The battleground answered their decision with movement.
Stone groaned beneath their feet, a low tremor rippling through the ruins as sigils long buried flared to life—thin lines of light crawling across the walls like veins beneath skin. The air thickened, heavy with static, as if the territory itself had been waiting for permission to awaken.
"They're here," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
The bond tightened, not in pain this time, but in focus—an unnatural stillness settling over him. Control sharpened to a razor's edge. Whatever he had been before the curse, whatever the system had made of him, it all condensed into a single intent.
Protect the variable.
Contain the fallout.
Footsteps echoed ahead.
Measured. Unhurried. Too deliberate to be human panic.
Figures emerged from the haze—three at first, then more, their silhouettes fractured by the glowing sigils. Masks obscured their faces, smooth and expressionless, each etched with a single mark that pulsed in sync with the system's rhythm.
Hunters.
Her pulse spiked—and instantly, pain lanced through the bond.
He hissed, fingers digging into his palm as if to anchor himself. "Breathe," he said sharply. "Slow."
She forced air into her lungs, counting the seconds, pressing the fear down until it dulled to a low, manageable ache. The bond eased, though it did not release.
The hunters stopped just beyond the circle of light.
A voice carried across the space—amplified, distorted, stripped of warmth.
"Anomaly confirmed," it said. "Weapon designation active. Variable present."
Her stomach twisted.
"Stand down," the voice continued. "Submit to evaluation."
He stepped forward, placing himself fully between her and them.
"No."
The word struck the air like a blade.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the system reacted.
Compliance failure detected.
Correction initiated.
The sigils flared brighter. Invisible force slammed into him, driving him to one knee. Pain surged through the bond—precise, calibrated, meant to teach rather than destroy.
She cried out despite herself, instinct pulling her toward him.
"Stay," he snapped, teeth clenched. "Do not—"
She grabbed his arm.
The contact sent a shockwave through the bond, not pain but something else—feedback. The sigils flickered, their light stuttering as if reality had momentarily lost its footing.
The hunters shifted. Weapons rose.
"Variable interference escalating," the voice warned. "Recommend separation."
"No," she said, the word tearing free before she could stop it.
The bond surged—fear, resolve, something feral and defiant—and instead of punishing him, the system hesitated.
Just long enough.
He twisted, rising in a blur of motion. The air warped around him, power bleeding through the cracks of restraint. Stone shattered where his hand struck the ground, a shockwave forcing the nearest hunters back.
For the first time, the masks turned toward her.
Attention locked.
She felt it then—the weight of the system's gaze, cold and assessing, peeling back layers she hadn't known existed.
"Interesting," the voice murmured. "The variable stabilizes the weapon."
He froze.
"Do not look at her," he growled.
"Correction," the voice replied. "The weapon stabilizes the variable."
Pain exploded—different this time. Not his. Hers.
She gasped, dropping to her knees as something unseen wrapped around her chest, constricting, measuring. The bond flared in protest, raw and violent.
"No!" he roared.
The ruins shook.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor, sigils shattering as his control finally slipped. For a breathless moment, he was no longer contained—no longer shaped by the system's rules.
The hunters faltered.
Then the system recalibrated.
Emergency suppression authorized.
Chains of light lashed out, slamming into him from every direction. He screamed—not in defeat, but in fury—as the restraints dragged him back into alignment.
She crawled toward him, vision blurring. "Stop—please—"
The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come.
Silence crashed down, heavy and stunned.
The hunters retreated a single step.
"Assessment complete," the voice said. "The variable is confirmed adaptive."
Adaptive.
Not safe. Not innocent.
Useful.
"We will withdraw," the voice continued. "For now."
The sigils dimmed. The hunters dissolved into the haze, their presence peeling away like a bad memory.
When it was over, she collapsed beside him, shaking.
He lay still for a moment, chest rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths. Slowly, he turned his head toward her.
"You shouldn't have touched me," he said hoarsely.
She swallowed hard. "You were hurting."
A bitter laugh scraped out of him. "I'm always hurting."
The bond hummed—exhausted, strained, but intact.
"They know now," she whispered. "About me."
"Yes." He closed his eyes briefly. "And they won't make the same mistake twice."
Fear stirred—but beneath it, something steadier took shape.
Resolve.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
He looked at her, expression grim and unyielding.
"It means," he said, "the battleground just became real."