Faint Sparks

The soft hum of machines filled the lab, punctuated by the occasional beep of monitors.

The room was cool and clinical, but not cold, a place of focus and precision.

Enor sat in the examination chair, her fingers curled loosely around the armrests. Across from her, the grandfather moved with deliberate calm, preparing a scanner shaped like a thin metal band.

"This," he said, holding it up, "is a Core Scanner. It reads the energy inside you, your core. It maps its strength, its flow, and any irregularities: cracks, fractures, instabilities that might trigger flare-ups."

He slid the band carefully around her wrist, securing the sensors against her skin.

"Your core isn't just a power source," he continued, voice even and steady. "It's a living system. Fragile. Complex. Understanding it means understanding how to keep you and everyone around you safe."

A faint blue light pulsed from the band as it activated. Data scrolled across the screen in a quiet cascade of symbols and graphs.

The scan ended with a soft chime.

Above the table, the projection shimmered into existence, a fragile orb of soft, iridescent light, spinning slowly as if caught in a gentle, unseen current.

Its surface fractured like ancient crystal, delicate veins tracing labyrinthine patterns that pulsed faintly with a warm, ethereal glow.

Within those cracks, subtle sparks flickered, tiny embers of energy struggling to hold the fractured whole together.

The core seemed alive, breathing in whispered rhythms, both beautiful and perilous, as if it balanced on the edge of shattering or igniting anew.

Cedrik leaned in.

"That's… not normal, right?"

The grandfather didn't respond immediately. His fingers moved across the console, adjusting views, running deeper diagnostics.

Finally, he spoke.

"This isn't just strain. It's damage. Real damage. A core this cracked should've shut down. But it hasn't. It's still active."

He turned to her.

"Do you know how this happened?"

Enor blinked. "No."

She meant it.

But as the word left her mouth, something stirred. Not a memory. A feeling.

The nightmare from last night clawed up through her skin, heat rushing in too fast, a scream trapped behind her teeth, cold tiles, burning wires.

A sensation like something deep inside her had split open.

Her fingers twitched against the armrest. But she said nothing.

The grandfather studied her face. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "I don't… remember."

He held her gaze a beat longer, then looked away.

"It may be sealed. Many of the marked suffer power-induced amnesia after surges. Sometimes the flare protects the host. Sometimes… it erases them."

He turned back to the screen.

"There's something unnatural about how this core still holds together."

Cedrik frowned at the pulsing orb.

"So what does that mean for her? Is it safe?"

The grandfather didn't reply right away.

He tapped a command, narrowing the projection to its most unstable point.

The light inside flickered, angry, electric, alive.

"I'm not sure," he said quietly. "But I know one thing."

He met her eyes."Whatever brought your power back… wasn't supposed to."

Enor stared at the fractured sphere. Its glow wavered, unstable, volatile. Like it could shatter if she breathed wrong.

She hadn't known what to expect this morning. Answers, maybe. Direction.

But all she had now was confirmation of what she'd already felt in her bones:

Something inside her had really been broken.

And somehow, it kept burning.

"Alright," the grandfather murmured, stepping back. "We'll stabilize the flow before doing anything else. Cedrik, device box. Second drawer from the right."

Cedrik jolted. "On it," he said, moving quickly but carefully, like everything in the room might explode if mishandled.

He rifled through the drawer and pulled out a sleek device, the size of a flattened egg. Its metallic surface was etched with faint markings.

A small light blinked near the seam.

"This one?" he asked.

"That's the pulse regulator," the grandfather confirmed. "Bring it here."

As Cedrik crossed the room, Enor caught a flicker in his eyes, not fear, but sharp awareness. She was the first marked he'd seen up close. Untethered. Unstable. Real power within arm's reach. And yet, he didn't back away.

"The regulator stabilizes core rhythm," the grandfather said, kneeling in front of her. "It won't suppress your ability, just prevents dangerous buildup. Like a pressure valve."

He pressed the device gently to her collarbone. It clicked into place with a soft magnetic latch. A slow warmth spread from the contact point, grounding and steady.

"You'll feel the weight lift a little."

Enor's shoulders eased, tension slipping away before she realized she'd been holding it.

Cedrik watched her.

"That okay?"

She nodded.

"Feels... quiet. In a good way."

"Good," the grandfather said, standing.

"That means your core's responding."

He brushed his hands off on his coat.

"I'll prep the stabilizer tonic. It works with the regulator. Monitor the pulses. If anything spikes, call me."

He glanced between them. "Five minutes. Don't touch anything glowing."

With that, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence followed.

Enor shifted slightly in the chair. The regulator still hummed gently at her collarbone.

Cedrik exhaled, low, almost a laugh.

"He says that like we weren't already planning to touch something glowing."

Enor gave a faint smirk. "I won't if you won't."

"Tempting," he said, then fell quiet again.

She glanced over. "You've been here before?"

He nodded. "Yeah. My grandpa's a terrible teacher but a good one. I've watched him work, helped with trials, read half his logs. Built a few things behind his back, too."

That made her smile, small, but real.

"It shows."

Cedrik raised a brow. "What, my flawless lab posture?"

She laughed lightly. "No. Just… you don't look out of place."

He tilted his head, mock suspicious. "Are you saying I belong in a basement full of dangerous tech and glowing wires?"

Enor shrugged. "If the shoe fits."

Cedrik chuckled, but the sound faded sooner than it should have. His gaze lingered a second too long, not unkind. Just quiet.

"Hey… I didn't want to bring this up earlier. Not with him here. But…"

She looked over, cautious now.

"The interview," he said quietly. "Your parents…"

The air in the room shifted.

"Oh," she said.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "You already knew, obviously. I just… didn't expect it to hit me like that."

She said nothing.

He hesitated. "How did it feel? Seeing them again. Hearing all that."

Her eyes drifted toward the scanner's soft pulse. "I think… if they'd cried harder, maybe it would've felt more real."

Cedrik stayed quiet.

"But they didn't," she added. "They looked relieved."

Her voice wasn't bitter. Not quite. More like something long-splintered had finally settled.

"I'm not saying it didn't hurt," she said. "It just didn't surprise me."

He watched her.

The stillness in her face was not peaceful. Just controlled. Like something inside her had learned to brace for impact.

He didn't offer comfort. Just nodded once. "That's fair."

A beat of quiet.

Then: "What do you think about what Sylas Varin said… like... Really.."

She remembered the look Cedrik gave her during the broadcast, that flicker in his eyes when Varin warned that helping the marked was playing with fire.

Cedrik hesitated.

"It's... complicated." He answered rubbing his thumb along his knuckle.

"Part of me gets it. The fear. Wanting to control what you don't understand."

Then he looked at her again. "But another part of me hates what it means for people like you."

A pause.

"No matter what he says it's not about safety. It's about power."

Enor nodded slowly, something steady settling in her chest. "I think I just needed to hear someone else say that."

Cedrik gave a small, crooked smile. "I'm not great at speeches."

She smiled, too. Small, but real.

Then the grandfather's footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the moment dissolved into the low hum of machines.

The door slid open.

He stepped in holding a vial, the liquid inside faintly glowing like mist caught in light. He set it down beside the scanner and looked at Enor.

"The stabilizer's ready," he said. "Now comes the hard part."

She straightened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You're going to try using your power," he said plainly. "Not during a flare. Not by accident. On purpose."

Enor froze.

"I'll guide you through it," he continued. "Controlled. Simple. Just a start."

He nodded to the regulator. "Your core should hold. But if anything feels wrong you stop. Understood?"

She hesitated. Then nodded.

"Good," he said. "Let's begin."

He turned to the console. A soft chime followed, and the lights dimmed.

The regulator warmed at her collarbone, syncing with the rising beat in her chest.

She looked down at her hands.

It was really happening.

No panic. No accident.

This time… she had to call it on purpose.

A flicker of heat curled through her veins. Strange yet comforting.

She wasn't sure if she was ready.

But the energy didn't care.

It was already listening.