Chapter 5:Cracks in the Flame

The CPOA transport tore through the rain-choked skies, a black arrow slicing toward the belly of Gravemarch. Inside, Eleanor strapped herself in as the transport descended with a groan of old engines and nervous tension.

"He's been offline for forty minutes," she muttered, scrolling through the scrambled telemetry from Mike's suit. "That's not a comms issue. That's deliberate silence."

Lucas checked his sidearm. "You think he's hurt?"

"No," she said coldly. "I think something found him before we did."

The Arrival

Gravemarch didn't welcome visitors.

Their boots splashed into puddles of rainwater mixed with oil and blood as they stepped off the transport. Civilians watched from broken windows, wide-eyed and silent.

The alley Mike entered looked abandoned—but the tracker pinged faintly.

"This is the place."

Lucas found the old stairwell and the hatch beneath it. "There's radiation residue. Something was active here. Recently."

Eleanor hesitated. "Guns up."

They pushed through the door—and immediately gagged.

The air was thick with decay and old ritual. Eleanor's light swept over the walls, illuminating ancient symbols still pulsing with eerie life.

Then—she found him.

Mike sat slumped near the altar, breathing heavily, shirt soaked in sweat. His eyes glowed faintly orange… then dimmed.

"Mike!"

He flinched. Looked at her like he'd seen a ghost.

"You shouldn't be here," he said hoarsely.

"We're not leaving without answers."

The Confrontation

They dragged him into the light of a nearby corridor.

Eleanor knelt. "Talk. Now."

Mike shook his head slowly. "It's not that simple."

"You disappeared off grid and walked into a dead cult shrine. You're glowing. And you're sweating flames. What part of this is supposed to be simple?"

Mike met her gaze. His voice trembled. "I saw things. Felt things. It… it knew me."

Lucas frowned. "What knew you?"

"The Hive."

Silence.

Eleanor leaned back slightly. "That's impossible. Hive activity hasn't been seen in over two decades."

"They didn't go extinct," Mike whispered. "They went quiet. They were waiting."

The Briefing

Back at the Gravemarch outpost, Eleanor reviewed footage from Mike's suit. Most of it was corrupted—distorted by electromagnetic interference and heat bursts far above human norms.

But a few frames survived.

A blurred humanoid shape. Three glowing eyes. And glyphs flaring to life as Mike approached the altar.

Lucas watched in silence.

"This thing didn't kill him," he said finally. "It spoke to him."

Eleanor stood, arms crossed. "He's hiding something. Something big."

Lucas glanced at her. "You think he's infected?"

"I think," she said slowly, "he might not be who we thought he was."

The Flameburn

Later that night, Mike stood alone in the outpost infirmary.

He pulled off his shirt.

There—across his chest—was a glowing sigil. A burning spiral framed in wings.

The same symbol from his vision. From the battlefield. From the altar.

He reached out to touch it. It burned hot—but didn't hurt.

Instead, it welcomed him.

Then, a whisper echoed again:

"You will awaken. You will lead. And when the world burns again… they will follow the flame."

Mike didn't sleep that night.