Chapter 10 The Sun Beneath My Skin

"Right this way! No dawdling!" Pom-Pom called out, arms swinging with authority as they bounced down the train's hallway. The conductor's tiny hat tilted slightly with each enthusiastic step.

Ethan followed with a slow glance around. The corridors were polished chrome and deep mahogany, soft lighting catching on railings and window frames. It felt less like a ship and more like a home that happened to move between galaxies.

Stelle, a half-step ahead, was still grinning from the emotional send-off. "I still can't believe March tackled us," she said, nudging Ethan's shoulder.

"She did say she wanted a sister," Ethan replied. "Guess you're it now."

"Better than being the 'little twerp' Herta wanted to dissect."

Pom-Pom didn't look back. "You two sure talk a lot for new passengers. Here we are!"

The hallway opened into a pair of cozy rooms nestled across from one another, each with a window view of the stars streaking by. Ethan's room had a small desk, a bunk with neatly folded linens, and—he blinked—a tiny nightstand where the bobblehead he'd picked up earlier now sat, wobbling solemnly.

"Huh," he muttered. "They already unpacked him."

Stelle peeked in. "Looks like he beat you to the welcome mat."

Pom-Pom puffed up proudly. "We strive for hospitality aboard the Express. If you need anything—except a raise—you can find me in the conductor's car!"

"Noted," Ethan said with a slight grin.

As Pom-Pom waddled off, Stelle turned and gave Ethan a small wave. "I'll see you in the morning, unless we sneak off to find where Himeko hides the good tea."

Ethan gave a mock salute, but as she closed her door, his face dropped slightly. The weight of stillness settled in.

There were no fires, no orders, no countdowns. Just stars outside his window—and a body full of solar fire he barely understood.

The stars hadn't changed, but everything else had.

Ethan sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, flipping the golden coin between his fingers. Smooth and whole, it caught the low light like it was swallowing starlight. No cracks. Just potential.

The Express had settled into sleep. Stelle was out cold, her bobblehead nodding along with the train's subtle hum. March had finally stopped snapping photos after Pom-Pom's third warning. Dan Heng disappeared quietly, as he always did. Even Pom-Pom had called it a night.

But Ethan hadn't moved.

Not until now.

He rose without a sound and slipped into the corridor, padded past the lounge, and kept going—through quiet, dim-lit cars, until he found one near the rear of the train. Storage, maybe. Or an unused cargo bay. Open, cool, empty.

He stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"This'll do," he murmured.

he leaned against it for a second, listening. Nothing but the low hum of the Express around him. He exhaled and moved forward, boots echoing against the metal floor, past crates and tool racks until he reached an open spot wide enough to breathe in.

He slipped the coin from around his neck, holding it up in the faint blue lighting. It gleamed gold—untouched, indestructible. Uncracked.

He turned it over in his fingers, watching the reflections shift. "Alright," he muttered. "Time to stop pretending I don't care."

He'd used the power—flashes of it, raw and terrifying. He'd blinked from place to place, left bursts of heat behind every step. He'd landed hits that knocked enemies back with force he didn't fully understand. He'd raised shields without thinking, and once—just once—he'd poured everything he had into a punch that had made the world burn like dawn.

But none of it was control. It was reflex. Desperation. Luck.

He flipped the coin again.

The problem wasn't the energy. He could feel that clearly now. The power answered when he called. It surged when he fought. It protected him when he was cornered.

The problem… was his body.

It wasn't ready. Every time he pushed too far, it burned. His skin cracked under the strain. Heat pulsed through his bones like lightning, and even when the light healed the wounds afterward, the pain lingered. Like a warning. Like a cost.

Ethan stared at the coin resting in his palm. The golden surface pulsed faintly—like it was breathing with him.

"Fine," he said softly. "If I'm keeping you, we better learn how to live together."

He stepped back, took a stance, and began.

The bay was silent except for the faint metallic hum of the Express around him. Ethan held the coin tighter. "Why don't I try that move again," he murmured. "The one where I blinked."

He focused on a spot across the room. Not far. Just enough to test it.

The power surged beneath his skin before he even gave it shape—warm, immediate, impatient.

Then he stepped.

A crack of golden light burst out—like a solar flare in miniature—as he vanished and reappeared several meters away in the blink of an eye. The afterimage of his movement lingered like a shimmer in the air, and the heat from the movement left the spot behind him scorched and smoking.

He staggered slightly on landing, catching himself on a crate.

"Okay…" he muttered, breath catching in his throat.

The strain hit right after: a sharp pressure behind his eyes, a wave of heat rolling up his spine, and a stabbing sensation in his legs—like his joints had briefly tried to liquefy under pressure. His pulse raced, and sweat broke instantly across his brow.

He looked down at his hand. Tiny flickers of golden energy still danced across his fingers.

Fast. Efficient. Lethal in motion.

But it hurt.

Not enough to drop him, not yet—but if he did it again, and again, without rest…

He exhaled, slow and shaky, and stood fully upright.

"Guess it's not free," he said quietly.

He clenched his jaw and glanced to the far wall of the bay—farther this time. A flicker of defiance stirred in his chest, crackling just beneath his ribs like sunfire waiting to burst.

"Again," he muttered.

The coin grew hot in his grip.

He focused. Visualized. Moved.

Another flash—brighter, hotter. This time the landing wasn't clean. He hit the ground on one knee, skidding a little as a harsh jolt rocked through his spine and down his right leg. His vision ghosted at the edges, and for a split second, he swore the air smelled like scorched copper.

His breath came ragged.

His body wasn't built for this. Not yet.

It wasn't the power—it never was. That came freely, too freely, like the sun never asking permission to rise. The problem was his body: human, fragile, breakable. Each burst of speed bent it further toward a threshold he hadn't defined yet. He hadn't broken it—yet—but it creaked beneath the pressure.

And when he used too much, when the coin fed too much light through him at once, he didn't just feel it.

He burned.

His skin would crack and glow, his muscles tearing like sun-scorched cloth—but it would always heal. Slowly. Painfully. But it did.

He flexed his fingers. His bones ached. There were pinpricks of light beneath his skin that hadn't been there before.

"Not bad," he whispered, standing again, even as his knees threatened to betray him. "Not good, either."

But it was a start.

Ethan wiped the sweat from his brow, steadied his breath, and picked the farthest wall in the bay—ten meters, maybe more. His heart thudded like a war drum now, each beat a warning. But he ignored it.

Just once more.

He locked in the spot, felt the coin's heat bloom in his palm, and—

Flash.

He reappeared in a burst of golden shimmer, slamming into a storage crate as the landing overcorrected. His feet staggered, then buckled. This time, the pain came late.

And then all at once.

A wave of nausea crashed over him like a tide. He dropped to his knees, one hand braced on cold metal, the other clutching the coin like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The world blurred, then spun, his breath caught in shallow stutters as heat crawled up his spine and pooled at the base of his skull.

Three minutes passed in fire and fog.

Then, like a flicked switch, the sickness drained away. His vision cleared. His body trembled, but held.

He groaned and leaned against the crate. "Okay... ten meters," he rasped. "Definitely the max for now."

He let his head fall back with a tired grin.

"Two flickers," he decided. "That's the safe bet."

He opened his palm. The coin had cooled again, faintly pulsing with its soft, golden light.

"Solar Flare Step," he whispered, naming it for the first time. "Nice, flashy... painful as hell."

But his grin widened. Not from ego—this wasn't triumph. It was the first step of understanding. Of control.

Ethan pushed himself upright, body still buzzing from the aftermath of the teleport. He flexed his fingers, watching as faint traces of gold flickered just beneath his skin—like sunlight trapped in veins.

His eyes dropped to the coin again.

He widened his stance and focused, calling the heat from within. The air around his arm began to shimmer. His fist clenched, and he felt the familiar build-up—like a sun about to burst from his knuckles. The pressure gathered quickly, solar power lacing up his arm in coils of invisible heat.

Then—

Click.

The soft hiss of a door sliding open broke the silence.

Ethan spun, the glow vanishing in an instant.

Welt Yang stood in the doorway, calm as always, one hand behind his back, the other holding a mug that smelled faintly of oolong tea.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here," he said mildly, stepping inside. His gaze moved over the crates, the slight scorch marks, and finally landed on Ethan's flushed face and clenched fist. "Midnight training, hmm?"

Ethan straightened, trying to look less like he'd just been caught setting fire to himself. "Couldn't sleep."

Welt nodded, unbothered. "So you decided to start vaporizing the cargo bay."

"Just testing," Ethan muttered. "Trying to figure out what this is." He lifted the coin slightly. "Or… who I'm supposed to be with it."

Welt walked over and placed his tea down on a crate beside him. "Then maybe it's time someone helped you understand what you're working with."

Ethan blinked. "You're not gonna stop me?"

"On the contrary," Welt said, stepping farther into the room with quiet certainty. "I'd rather you train with guidance than in secret."

He reached for his cane and tapped it lightly against the floor.

A soft hum answered.

In an instant, reddish-purple energy swept outward like a slow-motion ripple across water. It curled up the walls, pooled over the floor, then arced overhead—forming a shimmering dome of translucent light. The once-plain cargo bay now pulsed with protective force, like they stood inside a sealed dimension.

Ethan took a step back, eyes wide. "Whoa."

"This energy will absorb the shock," Welt said calmly. "No matter what you unleash, the Express won't feel a thing."

He gestured toward the center of the chamber. "Now, do it again. That move you were charging. I want to observe something."

Ethan hesitated, then nodded and took a breath.

The heat returned fast—quicker than before. It coiled through his muscles, trailing up his arm like liquid gold pulled from a forge. The glow started in his palm and built upward, forming into a volatile halo of energy just above his knuckles.

Welt stepped closer, the light reflecting in his glasses. "Golden," he murmured, "but the heat… it's intense. That's not just flare—it's fusion-level output."

He tilted his head, studying Ethan's arm like a scientist admiring a star fragment. "Fascinating. It's solar, but it's not wild. It's focused. You don't pull from chaos—you are the core. That kind of power usually overwhelms a person, but… it fits you."

Ethan blinked, the glow wavering for a moment. "Fits me?"

Welt nodded, smiling faintly. "Golden eyes. A steady will. And your last name—Sol. 'Sun.' It's not subtle."

Ethan let out a quiet, shaky laugh, sweat already forming on his brow. "So what now?"

"Now," Welt said, stepping back and giving him space, "you learn to carry it without burning."