Two days after the birth of Mister Slab, Eva stood at the edge of the clearing, watching. Leo's knuckles were a permanent, raw mess, but his punches now landed with a compact, devastating thud instead of a wild slap. Derek moved with the weighted plates as if they were part of him, his dodges lower, his counters swifter. Jordan's movements were no longer just efficient; they were predatory, a geometric dance of minimal motion and maximum threat. They were changing, hardening under the relentless, silent judgment of the Umbralite monolith and Wolfen's scorn.
She had watched enough. She found Wolfen inside, not with Maya, but staring into the embers of the fire, a rare look of contemplation on his face.
"I'm joining them tomorrow," she stated.
He didn't look up. "Are you now."
"I need to be stronger. Not just… constant. I need to fight."
"You have a bit of my blood inside you," he said, his voice casual, as if remarking on the weather.
The statement hung in the air, ugly and profound. Eva's stomach turned. The memory of him shoving his severed finger into her bullet wound flashed—the searing heat, the impossible healing.
"What?" she whispered.
"Anyone who has my blood," he continued, finally turning his golden eyes to her, "can control fire the same way I can. The potential, at least. The… understanding of it. It's a family trait, you could say." A slow, unnerving smile touched his lips. "And perhaps a dummy like you could even get smarter from it. Sharper. See the connections I see."
Revulsion warred with a terrible, burning curiosity in Eva's gut. She felt violated all over again, not by the Architects, but by this ancient, careless being. He had rewritten her on a fundamental level without her consent. "You… you infected me."
"I saved you," he corrected, the smile fading. "Those bullets would have killed even you, Prime or not. They were designed to. I gave you the tools to survive. Consider it a… down payment."
"On what?"
"On getting Maya back to normal." His voice dropped, losing its mocking edge, becoming almost grim. "I know how."
That cut through her disgust. "How?"
He stood up, walking to the window, looking out at the clearing where Leo was currently trying to kick Mister Slab in half and failing spectacularly. "Not yet. You're not ready. None of you are. The process… it's not gentle. It requires a specific kind of strength. Not just to survive it, but to anchor her through it." He glanced back at her. "So, by all means, join the meatheads outside. Train until you vomit. Learn to burn. Because the day we try to pull Maya out of the hole she's in, I'll need you to be more than a constant. I'll need you to be a forge."
The conversation was over. He had handed her a terrible truth and a horrifying hope wrapped in the same package.
The next morning, Eva joined the training. She attached the weights. She faced Mister Slab. Her first punch was perfect Prime form—efficient, balanced, strong. It echoed dully.
"Boring!" Wolfen's voice called from the porch where he sat whittling a piece of wood into an unnervingly detailed figurine of a screaming man. "That's their voice! Where's yours? Where's the fire?"
Frustration bubbled in her. She thought of the blood in her veins, his blood. She thought of the searing heat she'd felt. She didn't try to summon flame. She just let the anger, the violation, the desperate need to be more,
fuel her next strike. It was messier, less perfect. It hurt her wrist.
"Better!" Wolfen yelled. "Now do it a thousand more times until it doesn't hurt!"
---
Three months passed.
The seasons turned in the high mountains, the snow melting into a vibrant, alien spring of glowing moss and giant, trumpet-shaped flowers. The clearing around the ranger station was permanently scarred with footprints, drag marks, and the unblemished presence of Mister Slab.
The change in the group was profound. They were leaner, harder, moving with a quiet, coiled confidence that had nothing to do with their given powers. Leo and Derek had developed a seamless, brutal sparring rhythm. Jordan could now predict and counter Wolfen's random, flung pebbles without seeming to look. They were becoming weapons, just as he'd promised.
And Eva learned to burn.
It started not as a blaze, but as a spark. A flicker of heat around her fist when her frustration peaked during a particularly grueling session against the slab. Wolfen, watching from his now-usual spot, gave a single, slow nod. "Feed it. Don't command it. It's not a servant. It's you."
She learned. The fire was not an external tool like Wolfen's crafted flames. It was an emotional exotherm, a conversion of her will into heat and light. Control came not from suppression, but from focused expression. A punch could land with a concussive burst of flame. A blocking arm could shimmer with a barrier of heat. She was merging the unchangeable Prime with the volatile legacy of Welfric.
Through it all, Wolfen gave no hint of stopping, no sign that they were "ready." The training was the reality now. And in the quiet hours, he worked on his other project.
Maya.
He had moved her to a small, sheltered lean-to he'd built behind the house. He didn't restrain her. He didn't experiment on her. He simply… spent time with her. He would sit with her for hours, saying nothing. Sometimes he'd talk, telling her rambling, nonsensical stories about stars that were actually giant jellyfish or mountains that got up and walked away when no one was looking. Sometimes he'd bring her simple things—a smooth stone, a curious flower, a cup of hot water.
At first, she remained catatonic, the vacant stare fixed on nothing. Then, small signs. Her eyes would follow the steam from the cup. Her fingers would curl around the stone. Once, when a loud crash came from the training clearing, she flinched, and for a split second, her eyes flickered with terrified recognition before glazing over again.
One evening, Eva found Wolfen coming from the lean-to, a rare, tired look on his face. She blocked his path.
"You're helping her," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm reminding her," he corrected, leaning against the wall of the house. "The thing inside her, the Silence… it built walls to protect the core of her. But walls work both ways. They keep things out, and they keep things in. She's trapped in there, in the quiet. I'm not trying to break the walls. I'm trying to remind the girl inside that there's a world on the other side. Sounds. Sensations. Stories, even stupid ones. Something to reach for."
"And the fire? Your blood in me? How does that help?"
He looked at her, and for a flickering moment, she saw something in his eyes that wasn't boredom or mockery. It was a deep, ancient sorrow. "The process to pull her out… it will require burning away the partitions. Not with physical fire, but with a purer kind of will. A focused, conscious heat that can melt psychic barriers without vaporizing the mind behind them. My blood gives you the… vocabulary for that kind of fire. But the will? The control? The strength to hold the flame steady while a universe of silence screams at you to stop? That, you have to build yourself."
He pushed off the wall, his usual sardonic mask sliding back into place. "So stop looming and go practice. Your embers are still pathetic."
He walked away, leaving Eva standing in the twilight. She looked at the lean-to, then at the clearing where Mister Slab stood, and finally at her own hands. They were calloused, strong, and carried the potential for both creation and annihilation. The path was clear. Train. Burn. Get stronger. For Maya. For Lily. For the unwritten war that was waiting for them all. The foundation of muscle was laid. Now, they were building the house.