HELIOR / VELKARI DOMAIN – 13:45 / 23 years later
The cell was cold. Cold in a way that bit into the bones and stayed there, like a shadow clinging to damp skin. There were no windows, not a single crack through which light could enter—only a dim, artificial glow flickered overhead, sometimes shutting off for endless seconds that plunged the place into complete darkness.
The air smelled of old metal: rust, sweat, dried blood, and decay.
Varen sat on the rocky floor, an uneven surface that scraped every part of his body. There was no bed, no blanket, not even a soft corner where exhausted muscles could stretch. The only thing allowed for prisoners like him was a small steel chamber pot that served every purpose. An undignified but necessary object, placed in a corner, from which an acidic stench emanated, saturating the air from the very first day of confinement.
He raised a trembling hand to his neck. The itching was unbearable, as if hundreds of tiny needles were digging into his skin. But he couldn't scratch; he couldn't even brush against the metallic edge of the collar. At any gesture interpreted as hostile by the technology, the device tightened immediately. If he tried to manipulate it, it would suffocate him without mercy.
The collar was a piece of Velkari technology, as advanced as it was cruel. It reacted to the slightest attempt at tampering, reducing its diameter until it cut off the flow of air. And if someone tried to remove it… the internal spikes activated, embedding themselves into the flesh with electric discharges capable of piercing the trachea.
To die choking or to die perforated. Such kind options, he thought with bitter humor.
His body was weak. Weeks—perhaps months—without proper food, rationed water, daily beatings, spit, insults, constant humiliation. A routine so repetitive it no longer surprised him, though it never stopped hurting. Every night, they beat him; a different one, or sometimes several at once, as if competing to see who could make him scream.
But Varen never screamed, never cried—he only bled. He had surpassed that stage long ago. He did not break.
Still, what truly destroyed him didn't come from the outside, but from within. He placed his hands over his head, pressing desperately, trying to stop the memories that weren't his. Distorted voices, screams, violent images, blood, чуж tears… tragedies he had never lived, yet felt as though they coursed through his veins and memories.
Foreign memories. Traumas embedded like splinters, impossible to remove.
Shut up… just one minute… please… he begged silently. He knew they wouldn't listen.
Nothing stopped them. He couldn't expel them or ignore them. There were no tools, no strength, no mental peace sufficient. Everything in his head was an unstoppable whirlwind.
Varen rested his forehead against the floor and exhaled heavily. This was his end. He knew it. Everything he had fought for ended today. Judgment day had arrived. And the screams beyond the walls confirmed it.
Thousands of people roared outside like a single starving beast: boos, insults, threats, chants of death. The noise pierced the cell like a constant vibration, a drum marking the countdown to his execution.
It seemed ironic. Grotesque. So absurd that a smile formed on his face.
At first small. Then crooked. And finally, without realizing it, too wide. A smile anyone would call madness.
His laughter tore itself from his throat like something broken, a sound that didn't seem human. It spread across the bare walls, sharp and growing.
"Shut up in there!" a guard shouted from the corridor, slamming the metal door with the butt of his weapon.
Varen kept laughing. Louder. More fractured.
"I'm warning you, scum! Shut up or we'll come in and shut you up!"
He tilted his head back, letting the laughter escape with an almost musical tone. The guards hated that sound. It reminded them they hadn't broken him, that everything they had done during his imprisonment hadn't been enough.
There was a dry click, a sharp beep… and then the discharge surged through the collar.
The electric lash traveled down his spine like liquid fire. His muscles tensed violently. His jaw snapped shut on its own, nearly shattering his teeth.
But he kept laughing.
The discharge intensified. More pain. More electricity is tearing through his nerves. His back slammed against the wall. His body trembled uncontrollably. A white spike exploded behind his eyes.
And still, he continued.
"You should be screaming…" the guard muttered, frustrated. "Fuck… it looks like you enjoy this, bastard."
The guard didn't release the button. The electricity burned. His skin smoked. Finally, the laughter faded—not out of obedience, but exhaustion. The current weakened and then ceased.
The guard appeared at the bars, breathing irritably, holding the control like a recently used toy.
"Damn rebel…"
Varen looked at him. His eyes—two aquamarine stones—shone even in the dimness.
"I hope you had fun," the guard continued, "because this will be your last day alive."
Varen slowly turned his body toward him, offering a calm, almost polite smile. The guard took it as mockery and clenched his teeth in rage.
"I can't kill you… pity. The great nation wants the execution to be public. Something more entertaining for the entire nation—the punishment awaiting the rebels still hiding in the shadows. I can't wait… I'm going to enjoy every second when you're standing there in front of everyone, trash."
The guard laughed and spat toward the cell.
The saliva landed on Varen's dirty face, sliding down his cheek.
"This will be one of the best days of my life, damn rebel—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Varen was already at the bars. Right in front of the guard. Just centimeters away.
A second ago, he had been at the back of the cell. No sound. No warning. No visible movement.
The guard startled so badly he fell backward. The electric control rolled down the corridor and struck the wall.
"W-what… what the hell?" he stammered, scrambling backward.
Varen tilted his head, observing him as if deciding whether it was worth crushing him like an insect.
The bars were far too strong to break—at least not with his current strength. They were built for creatures far worse than a simple Nexum, or even the Velkari themselves.
But that movement should not have been possible. Not with that collar. Not in that physical condition.
The guard managed to stand, pale and trembling.
"Y-you… that shouldn't… the collar… it doesn't matter," he muttered, trying to regain authority. "You can't get out of there. And you'll pay… you'll die just like all of yours."
He straightened his uniform and fled down the corridor without waiting for a response.
The cell returned to its usual state: dark, damp, silent, barely interrupted by the screams of the world outside.
Varen took a deep breath, let himself fall back to the floor, and closed his eyes for a moment.
If this is my end… then let the world look me in the eyes when it happens.
He slowly opened his hand.
Resting in his palm was a small metal pin. A guard's insignia. Something insignificant. Something that shouldn't have been there.
But Varen smiled.
A different smile.
More dangerous.
As if he had been waiting for that moment for years. As if everything were unfolding exactly as he had planned.
The day everything would change for humanity, the Velkari, and the Nexum.
_______________________________________________________________________________
HELIOR CASTLE CELLS – 17:30
Varen awoke with an internal jolt, as if something invisible had torn him from a sleep that had been far too short. His eyelids lifted slowly, heavy, and for a second he ,didn't know where he was. Then the cold bit into his skin again, and the smell of old metal filled his lungs.
He was still in the cell, though this time something had changed.
The air was different. Denser. Tighter.
The sudden weight of the atmosphere drove an instinctive sense of danger straight into his chest.
The silence was no longer absolute. There were other breaths. Steady. Controlled.
Four figures stood before him.
Guards.
Their dark blue uniforms absorbed the dim light from the ceiling, making their silhouettes look like violent cutouts against the damp walls. None of them moved unnecessarily. None lowered their guard. Long, cruel metal spears pointed directly at the center of his chest. Beside them were Velkari weapons of impossible design: smooth surfaces, no visible triggers, energy cores pulsing softly.
So it's time, Varen thought.
Before he could speak, the atmosphere shifted again.
The air grew heavy, as if the cell had sunk several levels underground. The guards parted with automatic discipline, forming an invisible corridor.
Then he appeared.
The man advanced with measured, elegant steps, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't seem rushed. He didn't seem tense. Every movement conveyed absolute certainty: nothing in that place could slip beyond his control.
He was tall, solidly built, with a posture so straight it seemed unnatural. His presence commanded without raising his voice or displaying force. His face was severe, perfectly composed, without a trace of unnecessary emotion. His gray eyes settled on Varen like someone examining an object whose fate had already been sealed.
There was no hatred in them. No anger. Not even disdain.
Only evaluation.
The man stopped in front of him.
"Varen," he said, pronouncing his name with impeccable diction. "It seems you've had a comfortable stay."
The voice was deep, controlled, with a cadence that allowed no reply.
Varen slowly raised his gaze. The collar vibrated faintly as his neck tensed, reminding him of his place. Still, he held the stare.
So this is one of them.
Staring back at the man, Varen recognized him—one of those who had marked his destiny since childhood.