When Kofi awoke, the world was humming.
Not the low, steady hum of machinery, but something deeper — a vibration in the bones, in the blood. It crawled beneath his skin like static caught between two storms.
The ceiling above him glowed with soft white light. His first thought was that he'd died. His second was that dying shouldn't hurt this much.
Pain radiated from every nerve — molten, endless, alive. His body trembled, his vision fracturing into shards of light. Every sound was too sharp, every color too bright. The air itself felt like it was pressing against him, whispering.
He forced himself upright. Cold metal met his skin. He was in a cell — not the glass-and-stone cages from before, but something more clinical. White walls, rounded corners, humming with Dominion tech. The kind of place that pretended to be merciful while it measured how fast you broke.
He breathed hard, forcing focus.
Okay. Analyze, stabilize, survive.
The words were his mantra now.
His body was covered in faint silver veins, glowing softly beneath his skin. When he touched them, they pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, like liquid metal alive inside him.
Then came the voice.
"Congratulations, subjects," it said, dripping with mock pride. "Trial One: Adaptation — completed. Survivors will be granted provisional release from containment during the intermission period."
A mechanical chime sounded, and his cell door slid open with a hiss.
The corridor outside was flooded with movement — survivors stepping out of their cells, blinking in the sterile light. Luro was there, his blue skin pale with exhaustion, his tendrils twitching faintly. Beside him walked Father Serin, the luminous priest, his glow dimmer now, but his eyes still calm.
"Human," Luro said, his tone caught between relief and concern. "You're awake."
Kofi tried to stand. His legs buckled.
Serin caught him before he hit the ground. "Easy now," the priest said softly. His voice was warm — the kind of calm that came from believing in something larger than fear. "Your body is… conflicted."
Kofi gritted his teeth. "Feels like it's on fire."
"That's because it is," Luro murmured. "In a way. Your cells are— changing. Resonating."
"With what?"
Luro hesitated. "That's what worries me."
Kofi didn't hear the rest. Pain ripped through him again, sharp and alive. His vision flared white, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping as energy surged through his arms. Sparks danced along his fingertips, crawling like lightning insects.
The nearby aliens stumbled back, hissing or muttering in their tongues. One pointed, another drew a weapon.
"Stay back!" Luro barked.
Serin knelt beside Kofi, ignoring the light. He pressed his glowing hand against Kofi's chest. "Listen to me," he said. "Breathe. The Source within you is not a curse. It's a tide. You must flow with it, not fight it."
Kofi shook his head. "The what?"
"The Source," Serin repeated. "The breath of creation. Some call it life. Some call it power. It is within all things — though rarely does it wake like this."
Serin began to hum — a deep, resonant tone that vibrated through the air. Then he whispered words in an ancient language Kofi couldn't understand, yet somehow, he felt them — like wind cooling fire.
The pain began to dull. The silver glow beneath his skin softened to a faint shimmer.
Serin smiled faintly. "A prayer of grounding," he said. "Old faith, older than the Dominion. Works on souls that burn too bright."
Kofi sat up slowly, drenched in sweat. "Remind me to thank you properly when I can feel my bones again."
Luro crouched beside them, eyes sharp with thought. "You felt it, didn't you? The pull. Like something calling you from inside."
Kofi nodded weakly. "Yeah. It's… weird. Like the air's whispering equations, I almost understand."
"That's not possible," Luro muttered, though his tone said he didn't believe himself.
He wanted to tell Kofi everything — about the Amissi, the legends, the Source — but something held him back. Until he knew what Kofi truly was, it was too dangerous. For both of them.
So he simply said, "Rest. We'll need you soon."
When Kofi could finally walk, they left the cells.
The corridor curved like the inside of a living creature, walls pulsing with dim blue veins. The ship hummed with power — vast, ancient, and cruelly efficient.
Other survivors milled about, forming clusters and groups. Some were laughing, others whispering. The Dominion had released them for the "intermission" — a period between trials meant to test alliances and instincts.
To them, it was a reprieve.
To Kofi, it felt like being studied by unseen eyes.
As they walked, he noticed small cameras hovering near the ceiling — spherical drones with glowing red centers. Watching. Recording.
"They're broadcasting this, aren't they?" Kofi asked quietly.
Luro gave him a sidelong glance. "The Trials are entertainment to the Dominion elite. They'll edit the footage, dramatize it, and make the deaths look noble or pathetic, depending on the ratings. You've probably already become a story to them."
Kofi snorted bitterly. "Guess I'm their favorite human drama."
"Not drama," Serin said softly. "Warning."
Kofi frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The Overseers fear what they cannot name," Serin said. "And I have seen how they looked upon you. Curiosity. Fear. Hunger."
Elsewhere — The Overseers' Chamber
High above the trials, deep within the Dominion's flagship, the Overseers watched.
Their forms flickered in holographic projection — twelve towering figures, each cloaked in light and shadow. Before them, screens displayed every survivor, every cell, every scream.
"Subject Kofi Daramola," one of them hissed. "Human. Impossible that such a primitive species could withstand Sharr's gravitational storms."
"Not impossible," said another. "Unprecedented."
A third leaned forward, voice oily. "He is… entertaining. The audience adores him already. I say let the human live. He makes the others fight harder."
"Or we kill him," another snapped. "Before he becomes something worse. I saw the recordings — the energy signature he emitted matches Amissi's resonance patterns. You all know what that means."
The chamber fell silent.
Then, slowly, a new voice spoke — deep, cold, commanding.
"No one touches him."
The highest-ranking Overseer stepped from the shadows, his golden armor gleaming with Dominion sigils. His eyes burned like molten suns.
The others bowed their heads.
He continued, "The human remains under my observation. None will interfere."
"But High Overseer," one dared to ask, "if he is what you suspect—"
"I said," the figure growled, "no one touches him. Not until I have spoken with the Ruler."
He turned away, the glow fading.
As the others whispered among themselves, one muttered, "Then perhaps we should visit this… Earth. See if more of his kind exist."
The High Overseer paused mid-step. "Do so," he said without turning, "and you will vanish before you reach its orbit."
Silence fell.
Then the chamber dimmed, leaving only the hum of unseen judgment.
Back aboard the Trial Ship
The survivors had gathered in the recreation deck — a circular chamber filled with artificial gravity fields and food dispensers that oozed paste-like rations.
Kofi sat at a table with Luro and Father Serin, trying to ignore the stares.
"They're watching us," he said under his breath. "Every move, every word."
"They always are," Luro replied. "The Trials aren't tests. They're theater."
Serin smiled faintly. "Then we play our parts wisely."
Kofi rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, Father Faith."
Serin chuckled softly. "Faith is just patience with purpose."
Before Kofi could reply, a group of aliens approached. Three of them — tall, muscular, skin like burnished steel — each bearing the Dominion insignia branded across their arms.
"Human," their leader sneered. His voice was gravel and venom. "So you're the weakling who survived Sharr?"
Kofi didn't move. "Depends who's asking."
The alien smirked. "We heard stories. Little flesh-creature saved the group, defied the storm. Impressive— for something so soft."
Luro tensed. "Leave him be."
But Kofi stood, eyes narrowing. "You got something to prove?"
The alien cracked his knuckles. "Only that the Dominion doesn't make heroes out of vermin."
Before Luro or Serin could intervene, the punch came fast. Kofi dodged, barely — the blow grazed his jaw, sending pain shooting through his skull. He countered with a quick jab, but it was like hitting stone.
The crowd gathered. Cheers. Shouts. Drones floated down to record.
The alien swung again, this time hitting Kofi hard in the ribs. He fell, gasping, metallic taste flooding his mouth.
"Pathetic," the alien spat.
Something inside Kofi snapped.
His pulse thundered. His vision blurred. The air around him thickened — shimmering with faint silver light.
The alien reached for him again — and froze.
Kofi's eyes flared, burning like molten mercury. His aura surged outward, rippling the air. Every being in the room felt it — pressure, raw and primal, older than words.
The Dominion soldier staggered back, clutching his head. "What— what are you?"
Kofi stood slowly, the air vibrating around him. "Still figuring that out."
The lights flickered. Sparks crawled across the floor. Luro could feel it — the same resonance as before, the same impossible frequency.
Then — a siren blared.
"ALL SUBJECTS — RETURN TO CONTAINMENT. HYPERDRIVE ENGAGEMENT IN SIXTY SECONDS."
Guards stormed in — towering mechanical enforcers with glowing visors. One raised a weapon.
"That's enough," it barked. "Back to your cells!"
Kofi's aura dimmed. He breathed hard, forcing himself to be calm. The glow beneath his skin faded, leaving only exhaustion.
The guards herded them apart. The crowd dispersed.
As they walked back, Luro whispered, "You could have killed him."
Kofi didn't answer. He was shaking — not from fear, but from something deeper. Power. Hunger.
Serin placed a hand on his shoulder. "You must master the storm within you, Kofi Daramola. Or it will master you."
Kofi exhaled slowly. "Guess I'll add that to the to-do list."
The corridor lights shifted red.
The floor trembled.
Outside, the stars twisted, stretching into streaks of light as the ship entered hyperdrive.
Kofi looked out the viewport, watching space fold in on itself — beautiful and terrifying.
"Where are we going now?" he asked quietly.
Luro's voice was soft, almost reverent. "Trial Two."
"What's that one called?"
Luro hesitated. "They call it The Crucible of Faith."
Kofi snorted faintly. "Perfect. Because I'm just overflowing with that right now."
But as he stared into the endless dark, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone — something—out there was watching.
Not the Overseers.
Not the Dominion.
Something older.
Something waiting.
And deep inside, beneath skin and fear and exhaustion, the Source pulsed again — whispering in a voice that wasn't words but promise:
Remember what you are.