They didn't go back to the dome.
The argument with the council still rang in their ears, but it no longer mattered.
The decision had been made out there — in the ruin of the fight — when the system's voice had fallen like scripture.
"Milestone achieved. Level 10 reached. Choose your advanced path."
Now, they huddled in the abandoned school library.
The air smelled of dust and old paper.
A faded mural of stick-figure animals smiled through chipped paint, ghosts of a gentler world.
Marcus dragged tables across the floor, building a rough barricade.
Kira checked every corner twice, finally settling by the broken blinds.
Ravi spread his notes like a mad scholar mapping the divine.
Maya crouched with her palm against the floorboards, as though she could sense danger through the earth itself.
Darren sat with his spear across his knees, and Tina cradled a small denim jacket folded against her chest.
Ethan sat cross-legged in the center, breath steady but heart racing.
The system was waiting.
And then—
it opened.
---
GENE WARDEN — ADVANCED EVOLUTION OPTIONS
1. Second Chance
The Warden's Miracle. Once per day, you may compel a complete Reversal on a humanoid whose genome has not collapsed.
The gods pity those you save, but curse you with exhaustion. You will stand between hope and ruin, and each time you will pay the price.
2. Gene Anchor
The Knot Between Life and Corruption. For sixty seconds, you may bind one soul teetering on the brink, halting both death and mutation.
Every heartbeat costs essence. Every second, a weight. Few who anchor too long survive their own vow.
3. Sanctum Thread
The Tent of Mercy. Weave a sanctuary of ten meters where pain is dulled, fear softened, and wounds knit.
But to weave is to remain. Once you stand as the anchor, you cannot run—and your enemies will strike at the tent's heart: you.
4. Purge Vector
The Bloodkeeper's Scalpel. Excise corruption, infection, and early mutations from up to three souls.
You will be savior and betrayer both, for cleansing corruption may preserve tyrants as well as saints.
5. Life-Bond
The Covenant of Two. Link your life to another. Share damage. Share essence. Gift them strength beyond measure.
Should they fall, you fall. This oath is not made lightly—for gods once wove it as law between immortals and mortals alike.
---
Ethan read each line with the weight of stone settling in his chest.
Every path glittered with promise, every one wrapped in chains.
Second Chance — a miracle once a day, but it would burn him hollow.
Sanctum Thread — a shield for many, but he'd become a target.
Purge Vector — clean, sharp, too cold.
Life-Bond — beautiful, but suicidal.
And then there was Gene Anchor.
He felt it as he read — a resonance, as if the words themselves tugged at his bones.
A minute. A single minute to hold the line.
To buy time when all else was lost.
It wasn't glory. It was defiance.
His sister's voice whispered through memory:
You never know when to give up.
"No," Ethan murmured, eyes locked on the glowing text. "I don't."
Choice confirmed: Gene Anchor.
---
Warmth surged through him — not healing warmth, but molten silver forcing its way through his veins.
He gasped as the world split for a heartbeat.
He saw two layers of reality: the library and another world superimposed over it, woven from threads of light.
Every person shimmered faintly, their bodies stitched from luminous strands.
Some threads pulsed bright with health; others frayed and thin, trembling at the edges.
And around him—new cords formed, winding down his arms and across his chest, radiant and alive.
"Ethan?" Maya's voice was soft.
He looked up, eyes glowing silver-blue before fading back to pale.
"I chose Gene Anchor," he said quietly. "I can hold someone for a minute. Stop them from dying… or mutating. But it'll cost me."
Marcus gave a low whistle. "Sixty seconds is a lifetime in a fight."
Kira tilted her head. "Or a death sentence if you hold too long."
Ethan nodded. "That's the price."
---
Then, one by one, the others found their new paths.
Marcus swung his hammer. When it struck the floor, the impact didn't just thud—it rippled, dust puffing outward. He grinned. "Guess it likes me angry."
Kira blurred twice in a breath, vanishing and reappearing behind Darren. "Better."
Ravi leaned against a shelf, writing. His voice echoed itself a heartbeat apart. "We should ration our essence carefully tomorrow." Then again, perfectly in sync. He smiled. "Predictive feedback. Not perfect, but useful."
Maya lifted a hand. The air rippled in a narrow cone. A book slid neatly off a high shelf into her waiting palm. "I can aim it now."
Caleb flexed his forearms. His skin caught the light oddly, denser. When Marcus tapped it with the hammer, it clinked. Caleb grinned. "Not dead weight anymore."
Tina rested her hand on the small child's shoulder. A faint dome shimmered around them both, soft and gold. The child sighed, drifting into calm. Tina's eyes filled with tears. "It's wider now. Stronger."
Darren tested his spear, thrusting once. The wood split clean. He exhaled. "I don't shake anymore."
---
For a moment, silence.
Eight people. Eight evolutions.
Bound by something greater than survival.
Marcus broke it first. "We're not going back to the dome."
Kira smirked. "You saying that, or asking?"
"I'm saying it." He rested the hammer on his shoulder. "The council wants to chain us. But look at us. We've changed. If we go back, we'll be prisoners. Out here—we choose."
Ethan nodded. "My sister's still out there. Your son too. We don't have time to hide behind walls."
Tina's hand found Marcus's arm. "Then we search."
Darren lifted his spear. "I said I'd stand with you. I meant it."
Maya's voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. "I'll walk with you. I need to see where this leads."
Ravi looked up from his notes. "Then it's settled."
---
They made camp in the library.
Marcus and Darren stacked shelves against the doors.
Kira vanished into the night and came back with a cracked jug of water and a half-bag of chips.
Tina laid the denim jacket beside her bedroll like a prayer.
Caleb stared at his calloused hands until sleep took him.
Maya sat cross-legged, sending gentle ripples through the dust until she nearly toppled over.
Ethan leaned against the wall, exhaustion clawing at him.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the threads — glowing lines binding them all together.
Gene Anchor thrummed quietly in his chest, waiting.
A minute.
That was all he could buy.
But sometimes a minute was the difference between life and death.
Outside, the city whispered. Shadows shifted beyond the broken windows.
Crows gathered on telephone lines, black shapes against the pale dawn.
Ethan's eyes lingered on Ravi's map spread across the floor.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "We find them. We keep moving. We don't stop."
The knot inside him pulsed once — silent, stubborn.
He wasn't built for miracles.
He was built to hold on.
And he would.