Erin woke to white light and the steady hum of machines.
The Bureau doctors didn't keep him long.
Tests. Scans. Repeated questions asked in different ways. The verdict was simple enough to be unsettling: two stars confirmed. No visible abnormalities beyond a partial increase in strength, reaction speed, and endurance. His Mark had stabilized for now. But he would be placed under observation for a month.
If nothing changed, his classification would be updated accordingly.
Star progression wasn't unheard of. It happened to some Marked, rarely, unpredictably, but never without reason. The Bureau logged it, flagged it, then moved on.
So did the world.
By early morning the following day, Erin was discharged. He stepped out of the medical complex and into the flow of ordinary life, the air warm, the city loud and alive. He boarded a train home, standing near the window as it slid forward along its track.
Outside, people laughed. Vendors argued over prices. Children pointed excitedly at the sky.
Above it all, the anomalies loomed unchanged.
The massive floating landmass still hung where it always had, half of it swallowed by the impossiblee in the sky. The red, moon-like planet burned quietly beside it, enormous and unmoving. No one stared anymore. They had become landmarks. Background noise. As if they had always been there.
Erin wondered when he had stopped finding that strange.
Home was a narrow apartment wedged between taller buildings, old but clean. The door barely had time to close before footsteps thundered down the hallway.
"Big Brother!"
Two figures barreled into him.
The first was Lucas, fourteen, tall for his age, hair perpetually messy, eyes sharp with worry he tried hard to hide. A tablet was already tucked under one arm; he never went anywhere without it.
Behind him was Milo, nine, smaller, rounder in the face, clutching his school bag with both hands like a shield. His eyes lit up the moment he saw Erin.
"You're back early," Milo said, relief clear in his voice.
"I'm fine," Erin replied automatically, ruffling Milo's hair. "Just observation stuff, you know those stuff. Sorry to worry you guys."
Lucas didn't look convinced.
He held up the tablet from his arm, his boice softer. "This came last night."
The screen displayed an electronic letter, formal, polite, merciless. The bank's seal glowed faintly at the corner.
Minimum payment due.
Account balance unchanged.
Erin closed his eyes for half a second. That time of the month again.
He'd taken the loan himself, transferred the entirety of their parents' debt to his name to keep the loan sharks away from the boys. He still didn't know how the debt had grown so deep. He only knew it never seemed to shrink.
"I'll handle it," he said.
Lucas frowned. "You always say that."
"And I always do," Erin replied, forcing a small smile.
He transferred their allowances to their electronic wallets, ignoring the way the remaining balance stung. "Go. You're going to be late."
Milo hugged him tight before running off. Lucas hesitated, then followed, glancing back once before the door slid shut.
The apartment fell quiet.
Aerin locked the door and headed for the bathroom.
He stood before the mirror, rolling his shoulders, flexing his hands. His body felt… denser. Muscles firmer beneath his skin. Subtle, but unmistakably stronger.
He leaned closer, studying his reflection.
His eyes held his own gaze and didn't let go. For a moment, they seemed deeper than they should be. But just then…
A flicker. Of something red. Deep like blood colored rubies.
Heat bloomed behind his eyes, spreading fast, sharp, invasive. His breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs as though trying to escape.
"No—"
The floor rushed up to meet him.
Pain followed him, white-hot, bone-deep. It wasn't a single point but everywhere, like his blood had caught fire. Muscles seized. His spine arched as something tore itself awake inside him.
A scream clawed its way out of his throat, broken and hoarse, barely louder than a breath.
The watch on his wrist ticked. Seconds passed.
Come silence.
He gasped and dragged air into his lungs, vision swimming. He crawled, hands shaking, toward the bathtub, tearing at his clothes with frantic fingers. Fabric ripped. Buttons scattered across the tile.
He fell into the tub and twisted the dial to its coldest setting.
Water slammed down over him.
Steam hissed violently as it struck his skin, mist billowing up around him. The heat receded, slowly, reluctantly, like something sinking back beneath the surface.
Erin slumped against the porcelain, eyes closed.
For the first time since waking, his body was still. Almost peaceful.
~~~
Early afternoon light spilled between the fractured skyline as Erin stepped out onto the street.
He wore the same loose clothes as always; oversized jacket, plain shirt, worn pants—but something about the way he carried himself had changed. He reached up and pulled his hair back from his face, tying it neatly at the nape of his neck. The gesture was simple, almost absentminded, yet it revealed features most people rarely noticed: a sharper jawline, eyes no longer darting away from the world.
They were calm now. Bored, even.
Aloof.
The shy hesitation that once clung to him like a second skin had thinned. Not vanished but stretched, as if something beneath it had grown too large to be contained.
As he walked, Erin became aware of the subtle shift in his body. His steps landed with more certainty. His balance felt effortless, as though gravity itself had adjusted to him. There was weight in his presence now, a faint pressure, barely perceptible, but real.
An aura. So thin most wouldn't notice. But it was there.
He had felt it earlier, standing naked in the misted bathroom, watching steam coil around his skin. Like a caterpillar that hadn't realized its cocoon had already split.
Erin turned toward the nearest Marked training center.
He didn't take the train. Didn't call a transport. He ran.
Not a sprint, just a steady, controlled jog. His feet struck the pavement rhythmically as buildings blurred past, the wind tugging at his jacket. His breathing remained even. His heart didn't pound. Muscles moved with mechanical smoothness, consuming energy with frightening efficiency.
Ten minutes later, he slowed to a stop.
The training center rose before him; steel, glass, and reinforced barriers layered with sigils meant to contain power when things went wrong. A digital sign flickered above the entrance, listing ongoing evaluations and sparring sessions.
Distance from home: 25 km.
Erin checked his watch. He wasn't even sweating. That realization settled into him slowly.
"…Huh."
He flexed his fingers. No tremor. No strain. Just strength waiting to be used. As he stepped inside, the air changed, denser, charged with overlapping fields from dozens of Marked training within. The hum of barriers vibrated faintly in his bones.
A few heads turned. Not many. Just enough. Some felt it and didn't understand why. Others frowned, eyes lingering a fraction too long before sliding away, unsettled without knowing the cause.
Erin registered it distantly as he approached the reception terminal. His reflection flashed briefly across the polished surface of the glass.
For a moment, his gaze caught. His eyes looked darker. Deeper. Something flickered behind them but gone the instant he noticed it. Heat stirred faintly in his chest.
Not pain.
Erin exhaled slowly and placed his hand on the scanner. The twin stars on the back of his hand glowed faintly, one stable, one uneven, as if it hadn't fully decided what it was meant to be.
The terminal chimed.
MARKED INDIVIDUAL: ERIN
STATUS: UNDER OBSERVATION
ACCESS: CONDITIONAL GRANTED
The doors slid open.
As Erin stepped forward, he didn't know it yet but somewhere deep within him, something stretched awake, attentive, listening to the hum of power around it.
~~~
The training center smelled faintly of ozone and sterilizing mist.
Erin had barely stepped past the entry gate when someone called his name.
"Erin~" A singsongy voice.
He turned.
The branch manager was approaching with her usual easy stride, tablet tucked under one arm. She looked to be around twenty-five, maybe a little older, sharp-eyed, well-kept, dressed in the Bureau-issued black-gray uniform that hugged her frame just enough to be intentional.
Her name was Kaela Vire.
Kaela had always been… familiar. Too familiar. The kind of person who spoke with her hands, leaned too close, smiled like every conversation was a private joke. But she's the few who knever look down on anyone regardless the number of star.
"Well, if it isn't our most reliable half-star," she said lightly, eyes scanning him from head to toe. Her brows lifted. "Hm. Something's different."
Before Erin could respond, her fingers pressed briefly, deliberately, against the center of his chest, just above his sternum.
A test. Or habit. Erin still didn't know.
"Did you finally start sleeping properly?" she teased.
Erin stepped back half a pace, expression unchanged. "Same as always."
Kaela laughed, unbothered. "Still boring, I see."
She withdrew her hand and glanced at her tablet again, but not before giving him one last assessing look. Whatever she saw made her smile sharpen just a little. Her eyes twinkle.
"What brings you in today? Don't tell me you're here to complain about mission pay again."
"I want to use my usual training rift," Erin said.
Kaela winced. "Ah. About that—Glassfield-3 is occupied right now. A three-person squad's running calibration drills."
Erin frowned slightly. "Then I'll wait."
She shook her head. "No need. Something else just opened."
Her fingers danced across the tablet. "There's a rift one tier higher than what you usually run. Still safe. Fully Bureau-locked. Minimal anomaly bleed."
Erin hesitated.
Training rifts weren't real rifts, not entirely. They were controlled fractures tethered to the Red Planet Anomaly, siphoning just enough unstable energy to simulate threat without allowing full emergence. Dangerous enough to push a Marked. Safe enough to ensure survival.
"What level?" he asked.
Kaela turned the screen so he could see.
TRAINING RIFT DESIGNATION:
EMBER VEIL – TYPE GREEN+
RECOMMENDED CLASS: ONE-STAR MINIMUM
CLEAR TIME: 36–72 HOURS
STATUS: STABLE
She raised a brow. "Technically above your clearance as of now."
Erin looked at the screen, then at the faint itching on the back of his hand.
"I want to try."
Kaela studied him more seriously now. She tapped a few keys, pulling up his updated profile. Her eyes paused when she saw the double-star symbol, one dim, one unstable.
"…You've been busy I see," she murmured.
"Will you approve it then?" Erin asked.
Kaela exhaled slowly, then smiled again, less playful this time.
"I shouldn't," she said. "But the Bureau's still observing you anyway. Worst case, the system force-ejects you."
She pressed her thumb to the tablet.
"Approval granted. Try not to die. It's paperwork I don't need."
Erin nodded. "Thank you."
"Floor -7," Kaela added. "Near the end of the complex. And Erin?"
He paused.
"Don't push too hard," she said softly. "Sometimes when people change too fast… it's not growth."
He didn't reply.
The deeper levels of the training center were quieter.
The further Erin walked, the thicker the reinforced walls became, layered with sigils, Bureau seals, and dimensional anchors that hummed faintly under his skin. Other Marked passed him occasionally—some in teams, others alone—but fewer the deeper he went
Floor -10 housed the most dangerous training rifts.
Floor -7 was close enough to feel them breathe.
At the far end of the corridor, a massive circular gate loomed, its surface rippling like heated glass. Crimson veins pulsed faintly beneath the translucent barrier, responding to something far away, something massive and unmoving.
A placard glowed beside it:
EMBER VEIL
Simulated Collapse Environment
Reality Integrity: 92%
Erin stood before it.
His reflection wavered on the surface, leaner, sharper than he remembered. His eyes looked darker now. Deeper.
The Mark on his hand itched again.
Not painfully.
Expectantly.
He stepped forward.
The gate opened without resistance.