The next day, Cain sent Tiflos on a solo mission to the slums at the edge of the city.
"Test what remains of your humanity."
The order was deceptively simple: retrieve documents from a building besieged by rebels—the spark of a group calling itself the Resistance.
Tiflos drove alone.
Yet more than once, his eyes drifted to the passenger seat beside him, his chest tightening as if Noor's breathing were still there, as it always had been.
But the seat was empty.
---
The building stood half-collapsed in a neglected industrial zone. Smoke rose from shattered windows like desperate spirits crying for salvation, while gunfire echoed through the air like the beat of distant war drums. The walls were covered in resistance slogans and crude graffiti denouncing the current regime. The stench of poverty and death seeped from every crack.
Inside, Tiflos found a group of exhausted rebels, barely holding their ground. They were protecting documents—encrypted proof of corruption implicating high-ranking officials.
Cain had claimed he wanted the files to expose them.
The Resistance, on the other hand, wanted to use them as a rallying symbol, a spark to gather supporters.
But was exposure truly Cain's goal?
Among the rebels was a child—no older than ten—hiding behind a rusted barrel. His blue eyes were wide with terror. His dust-covered face bore a strange resemblance to Orion as a child.
"Don't hurt him!" a young woman cried out, blood streaking her pale face.
"He's my only son… all I have left."
The rebels were weak. Their weapons weren't visual-based—just crude, outdated firearms. Every one of them had blue eyes, all carrying the same look of despair Tiflos himself once had when he lived as a drifter.
He could kill them all in minutes.
Prove his loyalty to Cain.
But the child's eyes dragged him back—to a younger Orion, to days when family meant something, to a time when the world still felt simple… and clean.
Then it happened.
A section of the rotting ceiling gave way.
A massive steel beam fell, hurtling toward the child with lethal speed.
The mother's scream collided with the shriek of tearing metal.
The decision was made in a fraction of a second—not by logic, but from somewhere deeper. From a place within him that still carried a forgotten name:
Human.
Tiflos lunged forward, shoving the child away with all his strength.
The beam crashed down on the woman's leg instead.
Bone shattered.
The sound was horrifying.
Her scream tore through the building as blood poured freely. Yet when her eyes met Tiflos's, there was no hatred in them.
Only understanding.
A look that recognized the contradiction—the executioner and the savior existing within the same man.
Tiflos dropped to his knees beside her and pulled out a first-aid kit.
"Why?" the child whispered, staring at him through tears and dust.
"You're the enemy… why did you save me? And why are you saving my mother too?"
"Because some choices…" Tiflos replied, hands trembling as he treated her wounds,
"…prove that we're still human—even in the heart of hell. And because I want to."
He let them escape.
In his possession were the fake documents Cain had given him—decoys meant for exactly this outcome.
He knew there would be consequences.
But for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar.
He had made a decision that belonged to him.
Not to Cain.
Not to the Organization.
It might cost him everything.
And it was worth it.
He got into his car and drove straight back to the Organization—without hesitation, without fear.
---
This time, Cain was not waiting at the gate.
Instead, the guards told Tiflos to report directly to Cain's private office.
Cain stood inside, hands behind his back, wearing a smile that never reached his eyes.
"You failed the test."
"I passed my test," Tiflos replied, his voice steadier than he expected.
Cain regarded him with detached curiosity, like a scientist examining an anomaly.
"Humanity is not a test you pass. It's an obstacle—dead weight on the path of evolution. A weakness you must shed. And for that… you will be punished."
As Tiflos turned toward the detention wing, he spoke without looking back:
"Don't forget what I told you, Cain. I will never be your tool. I'll act as I choose… and I'll kill whom I choose."
His gaze was sharp as he left.
Cain said nothing.
But for the first time, something close to surprise flickered in his eyes—at the stubborn resolve and lingering humanity still clinging to Tiflos.
---
The punishment was severe.
Five days without food or training.
Solitary confinement in a lightless cell.
Yet strangely… Tiflos felt at peace.
For once, he was willing to bear the consequences for something he believed in.
In the darkness, he reviewed his hidden plans.
I'm sorry, Noor. And you too, Orion.
But this mask… is what will pull you out of this hell.
He lifted his head in the pitch-black cell and found something he thought he had lost.
Hope.
He realized that humanity was not weakness.
It was the only force capable of giving meaning to life in a meaningless world.
---
Later, Cain summoned all senior instructors to a shadowed chamber.
Massive holographic screens displayed covert troop movements, strategic maps, and the silhouette of a tall, imposing man. The air vibrated with tension as whispers spread like wildfire.
"Cassander," Cain announced coldly,
"If you're coming—come to my branch."
One name was enough to freeze the room.
---
Several days later, at a separate branch of the True Seers Organization—
As Tiflos walked alone toward the dining hall, the massive doors burst open.
The man stepped inside.
Cassander.
A man in his early thirties.
Foreign Minister of the State of Abad.
His golden eyes burned like miniature suns. He wore an immaculate black suit, dark as night itself. His hands were… wrong—pierced by black voids, like miniature abysses, or the mouths of cannons.
In his grasp was a staff adorned with small silver and gold skulls.
When he spoke, his voice rolled like distant ocean waves—deep, arrogant.
"I've grown tired of waiting," Cassander said, his gaze sweeping the hall like a hawk searching for prey.
"The state has begun to move. This branch of the Organization must move as well."
A strange vibration ran through Tiflos's bones.
Something about Cassander stirred old memories—threads tied to his family's past. The scent of his perfume. His posture. His gaze.
All of it hinted at something long buried.
Cassander stopped in front of Tiflos, surprise flickering briefly across his face. His golden eyes examined him closely as he extended one arm, something hidden shifting beneath his sleeve.
"Agabius…" Cassander said slowly.
"So this is the son."
A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"You have his eyes. The same infuriating look of defiance your father had."
Tiflos looked across the hall at Noor.
Her silver eyes held a single question:
Which side will you choose in this new war?
Would he become fuel for the machine of history—
—or the fire that burns the machine itself?
Tiflos understood then that his answer would decide not only his fate, but the fate of everyone around him.
And this time, his choice would be different.
Because he had finally learned something crucial:
Fuel can become fire.
And fire can burn everything—
—even the machine of history itself.