The garage floor was scrubbed clean of dust and debris, save for the sacred circle chalked into the concrete. Interlocking sigils and geometric glyphs radiated from its center, a silent promise of power. Lanterns swung overhead, their pale beams flickering against steel shelves laden with scavenged tomes and humming crystals.

In the hushed ring formed by the survivors, John stood before a small table. On it lay eight jagged mana crystals, each no larger than a marble and pulsing with its own hue. Crimson, violet, emerald, and deeper lights danced beneath their translucent surfaces.

“Tonight,” John intoned, voice steady, “you will awaken.”

Behind him, J. Brown murmured a litany in an impossible tongue. Lina, Hailie, and Michelle—guardians of this newly forged refuge—stood at the circle’s edge, solemn as ancient acolytes.

John gestured to the table. “These crystals grow in the heart of mutated beasts—raw mana refined by brutality. To consume one is to gamble with your soul. Most die in the attempt. Few survive… and those who do become more than human.”

He plucked the first crystal and handed it to Michelle. She accepted it with a skeptical lift of her brow, jaw tight. One by one, the volunteers—Michelle, Natalya, Milo, Martina, Taylor, Ian, Terriq, and Benjamin—stepped forward, pressing victorious but trembling palms into the circle.

Benjamin, only seven years old, stared at his crystal as if seeing it for the first time. John placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Hold tight,” John whispered. “Count to three.”

They lifted the crystals together:

“One… Two… Three.”

A heartbeat later, each survivor bit down.

John stepped forward, watching each of them carefully.

Michelle gasped, crimson light bursting from her chest. She collapsed to her knees as cracks spiderwebbed across the concrete beneath her palms. Flames of ruby aura danced around her fingertips, scorching the chalk lines. She rose, eyes blazing with fierce power, shotgun in hand renewed with radiant energy.

Natalya followed, violet fire coiling around her wrists. A soft hum pulsed as her veins glowed in spirals, each exhale sending tendrils of arcane mist swirling at her feet.

Milo growled through clenched teeth, emerald torque flexing beneath his skin. Muscle and bone reshaped for a heartbeat, granting him the strength of a colossus.

Martina arched backward as pearls of white light wove an exoskeletal lattice across her arms and spine—petal‑soft yet unbreakable. She flexed her fingers; petals of healing energy bloomed and wilted in an instant.

Taylor screamed in shock as inky shadows twisted along his limbs—an umbral veil flickering like nightmare smoke. He forced it back, eyes bright with newfound resolve.

Ian and Terriq staggered, glow‑soft hands knitting torn flesh closed—anointing themselves as healers in the crucible of war. Terriq’s skin shimmered silver as he summoned a fleeting barrier that rippled before vanishing.

Finally, only Benjamin and Gussa remained.

Benjamin’s small form trembled. He raised the crystal with trembling fingers and swallowed. A gentle gold‑white pulse blossomed from his chest—identical in shade to John’s own faint aura. It spread outward, a living shield of inherited Radiance. No one had known powers could pass from brother to brother, father to son—but here it was, unmistakable.

Gussa hesitated at the circle’s brink, crystal in his hand. He closed his eyes and swallowed, steel replacing doubt. A resonant chorus exploded behind his eyes—a memory too ancient for this life. Light and sorrow intertwined as Seraphim’s name pressed on his tongue, a ghost‑truth forgotten then found, pale and sorrowful, his hands outstretched, stained in golden blood. A gentle voice echoed in his skull: “I gave my soul so you would live, even if it meant you forgot me. But now, you’re waking up.”

Gussa gasped as the memory burned out like a sun flare.

White‑hot brilliance blinded him. Then, as the flare subsided, he knelt, breath ragged, hands pressed to the cracked floor. The circle seemed to glow beneath him, drawn ever brighter by his presence.

Silence fell.

John stepped forward, eyes gleaming. One by one, the newly awakened rose:

Michelle’s crimson aura still flickered in embers around her. Martina’s white lattice glowed softly. Taylor’s shadow‑veil pulsed behind him. Ian and Terriq’s healing lights faded to gentle halos. Natalya’s violet spirals wound down her arms. Milo’s emerald might hummed deep in his bones. Benjamin stood, small but shining gold, the youngest Radiant in memory.

They were transformed.

Outside, the wind rattled the boards, a mournful howl. Inside, the firehouse breathed with fresh life.

John surveyed their faces. “This is only the beginning,” he said. “We train at first light. We master these gifts, or they master us.”

Michelle slung her renewed shotgun with a grin. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Natalya flexed her glowing wrists. “We fight.”

Milo cracked his knuckles, emerald sparks dancing. “We endure.”

Martina’s petals of light drifted around her like ghostly blossoms. She nodded once. “We protect.”

Taylor’s umbral cloak coalesced around his shoulders. “We conceal.”

Ian and Terriq exchanged knowing looks, hands still humming. “We heal,” they said in unison.

Benjamin looked up at John. “Like you?”

John hugged him close. “Like me.”

Gussa rose, aura faintly haloed. “We stay. We learn. We defend.”

Hailie stepped forward, blade in hand. “And we survive.”

The circle’s glyphs glowed one last time before fading into chalk dust.

In the silence that followed, laughter trembled through the group—nervous, joyous, defiant. The firehouse walls, once cold and hollow, now pulsed with promise.

And beyond the barricaded doors, the dead watched.

But inside, eight Radiants stood ready to shape the dawn.