The Elevator

[Took place on 12/24/25]

Jayce Talis could never have lived a normal life. Not that he’d be the one to tell you. The oddity of his days mimicked the mundane well enough—office work felt like any other job once you’d grown used to it, and the rhythm of bureaucracy made the complaints of a desk jockey just relatable enough to share a drink with. Rarely did it go past that.

He walks the halls of PILT carrying a box, a small signal of presumed normality. There’s a thrill in a closed box: it could be anything—or nothing—and rarely does reality match the mysteries that imagination can conjure. But Jayce Talis does not live a normal life. And the expansive imagination that stretches far beyond a simple box is what keeps him alive in his abnormal world, and in his abnormal career.

“Hey!”

His voice rings down the hallway. Semi-formal loafers slap the polished floor, punctuated by the occasional squeak of rubber. He’s almost glad the person inside the elevator can’t see him; there’s no flattering way to sprint while holding a box. Still, he moves as best he can—good form, practical shoes, and looming inconvenience make for fast feet.

Blessedly, the person within stops the doors with what looks like a cane.

“Hey—yes! Thank you!” Jayce huffs. He steps inside and takes in the man before him: cane in one hand, stack of papers in the other.

He doesn’t recognize him—he would have remembered a face like that.

Sharp cheekbones, soft hair, amber eyes. Pretty.

“Thank you, you don’t know how many people would’ve just let that close, oh—”

The stack of papers suddenly begins to slip from the man’s grip. Instinctively, Jayce lunges, sliding his hand under them and tipping them upright just in time. His box teeters dangerously; he jerks back against the wall and braces with a raised thigh to keep from toppling.

“Okay…perfectly balanced,” he jokes. It’s terrible.

The man blinks, re-securing the papers and brushing down his vest. “Your… mastery of the physical world is impressive, sir,” he says smoothly, his accent thick, Eastern European. “Floor?”

“The basement. Ah—wait.” Jayce taps his badge to the scanner; the buttons light up, unlocking the lower floors. “Technically I’m supposed to be alone, but…”

He glances back and studies the man. Ethereal high fashion model vibes—he’d seen a few in a past part-time job as one—but here? It made no sense. Unless there was a scheme above his pay grade.

“Are you new?” Jayce asks.

“If you consider four days new,” the man replies, pressing the basement button while leaving Archives lit. “It’s Viktor. Pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Mr. Talis.”

Jayce perks up. “So you’ve heard of me already, Viktor?” He leans slightly on the elevator wall, closer but careful not to crowd. “I hope it was at least a good first impression.

“I would say claiming Employee of the Month twenty-seven times in a row makes for a pretty strong first impression,” Viktor says, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he jerks his thumb toward yet another poster—Jayce’s gap-toothed grin staring back at them in the dim, vibrating elevator. “Though, I have to admit, you were reliable company while I tried to navigate this maze of a building on my first day.”

“Oh… those,” Jayce winces. “I don’t know why they put them up. But I guess if anyone’s gonna pick a fight with PILT, I’m their best bet.” He pauses, realizing he’s veering dangerously close to bragging. “And you? What brings you here?

“Ah, you know. Overinflated sense of duty, a streak of impulsive martyrdom—same as anyone.” Viktor grimaces at the papers in his arm. “And a superior who apparently thinks I am a PA. And you? What waits in the basement?”

“That,” Jayce says with a grin, “is classified.”

He shifts the box in his hands, and somehow, that’s a mistake. It tilts, slips, and lands with a BANG, followed by a delicate tinkle as tiles scatter across the elevator floor.

“Shit!”

To his surprise, Viktor is staring at the tiles with wide, startled eyes.

“How…” the man stammers. “Where did you get these…?”

Jayce drops to his knees, carefully stacking them one by one, avoiding contact with the stone on his wrist. The impulse to scoop them up frantically is strong, but he resists the rookie mistake. “It’s… classified,” he mutters again, the excuse so overused it’s basically a meme.

The elevator hums in silence for a beat. Jayce glances up—and Viktor isn’t looking at the floor. He’s staring at the elevator display, which now flickers with glitching symbols instead of numbers.

“Is… this ride taking abnormally long, or am I imagining it?” Viktor asks.

“You’re not imagining it,” Jayce says, closing the box and setting it on the floor. He straightens, shoulders squared. “Anomaly Event. Step back from that thing.” Rolling his sleeves up, he surveys the space. “Have you encountered one before? They’re not rare here, but you still need to be cautious.”

Viktor edges away from the door, gripping his stack of papers tighter. “I… had a very strange experience yesterday,” he says. “Also involving an elevator. Is there a protocol for this?”

“Well, there’s practically a protocol for everything,” Jayce begins, his tone measured, almost soothing—panic was the last thing he needed. “Ignore the bells and whistles and think about intent, if there is any. We haven’t stopped, and we haven’t slowed. The question is, are we witnessing a random event, or does it know exactly what it’s doing?”

He opens the emergency panel. The phone inside is webbed into itself, melted and cocooned. He presses the buttons, but only the basement remains lit. “See? Basement light’s on.” He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “The Anomaly’s in the basement.”

“You are saying there is something in the basement, and it… wants us to go there?” Viktor asks, unease creeping into his voice. “So… we just let it take us along?”

“It’s been happening lately, just not this extreme,” Jayce replies. He starts knocking on the wall—risky, but necessary—until he hears a hollow sound. “Right… there!” He kicks the panel hard with the heel of his business-casual loafer. The metal gives way faster than it can repair itself, falling with a clatter. The emergency crowbar inside is already webbed. Jayce’s frown slowly becomes a wry smile. “Okay. Fine. I can work with that.”

“Ah, I hope we are not planning to climb out into the elevator shaft,” Viktor says, nervous humor in his tone. “I left my climbing shoes at home, I am afraid.”

“No, and I doubt it would work. I’d hate to see what the elevator shaft looks like…” Jayce murmurs, considering how to proceed. Jayce Talis is the kind of person who, when handed a hammer, sees nothing but nails. He glances at Viktor. “Can you keep a secret?”

Viktor quirks a small smile. “That is part of the job description, isn’t it?”

Jayce grins. “Right answer.”

He flexes his hand, and the stone on his wrist flares to life. The runeplates, finally freed, leap from the box and spiral around the elevator in a dance of stone and magic.

Viktor gasps, eyes wide, as the cramped space fills with motion and light.

“You… you are a witch?”

Pride swells in Jayce. He puffs out his chest slightly, watching the lights play across Viktor’s awestruck face. For a moment, he forgets the danger.

“No,” he says, flashing his proudest smile. He yanks the crowbar from the webbed wall, and the runestones swirl around it, settling into the shape of a hammer. He slings it over his shoulder. “I’m a scientist.”

A flicker of determination sharpens his eyes.

“Excuse me,” Jayce says, sidestepping Viktor. “Let’s crack this open before we find out where it’s taking us.”

He wedges the bent crowbar into the seam of the door. The edge barely holds against the warped metal, but the runeplates follow his lead, aligning like a zipper, hooking into the seam like fingernails beneath a soda tab.

“What division are you?” Jayce asks. “Because the chances of needing to defend yourself aren’t zero—though I’ll try to get us there in one piece.”

He adjusts his grip, finds the leverage point, and pushes. The webbing snaps and peels apart around the door, leaving a clean path forward, the hum of the Anomaly thrumming in the confined space.

“Investigator, same as you,” Viktor replies, tightening his grip on his cane as he carefully lowers the stack of papers to the floor. “Do not concern yourself with me. I can hold my own.”

Jayce glances back. “Investigator?” he asks. “That’s not a position most people start at—”

He props a foot against the side of the elevator and uses the leverage to push the doors open the rest of the way. The shaft rushes past, closed doors sliding by, well past the Archives.

“I transferred from ZAUN,” Viktor says, his eyes tracking the blur of the shaft with visible wariness. “Level 3—though I doubt Mr. Heimerdinger would have you believe that,” he adds dryly.

“It’s my first day back after a mission—sorry I missed the memo,” Jayce calls over his shoulder. “Well, Mr. ZAUN Level 3… what do you make of this?” He twirls the crowbar in his hand, runeplates floating around it as his gaze stays fixed on the passing shaft. “We should be hitting the basement soon, but… it has been awhile.”

“Force immobilization, perhaps?” Viktor suggests. “If it is a loop...”

“Worth a shot.” Jayce twists his wrist in a flourish. The runeplates leap off the crowbar, interlocking with each other to grip the doors open and claw into the walls. The elevator jolts, then begins to slow with a whining protest. The plates scrape the webbed walls, offering just enough resistance despite the grotesque blotches of green, white, and pink spreading like rotting flowers along the shaft.

The elevator shudders to a halt with a violent lurch—enough to send Viktor pitching forward into Jayce with an undignified “oof!”

Jayce senses the fall in his periphery and opens his free arm, catching Viktor against him. He drops into a stable stance, bracing them both.

“Are you doing okay?” Jayce asks softly, holding Viktor close.

Red blooms across Viktor’s ears as he stares up at Jayce.

“Eh—erm, I—f-fine,” he stammers, clearing his throat as he steadies himself. He steps back, disentangling. “Where, ah…” He takes a deep breath. “Where do you think we are now?”

Since the moment this went sideways, Jayce has made a decision: Viktor is under his protection. That decision settles in his spine and manifests as a hand at Viktor’s back. Just in case.

He pointedly ignores how beautiful Viktor is. It’s unprofessional. This is not the time or place.

Still, he lingers.

Cold, dull basement light floods the elevator as the runeplates grind against the walls, holding it open. “The basement,” Jayce says. “I think the loop stopped, too.” He steps in front of Viktor, squinting into the light. “I will state the obvious—it’s not supposed to look like this.”

“You could have fooled me,” Viktor replies, sounding distracted. “With how confident you seem.” A pause. “You… huh.”

“What?”

“I—”

Jayce turns back—and freezes.

Something strange overtakes Viktor’s expression. His eyes glaze, unfocusing, his posture slackening as though his mind has slipped sideways. He stands there for several seconds, unmoving.

“Uh… Viktor?”

Slowly, Viktor begins to walk.

Each step is lazy, drifting, like he is being gently reeled forward by an invisible line. Jayce falls silent. Something is listening.

Crowbar grasped, he keeps pace with Viktor, his hand hovering inches from his shoulder, ready to grab him if he is given even a second’s warning. Ready to step in front of him at a moment’s notice.

What is calling him?

“Do you hear that?” Viktor murmurs, his voice strange and barely above a sigh. “An earworm. A tune you cannot stop humming in a dream. ‘Baby, baby, baby, yeah.’ Just… plastic.”

He keeps moving.

Surfaces around them bloom with iridescent tendrils, pulsing and thickening, erupting into jagged spikes of warped reality. Viktor does not stop, but his posture tightens, each step forward visibly painful.

“Repeat the word,” Viktor mutters, agitation rising. “The name of the sound. You came and we let you in through the hole in you—”

Jayce stops him.

He grips Viktor’s shoulder and steps in front of him, blocking his path with his body, refusing to let him take another pained step forward. Possession. Hypnosis. Mind control. It could be a dozen things—or a thousand—and there are protocols for all of them, many of which contradict each other. Some would tell him to question Viktor. Others would tell him to drag him bodily away, regardless of the damage it might cause.

What Jayce does know is that he cannot let Viktor reach the end of the hall. Not with the things he is saying.

“Hey,” Jayce says quietly, ducking his head to catch Viktor’s eyes. “This is not a call I’m gonna let you answer.”

Viktor’s forward momentum halts under Jayce’s grip. He yields without resistance, swaying faintly in place, like a sleepwalker redirected by a gentle hand. His eyes remain glazed, pearlescent light swirling within them as his lips continue to move.

“Copy of a copy of a copy…”

Around them, bright tendrils begin to rise—slow, almost curious. Those that drift too close to the runeplates recoil, then slither around them instead, all of them reaching for Viktor.

“Viktor. Hey. I need you to come back down to Earth,” Jayce keeps his voice steady, almost soft, even as his gaze flickers wildly over the approaching growths. He waves a hand in front of Viktor’s eyes. What wants him?

Without warning, the tendrils surge.

They spear into Viktor—not flesh piercing flesh, but rather like plasma slipping between atoms. Viktor convulses with a sharp gasp. His cane clatters to the floor as his hands fly up, seizing Jayce by the forearms.

His eyes clear for a heartbeat, locking onto Jayce’s in raw panic. “Agh—you—what is—?” His face contorts in pain. “There is something in my—!”

Another cry tears from him as more tendrils strike, others coiling tightly around his leg. His grip turns desperate, fingers digging in as the pull comes hard and sudden.

Then his feet leave the floor.

Viktor is ripped from Jayce’s grasp and dragged bodily down the hall, claiming him in a violent, inexorable yank.

“Viktor!”

Jayce takes off after him, bending to scoop up Viktor’s fallen cane as he goes. He sprints in long, trained strides, heart hammering, eyes locked ahead. He cuts in front of Viktor, straddling the tendril’s path as Viktor slides helplessly toward him. Jayce raises the crowbar and, on pure instinct and desperation, brings it crashing down with a surge of magic, pouring everything he has into the blow.

The air screams.

It is not a sound with a voice—more like reality itself protesting, a piercing vibration like nails dragged across the chalkboard of existence. The tendril recoils as if stabbed, flaring violently and shedding liquid light that spatters across the floor.

Viktor collapses in a heap, disheveled and stunned.

Around them, iridescent webbing pulses and writhes, but it pulls back from Jayce now, recoiling as if wary. Viktor blinks up at him, dazed—then his gaze drifts past Jayce, down the hall.

The corridor opens into something impossibly vast.

Beyond the threshold looms a pulsing, glowing thing—only partially visible, yet immense beyond reason. Iridescent and webbed, riddled with holes and fractal voids, it churns and breathes as though alive.

Jayce follows Viktor’s stare. His jaw tightens.

He crouches, hauling Viktor back to his feet and pressing the cane into his hand. “I need you to get to safety,” he says firmly. “I’m not letting whatever that is get you. It’s reaching. Get back to the elevator if you can.”

Viktor steadies himself, leaning heavily on the cane. “I am not leaving you to face whatever that is alone.”

Jayce exhales sharply. “Are you sure you can handle that right now? I’m not doubting you, I just—” He hesitates, eyes searching Viktor’s face. “Do you have any idea what you were just saying? If there’s a risk of possession, I need to know.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully. Then, without warning, he reaches up and plucks one of the floating runeplates from the air. He extends it toward a nearby tendril.

It recoils instantly.

“Whatever this thing is,” Viktor says quietly, studying the reaction, “it entered me the moment we reached the basement. Yet it no longer appears to have a hold on me.” He glances at the plate in his hand. “Perhaps this… invention of yours is keeping it at bay. Whatever it is.”

“It’s… a prototype,” Jayce says, his posture easing. “I’ve been working on adapting runeplates for containment procedures, since they can hold and twist magic.” He exhales, half a laugh. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect my proof of concept to debut quite like this.”

“If my assessment is correct, and this Anomaly is paraphysical in nature,” Viktor says, “then a mechanism like magic—intention exerted directly over reality—could prove highly effective.” He looks up at Jayce. “Is that why you were coming down here in the first place?”

“You got all that just by looking?” Jayce asks. Beneath his professional veneer, his eyes glimmer. A tendril creeps too close. Jayce rolls his shoulders and snaps the crowbar forward; the runeplates coil out like a whip, cracking against it with surgical precision. The tendril recoils. Jayce grins. “Let’s call it my extracurricular.”

He steps forward, keeping himself protectively close to Viktor as they move together. “Heimerdinger and the higher-ups want magic left to the people born with it—as if being born magical guarantees self-regulation. We all know that’s not true.” His gaze stays forward, only flicking to Viktor occasionally as the corridor stretches on, webbed in slick, soapy colors that seem intent on washing reality away. Jayce does not slow.

“Magic isn’t defined by its ability to limit itself,” he continues. “Why would it be? That’s like asking light to be dark. I’m simplifying, but—magic is existence in spite of entropy.”

He lifts the crowbar. The plates orbit it in a luminous, elegant dance—a torch against the dark.

“Magic runs alongside us,” Jayce says, glancing at Viktor. “That doesn’t mean it follows our rules. So…” He shrugs, smiling. “I’m trying to learn its rules. Who says a dog can’t play basketball?”

“…I am not certain what canine athleticism has to do with this,” Viktor says slowly. “But I suppose if the dog can physically reach the basket and understands the objective, there is no fundamental law preventing it.”

Jayce grins. “Yeah, see? You get it.” He nudges Viktor’s arm lightly with his knuckles. “Consider this my jump.” He waves his hand, the blue gem on his wrist glowing, and the runeplates swirl around Viktor like dancing leaves. Even now, he cannot help showing off.

They arrive at the chamber.

The corridor opens into a vast, spherical space. A narrow walkway stretches over empty darkness toward the heart of the Anomaly. There it hangs—immense, impossible—a constantly shifting mass of light and matter. Colors bleed and refract across its surface, iridescent hues that defy any known spectrum. Veins of glowing energy pulse through it like a living circulatory system, fractals repeating, branching and collapsing. Holes gape and close across its body, not voids so much as absences, places where reality seems to have forgotten itself. The air hums and distorts. Webs of iridescent force anchor it to the chamber, vibrating faintly, taut with intent.

Beautiful. Wrong. Alive.

Jayce stares, a swirl of emotions knotting in his chest. The sickly light is alien, yet it does not feel unnatural. It feels like it has every right to exist—and that it would annihilate everything if allowed.

“It’s bigger than it should be,” he says. The runeplates spin on their axes, a reflection of his own restless energy. “…do you ever feel yourself right on the horizon, Viktor?”

“An event horizon, perhaps,” Viktor murmurs, sharp eyes locked on the Anomaly, a mixture of awe and calculation. “From our perspective, all we see is darkness. What lies beyond it, we cannot know until we dive inside. The ultimate black box.”

The Anomaly reacts. Tendrils of iridescent light reach toward Viktor, then snap back when they near Jayce. Observing the pattern, Viktor stays close as Jayce navigates the pulsing, alien mass.

“I admit I am partial to the sciences as well,” Viktor says. “Our working hypothesis, then… would be: if the runeplates are deployed around the Anomaly, then they will effectively suppress or modulate its uncharacteristically active behavior.”

“That’s exactly it,” Jayce says, swiping the crowbar to slice through approaching tendrils like a reaper among souls. “But it seems… fixated on you. How come you’re so popular with it? Do you know?” His curiosity laces the question, but it also buys him time. The Anomaly is idle when he is idle, for now, and he needs every second to think. “Or do you think it’s just hungry?”

Viktor gives a small, helpless shrug. “Fresh meat, perhaps?” he offers. “I wonder if—oh!”

A sudden vibration shudders through the walkway, cutting him off mid-sentence. He grabs the handrail with one hand as the floor around them ripples violently. Jagged fractals bloom and collapse, holes opening and sealing like fragile soap bubbles.

“Ah. Perhaps hungry once,” he mutters weakly, “but now I think we may have offended it. Ha, that is—”

The world suddenly disappears beneath them.

The walkway bucks with violent force, hurling them both off their feet in opposite directions.

“Viktor!” Jayce yells, lunging toward him the moment the floor tilts. Both arms shoot out, crowbar abandoned to the white void swirling around them. He catches Viktor around the middle, his grip rivaling the tendrils that lash and strike as if fighting for possession like a scorned lover.

But the pull is too sudden, too strong. Jayce cannot fight them off in time.

Viktor finds himself in a deeply unusual predicament. For reasons he cannot immediately account for, he is floating. In space.

He looks down at his hands. They glow, edges blurred, his form suffused with light as though he has been poorly rendered. When he looks up, he realizes he is watching what he believed he was just experiencing—a projection, unfolding at a slight remove.

He sees himself. That is unsettling enough. He also sees Jayce, arms locked firmly around his waist. Large arms. Very large. Distractingly—no. Irrelevant.

This is, he concludes, most likely an out-of-body experience.

The two of them fall in slow motion, suspended in a void that offers neither horizon nor reference point. Viktor observes with a detached, almost academic calm. As he takes in his surroundings—or, more accurately, the absence of them—he becomes aware of something else.

A presence.

It has no shape, no clear location, yet it is undeniable. It presses against his awareness like a thought that is not his own.

“What are you?” Viktor asks, curiosity outweighing fear.

The space itself vibrates in response. Not sound, not language—resonance. It feels like an answer, though it is far too alien for him to interpret.

Is this reality, he wonders, or the thing observing it? Has he stepped outside the simulation at last—or merely into a deeper layer of it?

Ah.

He may be losing the plot somewhat.

“Viktor! Snap out of it, Viktor!” Jayce shouts, shaking the man, trying to break through the song-like pull of the Anomaly, but it’s no use—the man is in a trance. His feet scrabble for ground that isn’t there. They’re falling, but nothing moves.

He will not die like this. They will not.

“Viktor! If you can hear me—” He slams his wrist forward, calling the runeplates back. They respond instantly, circling outward, filling the void, reaching for the twitching, centerless heart of the Anomaly. He stares into the spinning vastness, spreading the plates as far as his will will let them.

“It was only meant to be a prototype. Consider this a proof of concept!” he yells, hoping somewhere in Viktor’s mind he can hear.

The plates scatter. And then—spin.

“Did you know the first thing you do to stabilize something is spin it?” Jayce keeps talking, his voice frantic but deliberate. Viktor has to be there. He has to understand. “And magic—magic is as if pure concept is brought to life. A circle spins better than anything, obviously, yet there is no perfect circle outside of theory!”

Blue whips of light tear across the void, moving so fast their origins cannot be traced. The space shivers, as if reality itself is being split apart.

“But magic isn’t bound by non-theoretical limitations!” he adds, voice rising.

Jayce’s arms ache, muscles straining to keep the runeplates spinning in perfect formation around the Anomaly.

“I call it Protocol Hermes Star: The Hexcore!”

Sparks lick the edges of the void, and for a moment he fears the plates will falter, that Viktor will be lost before he can get through. But he holds them steady, breathing through the panic, letting the rhythm of the spin guide him.

“You’re going to find all of this so interesting when you snap out of it!”

As Viktor drifts, he wants to ponder the metaphysics of it all—but there is no time. Or perhaps there is endless time. He cannot tell. His ears prick like a cat’s as Jayce’s voice cuts through the void. He wishes he were in his body, experiencing the moment fully, rather than floating like a useless doll. He wonders what the Anomaly is doing with his gray matter right now.

As the runeplates spin, he notices the Anomaly’s thrashing begin to slow. A sudden clarity strikes him. He follows Jayce’s explanation, his own observations, and the odd sensation that something is resisting the pull of sleep. Best he can ascertain, the Anomaly is incoherent reality made manifest, a disruption in local laws. Jayce’s Hexcore forces local reality toward coherence, solidifying boundaries the Anomaly cannot fully violate.

But it is not moving fast enough.

He knows, with cold certainty, that if he does not act, it will backfire.

He reaches out with metaphorical hands, pushing against metaphorical barriers. The void resists, presses back, squeezes. Every push is agony, a battle of thought against presence, of will against entropy.

A final surge. He bursts through, collapsing into his body with the wet, sticky sensation of being born anew. His real eyes snap open. He gasps and grabs Jayce by the shirt.

“Jayce!” His voice is ragged, cutting through the screaming of the Anomaly. “You have to crank it!”

Jayce’s head snaps back, stunned that Viktor is awake. “What!?”

Viktor strains against the grasping force of the Anomaly, determined to reclaim control. He closes his eyes, draws a breath, and slides his hand down to seize Jayce’s wrist—grasping the bracelet, the glowing stone pulsing beneath his fingers. Raw energy burns through him.

He lets himself go.

His other hand rises toward the Hexcore, every scrap of power he has hoarded erupting through him. Energy arcs outward, joining the stone and the plates in a lattice of light. His eyes flare gold as the force coalesces with Jayce’s Hexcore, amplifying, spiraling, wrapping around itself like molten wire.

The plates respond instantly.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

And then—snap.

Into a perfect circle.

Viktor glances back, every nerve alive, his skin humming with the raw power coursing through him.

Jayce stares at him like he is every star in the sky, the sun itself a halo around him. “You’re a mage!” he shouts, voice filled with wonder.

Viktor breathes heavily, eyes locking on Jayce’s. Hazel eyes, wide with awe, unrestrained and alive. In that instant, a spark ignites—a feeling unlike anything he has ever known. Deep down, he knows that as long as he stands with this man—this man who has defied every law of reality—anything is possible.

Then—blinding white light erupts around them. The world tilts violently. A thud echoes in his ears.

When he blinks, he finds himself sprawled on solid ground. Beside him, Jayce lies equally sprawled, his wrist still locked in Viktor’s unyielding grip.

The Anomaly hovers above, now calm. Its surface ripples gently, iridescent and fluid, like soap on water. At its core, the plates have reassembled themselves.

The Hexcore drifts downward, blue tiles glowing softly, settling at Viktor’s feet where it hovers just an inch above the ground, spinning with a quiet, steady hum.

Viktor, still tingling from the surge of power and the strange intimacy of the moment, stares at it in awe. A new energy pulses from it—different, altered, reshaped. It almost feels…

He snaps his head as Jayce groans, stirring from the impact. Viktor shuffles closer, hovering over him.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly. “Are you alright? Anything broken?”

Jayce shifts, wincing, then opens his eyes, blinking slowly as they readjust. He reaches for Viktor’s face, thumb resting on his cheekbone. “Just bruised, I think,” he says, sounding equally winded. “Did it work? Or is this some kind of pocket dimension?”

“I…” Viktor blinks, unsure how to respond. The warmth rising to his cheeks is undeniable at the sensation of Jayce’s solid hand cupping his face. It is intimate—arguably far too intimate for two men who have only just met under professional circumstances—but he leans into it anyway. They had touched something untouchable, faced it together.

It feels familiar, almost like muscle memory, as though they had done this before.

Suddenly, his head swims. He sways, bracing himself on his palms with a shaky breath. Something damp brushes his upper lip. Frowning, he wipes it with the back of his hand—and it comes away red.

Jayce is already on his feet, faster than Viktor expected. He opens his arms for Viktor again, placing a hand on his back to steady him. “Hey, hey, careful there,” he murmurs, hushing him as though the danger still lurks ahead.

“I think we’re safe. Come on, let’s see if the elevator works—”

Then the alarms begin to scream.

“Shit!” Jayce yells, covering an ear with one palm. “Come on!” He guides Viktor away from the source of the blaring. “We’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do!”

Viktor wobbles, clutching Jayce for balance, compensating for his missing cane, the other hand pressed to his dripping nose. He wishes he had a third hand to clamp over his ears; the noise slices into the pressure already blooming behind his eyes. Life and death had been at stake, yes—but he may have overexerted himself just a little. He feels his body threatening to shut down.

“Why… are we not meant to be down here?” Viktor asks, letting Jayce move him forward.

“Haha—nope!”

Viktor winces. Not even through his first week, and he is already breaking rules. Delightful.

The alarms cut off mid-wail. The sudden silence leaves a shrill ringing in Viktor’s ears, replaced almost instantly by the sharp, unmistakable cadence of boots—many boots.

The corridor floods with security. Armed personnel in dark uniforms pour in from both ends of the hall. Someone barks orders; a perimeter is established.

The line parts. Viktor’s eyes widen just in time to see a very short, blond man in a crisply tailored suit stride through, moving with surprising speed. Thick eyebrows knit in a deep furrow of concern. His stomach sinks.

“Mr. Talis!” Heimerdinger’s voice is sharp with disbelief as he stops before them. His gaze flicks to Viktor, widening further. “And… Mr. Reveck?”

His eyes drift past them, locking on the Hexcore. A long, dreadful beat stretches.

“What... have you done?”

At that, Viktor promptly passes out.

Despite the embarrassment of being marched along by Security and the withering gaze of his superior, Jayce feels… hopeful.

After carrying him for a while, he gently sets Viktor onto the stretcher. The absence in his arms is immediate, like a phantom limb. From the moment he held Viktor, some part of Jayce became incapable of letting him go.

Somehow, he knows they are destined to accomplish incredible things together.

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