The Heart pulled Rourke into itself like a tide swallowing a lone swimmer. Color vanished first, then sound, then even sensation. For a moment he hung in a silence so complete it felt like the absence of existence itself.
Then light bloomed.
Not ordinary light—
but a lattice of gravitational threads stretching outward into infinity.
Each strand vibrated gently, humming with memories older than human language.
Rourke floated in the center of it all, suspended in a void that was not empty but watching.
"Where… am I?" he whispered, though he wasn't sure his voice carried in any direction.
A ripple moved through the strands.
"Within the Heart's memory," the guide's voice echoed, though the guide was nowhere to be seen.
"Here, your essence will be weighed."
Great.
No pressure.
Rourke rotated slowly in the suspended emptiness. The glowing threads rearranged themselves until they formed a circular arena, a sphere within a sphere. Rourke sensed he wasn't trapped—
but he wasn't free either.
A pattern ignited before him, forming a figure. Not the calm guide that had led him here, but a sharper shape—made of intersecting beams, its presence heavier, authoritative.
"Rourke Talon."
The voice resonated like a drum struck underwater.
"You stand at the threshold of your inheritance."
Rourke swallowed. "I'm not here to take anything. I'm trying to understand who I am."
"Then you must understand what your power demands."
A pulse surged across the arena.
The memory threads flickered—then reshaped into a battlefield.
A Test of Instinct
Rourke landed on a platform of hard, metallic ground beneath a sky torn by gravitational storms. The wind whipped into impossible spirals, carrying fragments of shattered structures.
He spun around, heart racing. "Is this real?"
"It is a test," the voice replied.
"What you see is drawn from the Solarii's final days."
He heard a crack—like the snap of a whip.
A Hunter emerged from the swirling ash.
Its body gleamed with cold metallic plates, its three eyes burning white. No fear. No hesitation. Pure purpose.
Rourke's blood froze.
"It's not real," he whispered. "It can't hurt me."
"Wrong."
The voice thrummed with grim certainty.
"The Heart cannot test you with illusions. Only with truth."
The Hunter lifted a hand.
The air condensed.
Gravity surged toward Rourke like a hammer.
Instinct took over.
He raised both hands—not to block, but to bend.
The force struck him… and split harmlessly around his body like water around stone.
Rourke staggered. "I—I didn't mean to do that."
"Instinct is your first language," the voice said.
"Now learn the second."
The Hunter lunged.
Rourke ducked under its arm and rolled across the platform, but the creature pivoted faster than thought. It thrust both hands forward.
This time, gravity twisted sideways.
The entire battlefield tilted.
Rourke skidded toward the edge.
He clawed for purchase, fingers scraping the metal.
A new voice—his own—rose in his mind:
Stop being afraid of what's inside you.
He slammed his hand downward.
A shockwave burst from his palm.
Gravity obeyed him—not the Hunter.
The tilt stabilized.
Rourke rose slowly as the battlefield steadied beneath him. The Hunter froze, its eyes flickering as if reassessing its prey.
"Come on then," Rourke muttered, raising his hands. "Let's see what else I can do."
He wasn't sure what he expected. A burst of lightning? A shield? A beam of light?
What came instead was simpler.
He willed the Hunter to fall.
The gravitational field around it intensified.
The creature slammed into the ground, pinned.
Rourke gasped. "I can control directional pull?"
The voice answered:
"You can shape it, redirect it, and weaponize it. But that is not the Heart's purpose."
The Hunter dissolved into threads of light.
Rourke blinked. "Wait—there's more?"
A Test of Will
The battlefield melted. Light bent.
Rourke now stood before a vast open space—an endless void, completely dark except for a swirling current of gravity circling beneath him like a black ocean.
A single shape floated above it.
A child.
A boy no older than four, glowing faintly with Solarii light. He looked at Rourke with eyes full of fear—and trust.
Rourke's breath hitched. "Who… is he?"
"What you were," the voice said softly.
"And what humanity made you forget."
The child drifted closer, reaching out with small hands.
Without warning, the gravitational ocean surged upward.
A monstrous current tried to swallow the boy, dragging him downward with a roar.
Rourke ran.
No, not ran—flew.
The gravity beneath his feet shifted automatically, propelling him upward. He caught the child just as the black tide crested beneath them.
The weight of it was crushing.
Rourke strained, clutching the boy against his chest. His muscles trembled. His lungs burned.
The current surged higher.
He began sinking—slowly, inch by inch.
"No," Rourke growled through clenched teeth. "I won't let you fall."
He forced his gravity field outward, creating a bubble around them both.
The tide pressed harder.
Rourke screamed, pouring every ounce of strength into the barrier.
The tide…
stopped.
Then receded.
Rourke collapsed to his knees, the child disappearing in a shimmer of light.
The voice returned, deeper this time:
"A Solarii cannot exist for themselves alone.
Your power is born to protect.
Born to shield.
Born to carry the weight others cannot."
Rourke wiped sweat from his brow. His hands shook.
"What next?" he asked. "What's the final test?"
The Heart Decides
The arena darkened until only a single point of light remained.
The Heart.
It hovered before him, its cracks glowing with soft blue radiance.
The guide's voice returned, but now it sounded older.
Wearier.
"Rourke Talon… the Heart must know if you are worthy of bonding with it."
Rourke stepped forward. "What do I have to do?"
"Only this."
A tendril of gravitational light reached out and touched his chest.
Rourke gasped as visions slammed into him:
the Solarii city thriving
the Hunters tearing it apart
the last child drifting through the void
his mother on Dock Nine, holding a baby she didn't birth
the turbine explosion
the Hunters' ship
Seren risking her life to save him
All of it hit him at once.
Every fear.
Every doubt.
Every hope.
Then the Heart spoke—not as a voice, but as truth:
"Do you accept what you are?"
Rourke inhaled.
His answer carried no hesitation.
"Yes."
The Heart flared—bright enough to eclipse the void.
Rourke cried out as energy surged into him, through him, becoming him.
The bond had begun.
Whether it would save him—or kill him—no longer mattered.
He had chosen.