“The Rule That Breaks”

The screams had stopped.

That was worse.

Cerejeira moved like a blade unsheathed—silent, sharp, tense as a bowstring. Her coat clung damp to her frame, acid-scorched and heavy with blood not her own. Smoke clung to her like a second skin.

Cornicius stumbled behind her, breathing hard. His lungs burned with recycled air and fear.

He wasn't built for this. But he wasn't about to run, either.

> "We're heading to the isolation room," she said flatly. "That's protocol."

> "Inteja isn't here," Cornicius answered. His voice was tight but measured. "That makes me the next chain in command."

A long beat passed between them.

> "I'm not hiding. Not while people are dying."

Cerejeira exhaled slowly through her nose. Jaw clenched. Muscles twitching under the skin of her cheek.

> "Fine. Then where?"

He glanced down the corridor. Lights flickered, warping shadows across the walls like twitching nerves.

> "The lab."

She turned to him sharply. Eyes narrowed.

> "You want to hide in the room with the Box?"

> "I want answers."

> "I want a flamethrower," she muttered. "Neither of us gets what we want."

---

Two corridors down, a door hissed open—and something crawled through.

It didn't roar. It hissed—spine scraping stone, body coiled wrong. A Yai beast, but different. Limbs folded in the wrong places. Skin like melted shadow.

Cerejeira didn't wait.

Steel whispered free. She lunged, blade dancing with sunlight shields.

Three strokes. Two sprays of black blood. The thing collapsed, twitching.

Cornicius stared, pulse in his throat. He could smell the ozone and iron and—

> "No alarms triggered," he muttered. "No breach report. No camera caught entry."

His hand trembled as he raised his communicator.

> (Think. Think. Systems were clear six minutes ago—)

Static.

Channel switch. Static again.

Then—

> "Corell?"

Nongban's voice. Muffled. Frayed at the edge.

> "You're near the lab?"

> "We're headed there. I think the Box—"

> "Don't."

Cornicius froze.

> "What?"

> "Don't go inside. There's something there."

Nongban's voice fractured.

> "High-class hingcha. Doesn't move like the others. It's—"

—click.

Gone.

Cornicius lowered the device.

Cerejeira's eyes were already on him.

> "We regroup. Get back to the soldiers. Lock this place down."

He didn't move.

> "Corell."

> "If the hingcha's in the lab," he said slowly, "then that's where this started. And where it ends."

> "That doesn't mean you walk in."

> "No. It means I have to."

He looked up, face pale but resolved.

> "If we don't cut it off at the source, it spreads. Worse."

Her blade hand twitched.

> "You always do this."

> "Do what?"

> "Run into fire and call it logic."

She paused, breathing heavy.

> "And I hate that you're usually right."

---

Elsewhere, ANSEP bled.

A medic stumbled over a body and didn't check for breath.

A Yai screeched through the comms until the sound looped back on itself.

Glass cracked. Boots slipped. Screams cut off mid-word.

Above it all, the AI's voice echoed through the ruins:

> "Estimated control in: 2 hours."

No one believed her.

The hall to the lab loomed ahead—walls bowed, lights shaking.

Cornicius walked slowly, each step louder than the last. Cerejeira followed close, blade drawn, back tense.

Neither said anything.

Not yet.

The Box was waiting.

---

—Shadows Above the Glass—

The sky was wrong.

Ships hovered beyond the clouds—silent, unmarked, circling.

Inside the Artem Branch Command Hall, Crept Artem stood at the edge of the glass observation wall, flanked by Leon and Shilial. Rune-laced data scrolls glowed faintly beneath their hands, but no one was reading them anymore.

> "Did you inform her?" Crept asked, not looking away from the skyline.

Leon hesitated—just for a second.

> "I did. Lady Marcaella said… she'll need time to return."

His voice was quieter than usual. Fingers curled slightly around the scroll, as though he wanted to squeeze it.

Crept's eyes narrowed.

> (Convenient timing. The branch leader gone. Syria too. No one left but scraps.)

A new signal blinked across the interface. Multiple—unregistered—vessels.

> "Unknown ships?" Crept asked.

Leon replied, tone tight.

> "At least a dozen. No flags. No registered approach vectors."

Shilial, pacing behind them, clicked the security overlay.

> "Not ours."

An Artem bannerman entered, helmet tucked under his arm, face pale.

> "We traced their positions. They're surrounding the outer barrier nodes."

Crept turned.

> "That shouldn't be possible. The shield shouldn't be accessible unless—"

> "—Unless someone gave them the entry specs," the bannerman finished. "From inside."

The room fell quiet.

Crept stared at the holographic map—vessels blinking, slowly drawing in a noose.

> "So we already have traitors."

> (And the timing… It's not just calculated. It's personal.)

He spoke aloud.

> "It's Henriech."

Shilial's posture stiffened. "You're sure?"

Crept nodded once.

> "He's too much of a coward to strike unless he knows we're vulnerable. Marcaella gone. Syria away. No top-tier command left but me."

> "Still…" he murmured, more to himself, "…what would he even gain? He knows he can't win. Is it destruction he wants?"

No one answered.

---

Years Ago

Henriech Artem once tried to kill his wife.

It was a scandal so explosive it never reached the public records. He failed—terribly. Marcaella survived. Henriech tried to run.

But Syria met him first.

The duel wasn't recorded. The aftermath was.

He was broken.

Bones, spirit, ambition—shattered. He was placed in the dungeon that same night.

He escaped hours later.

No signs of tampering. No guards survived. He was gone.

And now, the clouds outside turned darker.

He was coming back.

---

Back in the command observatory, Crept exhaled sharply.

> "Full drill," he ordered. "Everyone to defensive positions. Activate external barrier glyphs and evacuate auxiliary branches."

Leon nodded, relaying the order.

Shilial lingered near the window, gaze scanning the clouds.

Then she froze.

> "Crept," she said, just once.

He followed her gaze.

There it was.

White light breaking through the mist.

Not a flare.

A missile.

> "Down!" Shilial barked, lunging to shield Crept with her arm.

The outer wall shattered.

A wave of molten air surged inward.

Heat roared like a sun detonating in the ceiling.

Glass shrieked and shattered into the wind.

The sky turned red.

Crept's back hit the floor, ribs bruised, air torn from his lungs.

He blinked through the haze, blinking—

And whispered,

> "…Henriech."

---

The air was dust and blood. Threads of Yaicraft flickered around Atiya, barely holding form, as if reality itself was tired of them.

Zelaine lay crumpled beside him, pale, too pale—tendril wounds bleeding into his hands. Her breath rasped, thin as paper. He had seen beasts gut soldiers. He had seen flames swallow walls. But he had never seen her like this.

> (I… did this.)

He had hesitated.

He had moved wrong.

One pulse too slow. One step too far.

His threads spasmed, trying to mend what they could, but even they trembled—burning at the edges from overuse. The Yai inside him was collapsing, breaking apart under pressure.

And the Hingcha—its trapper form like a wolf molded from bone and steam—was still watching. Still breathing. Still waiting.

Atiya fell to his knees. The cold seeped into him.

He reached into his coat and pulled out the cracked relic—the boost catalyst, the one they swore not to use unless they were dying.

> (Then this qualifies.)

He snapped it in his palm.

The Yai roared.

A brilliant light flared through his threads. Every nerve screamed. His skin blistered where the energy ran wild. The world tilted.

But he didn't stop.

He turned to Zelaine.

Laid his hand over her chest.

And began to open a warp tether — a one-way path, tethered through suffering.

> "Sister… you said Yai listens to us when we're desperate."

> "Then hear me, Yai. Not because I'm worthy. But because I've run out of meaning."

> "I've been a coward clinging to ideals I never understood. A failure disguised as a promise."

> "But if you're real—if you listen at all—then give me this."

His threads began to crackle, veins lighting up with raw, unfiltered Yai. Blood spilled from his nose. His teeth clenched.

> "Let my pain be currency. Let my regret be the cost."

The vortex began to form behind him, a spinning gate of unstable flame, folding inwards like glass under pressure. The Hingcha howled and lunged.

> "Just this once… twist the rules."

The wind surged. Zelaine's hair lifted, blood and dust flying around her like petals.

> "Let her live."

Light exploded.

And all three—Atiya, Zelaine, and the monster—were swallowed by flame.

---