved with me—but I could still feel Evelyn in the grid, watching. Waiting.
Damian reached over and laced his fingers through mine. He didn't speak, but the gesture said everything: We survived. We're still ourselves. For now.
The Core hummed under my skin like a secret I was learning to tame. My power had almost claimed an entire crowd; Damian had stopped it with nothing but proximity and faith. It was terrifying, and it was the only thing keeping me human.
Out in the city, neon lights flickered in a new rhythm—a pattern I hadn't created. Evelyn was still playing her game.
And somewhere deep inside, the Presence whispered a new phrase I didn't yet understand:
> The city will dream of what you love. And what you fear.