Season 1 - Chapter 5: A Stranger in His Own Skin

"Welcome back, sir."

Henry's voice was calm, composed as ever, as Elias stepped into the penthouse.

He looked... normal. Not a single scar. Not a single bruise. His suit was clean. His watch still ticked. But everything inside Elias felt wrong.

"Where was I?" Elias asked, tossing the car keys on the counter. His tone was casual, but his eyes lingered on Henry for a beat too long.

Henry didn't flinch. "You left for Monaco three days ago. You don't remember?"

Elias blinked. "Right. Monaco..."

A lie. Both of them knew it.

Henry turned and poured him a drink. "You seem different."

Elias laughed softly, but there was no warmth. "I feel different."

He took the glass and sipped it, eyes scanning the room like a predator. He didn't even realize it at first, but his senses were sharper. He could hear the elevator humming thirty floors down. He could smell the faint cologne Henry wore—one drop too strong. He could sense where every shadow in the room would fall if the lights went out.

He was Elias.

But he was also something else.

Something trained.

Something... lethal.

—

That night, sleep didn't come.

He stared at the ceiling, visions flashing again—kill shots, blades, missions gone wrong. A name kept surfacing in his dreams.

Obsidian.

And a symbol—a black circle with a jagged vertical crack through it. He drew it on a napkin without realizing.

The next morning, Elias showed up to a private gym he hadn't visited in months. Alone.

He hit the bag.

Once.

Twice.

And then it exploded beneath his fists.

His knuckles bled, but he kept going. Left hook. Elbow. Knee. Parry. Slip. Counter.

He knew things. His body knew things.

The trainers watched from afar, whispering.

Something was changing.

—

Later, at a charity gala, Elias arrived in a perfectly tailored suit, hair slicked back, champagne in hand. The usual crowd flocked to him.

He smiled. He laughed.

But behind his eyes, something else watched.

He scanned the room.

Security flaws. Exit routes. Potential threats. The woman on the balcony hiding a blade in her purse. The man near the bar—military stance, concealed carry, eyes too alert.

Elias was blending in.

But Silas was watching.

—

As the chapter closes, Henry quietly enters his private study.

He opens a drawer.

Inside: a photo of Elias and Silas—two identical faces, years apart.

And under it, an Obsidian Order file. Marked:

"Silas: Deceased. Elias: Active?"

Henry sighs.

"They're not ready for what's coming..."