Shadows of the Past

Caden's boots struck the cold, uneven floor of the warehouse, their echo ricocheting off the steel walls. The dim light from the fractured skylight painted jagged patterns across the space, throwing shifting shadows into every corner. The air carried the damp, metallic tang of rust and mildew—a scent that clung to him, as oppressive as the memories he couldn't quite grasp.

In his hands was the manila folder Lucas had shoved at him just hours earlier. It looked ordinary enough, but to Caden, it weighed as if the secrets inside were carved from lead. His knuckles whitened as he gripped it tighter, hesitant to open it, terrified of what he might find.

Leaning against a rusted steel beam, Lucas studied him with an unyielding gaze. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes betrayed something sharper—something urgent.

"That folder has everything we could dig up about you," Lucas said finally, his tone neutral. "At least everything The Circle didn't manage to erase."

Caden turned the folder in his hands, the edges curling under his thumb. "And if I don't want to know?" His voice came out low, almost a growl.

Lucas's jaw tightened, but his reply was calm. "You do. You just don't want to admit it. The not knowing is killing you, Caden. Every time Ares takes over, every time you hesitate, it's because you don't know who you are or why this is happening. You're fighting ghosts, and one day, those ghosts will get you killed."

Caden flinched but didn't respond. The truth in Lucas's words settled heavily in his chest, though he didn't want to acknowledge it. For weeks, he had been running—fighting to survive on scraps of memories and instincts that didn't feel entirely his. And always, lurking in the back of his mind, was Ares: a voice that was both familiar and alien, speaking in riddles and mocking him at every turn.

"Open it," Ares purred, his voice curling like smoke in Caden's mind. "Or are you too afraid of what you'll find, little soldier?"

"Shut up," Caden muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Lucas raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was used to these moments by now.

With a resigned sigh, Caden slid his thumb under the clasp and opened the folder. The first page inside held a grainy black-and-white photograph, slightly warped at the edges. It depicted a team of operatives in tactical gear, standing shoulder to shoulder. Each of them bore The Circle's serpent insignia on their armor. In the middle of the group stood a man who looked just like him—sharper features, a more confident stance, but undeniably him.

"That's you," Lucas said, nodding toward the figure in the photo. "Taken seven years ago. You were part of The Circle's elite strike team. This shot was from a mission in Eastern Europe. The specifics are redacted, but the mission was... important. Critical, even."

Caden's breath hitched as he stared at the photo. He didn't recognize the faces of the people around him, but the man in the middle—the man who was supposed to be him—was strikingly familiar. And yet, there was a hardness in the eyes, a sharpness in the posture that Caden didn't see in himself now.

"That can't be me," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

"It is," Lucas insisted. "Or, at least, it was. The Circle wiped your memories, but they couldn't erase everything."

---

Seven Years Ago

The memory struck like lightning, dragging Caden into a whirlwind of images and sensations. He was restrained, his arms pinned to his sides by cold, metal cuffs. The sterile room around him was blindingly white, its walls lined with monitors displaying streams of incomprehensible data. Figures in lab coats moved methodically, their faces obscured by masks.

"You've been chosen," one of them said, their tone clinical and detached.

Caden struggled against his restraints, his heart pounding in his chest. "Chosen for what?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

"For greatness," the figure replied simply. "The Codex requires a host, and you've been deemed resilient enough to survive the process."

The words sent a chill racing down his spine, but he didn't have time to protest. Pain erupted in his skull, sharp and overwhelming, as if his mind were being split in two. He screamed, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls, but the figures didn't flinch.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the serpent insignia emblazoned on the far wall, its crimson eyes gleaming like embers.

---

Caden staggered back into the present, his breathing shallow and erratic. The memory was fragmented and jagged, but it felt too vivid, too visceral to be anything but real.

"They... they experimented on me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They put something in my head."

Lucas nodded, his expression grim. "They didn't just experiment on you—they created you. The Caden Hart who existed before The Circle is gone. They erased him and replaced him with... whatever you are now."

Caden's grip on the folder tightened, the paper crumpling under his fingers. "Why? Why go to all this trouble?"

Lucas hesitated, then spoke. "Because of the Codex. It's more than an artifact. It's... ancient, powerful, and alive in ways we don't fully understand. The Circle needed someone who could handle its influence without being consumed by it."

"They needed me," Ares interjected, his tone smug. "And they got more than they bargained for."

Caden closed his eyes, trying to drown out the voice. "If they made me, why are they hunting me now?"

"Because you started asking questions," Lucas said. "You wanted to know the truth about the Codex—what it is, what it does, and what The Circle's real plans are. They couldn't let you get too far, so they tried to eliminate you."

"And they failed," Caden said bitterly.

"Barely," Lucas added. "But they're not done. You're the only one who can unlock the Codex's full potential. Without you, it's just... dormant."

---

Later That Night

The warehouse was silent save for the distant drip of water from a rusted pipe. Caden sat cross-legged in the corner, the open folder lying beside him. The broken mirror on the wall reflected fragments of his face, distorted and warped, much like his memories.

"You've known all of this," he said aloud, his voice steady but cold. "Haven't you?"

"Since the beginning", Ares replied smoothly. "I was there when they carved you from stone and filled your veins with fire. I saw everything they did to you, to us."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you weren't ready". Ares's voice was almost playful. "And because watching you stumble in the dark is far more entertaining."

Caden's fist slammed into the wall, the plaster cracking beneath the force. His body trembled, but he wasn't sure if it was from rage or despair. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the fragments of truth he now held.

Rhea's voice echoed in his mind, distant but clear: "You're more than just a pawn, Caden. But only if you're willing to take control."

Control. The word felt impossible, almost laughable. How could he seize control when every piece of himself was fractured and incomplete? But as much as he wanted to give up, he knew he couldn't. If he didn't take control, someone—or something—else would.

Taking a deep breath, Caden rose to his feet, his gaze hardening. "I'll figure this out," he muttered to himself. "Piece by piece."

From the recesses of his mind, Ares chuckled softly. "Good luck, little soldier. You're going to need it."