Into the Lion's Den

The air was thick with tension.

Kael sat on the edge of a worn-out wooden crate, flipping through a set of stolen documents. Dim light flickered above, casting long shadows along the damp walls of their hideout. Across from him, Ronan paced back and forth, arms crossed, his frustration evident in the sharp, restless movements.

"This is insane," Ronan muttered. "Breaking into a place run by Dominion users? Suicidal doesn't even cover it."

Kael didn't respond immediately. His mind was locked onto the pages before him—sketched blueprints, security patterns, and a rough outline of the facility's interior. The broker's information had been thorough, but there were still gaps. Gaps that could kill them if they weren't careful.

"We don't have a choice," Kael finally said, voice steady.

Ronan stopped pacing, turning to him with a scowl. "Yes, we do. We always do. And maybe, just maybe, the smart choice is not charging straight into the lion's den."

Kael met his gaze. "Then what? Run forever? Hide in alleyways until someone else decides my fate?" He shook his head.

"No. We need answers. If we don't know what we're up against, we're already dead."

Ronan let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He was tense—Kael could see it in the way his fingers curled into his palm, the way his usual careless demeanor had vanished. But beneath the frustration, there was understanding.

"...Fine," Ronan muttered, grabbing one of the documents. "But if we die, I'm haunting you."

Kael smirked faintly. "Noted."

They finalized the plan—routes in and out, potential security measures, and, most importantly, disguises. A pair of stolen uniforms, slightly worn but still intact, lay on the table. Alongside them were forged identification cards, courtesy of the broker.

They weren't perfect, but with the right confidence, they would hold up long enough.

Neither of them mentioned what would happen if they didn't.

The facility was nothing remarkable at first glance.

An unassuming building tucked between administrative centers, its exterior was plain—gray walls, glass windows, a metal security gate. People passed by without sparing it a second look. To the ordinary observer, it was just another records office.

But Kael knew better.

The moment they stepped inside, something felt wrong.

It was subtle at first—a pressure in the air, an unnatural stillness. The walls felt too clean, the lighting too precise. The quiet was absolute.

Kael adjusted his stolen uniform, keeping his expression neutral. Ronan did the same beside him, though his shoulders were visibly tense.

"Keep moving," Kael murmured.

They walked through the checkpoint without issue, their forged IDs scanning through without an alarm. The receptionist barely glanced at them before waving them forward.

But the further they went, the worse the feeling became.

Kael's vision flickered. For a split second, the hallway in front of him warped—the walls stretching impossibly far, the lights above twisting into spirals of color. A blink, and it was gone.

He inhaled sharply.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who saw that,"

Ronan whispered under his breath.

Kael didn't answer. He just kept walking.

They weren't alone.

Kael could feel them before he even saw them.

A slow, creeping sensation crawled up his spine—an invisible force pressing down on him like unseen hands. It was different from Elias. Less suffocating, but no less wrong.

Then they appeared.

A group of guards, stationed at key points along the hallway. They weren't normal. Kael didn't need to see their powers to know that.

It was in the way they stood—absolute confidence, as if they knew nothing could touch them.

One of them turned, eyes locking onto Kael's.

For a moment, Kael's vision fractured. His entire body felt as if it were unraveling—his skin peeling away, muscles separating, bones breaking apart into endless pieces.

He forced himself to keep moving. To ignore it.

Ronan's voice was low. "I hate this place."

Kael couldn't argue.

The archive was vast.

Rows upon rows of shelves stretched deep into the chamber, filled with folders, documents, and handwritten notes. Some files were old, their pages yellowed and fragile. Others were pristine, sealed in reinforced casings.

"This is more than just record-keeping,"

Ronan muttered, scanning the room. "This is control."

Kael didn't respond. He was already searching.

It took time. Too much time. Every moment spent here was another chance at discovery, another step closer to exposure. But then—

His fingers froze.

A single file, tucked between others, its label barely visible. His heart pounded as he pulled it free.

One word stood out among the redacted text: Aetheris.

Kael's breath caught in his throat.

His hand clenched around the file, but before he could open it—

Ronan stiffened. "Kael."

Kael turned. Ronan was staring at a locked cabinet on the far end of the room.

A single note was attached to it.

Restricted—Do not open under any circumstances.

Kael's mark burned.

Before he could react, an alarm blared.

The walls shifted.

The very air bent, distorting space itself.

Kael's balance faltered—his body felt wrong, as if he was being pulled in different directions all at once.

Footsteps echoed. Slow. Measured.

Then a voice.

"You really shouldn't be here."

A figure stepped into view.

They weren't particularly large or imposing.

But their presence—it filled the room, suffocating in its quiet authority.

Kael recognized this feeling. Not the same as Elias, but similar.

Another Dominion user.

"Dominion of Restraint," Ronan whispered.

The air grew heavier. Kael tried to move—his body refused.

The figure took another step. "You should have stayed in the dark."

Kael clenched his teeth, every instinct screaming.

For the first time, they weren't just running.

They were fighting for their survival.