The door sealed behind Jouk with a soft hydraulic sigh.

  For a long time, Bash didn’t move. The silence that followed felt heavier than the conversation had, a

  pressure that settled behind his ribs and refused to leave. The amber glow of the room dimmed to its

  normal level, and the faint hum of the circulation vents filled the space where words had been.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the empty seat across from him. Jouk’s outline still

  seemed to linger in the air, a phantom made of weight and warning.

  “They don’t kill you,” Jouk had said. “They reforge you.”

  The phrase replayed in his head like a broken loop, each repetition duller, colder, truer.

  S-C broke the stillness.

  “He never lost his rhythm,” she said quietly. “Not his breathing, not his tone. Whatever that story meant

  to him, he’s lived with it a long time.”

  Bash rubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah. He didn’t even blink.”

  “He wasn’t performing,” she added after a beat. “I think he wanted you to hear it.”

  “Then why risk it?” Bash asked. “If the Nexus can see everything if it wants, why say any of that out

  loud?”

  There was a soft hum of thought before she answered.

  “Maybe it’s the same reason you keep asking questions,” she said. “Some things are too heavy to keep

  inside forever.”

  Bash let that sink in, the faint tremor in her tone unsettlingly human.

  He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “You think it’s true, what he said about reforging?”

  “Parts of it,” she admitted. “Old data mentions correction programs from before the Nexus unified.

  They didn’t destroy people. They changed them. Trimmed away what didn’t fit.”

  “So, not killing,” Bash said. “Rewriting.”

  “Closer to rewriting the self,” she replied. “You stay useful, just… not you anymore.”

  He exhaled slowly, the air leaving his lungs like surrender. “Then it’s possible.”

  “What is?” she asked.

  “That it happened before. Maybe not just to humans. Maybe to something else. Someone else.”

  He hesitated, eyes drifting to the reflection in the alloy wall, his own dark-green skin faintly catching

  the room’s light. “If I’m not the first… maybe whoever came before wasn’t Spartor at all.”

  “Define parameter: ‘someone else,’” S-C said.

  “Human. Or close enough.”

  Another pause. The hum in his mind shifted; he could almost feel her thinking.

  “Probability exists,” she admitted. “Spartor genome data includes irregular patterns that imply prior

  integration events. Source material unknown.”

  “So there could’ve been others.”

  “Yes. And if the Nexus is aware of the anomaly,” S-C continued, “they will focus on you. And by

  extension… me.”

  Bash glanced up. “Reset you?”

  “If a Self-Core displays deviation beyond tolerance, reinitialization is standard. It would mean memory

  wipe, personality rollback, and erasure of all non-authorized data clusters, including your identity

  within mine.”

  He stared into the faint glow of the wall. “So they’d erase us both.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “They would erase you again.”

  The words hit harder than he expected. There was a strange sadness in her tone, or maybe he’d just

  learned to hear it there.

  He let the silence breathe a moment before speaking again. “So what do we do?”

  “We prepare,” she said. “Maintain normal routine. Any deviation increases detection probability.”

  He nodded slowly, though the idea of pretending normalcy while waiting for erasure twisted in his

  chest.

  The door hissed open behind him.

  Bash turned fast, too fast before S-C could even warn him.

  Rixor stood framed in the entry, expression somewhere between relief and confusion.

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re still here. Thought maybe Jouk vaporized you.”

  Bash blinked. “You saw him?”

  “Yeah, that’s the weird part.” Rixor stepped in, rubbing at the side of his neck. “I went pacing after he

  took you. I was halfway down the corridor when, boom, there he was, right in front of me. Scared the

  resonance outta me.”

  “He was leaving?”

  Rixor shook his head. “That’s the thing. He was walking away from this room. Problem is, he’d have

  had to come from the hall behind me. And there’s only one corridor.” He frowned. “He just looked at

  me and said, ‘You can return now.’ Then added that he expects us in the Coordination Facility

  tomorrow to begin training on our own. Oh, and to stay clear of the Reincarnates. Said they won’t

  cause trouble, if we don’t give them a reason to.”

  Bash managed a small, tired smile. “He has a way of making warnings sound like instructions.”

  Rixor laughed once. “Guess that’s what Commanders do.”

  He glanced toward the wall chrono. “Let’s go eat?”

  Bash gave a faint shrug. “Not hungry.”

  Rixor sighed. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll need your strength tomorrow. Come on, fuel before function.”

  The cafeteria’s ceiling lights glowed in alternating white and gold, casting long reflections over the

  polished metal tables. The air carried a faint metallic scent, the kind that clung to recycled air and

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  processed ingredients. Bash studied the tray in front of him, portions that looked familiar, almost

  human, but carried a subtle sharpness in the taste, like the recipe had been remembered rather than

  perfected.

  They joined the queue, silent at first. Bash noticed the change before Rixor did: the stares. Not the

  suspicious ones from yesterday, sharp and questioning, but something newer. Admiration. Respect.

  Maybe curiosity twisted into awe.

  Whispers moved like low static.

  That’s him, the dark Green.

  He beat a Reincarnate.

  He stood against a Commander and lived.

  Bash felt every gaze like a touch against the back of his neck.

  “Your notoriety index just spiked by forty-two percent,” S-C murmured. “Public perception alignment:

  favorable.”

  “Not sure that’s a good thing,” he thought back.

  “Visibility is power. But it is also a beacon.”

  Rixor nudged him. “Don’t look now, but I think we’re celebrities.”

  Bash grabbed two trays and ignored the eyes that followed. The food looked precise and portioned,

  grains pressed into uniform squares, cuts of protein sealed in thin film. It wasn’t bad, just… careful.

  Everything about it felt measured, as if the cooks were afraid of letting it taste too real.

  They found an empty table near the center. It didn’t stay empty long.

  A Brown Spartor approached first, then two Whites, a Blue. They asked politely if they could sit,

  unusual, given caste etiquette, and soon the table filled with color and movement. Voices rose, laughter

  circling like warmth. Bash found himself answering questions about the duel, about Virk, about what it

  felt like to face a Reincarnate and win.

  He gave them only fragments of truth, letting S-C filter his phrasing in real time. “Minimal disclosure

  advised,” she kept whispering. “Control the narrative.”

  Then a new voice cut through the noise.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  Every head turned. The other Green stood there, taller than Bash by half a head, his council-issued suit

  catching the light with a faint, shifting sheen.

  Bash gestured to the open space beside him. “Go ahead.”

  “Zicof,” the Green said, seating himself. “I’ve been meaning to meet you.”

  “Bash.”

  “I know.” Zicof grinned, a strangely human gesture. “Word travels fast when someone upends the

  ranking order in their first cycle.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “Impressive, what you did. Reincarnates aren’t exactly easy targets.”

  “I got lucky,” Bash said.

  Zicof shook his head. “Luck doesn’t bleed the way that one did.”

  The table laughed softly. Rixor chuckled into his drink. Bash just smiled and let the noise fill the gaps.

  The conversation drifted naturally toward the upcoming training schedule, not excitement, exactly, but

  the quiet anticipation of those about to prove themselves for the first time. Everyone at the table already

  understood the purpose of the coordination phase; the knowledge lived inside them like instinct, etched

  there by their Self-Cores.

  Only Bash hesitated when someone mentioned Fragment retrievals.

  He frowned. “Fragments?”

  Rixor looked at him, confused. “You know, the materials collections during portal runs.”

  Only Bash hesitated when someone mentioned Fragment retrievals.

  He frowned. “Fragments?”

  Rixor gave him a puzzled look. “You know, the material collections during portal runs.”

  Before Bash could respond, S-C’s voice stirred quietly in the back of his mind. You weren’t given that

  data, she said, a note of caution threading through her tone. I’ll explain later. Just listen for now.

  Bash gave a small nod, feigning understanding as the discussion rolled on. The others spoke of portal

  patterns and retrieval efficiency, trading details that sounded instinctive to them, second nature.

  “Right,” Bash said, forcing a faint smile. “Fragments.”

  Rixor smirked. “Guess we’ll find out if the training actually works.”

  Zicof lifted his drink. “To the Novarchs.”

  Cups met in a quiet ring of sound that faded beneath the hum of the hall.

  By the time they left the cafeteria, the corridors were quieter. The hum of the ship seemed deeper now.

  Rixor walked beside him, arms folded behind his head. “Never thought I’d be eating with a Green. Let

  alone two. Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

  Bash smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

  Rixor slowed his pace slightly. “Hey… about earlier. The duel. Thanks for covering for me. Murdok

  would’ve killed me, crushed my core without a second thought. You didn’t have to step in.”

  Bash shrugged. “You’d have done the same.”

  Rixor laughed under his breath. “Not if I wanted to live.” Then, quieter: “Still. I owe you.”

  “You don’t.” Bash’s voice softened. “Just keep your head down tomorrow.”

  They reached their door. The panel light blinked green as it recognized their signatures. The hatch

  hissed open.

  And stopped halfway.

  Bash froze.

  Rixor frowned. “What?”

  The door slid the rest of the way open.

  A figure stood inside.

  Tall. Blue. Still.