No longer... but now..

The devastation was... absolute. 

Twisted metal. Cracked walls. Fractured support beams. The center of the containment wing had caved in, and a cloud of melted insulation clung to the scorched air. Emergency drones buzzed about in frantic loops, trying to contain what was left of the explosion zone. 

And in the middle of it all… was him. 

The child. 

No longer screaming, no longer flaring with chaos. 

Just breathing. 

Curled in on himself. 

Silent. 

Kneeling just outside the new crater, Noen stared down at the boy. Her heart pounded against her chest, her throat dry. She'd never seen his energy do this. Not even during his early instability. 

He wasn't just powerful. 

He was unraveling. 

She took a hesitant step forward. The heat had faded, but the air still shimmered with residual ki—energy not of one race, but many, colliding and mingling like a nebula trying to find form. 

"...Anomaly," she whispered. 

He flinched. 

The ki twitched violently again. 

Noen's face tightened. That word—it hurt him now. She knew that. She'd made it hurt. 

She stepped into the crater anyway. 

Every instinct told her to stay back. 

She ignored them. 

One step at a time, she moved toward the boy, her boots crunching over shards of broken tile and wiring. Finally, she knelt just behind him. 

He didn't look up. Just sat there, small shoulders trembling, fists balled in his lap. 

"I'm sorry." 

His body tensed again, but he didn't speak. 

"I wasn't thinking," she said, her voice soft. "You've been asking for so long, and we treated it like… like it didn't matter. But it does. To you. And it should have to us too." 

Still silence. 

Noen's gaze softened. 

"You deserve more than a label." 

She reached out gently, hand brushing over his shoulder. 

"How about… Mori?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means 'child of starlight' in one of our old tongues." 

The boy slowly turned his head, wide eyes shimmering with leftover tears. 

"M…Mori?" 

She smiled. "Yeah. It sounds better than 'specimen zero,' doesn't it?" 

He blinked. 

And for the first time in days, a smile bloomed across his face. A real one. Gentle, pure, and soaked in relief. 

"I like that…" 

And with that, the storm inside him calmed. The pressure dropped. The chaotic mix of energies faded like a tide retreating from shore. 

A soft, radiant light rose from his small frame—this time not in rage or pain. 

But joy. 

The ki that pulsed from his body now was warm. Comforting. Like a song made of sunlight and laughter. The facility's damaged systems hummed in strange harmony with it. Several nearby drones rebooted themselves without external input. 

Then, softly, his eyes fluttered closed. 

And he collapsed forward—fast asleep. 

Observation Deck, Two Hours Later 

"He's stable now," Juil said, voice low as the team reviewed the data. "Vitals normal. No sign of a second surge." 

The screen displayed a slow, rhythmic pulse of glowing ki emanating from the boy—no, Mori—as he lay asleep beneath the protective dome of the medbay. 

"That… wasn't a normal outburst," Kirel muttered. 

"No," Juil agreed. "It was emotional. A reaction to identity trauma. We've been treating him like a project… and he's not." 

Kirel crossed his arms, jaw tense. "We knew he was unique. But this… the ki he released? It healed the surrounding area. It even corrected several malfunctions. I don't think that was a side effect." 

"You think it was intentional?" Noen asked. 

"I think," Kirel said slowly, "it was instinct." 

The room fell quiet. 

Kirel looked at the display again. "He's not just a collection of races and powers. He's something more… something that doesn't fit into any category." 

"He's a child," Noen added softly. "One that just wanted a name." 

Elsewhere... 

In the silence of space, the Big Gete Star's dormant probe flickered again. 

Its analysis updated. 

Ki reading: Stable. Benevolent. Reactive to emotional cues. 

Potential: Beyond current estimation. 

Subject identified as Mori. 

Query logged. 

Projected trajectory: Monitor until full maturation. 

Estimated value to assimilation: Maximum. 

The star's core dimmed… but the process had already begun. 

The boy had a name now. 

And names carried weight.