The hangar bay was cold, the air smelling of ozone and fuel. Team Zero moved with a quiet, focused energy towards the waiting Star-Jumper, its dark hull seeming to absorb the light around it. They were a picture of lethal readiness.
Then the air in front of the ship’s ramp shimmered, like heat haze over a desert. It coalesced in a heartbeat, and a man stood where there had been empty space.
Silas didn’t hesitate. He was already moving, his massive form a blur as he planted himself between the newcomer and the others, a combat stance so ingrained it was pure instinct. Energy flared around his fists. "You," he growled.
Vyn was just as fast. She didn’t step forward; she simply raised a hand. A circle of intricate, violet runes blazed into existence on the hangar floor around the man, the air within them thickening to the consistency of syrup. There would be no teleporting out.
Reia’s blades were in her hands, held low and ready, her eyes narrowed to slits.
The man stood perfectly still, his hands loose at his sides. It was Marc. But he was different. The brutalized arm was healed, held with a natural ease. The polished armor was gone, replaced with simple, dark traveler’s clothes. The mask of hate and pain he’d worn in the vault was absent, replaced by a weary, guarded calm. His black eyes, so like Lucian’s, scanned the hostile circle before landing on the one person who hadn’t moved.
Lucian had stopped walking. He stood a few paces back, his expression unreadable. He watched Marc, his head tilted slightly, as if studying a complex equation.
"I’m not here to fight," Marc said. His voice was quiet, rough from disuse, but clear. It cut through the hangar’s tension.
"Could’ve fooled me, showing up like a ghost," Silas shot back, his stance not relaxing an inch. Thıs text ıs hosted at 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱
"I’m here to talk," Marc continued, his gaze still locked on Lucian. "To my brother."
The word hung in the air. Brother. It was a claim, an admission, and a question all at once.
Reia’s eyes flicked to Lucian, waiting for his signal. Vyn’s runes pulsed, ready to contract into a prison at a thought.
Lucian took a single, slow step forward. He didn’t look at Silas or Vyn. His focus was entirely on Marc. "Talk," he said, the word flat and offering no quarter.
Marc took a slow breath, as if steeling himself. "The dragon found me. Told me about Lucy." He glanced at the obsidian ship behind him. "I see you’re going after her."
"We are," Lucian confirmed, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Marc nodded, a short, sharp motion. "Then I’m coming with you."
A beat of stunned silence.
Silas barked a disbelieving laugh. "You’ve got to be kidding me. After everything?"
"Why?" Lucian asked, his voice still dangerously calm. "Why now?"
Marc’s jaw tightened. For a moment, the old bitterness flashed in his eyes. "You think I wanted any of this? You think I enjoyed being that man’s... his weapon?" He shook his head, the anger deflating into something more exhausted. "He lied to me. About everything. My whole life was a lie built to make me hate you." He looked directly at Lucian, and for the first time, there was no shield there. "But she’s my sister too. Isn’t she?"
The question was raw, stripped of all pretense. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a plea for confirmation.
Lucian held his gaze for a long, heavy moment. The hangar was so quiet they could hear the faint hum of the Star-Jumper’s systems.
"She is," Lucian said finally. The two words were simple, but they carried the weight of a shattered history.
"Then let me help," Marc said, his voice low and intense. "I don’t expect you to trust me. I wouldn’t. But I can fight. And I have nothing left to lose but a past that was never real."
Reia watched the exchange, her blades still held ready but her stance less aggressive. She was reading the subtext, the unspoken language between them. Vyn’s expression was inscrutable, her runes still glowing but no longer flaring.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. He was calculating, weighing the risk of a known enemy against the potential of a powerful, if unstable, ally. He saw the healed body, the controlled energy, the absence of Eron’s influence. He saw a weapon, yes, but one whose aim had suddenly become unclear.
"You follow my lead," Lucian stated, not asking. "No arguments. No second guesses. You’re a part of this team, or you’re not on this ship."
Marc didn’t even blink. "Understood."
Lucian glanced at Vyn and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
Without a word, Vyn lowered her hand. The violet runes on the floor winked out of existence, the oppressive magic vanishing instantly.
Silas straightened up slowly, the energy around his fists fading. He didn’t look happy, but he trusted Lucian’s judgment. He gave Marc a long, measuring look. "One wrong move," he said, his voice a low rumble.
"I know," Marc replied, meeting his gaze squarely.
Lucian turned and started walking towards the Star-Jumper’s ramp again, as if the entire confrontation had been a minor delay. "Then let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time."
The team fell in behind him, the formation shifting to naturally include Marc on the periphery. Reia sheathed her blades, though her hand stayed near the hilts. Silas kept Marc in his line of sight. Vyn simply watched him, her shadowed gaze missing nothing.
As they ascended the ramp into the dark, waiting ship, Marc paused for a second on the threshold, his eyes taking in the advanced, organic interior. It was a far cry from the Thorne estate’s grim opulence or the cold functionality of Eron’s designs.
Then he stepped inside, the ramp hissing shut behind him. He was in. The weapon had been invited into the arsenal. Where it would point now was a question that hung in the air, thick and unspoken, as the Star-Jumper prepared to leap into the void.