Not long after, Myra slowly turned, her gaze shifting from the capsule to her three assistants. The faint smile on her lips faded, replaced by a firmness that seemed to harden the very air in the room.
"You have all seen everything. You know what is at stake. From today onward, there will be no more hesitation. I will make your roles clear—and not a single one of you is allowed to falter."
The young female assistant straightened, though her fingers were still trembling.
Myra looked at her first.
"You, Elara. You will remain at the bio-cell monitoring station. Track every tissue pulse, every nanite vibration attempting to breach this body. I want real-time reports without delay. If there is the slightest fluctuation—even an abnormal beat—I want you to be the first to know."
Elara clenched her clipboard tightly and bowed her head. "Y-yes, Doctor!"
Then Myra shifted her gaze to the broad-shouldered man standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
"And you, Dren. You are responsible for this capsule's security. I do not trust Tyrak's guards who only watch from afar. I need eyes and hands that can move instantly—if there is an intruder, sabotage, or even a sudden order from above to open the capsule before its time."
Dren struck his fist against his chest, his voice steady. "Of course. No one will lay a hand on it without going through me first. On my honor, Doctor."
A faint smile returned to the scientist's face, but its chill did not fade.
"Good. Watch your words, Dren. Because if this body fails, it will not be only the world that collapses—you will be the first person I hold accountable."
The man bowed deeply, his jaw tightening. "Understood."
Last, her gaze fell on the bespectacled man who had been clutching a data tablet all this time, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his brow.
"And you, Marrec. I trust you most when it comes to numbers. Aetherial energy never submits to human logic—but at the very least, numbers can predict when it will rage. Your task is to find the pattern. Find the threshold before that energy devours this body from the inside."
Marrec swallowed, then nodded quickly. "I'll… rework the models. I promise I'll find a stability we can use."
At last, Myra turned her attention back to the capsule. Her hands came together before her chest, as if in prayer—not to a god, but to the machine before her.
"The three of you are the hands and eyes of this altar. Never forget: we are not merely scientists. We are guardians. What sleeps behind this glass is the world's final variable. And I—" she exhaled, her voice softening, suspended somewhere between a prayer and a threat "—will make sure it awakens in a way the world has never imagined."
Silence once more sealed the hall. The assistants lowered their heads, each trapped in a collision of fear and a strange, swelling pride.
The Tyrak envoy standing near the door could only stare at the scene, his chest heavy, as though he were witnessing a secret cult's ritual rather than a scientific laboratory.
In that instant, he understood: the message he had to deliver to Tyrak's superiors was not merely a technical report… but a warning.
The envoy remained frozen a moment longer, watching Myra's back and her three assistants as they returned to their screens and control panels. The four of them—including the scientist—were no longer scientists at all, but priests and wardens of a faith utterly foreign to him.
His chest felt tight. Every breath carried the scent of cold metal mixed with ozone, stabbing into his lungs. He wanted to turn away at once, to leave this place behind, yet his feet seemed held fast by the faint, unsettling presence of the body inside the capsule.
…A seed that could change the course of the world, he murmured inwardly, repeating the scientist's words.
His hand curled into a fist. As an envoy, he was only a conduit. His duty was simple: deliver the message upward. But how could he convey all of this without distorting its meaning? If he spoke honestly, Tyrak's rulers would see this project as a threat that had to be severed at once. Yet if he concealed the truth, he himself could be branded a traitor.
Doubt gnawed at him from within.
In the end, he let out a long breath, inclined his head slightly toward the scientist's back—she did not look at him again—then turned toward the iron door. His footsteps were heavy, echoing across the luminous glass floor.
As the metal door slowly opened, the chill from the hall spilled outward with it. He cast one last glance behind him—toward the capsule standing at the center of the chamber, bathed in pale blue light.
For a fleeting moment, he was certain… that body was breathing.
With his chest growing tighter under the weight he carried, he finally stepped away, bearing a message that was no mere report, but a warning he himself did not yet know how to put into words.
But the moment he exited, his steps faltered.
It was as if something had seized his ankle, forcing his body to freeze in place.
Before him, a thin mist drifted through the air. At first it was faint—just small wisps, as though leaking from the steel walls. But the longer he stared, the thicker it became, swirling like dream-threads weaving form from emptiness. From within its vortex, a figure slowly took shape: a woman cloaked in black.
Pale blond hair spilled from beneath her hood, glimmering dully under the corridor's neon lights. And in her arms—lay a young man, his body laced with fractures of fading light, dried blood darkened across his chest, which looked as though it had nearly been torn apart.
The envoy froze. His breath caught, eyes widening behind the dark visor.
"Wh—who are you…?" His voice cracked, balanced precariously between threat and fear.
The mysterious woman met his gaze without hesitation. The crimson gleam of her eyes pierced through the helmet's glass—cold, lucid, cutting straight into his veins.
"I've come to enter. Will you step aside?"
By reflex, the envoy raised his sidearm—a heavy tactical pistol clad in dark polymer, a glowing red hexagonal emblem set into its grip. The weapon spoke a clear refusal, its muzzle stiffly leveled at her chest.
"I can't. I won't allow a stranger inside. This facility is restricted to everyone. Even I am only an envoy. You will never pass this door."
The woman did not flinch. Her breathing remained steady as she took a single step forward.
"I don't need their permission. I only need this place… for him." Her gaze flicked briefly to Kael's body in her arms, as though every reason in the world narrowed to that alone.
The envoy tensed, his finger trembling on the trigger, though he forced his voice flat. "The body you're carrying is irrelevant. You're just an unauthorized outsider. A rogue subject? Or are you… some human-shaped ghost?"
He swallowed, tightening his aim. "State your identity before I shoot!"
The woman smiled faintly. "So it comes to violence after all."
"Leave now, before you regret it," the envoy snapped, pressing his aim harder.
And then—a hushed sound slipped from the woman's lips, like a prayer spoken in an alien tongue—
"The dream declares that weapon an illusion. Therefore, the result is zero."
Click.
The trigger was pulled—but no gunshot came. The metal weapon shuddered, warped like a reflection on rippling water, then softened, melted, and vanished entirely, leaving only empty air in his hand.
The envoy gasped, staring wildly at his bare fingers.
"W-what…!? Impossible…? My weapon—"
He never finished the sentence.
The woman was already moving. One step forward—one kick, flashing like lightning—
CRAKK!
Her heel smashed into the red emblem on his chest, hurling the massive body backward. Helmet and armor screeched as he slammed into the metal door with brutal force.
The door that had just sealed shut shuddered—then exploded apart. Steel fragments flew, cold vapor burst outward, and the envoy's body was thrown back into the hall, rolling violently across the glowing glass floor.
A short alarm shrieked. Corner lights flashed red. The assistants jolted in unison—Elara dropped her notes, Dren drew his weapon, Marrec stood frozen.
Myra turned sharply, her eyes reflecting a chaotic blend of blue and red light. For the first time, her composure cracked—her eyes widened in shock.
From the shattered doorway, the woman in black stepped inside at an unhurried pace. Black mist trailed after her every movement. Kael's body remained held tightly in her arms, the faint light in his chest trembling weakly, as if refusing to go out.
Silence swallowed the hall. Even the machines seemed to slow, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
In a voice cold enough to slice through space, the woman spoke.
"Remove the empty body from that capsule… and replace it with him."
Red lights still flickered wildly, sirens blaring. Yet before Marrec could activate the security panels, the sound cut off abruptly. The lights returned to their pale blue, as if no alarm had ever sounded.
Elara turned, her face drained of color. "D-did the system… fail?"
Marrec checked the holo-panel with trembling fingers. "That's impossible… the alarm data is gone, like—like lines of code erased from reality. That... how could—"
The mysterious woman tilted her head slightly. Her voice dropped—calm, quiet, yet crushing.
"There is no alarm. No arrival. No data. There is only a dream… that never happened."
All five of them stood frozen, their eyes unable to tear themselves away from the woman. Their faces bore the look of something fundamentally misaligned—logic rejecting what it saw, the body aching under the strain of a confusion that was new and profoundly alien.
"That's… impossible…" Marrec murmured under his breath. "This system has never failed. I built it. I designed it myself." His fingers jabbed at the holographic panel again and again until the screen trembled.
He searched—searched for something that had to be there—but every line of code was empty, like records erased by an unseen hand. Each input returned only void, a dream that had never occurred.
Panel after panel lay dead; no numbers, no logs, no trace of data at all.
Faced with that reality, Marrec staggered and collapsed, sitting there in disbelief, eyes wide like mirrors reflecting nothing but confusion.
Elara's gaze quivered, as though she could no longer bear what she was seeing. From the corner of her vision, a blood-red aura seemed to seep from beneath the woman's hood, dancing like a dozen whispering soul-shadows. The crimson eyes of the cloaked woman locked onto Elara—cold, merciless.
Elara stumbled back two steps, cornered, her back hitting the chill of the wall. "I… I heard the sirens," her voice broke. "And now… why does it feel like they were never there? There should've been… backup—"
Only one of them took a stand.
Dren drew his weapon and stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Myra like a shield. Myra lowered her head, silent.
"An intruder," Dren said, his tone rough. "Magic or logic, whatever this is—she's tampering with Tyrak's entire security system. Doctor, she's not normal! She's turning what should have happened into a dream."
Myra exhaled, her voice flat and cold. "So that's the core of it."
She lifted her head, fixing her gaze on the woman in black. Her eyes narrowed, sharp. She took one measured step forward, her tone compressed into something almost militaristic.
"You erased the distress signal… all data, all records, every layer of security redundancy. You swallowed the possibilities that should have existed. So you're not a mere intruder."
The woman answered calmly, her voice smooth yet unyielding.
"I turn reality into a dream—what exists and what does not. Only I can permit that dream to return to being real. Not you."
Myra snorted softly, the thin lenses of her glasses catching the rotating blue glow.
"You don't understand. The body in that capsule is the most successful synchronization we've ever achieved. Nanites and Aetherial energy are nearly unified. It's the only footing we have to ensure this experiment doesn't end in failure."
Elara gathered her courage, her voice shaking. "D-Doctor… she's right. The subject data in the capsule is stagnant… the soul pulse is nearly zero."
Myra shot Elara a ruthless look, and Elara immediately lowered her head, shoulders trembling.
From the floor came a hoarse voice. The Tyrak envoy—thrown aside earlier—was crawling now, his helmet cracked, blood spilling from his lips.
"You're… fools… don't let her—control this place!" His voice fractured.
The mysterious woman glanced at him, her stare sharp as a blade. The envoy fell silent, as though an invisible weight had crushed his chest.
"Be quiet," the woman said coldly. "You are only a messenger. Not a guardian of fate."
Dren advanced another step, weapon raised. "One more step and I shoot."
The woman lowered her gaze to Kael's body in her arms, then looked up again with a faint smile.
"Go ahead. I'll alter the relationship between cause and effect: your bullet will become a dream—unreal, without consequence. Only I can allow a dream to become fact."
Dren pulled the trigger, waiting for the roar that upheld logic.
(.....)
What came instead was only a crushing silence. The bullet appeared for a brief instant, glimmering—then unraveled into fragments of light, vanishing like foam bursting in midair.
Dren took a step back, his face drained of color. What terrified him now was no longer the possibility of injury—but the sheer meaninglessness of his effort.
The atmosphere thickened, as if the air itself were holding its breath until the room's lungs felt constricted. Cold vapor crept outward, drifting slowly between them like a thin curtain swaying to conceal an unbearable truth.
Myra broke the silence with a voice dense and cold, every word carrying the weight of a warning.
"Tell me, stranger… what do you expect will happen if I truly replace the body in that capsule with the man in your arms?"
The mysterious woman stepped forward. White mist followed each footfall, clinging to the floor like shadows that refused to let go.
"I only want him to remain. To awaken in a new world—even with wounds. Even with memories in fragments." Her voice was simple, yet beneath it lay a silent resolve—like a vow carved into bone.
Elara covered her mouth with trembling hands, her breaths coming short and shallow. Marrec remained sprawled on the floor, his face pale, eyes locked on the emptiness of the screens.
Dren held his breath, a thin sheen of sweat glinting at his temples under the neon lights. The envoy lying nearby lay rigid, his body quivering faintly with a fear he could not even begin to name.
Myra lifted her chin, refusing to retreat.
"Your request is nonsense. I will not trade the primary subject for the sake of your selfish desire. This science is greater than one individual—greater than your cheap sentimentality."
The silence was torn apart by a faint sound—like a strand of hair being dragged across stone.
Srrtttt—
A thin flash sliced through the air, almost invisible save for a dim red glimmer that collided with the neon reflections.
Elara stifled a scream, her green eyes flying wide as something passed an inch from her neck—a slender line that should not have existed.
"D-D-D-Doctor… th-threads… there are threads!" Her voice shattered, breath snagging in her throat.
Marrec froze. His gaze sharpened in an instant—and then he saw them. Dozens of fine red threads creeping through the air, forming a fragile lattice stretched across every corner of the room.
They coiled around pillars, crossed above consoles, framed the capsule as if marking the altar with a newly revealed secret. Nearly invisible—yet present with a certainty that ensnared the senses.
Dren swallowed hard, cold sweat trickling down his temples. It did not need to be said aloud: one wrong movement, and those threads could slice flesh, tendon, or throat—one pull, and it would be over.
The mysterious woman raised her left hand. One thread responded, glowing faintly like a small, open wound.
"These threads have already bound your steps. Make a single move I dislike, and your bodies will be cut apart like worn cloth," she said calmly—her voice cold as a night without mercy.
The envoy on the floor choked, trying to speak.
"M-monster… that power… it doesn't exi—" The words died as a thread slid thinly before his eyes. His body went rigid, his face paling like paper upon which a prophecy had just been read.
Myra held her breath. Her expression remained hard, but behind her thin lenses flickered frustration—rage locked tightly in a cage. Her hands clenched, knuckles whitening. She knew there was no logical path out of this.
The mysterious woman inclined her head slightly, her tone still flat, yet crushing.
"I will repeat it once more, Doctor. Remove the empty body from that capsule… and replace it with him. Or this room will become your first grave—long before your experiment ever has a chance to be written into history."
***