The Mask of a Savior

The screen faded into a press room awash in sterile white and pale blue, the Academy's emblem gleaming subtly on the wall behind the podium.

Cameras clicked softly.

The crowd hushed.

And then, he stepped forward.

Dr. Sylas Varin.

Founder. Visionary.

The mind behind containment.

To the world, he was a savior. A genius.

A necessary mind in unstable times.

To those watching from the cluttered living room, he was something else entirely.

"Good morning," he began, voice steady. "I won't take much of your time."

Then, he smiled faintly, his eyes calm. Too calm.

"First, let me extend my condolences to the families affected by recent events. No parent should have to bury a child. No classroom should become a battleground. The pain we have all felt these last two days is undeniable."

A pause. Just long enough.

"But pain alone cannot guide a nation."

He stepped closer to the podium, hands folded, expression sharpened by sincerity. Or what looked like it.

"There has been much... noise. Much confusion. Protests. Blame. Fear. And among it, dangerous narratives have begun to circulate. That the Academies are crumbling. That we are losing control. That the marked are rising." He let that word hang just a second too long. "Let me assure you: we are not."

The cameras zoomed in. His gaze never wavered.

"We are adapting."

A flicker of something colder beneath his voice.

A chill tucked behind the civility.

"The world is changing. Rapidly. And with that change, mistakes happen. Gaps appear. Even in systems as precise as ours. We regret these gaps. We mourn what slipped through. But we do not abandon the structure that has protected you for years."

His fingers tapped once on the podium.

"It is easy to forget why the Academies were built. Why containment was necessary. History blurs when comfort is taken for granted. But let me remind you: the marked are not born dangerous; but they are unstable. The power inside them does not negotiate. It does not discriminate. It fractures. It bleeds. And when it does, people die."

Enor's breath hitched.

That line landed sharp and heavy, like a verdict already written.

She didn't know him, had never met him, but now, she was sure: this was the kind of man who could smile while building a prison and call it sanctuary.

"I will not demonize them. But I will not glorify them either. They are not martyrs. They are not monsters. They are anomalies. And anomalies must be studied, trained, restrained. For their sake. For yours."

The calm in his voice was surgical. Emotionless, yet persuasive.

"To those who have begun aiding marked fugitives under some misguided sense of rebellion or empathy, you endanger not only your own lives, but the lives of every child sitting in a classroom, every worker walking home, every elder trying to sleep through the night without fear."

A cold, invisible thread wrapped around Enor's spine.

There it was.

The threat, buried like a blade in velvet.

Her eyes shifted.

First, cautiously, to the grandfather, whose eyes were still fixed, unmoving, on the screen. Then to Ar, frozen in place. Still. Silent.

And finally to Cedrik.

He was already looking at her.

And before she could place the look in his eyes, her heart began to pound.

She looked away.

"He's not regretting bringing me here... is he?"

"Some of these fugitives are forming groups," Sylas continued. "Moving as units. Not frightened runaways, but... coordinated. Hiding in shadows, feeding each other dangerous hope. To those who would shelter them: the law is clear. And our reach is long."

Enor swallowed hard. He knows.

She didn't know how or how much, but he knew people were helping. And he was drawing his circle quietly around them.

He let the silence thicken.

Then, softer: "This is not a threat. This is a reminder."

That smile again. Empty of warmth.

"We are not your enemy. We are your wall. Your shield. Your order in a world where chaos grows teeth."

And then, as if all of it had been a gentle reassurance, he stepped back, nodded once to the cameras, and walked away.

Not a hair out of place.

Not a single word wasted.

And in the silence that followed, Ar's breathing had turned ragged.

Cedrik noticed.

But Ar reeled it back quickly. One blink. One breath.

He leaned back slowly, the tension barely receding, but just enough to keep his fury buried where it couldn't burn through the floor.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "I was just... listening."

It was the answer he gave Cedrik's concerned gaze.

But his attempt to brush it off wasn't enough to brush Enor's curiosity away.

She had seen it.

Just for a second, the mask had cracked. And whatever lived beneath it wasn't just anger at a broken system.

It was personal.

Ancient and vicious.

The grandfather, meanwhile, hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.

"...Varin," he murmured. "He almost never showed his face. I worked inside for years and saw him only twice. And now he steps forward like this?"

A beat.

"That's not just a public address. That's a power play."

Cedrik glanced again at Ar, whose eyes were still locked on the screen.

"He's trying to provoke people," Cedrik said. "Trying to scare them back into obedience."

"Or remind them who built the walls they sleep behind," the grandfather muttered.

Enor kept listening in silence, cold realization seeping in like a slow leak.

Now she understood.

This was the kind of mind the Academy's system had grown beneath.

The kind that could speak of empathy while issuing silent death sentences.

The kind that could wear the mask of a savior while holding the world's leash in one hand and its muzzle in the other.

"We should start." The grandfather said snapping her out of her thoughts.

She blinked. "Start…?"

"The tests," he said, already pushing off the couch and heading toward the lab area.

"We agreed last night. Best not to delay."

"I'll assist!" Cedrik chimed in, springing to his feet and pressing down on Ar's shoulders with mock seriousness.

"Just let go, idiot," Ar hissed, swatting his hands away.

There wasn't much force behind it, just habit, tired and frayed.

Cedrik grinned, entirely unbothered. "Oh my god, I'm so sorryyy~ Can't risk you losing your temper now, darling~"

Ar rolled his eyes hard enough to shake the air. "I will kill you."

"Mm, romantic," Cedrik sighed, already trailing after the grandfather.

Enor didn't mean to find it funny. She really didn't.

But the crook tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her before she could wipe it away. She quickly looked down, hiding it with a small shake of her head.

Idiots.

Somehow, they made it easier to breathe.

She followed Cedrik and the grandfather toward the lab, steps light despite the weight still curled in her chest.

And as they walked, the hallway started giving way to something far less domestic.

The walls cooled into concrete, lights softened to a humming blue, and the scent shifted, less dust, more metal, more… sterilized intent.

The lab buzzed with quiet life.

Enor's eyes drifted across the room, catching the glint of metal tucked under cloth, a strange box half-buried beneath loose sketches, a shelf where glowing vials pulsed faintly in the dark like captive stars.

Some were tagged with symbols she didn't recognize.

Others were marked with names. Not hers.

None of it looked abandoned.

If anything, it felt active. Used. Maintained. Like a place that hadn't stopped working, just quietly changed its mission.

The grandfather moved like someone who belonged there. Confident, precise.

And Cedrik?

He looked at home.

His eyes gleamed as he took it all in, every machine, every cluttered table.

The thrill didn't come from novelty, it came from recognition.

He certainly had been here before and many times.

"This place..." Enor murmured.

The grandfather didn't pause. "Old habits die hard."

She didn't press further. Not yet. But the realization whispered beneath her skin:

this lab wasn't just a memory of the past,

it was a weapon being sharpened in secret.

Behind them, the silence in the living room lingered like a shadow.

Ar hadn't followed.

And no one called him.

As she stepped forward into the soft hum of machines and quietly glowing glass, Enor inhaled deeply.

Whatever answers waited inside this room, they would come wrapped in smoke and sealed with old secrets.

But they were hers to face now...