Before I entered Aetherfall, I needed to disappear.
Not literally. Just enough that no one would remember me afterward.
My eyes were the problem.
Gold eyes were rare, but not unheard of. Some Aetherfall dwellers had them. A few hunters did too, altered by contracts or prolonged exposure. That alone would not raise alarms.
Mine were different.
They were not gold in the way metal was gold. They looked molten, like fire caught mid-flow, light shifting under the surface as if something was always moving beneath the iris. I had spent nights comparing records, archived images, biological notes from realm explorers and post-exposure cases.
Nothing matched.
Not closely.
If anyone looked too long, especially someone trained to observe anomalies, questions would follow. Questions led to attention. Attention led to things I was not ready to face yet.
So before I stepped anywhere near a gate, I went to see my father's friend.
Dr. Elias Hartmann.
I never fully understood how my father had known him. The gap between them felt too wide. My father worked logistics. Quiet, unremarkable, steady. Hartmann was different. A name that appeared in medical journals and private contracts. A doctor who treated high-level hunters, realm returnees, and people whose injuries could not be explained in public hospitals.
I met him once a year, every year, without fail.
Routine checkups, my father called them.
Now I wondered if it had been caution.
His clinic sat in a private district, far from the public hospitals. White stone exterior. Frosted glass. No signage beyond a simple nameplate.
I arrived early. Too early.
The receptionist nodded once and asked me to wait.
The door to the inner office opened as I was sitting down.
A young woman stepped out.
She was a year or two younger than me, at most. That much I could tell immediately. Everything else about her felt unreal. Long hair the color of midnight, so dark it reflected blue under the lights, flowing freely down her back without a single strand out of place. Her face was gentle, almost soft, but perfectly shaped, like it had been designed rather than grown.
Her eyes caught me off guard.
Amethyst.
Not purple or violet. Amethyst, clear and bright, holding depth the way cut gems did. Calm and curious. Sharp beneath the surface that sparkle.
She was clothed so simply, a pale blue classic modest dress and a simple matching band on her hair. There was no sign of extravagance on her. Not a jewelry or gold accessories except a tiny silver, but probably a more expensive white gold, on her ear.
I recognized her instantly as everyone did.
Madison Ultima.
The sole heiress of Ultima Systems, the corporation that monopolized the technology used for System stat verification. Not just regionally. Planetwide. Every government screening terminal, every official stat reader, every secure interface traced back to Ultima hardware.
Power disguised as infrastructure.
Dr. Hartmann leaned closer to her and whispered something. I did not hear it. She nodded slightly, her already gentle face soften a bit more as she listened, then turned toward the exit.
As she passed me, her gaze flicked in my direction.
Just once.
I lowered my head immediately, the brim of my cap shadowing my eyes. I made a small bow, polite and instinctive.
When I looked up again, she was already at the door.
She moved like she barely touched the floor, steps smooth and unhurried, as if the space around her adjusted itself to accommodate her presence. Before leaving, she glanced back once more.
Our eyes did not meet.
Then she was gone.
The door closed with a quiet click behind her.
Only then did I breathe again.
"Theo," a familiar voice said.
Dr. Hartmann stood in the doorway, older than I remembered, shoulders slightly stooped, eyes tired in a way knowledge could not fix.
"Come in."
His office smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Comfortable. Quiet. Safe in a way few places were anymore.
He gestured for me to sit, then paused.
"I'm sorry," he said, his tone soft though the words came without preamble.
"I wasn't there when it happened. I heard too late. By the time I tried to move you under my care, you'd already been discharged."
I nodded. Speaking felt unnecessary. Besides, there's no need for him to apologize, it was never his fault.
"I should have done more," he continued. "Your father trusted me."
That hurt more than anything else he could have said.
"I didn't come for that," I said finally, tone softer. I don't want to dwell on the incident too much, it will only prolonged the agony that I already tried to temporarily buried for now.
He studied me closely, his gaze drifting toward my eyes.
"No," he said. "You didn't."
I lifted my head slightly.
"I'm entering Aetherfall," I said. "As an Initiate Crosser."
His expression did not change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
"I need something," I continued. "Something medically approved. Permanent if possible. Temporary if it has to be. I need my eyes hidden. Properly. In a way that passes government screening."
He was silent for a long moment.
"Your eyes are not just rare," he said slowly. "They're… active."
I felt my fingers tighten.
"I think I have an idea of that already," I said. "That's why I'm here."
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair.
"I can help you," he said. "And I'll clear it personally. With my recommendation, no agency will question it. But you need to understand something."
"What?"
He looked at me, truly looked.
"Whatever you're stepping into," he said, "it's not just about hiding. People with eyes like yours don't attract attention because they shine. They attract it because something is watching through them."
I did not answer.
Because somewhere deep down, I had already suspected that. And I was still going anyway.
Dr. Hartman took a deep breath then he stood and moved toward a cabinet built into the wall. He unlocked it with a biometric scan and pulled out a thin tablet, its surface etched with unfamiliar symbols layered beneath standard medical text.
"There are medical precedents," he said. "Rare ones. Cases where ocular traits pose a risk to the patient."
He turned the screen toward me.
"Your eyes emit a persistent energetic signature. Not dangerous. Not aggressive. But active enough to be noticed by scanners designed to read beyond surface biology."
I already knew that much.
"What I can do," he continued, "is suppress the expression without removing the source."
He explained it simply, the way he always did.
A layered procedure. Not cosmetic lenses. Not surgery that altered the eye itself. Instead, a regulated medical seal implanted behind the optic nerve, interfacing with the same numinous framework the System used to read biological truth. It would dampen the visible manifestation, forcing my eyes to present as a standard variation of gold.
Still rare.
But acceptable.
"Government screenings won't flag it," he said. "Realm gates won't react. It will read as a medical condition, properly documented and cleared."
"How long does it last?" I asked.
"As long as you're alive," he replied. "Or until you choose to remove it."
I hesitated.
"I can pay," I finally said. "My parents left me enough. I don't need it for anything else."
Dr. Hartmann looked at me for a long moment. Then he shook his head.
"No," he said quietly.
I frowned. "This isn't cheap."
"I know."
He set the tablet down and folded his arms.
"Your father started a private fund the day you were born," he said. "For education. For safety. For contingencies neither of us ever wanted to name."
My chest tightened.
"He trusted me to make sure you never had to spend it on fear," Hartmann continued. "Not if I could help it."
He turned away, pretending to sort through equipment.
"This is not charity," he added. "It's obligation."
I swallowed.
"I'm not doing this because you're entering Aetherfall," he said. "I'm doing it because if I let someone like you walk into that place unprotected, knowing what I know, I would be complicit in whatever happens next."
I lowered my gaze.
"Besides," he said lightly, trying and failing to soften the weight of it, "your parents already paid me. Just not with money."
The room fell quiet.
"When can we do it?" I asked.
"Now," he said. "Before anyone else decides to look too closely."
~~~
The procedure took less time than I expected.
There was pressure behind my eyes, a brief warmth, then nothing at all. No pain. No dizziness. Dr. Hartmann monitored the readings in silence, his expression calm but focused.
"It's all done, perfectly if I may add," he said.
I stood and walked to the mirror mounted on the wall.
The molten gold was gone.
In its place were ordinary dark brown eyes. Flat. Quiet. The kind you forgot the moment you looked away. I blinked a few times, half-expecting the molten light to leak back through.
It did not.
The System window flickered faintly, then stabilized.
[Ocular Profile: Standard Variant]
[Medical Seal: Registered and Approved]
For the first time in my life, nothing about my eyes demanded attention.
I exhaled slowly.
A week later, orientation day arrived.
I prepared the only way I knew how, studying.
Maps of Aetherfall that had been collected for years. Climate zones. Known dangers. Fauna classifications. Political structures that barely made sense and gods whose names were never spoken casually. I memorized survival protocols, supply prioritization charts, death statistics, common causes of early failure among neophytes.
I learned which skills mattered early and which only became useful if you lived long enough.
I did not train my body much. There was no point pretending. Strength, agility, vitality. They would not save me.
My intelligence might. My photographic memory would have to.
On the morning of orientation, I stood before the gate.
It was massive. Larger than any building nearby, its frame carved with layered symbols that shifted when you stared too long. Space inside it folded inward, showing a sky that did not belong to this world.
Hundreds of people filled the plaza.
No, thousands.
Most were my age. Fresh graduates with nervous excitement written all over their faces. Some laughed too loudly. Some stood stiff and silent, already regretting their decision.
Others were older.
Men and women with hardened expressions, scars they did not bother to hide. People who had lived enough to know what they were risking and decided it was still worth it. Career changers. Desperation-driven. Purpose-bound.
And then there were the promising ones.
You could spot them without stats or observers. Straight backs. Controlled breathing. Eyes that did not wander. The kind who had already decided they would survive.
I stayed at the edge of the crowd.
Blending in came easily. Average height. Average build. Nothing about me stood out anymore. My body still felt slower than those around me, but as long as I did not rush, no one noticed.
I kept my cap low out of habit, even though I no longer needed it.
My biggest fear was not dying.
It was being seen.
If an Observer was present, truly present, someone born with the ability rather than trained for it, they could read stats at a glance. My numbers would draw contempt. Pity at best. Disdain at worst.
A liability.
No one wanted a liability in their group.
I hoped that if such a person existed among us, they would look at me and see nothing. Just another forgettable face in a sea of hopefuls.
I folded my hands and waited.
The gate pulsed once, deep and resonant, like a heartbeat echoing across worlds.
Orientation was about to begin.
And for the first time since my parents died, I felt something unfamiliar settle into my chest.
Not hope but readiness.
If Aetherfall held answers, then I would walk into it quietly. Unnoticed. And survive long enough to ask the right questions.
I waited with my hands folded, eyes lowered, doing my best to look like someone with nothing worth noticing.
It did not last.
My gaze drifted on its own, pulled toward the checkpoint line near the gate. Officers in dark uniforms scanned wristbands, verified clearance, waved people through with practiced efficiency. Routine. Predictable.
Then I saw her.
She stood slightly apart from the others, speaking with one of the senior officers. Petite, composed, posture relaxed without being careless. Most of her lower face was covered by a biomask so thin it looked like a second layer of skin, nearly invisible unless you knew what to look for.
Masks were forbidden during orientation. Unless you were specially exempted. Unless someone far above the usual authority had signed off on it.
Her hair was braided carefully down her back, long and dark, catching hints of blue under the light. Impossible to miss. Impossible to mistake.
Madison Ultima.
Even dressed casually, loose jeans, a plain white shirt, a dark purple jacket worn open, she stood out. Not because she tried to, but because space itself seemed to acknowledge her presence. People around her unconsciously gave room, adjusting their paths without realizing why.
The officer nodded, said something I could not hear, then stepped aside.
Of course.
For Madison, clearance was as natural as breathing.
I should have looked away immediately. I did not.
My eyes lingered, drawn by the same quiet wrongness I had felt the first time I saw her. And then, without warning, she looked up.
Amethyst met brown.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that single point.
Her eyes were clear, unreadable. Not surprised. Not curious. Simply aware.
I tried to look away.
I could not.
It felt as though my gaze had been caught and held, not by force, but by gravity. Like standing too close to a deep drop and feeling your body lean forward despite yourself.
Time stretched. Not long. A second, maybe two.
It felt endless.
Then my breath hitched, the spell broke, and I tore my eyes away.
I stepped back, then sideways, then further into the crowd, letting taller bodies and louder voices swallow me whole. I adjusted my stance, my posture, my presence, until I was just another face again.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
This was bad.
Being noticed by her, even briefly, was the opposite of what I wanted. Even if she had no reason to approach me, even if she never would, attention followed her naturally. People gravitated toward her without trying. Being near her meant being seen.
And being seen meant questions.
I could not afford questions.
I forced my breathing to slow and kept my head down.
Still, a thought would not leave me alone.
Why was she here?
Madison Ultima did not need to risk her life. She did not need to prove anything. She controlled the backbone of the System itself. Governments bent around her company. Entire regions depended on her technology.
She was far too important to be standing at the edge of a realm gate, preparing to face unknown entities from the other side.
Yet there she was.
Joining.
Just like the rest of us.
The gate pulsed again, low and deep.
Orientation was about to begin.
And somewhere behind me, I could not shake the feeling that something had already shifted, quietly, the moment our eyes met.