The building was stone gray like the others—same slit windows, same sterile face. But the carvings were deeper, the stone less polished. It looked like it had been built for something else, then repurposed. They stepped into a deserted lobby. Dust clung to the corners. There were no guards or reception. Just a single elevator waiting, like it had been expecting them.

To Aurora’s surprise, they didn’t go up. They shot down. Fast. The air changed, cold, sterile. The smell of medicine or chemicals in the air. When the doors opened, the basement felt more like a dungeon: cold stone, low lights, a silence that made her feel squished down.

“So far, very welcoming,” Aurora whispered, swiveling around, taking everything in. Cold stone walls dripped with condensation. Metal bars replaced real walls, the room more cage than corridor. The deeper they went, the more unnatural it became.

Then she saw it—and tucked the details away. Blood splattered across stone. Papers tossed from desks, left to decay. Claw marks gouged deep into wood. Nothing had been cleaned. Nothing hidden. Of course.

“And here we go again…” she almost whispered. “I’m starting to question why I’m always surprised. I am following you, after all.” She started observing, her brain trying to fit the clues into a larger picture, anticipating what she was walking into. She categorized the clues, warnings, echoes.

She thanked whatever luck she had that Karl wasn’t here.

She should’ve expected what lay ahead, but surprise still prickled beneath her skin. Screens lined the walls. Some flickered. Others hummed. All of them streamed endless lines of code—algorithms looped against shelves of biological vials.

Where was Milo taking her—and what exactly was she being led into this time?

She stepped forward. A broken monitor hissed against the far wall, half-lit in sickly blue. Behind it, a door slid open. No sound accompanied his footsteps. The man entered like he had always been there. He was tall, composed, and unarmed, at least visibly. His coat was immaculately white, fastened with thin lines of silver that caught the light but not the eye. His hands stayed still. His eyes didn’t blink.

He was taller than Milo. Older, definitely. But Aurora felt it instantly.

Great. His twin.

He didn’t look like Milo—different build, different face—but the way he moved… It was in the control, the stillness, the flash of awareness behind his eyes. Her stomach tightened. She felt that same feeling. Like the room had already been surveyed. Like she was already labeled, boxed, filed away.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said, voice low, as if the blood and claw marks were aesthetic flaws. One of the others had... difficulty adjusting.” He nodded to her. No outstretched hand. He just crossed the room to a control panel and started typing, continuing to work away. “Josen.”

Aurora stiffened. “The friend,” she managed to say.

She didn’t like the way he looked at her—like she was a formula with too many unknowns. But when he turned away, she liked it even less: that flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. Like he’d already solved her.

That was the difference.

Milo watched like he wanted her to break the equation herself. This man? He’d already written the answer in ink.

Milo didn’t need to speak. He’d already made himself at home with that quiet, infuriating confidence of his. Josen’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, curiosity flickering, then fading into something harder. He looked away and went about as if doing chores.

“You finished the job,” he said, directed at Milo. “Two kingdoms down. I’d say impressive, impossible really… but then again, I expected nothing less from you.”

Then his eyes sharpened. His voice dropped. He tilted his head. “But…I’m not quite sure about your company. You always had a weakness for irregular data,” he said, almost gently. “The unpredictable ones. The outliers.”

He took a step closer—not toward Milo, but toward Aurora. “Tell me, why do I have the notion that she’s not like the others? At least… not to you.”

Milo’s jaw twitched. Barely. Then he smirked, folding his arms as he leaned against the railing—casual, practiced. But there was something colder in his posture now. Tighter.

A nerve, Aurora thought. Maybe. When she glanced back, his expression had already shifted. Pure amusement. Like nothing had touched him at all.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. The same old,” Josen said.

The sound of bubbles demanded her eyes. She recoiled sharply.

A human being.

A woman floated nearby in a test tube, hooked up to tubes. Then, banging. Aurora watched as the water sloshed violently.

A water user!

“Did you use my reversal serum well?”

Milo nodded. “She planned the mission and handed the spark to a stranger. No promises. No instructions. Just faith and fire.”

Josen’s eyes gleamed. “And it worked? Interesting…”

The woman’s eyes opened as she saw the three, and she started banging, the water splashing forward, one with her rhythm.

“Good, you’re awake.” Said Josen as he stepped closer.

Aurora took a step forward before she could stop herself. Flashbacks of Karl’s mom flooded her mind. How ‘strategy’ had cost her everything. How maybe she should have acted emotionally. Maybe she shouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Let her out.” Her voice came quiet, razor-thin. Her eyes didn’t flicker—just pierced through him like frost through glass.

Josen turned. “Excuse me?”

This time, Aurora rejected thinking logically. “You know exactly what I said.”

Milo didn’t speak, but his smirk melted. A flicker passed through his eyes, as if knowing how this would play out.

Aurora’s eyes darted across the console, calculating.

Tubes. Blue lights. Pulsing codes she didn’t understand.

No, she didn’t need to understand. She just needed one right guess. There. A locking mechanism beneath the pressure vent. Two clamps, pulsing faintly red. A wheel nearby labeled in a language she didn’t speak.

Josen had turned to Milo as if she wasn’t in the room at all. Whatever, you don’t matter, his disposition seemed to say. But Milo’s eyes were still glued to her and she tuned Josen’s noise out. Her mind splintered into angles, memories—old Academy training. She’d studied magical seals and battlefield technology. Not this. Not wires. But patterns were patterns.

The woman in the tank wasn't screaming, but Aurora could see the scream in her eyes. Her hand hovered over the lever. This one. It has to be this one.

She pulled. A hiss cut the air. The clamps released. The tank unlocked with a pneumatic sigh.

“Don’t—” Josen started, finally giving her his divine attention.

Too late.

The fluid flushed. The woman hit the floor like glass. Aurora didn’t breathe. Her limbs twitched once, then stilled.

The tank behind her hissed, drained. A clinical silence spread, thick and unbothered.

Josen stepped forward without haste. He didn’t look at the body. He didn’t need to. “Well done,” he said dryly. “You located the override. Just like I expected.” He pointed toward the ceiling with a faint gesture. “Of course, you didn’t account for the filtration system. Or the pressure seals. Or the fact that she’d been submerged in nutrient fluid for months.”

He turned back to her, one eyebrow raised. “But that’s you, isn’t it?” He stepped closer. “You see a woman in a tank and assume cruelty. You see blood on the floor and assume guilt.” His voice remained cool, almost curious. “You’re the prime example of the primitive thinking of the outside,”

He looked past her, toward the walls, the screens, the data sets humming with eerie calm. “You don’t know the number of lives we’ve improved. You can’t, or maybe you don’t want to. You just felt something—and that was enough.” He smiled faintly, his tone certain.

“Empathy,” he said curiously, like studying a test subject. “Tell me, what does it do for you? For society? Emotions. Everyone from outside thinks they’re strength. Compassion, love, hope.” He stepped closer, voice colder now. “But what about the other side? Vengeance, hate, sorrow. But, it doesn’t matter, all emotions are the same thing in the end—impulsivity. Poor decisions dressed up in noble words.” He laughed.

Aurora stared at the body.

“Let me guess, you want to believe you’re a strategist,” he continued. “But every time it matters, you lead with emotion. You burn or flinch or react wrong. And someone dies” His gaze dropped—then returned to hers like a blade unsheathed. “I can read you like a book! And one day, you’ll do it outside these walls. In the wrong city. At the wrong time. And there won’t be anyone left to protect you.” He stepped closer. “You’ll die for the right reasons. Or so you think. But it won’t matter. Not to the people you fail. Not to the ones who survive. Not even to him.”

“You’ve made your point, Josen. No need to gloat.” Milo stepped closer to them, that stupid smile still on his face.

Josen turned toward Milo, his eyes wide, as if he had never stepped in for anyone before. He leaned into his ear before he left. “You’ve made your first choice, Aurora…Let’s see how many more you survive.”

Aurora watched to see if the woman would miraculously stand up. She had to, right? But when she didn’t, Aurora only had one thought: He was right. Karl was right. She hadn’t thought. Hadn’t planned. She’d seen a woman in pain and acted like an impulsive child.

And now, because of her, another woman was dead.

Karl’s words echoed in her head. “You made the wrong choice. You always will.”

She didn’t look. Not at the tank. Not at Milo. Not even at Josen. Because she already knew what she’d see. No pity, just accuracy.

Then, quietly, Josen pressed a button. The wall beside them slid open, revealing another chamber. Rows of containment. Vats. Subjects.

“So.” His voice lightened into mockery. “What will your next noble impulse be?”

Her stomach lurched. Her breath came too shallow. Her limbs felt brittle, like if she moved too fast, she might shatter. She tried to steady the shaking. Tried to breathe evenly. But it was visible—of course it was. She clenched her fists anyway. One breath. Then another.

“Exactly.”

—----------------------

Milo led Aurora toward the lift. They stepped inside, and the platform began to rise, quiet and steady. The silence wasn’t awkward. Just… heavy. Aurora stared at the floor, willing her hands to stay still.

She didn’t speak. Her fists stayed clenched, nails digging into her palms. She didn’t trust her voice or what it might admit. Milo stood beside her, still, almost serene. When they reached the surface, the doors slid open with a soft chime. Bright light spilled in, too quiet, too clean.

Only then did he speak. “You weren’t wrong.”

She blinked. Looked up sharply. Wasn’t I?

He kept his gaze forward. “You were just early.” He paused. “It’s the difference that’s fatal.”

Aurora felt her breath catch. He started walking.

“Emotion doesn’t make you weak,” he added. “Believe it or not, I revel in emotions. But acting on it before you understand can cost everything.”

She didn’t follow right away. Because part of her still wanted to scream. Part of her still wanted to dig a hole, die, and be buried from everything. But Milo was already pushing on ahead.

“Josen was testing you,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you.” He looked at her, curiously. “But when he showed you the rest, you didn’t save them. You didn’t even try.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s right.” She dug her nails deeper. “Because screaming wouldn’t change anything. Because I want to win.”

“How?” He wasn’t mocking or challenging. He crossed his arms, genuinely curious, like he’s testing if she really means it.

Aurora opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She knew too well. She had no network. No army. No name people respect. No tools but the ones he lets her touch. But he did.

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything…Not yet.”

That’s the spark.

“Then why keep going?”

She looked at him. “Because the moment I stop…I become one of you. I might already be. I know I’m not strong but,” she laughed. “I don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t try anything.”

There’s a silence between them. Like something sacred just shifted.

To her surprise, he didn’t look offended. In his eyes glimmered a hint of pride. He cleared his throat, then laughed, changing the subject. “You’re not wrong.” he repeated.

Aurora flinched. She didn’t expect agreement, a lecture maybe.

Milo stepped closer. “This place—the Stone Kingdom built a world where no one can afford to feel. Where logic sterilized the soul.”

He looked at her now, but he wasn’t condescending…just… wary. “And that kind of world? Deserves to fall.” He cleared his throat again. “Emotions are a variable that creates meaning,” he clarified. “But systems – Josen’s, the kingdoms’, Cerceras’—erase meaning to stay intact. So let them fall.”

She looked at him, not cautiously, not even suspiciously. But as if seeing him for the first time.

“Are you actually aligning with me?” She blinked.

“Let’s not get sentimental. I still think you’re dangerous. Just for all the wrong reasons.”

She blinked again. “So what’s the plan?”

“Here?” he said. “Like you said everyone is truly equal in terms of ability.” For the first time ever he said: “And I need help.”