Lucas hated the silence.It wasn’t the calm, meditative kind. It was the sharp, surgical silence that filled Poper HQ like a knife poised above skin. The kind that judged your breath and made you wish you didn’t need to take one.

He stood still in line—shoulders square, chin up—like the others. Poper recruits wore the same jet-black uniforms, stitched with iridescent thread that shimmered faintly when they exhaled. Everyone looked the same on the outside. That was the point.

Inside? Lucas’s heart was a riot.Not fear—no. It was something worse: excitement. The kind that crawls up your spine like heat lightning and makes you want to scream just to prove you're alive.

The Initiation Chamber was blinding white. No shadows, no escape. There were rumors that this room could read you. Scan your past sins, your doubts, your real reasons for joining the Poper Squad.

A voice snapped into the chamber like a whip:“Lucas Noam. Step forward.”

He obeyed.Twelve steps. Each one sounded louder than the last, until he stood beneath the Sanctum’s Eye—a floating orb of ember glass that pulsed with golden light.

“DNA confirmed. Mutant strain present. No anomalies.”Then silence again.

Lucas blinked. Mutant strain? He’d never even—

“Approved. Designation: Ash Blade.”

A ripple passed down the line of recruits. A few shifted their weight; one or two swallowed audibly. Ash Blade wasn’t just a name. It was rare. Experimental. A name reserved for those with unstable but promising mutations.

Lucas stood frozen, unsure if he should feel honored or afraid.

Then he stepped out from the wall.

No footsteps. Just movement, like the shifting of a shadow against flame.

He wore no uniform. No badge. No mark of allegiance. Just a dark, long coat cracked at the edges like it had survived a thousand years of war. A sword hung at his back, humming softly with twin threads of light and shadow weaving around its hilt.

Shadow Light.

Even the Eye dimmed at his presence.

One recruit muttered, “No way…”Another took a step back. No one spoke above a whisper in Shadow Light’s presence, not if they wanted to keep their voice.

Lucas tried to salute, but his hand stopped halfway—his body locked up. Shadow Light didn’t blink. He stared at Lucas like he was peering through time.

This one burns too clean, Shadow Light thought. But all flames lie. Even the brightest can turn.

He moved slowly, deliberately, circling Lucas as if inspecting a sculpture he wasn’t sure he liked.

“You’ll lead them one day,” he said, his voice smooth as scorched velvet. “You’ll wear their crown. Run their machine. Fix their flaws.”

Lucas’s brow furrowed. Murmurs rippled through the back of the line. A few recruits looked at each other, unsure if this was praise… or a curse.

Shadow Light stepped closer, until their foreheads nearly touched.“But remember,” he whispered, “on the day you rise… I’ll be there.”

His finger tapped Lucas’s chest—light seared into him like a branding iron. A mark bloomed over his heart: a swirling emblem of white and black flame. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Balanced. Unstable.

“You’ll die by this,” Shadow Light said simply. “Unless you become more than they say you are.”

Then he turned. The edges of his coat frayed into shadow.One step. Then another. Then nothing.

Gone.

Lucas dropped to one knee, gasping, clutching his chest. The mark still burned. The silence returned. But it was different now.

It knew his name.

And so did everyone else.