The city never slept.
Even here, beneath the surface, Néthra continued to breathe slowly, mechanically. The lights pulsed at irregular intervals, like a tired heart refusing to stop.
Shinji walked in silence.
The jacket on his shoulders felt less foreign than at first. His body had adapted, or perhaps he had simply stopped fighting against this world.
They descended further.
The lower levels were narrower, darker. The walls sweated humidity, and the floor was marked with ancient traces—not just footprints, but of lives spent there for far too long.
"How long are you staying here?" Shinji asked.
The man didn't answer right away.
"As long as Néthra needs someone to look without turning their eyes away."
Shinji nodded slowly.
"And me?"
They stopped in front of a half-open gate, leading to a calmer area. Almost silent.
"You," he finally replied, "are still between two worlds."
Those words resonated within him.
In his mind, Shini whispered: Your state is unstable. But your potential is not.
Shinji took a deep breath.
"I didn't ask to come here," he said softly. "But I'm here."
The man placed a hand on the gate and pushed it open.
"Then start by understanding where you're setting foot."
Behind the gate, a vaster space opened up. Less noise. Fewer crowds. People spoke in low voices, sitting around improvised heat sources.
Not a hiding place.
A refuge.
Shinji felt something change.
Not around him.
Inside him.
He stood motionless at the entrance.
No one stood up. No one reached for a weapon.
But several gazes turned toward him.
Not hostile. Not welcoming either.
Simply… attentive.
A woman near the fire shifted her bag slightly, as if checking it was still there. A man briefly raised his head, gauged Shinji, then returned his attention to the flames.
"They won't attack you," the man beside him whispered. "As long as you give them no reason to."
Shinji swallowed hard.
He stepped forward slowly.
The fire crackled softly. It didn't provide enough light to warm the whole room, just enough to remind them that night still existed.
A child looked up at Shinji, curious, before being gently pulled back.
No one spoke.
It wasn't mistrust.
It was a rule.
In his mind, Shini analyzed: Non-aggressive group. Priority: collective survival.
Shinji sat down at a distance from the fire.
He didn't feel accepted.
But he wasn't rejected either.
And in Néthra… that was already a lot.
The flames danced before him, offering an illusory warmth. It wasn't a simple wood fire, but a technological waste incinerator spitting out a bluish and orange glow. He watched them, hypnotized, rethinking Shini's words about the Astralium. His gaze drifted toward the black hole in the middle of his stomach, that silent anomaly hidden under his synthetic t-shirt.
"What are you thinking about?" the man asked, his low voice drowned out by the hum of the city's circuits.
The man was sitting a bit closer, also watching the mechanical blaze.
"About the heat," Shinji replied, avoiding any mention of the Astralium. "And what I can do with it."
The man gave an enigmatic smile, his eyes reflecting distant neons.
"Fire is a blessing here. And a curse. It gives life and it takes it."
In his head, Shini's voice echoed with a metallic ring: It's a good idea, kid. Fire is concentrated energy. Perfect for a first try. But be careful. A spark is nothing. A blaze turns you to ash.
Shinji reached out a trembling hand toward the energy source. Intense heat radiated, stinging his skin. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the void in his belly. He imagined that black hole as a pump, a vortex ready to devour the light.
"You shouldn't get too close," the man warned him. "The night is long, energy is precious."
"I know," Shinji replied. "But I need to understand."
Suddenly, the flow shifted. Shinji no longer felt the heat on his skin; he felt it being sucked toward his center. The flames of the incinerator stretched like silk filaments toward his palm. A violent shiver ran down his arm. It wasn't pain, but a sensation of overflowing, as if liquid metal were being injected into his veins.
The black hole within him pulsed. He felt the strength rising, an inner heat burning away his fear. A crackle escaped from his fingers. He had absorbed part of the thermal Astralium. But the energy was raw, wild.
Shini intervened, his voice becoming urgent: Stop! Absorption is one thing, control is another. Release it!
"I... I can't...!" Shinji groaned.
His eyes snapped open. In the hollow of his hand, a small sphere of pure fire burned, unstable. It didn't come from the hearth; it came from him.
The man stood up abruptly, backing away from the pink-diamond glow of the teenager's hair, which had begun to shine. The other refugees froze, fear replacing indifference. Shinji had succeeded... but his body was shaking as if it were about to shatter.
Shinji had succeeded... but his body was shaking as if it were about to shatter under the pressure of this new energy. The small sphere of flame in his palm pulsed, brilliant and unstable. He felt it traveling up his arm, an intense burn threatening to consume him.
Shinji, focus! Shini's voice rang out with unusual authority in his mind. Imagine the energy condensing, not escaping. You must stabilize it!
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Shinji grit his teeth, desperately trying to follow the instructions. He imagined the fire not as a destructive force, but as a contained ember. Slowly, the sphere in his hand shrank. The pain in his arm faded, replaced by a diffuse warmth. The flame retracted, not extinguished, but absorbed, stored back into the black hole of his stomach.
His pink-diamond hair returned to its normal luster. The inhabitants of the refuge, who had moved away, were whispering. The man who had accompanied him since his awakening approached slowly. His eyes seemed to glow with a very brief, almost imperceptible golden light, as if a lamp had been lit behind his pupils.
"You played with fire, literally," the man said, his voice calm but sharp. "That wasn't technology. You tapped into the thermal Astralium of that incinerator."
Shinji, exhausted, looked up at him. "I... I needed to know if I could do it. How did you know?"
The man didn't answer directly. He held out his hand and, for a fraction of a second, a pure, piercing white glow shot from his knuckles before vanishing as quickly as lightning.
"Because fire is just one form of energy among others," he replied. "Light is another. But here, showing that kind of thing attracts the worst kind of trouble."
A heavy silence settled in. A man with a thin, nervous silhouette, sitting near a pile of crates, stood up abruptly. His body was lean, almost emaciated by life in the slums, but his movements were sharp, charged with latent hostility.
"We don't want users here!" the thin man spat. "We barely tolerate you, stranger, because you bring us supplies, but this kid is a ticking time bomb! If he attracts the Guardians of Néthra because of his glowing hair or his explosions, we're all dead!"
"He's only beginning, Khalide. Let him breathe," the mysterious man retorted without even turning around.
"No! He's out!" Khalide snapped, his fingers tightening on the edge of a crate. "We don't need a monster capable of sucking up the hearth!"
Shinji felt the fear returning. He was going to be rejected again, like at school, like everywhere else. Loneliness hit him full force. But then, an old man, his face marked by decades of survival in the depths, stepped forward, limping slightly.
"Enough, Khalide. Sit down," the old man said in a weak voice that nonetheless commanded respect.
The thin man grumbled but eventually sat back down in the shadows, his eyes still fixed on Shinji. The old man leaned on a cane made of braided steel cables. He stopped in front of Shinji and looked at him with an almost fatherly curiosity, ignoring the murmurs of fear running through the assembly.
"Let him stay," the old man continued, addressing the stranger. "Néthra is dark enough as it is. If this boy has the Astralium in him, maybe it's because the world needs a new kind of warmth. Right, Tamaru?" a woman called out from a bit further away, prompting the old man.
Tamaru placed a calloused, trembling hand on Shinji's shoulder.
"Listen to me well, boy. This man beside you can teach you how not to burn yourself, for he knows the price of invisible power. But here, you must remain discreet. The Astralium is a gift, but in this city, it's a target painted on your back."
"Thank you, Tamaru," Shinji whispered, relieved not to be thrown into the cold of the tunnels.
In his mind, Shini snickered: Nice guy, old Tamaru. On the other hand, your protector is hiding his hand well. Looks like you're not the only "special" one in this rat hole. And he still hasn't told you his name...
Shinji looked at the stranger. The latter was staring at the blaze, his face expressionless, but an aura of serenity emanated from him. Shinji then looked at his own hands. They were still shaking, but a new warmth persisted deep within him. He was no longer just a victim. He was a vessel.
And with the help of Tamaru and this stranger of whom he still knew nothing, he was finally going to learn to no longer be afraid of what he was.