JADED REQUIEM

✨Celebrate the Qixi Festival with Koru-Imprint’s Trilogy: Celestial Love, Flames of Fury and Jaded Requiem — FREE in both eBook and audiobook formats. 📖 Read. Listen. Fall in love with the stars✨

Chapter 1: The Starfall of Memory

The terminal smelled of fried lotus buns and fresh starfruit.

Gateway Seven’s concourse shimmered under strings of red-and-gold lanterns that arched between departure gates. Their paper skins glowed with swirls of jade light from the great portal at the center. Boarding calls chimed in three languages, layered over the hum of luggage drones weaving between streams of travelers. Vendors hawked dumplings, toy jumpcraft, and crystal vials of bottled Qi for “good jump luck.”

Li Wei threaded between his parents, grinning as they guided him toward the central boarding gate. His father had an arm draped over his shoulder; his mother carried a wrapped gift and the boarding data-rod.

“Sixteen jumps around the sun,” his father said, “and now your first off-world birthday.”

His mother squeezed his hand. “You’ll remember this one.”

A knot of children ran past carrying miniature gateway models that pulsed with programmable colors. A holiday choir, half-encryp, half-hologram, sang an old spacer ballad near the fountain. Every so often, a flurry of snow-petal drones drifted down from the ceiling and dissolved into harmless sparks, drawing delighted gasps from the crowd.

Across the hall, two raccoons were in the middle of a heated debate beside a smoothie dispenser, tails flicking like impatient metronomes. One of them, Flip, was in the process of tying his tail to the hyperloop rail. The other, Zip, was holding a snack dispenser like it was a power tool.

Li Wei slowed to watch, amused. His father rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage them.”

The tannoy chimed again, a new boarding group called to the portal. Lines shifted. Voices swelled. The holiday rush continued. No one noticed the tiniest flicker at the heart of the great gateway’s jade light.

Dreams launch with one jump, but not all jumps land clean.

At the rim of the universe, Gateway Seven shimmered like it always did. Jade luminescence threading through families, portals breathing softly, Qi purring in perfect rhythm.

Except today, the pattern pulsed off-beat. Glitched. Smiled too wide.

Li Wei was a lively teen, buzzing with birthday adrenaline. TinTing clutched a secret and planned joy in silent script. Below, laughter. Above, old eyes, mine, watched from the shadow-code.

I am Magpie. I witness the stitch where time and meaning unravel. And this? This was the moment before the fracture. Before the screaming. Before the starfire. Before a girl fell through a birthday and landed in legend.

“Quick! Quick! Magpie’s out for lunch!”

Zip skidded across the polished obsidian floor of the tech bay, nearly faceplanting into a live Qi conduit. A puff of ionized sugar burst from his snack dispenser like celebratory glitter.

“Flip, is that you or are you Magpie posing as a raccoon again?!”

Flip was already tying his tail to the hyperloop. “It’s me, it’s me! And we’ve got, like, five minutes before this whole station figures out we’ve re-routed the smoothie dispenser into the secondary comms array.”

“Again?”

“It’s research.”

“You said that about the Lego starship incident!”

“Which, for the record, still flies—just in pieces.”

They moved in sync, half-chaos, half-ritual, scrambling over live wires and half-eaten dumpling packets like true outpost gremlins. The air shimmered with Qi, thicker than usual. Hotter. Flip’s whiskers twitched. Something was off.

“Feel that?” he whispered.

Zip paused mid-snack. “I thought that was indigestion.”

Flip shook his head. “No. That’s a rhythm break.”

Elsewhere, near the family quarters, TinTing crouched in the shadows, her fingers curled inside her sleeve like a bird gripping tight. She mouthed her lines again: “Happy birthday, Mum. I made it myself.”

The gift hummed quietly in her bag, alive with layered code and handmade threads of Qi. A simple thing, but full of meaning. Joy was always a risk, but today, she believed in it.

The air around her vibrated, warm, then sharp. Her smile faltered. The station’s Qi, usually smooth as silk, suddenly scraped like a warning.

It began with a shimmer, blue ripples twisting in a lazy spiral. Then came the tremor. The jumpgate convulsed into chaos, the surface snapping from tranquil to rage.

Amethyst arcs laced with blood-crimson lightning spat out across the terminal, fracturing the floor’s reflection. Raw Qi lashed the air like lightning made of memory.

Magpie turned from the shadow lattice. “And so, the thread snaps.”

Zip froze mid-snack, one paw clutching a now-dripping bubble-crunch. His eyes widened. “Uh, that’s not supposed to do that, right?”

Flip’s tail puffed into a bottlebrush. “NOPE! That’s definitely not protocol!” he squeaked, ears flattened as warning sirens flared in three languages.

Thunder rocked the outpost.

On the command deck, TinTing’s father roared, his voice slicing through the chaos like a blade. “HOLD THE LINE! We cannot, we will not, let them breach the inner sanctum!”

Silver uniforms smeared with blood and dimensional ash, he and her mother stood firm, rallying the JumpMasters as alarms screamed and the lights flickered red with panic.

“He’s drawing the ambient power! Stop him—protect the jumpers, the families! Get them through the gateway—go go go!”

In the rafters, Zip and Flip exchanged a panicked chitter.

“This was supposed to be our day off,” Zip moaned. “Selfies. Smoothies. Maybe a ten-thousand-light-years-long dare stick—not this!”

“Nope!” Flip shouted, strapping on a plasma-laced snack bandolier. “The JumpMasters are out there, bleeding for the gateway! Morale’s tanking, Qi’s glitching, and he’s here.”

A rupture cracked the vault open, not with brilliance, but with its unmaking. The great portal twisted into a storm of amethyst and bloodlight.

From it emerged Liánhuǒ, Celestial of Raging Flames.

The destroyer who had once set the Nine Star Bridges alight, turning three moons to drifting ash. The warlord whose vengeance had leapt centuries, hunting the bloodlines of those who defied him. Entire histories had bent to avoid his shadow—and failed.

His body glowed like fractured magma, each crack a vein of starfire. Claws dripped ruin, their heat warping the air around them. His eyes burned with the grief of a loss so old it had curdled into something endless, and the fury of a debt he believed unpaid.

TinTing’s father knew the stories. Knew that in the old wars, Liánhuǒ had promised he would burn his enemies “across the calendar, across the cosmos, until the last heartbeat that remembers me is gone.” Now, that promise had stepped through the gateway.

“That’s not an attack,” Flip whispered, tail twitching. “That’s a breakup with the universe.”

But Liánhuǒ didn’t strike. He hovered, high, massive, radiant with wrath barely contained. He hadn’t come only to fight. He had come to feed.

Below him, the air distorted. A second figure surged from the rip in reality, sleek, fang-masked, wrapped in vaporized nanosteel: Commander Jia. Vapor Vampguard elite. Arch-rival. Betrayer. Born of mist and malice.

Liánhuǒ grinned, a fissure of light across his face. He gestured. And the fighting began.

The Raccoons vs. The Vampguard

The battle hit like a system crash. JumpMasters were flung like sparks. Barrier shields melted. Vapor hounds erupted from glitch-vents, fangs first.

And amid it all—plates.

Zip launched the first one with a feral yell, yanking a ceremonial dish from the buffet launcher and hurling it at a gamma lash.

CRASH!

The plate intercepted the ray and ricocheted it into a charging drone.

BOOM. The drone vaporized.

“Direct hit!” Zip howled. “I just weaponized dim sum!”

“Cover me!” Flip shouted, leaping through wreckage. He scavenged a shimmer-shield from a fallen JumpMaster, rewired it with a churro stick, and slid behind the emergency spud cannon.

THWUMP!

A blast of molten starch struck Commander Jia’s flank. He staggered—only a blink, but in a realm of Qi and code, a blink was life.

“That’s right, vampire maniac!” Flip grinned. “Starch you very much!”

Behind a cracked support beam, TinTing clung to steel, her body trembling. Her lips moved, soundless. “Mom… Dad…”

But she didn’t see the battle. Couldn’t. Her eyes weren’t here anymore. She was regressing inward, her Qi signature spiraling wild and unguarded.

“There she is!” Flip spotted her. “Primary target in full dissociation mode! Zero defense, max vulnerability!”

“If Jia drains her—Liánhuǒ wins!” Zip’s ears flattened. “We fail the mission. The whole cosmic gig goes offline!”

They didn’t hesitate.

Zip grabbed the last stack of reinforced porcelain. Flip hotwired the smoothie core, overloaded the sugar line. Together, they moved—not as mascots, but as maniacs with purpose.

CLANG. Plate caught a flame lash mid-arc. BOOM. Spud cannon disabled a flamehound mid-charge. FLASH. Shimmer-shield blocked a strike that would’ve collapsed the lattice.

They fought like disasters with a death wish.

And still—it wasn’t enough.

Jia’s form split into afterimages. His blades sang hunger. He moved like malware through space, slicing physics itself, clawing toward the girl.

Liánhuǒ hovered, glowing brighter, pulsing with the joy of resistance. The more chaos, the more he consumed.

And from the breach—more vapors arrived. A second squad. Then a third. Fanged. Unnamed. Infinite.

JumpMasters dropped one by one.

“We’re out of plates!” Zip shouted.

“Then we improvise!”

Flip roared and headbutted a drone mid-air. His skull cracked against nanosteel. The drone shattered.

Zip leapt on the back of a vapor beast, gnawing at its cables, jabbing with forks, steering it like a death-chariot straight into an engine core.

BOOM.

Fur smoking, claws shaking, they kept going. No more gadgets. No more tricks. Only instinct. And mission.

TinTing’s Qi was unguarded, pulsing like a wounded sun. Tears streamed down her cheeks—silent, disconnected. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

But they could.

They shielded her with bodies. Took strikes. Smashed drones. Bit ankles. Screamed into the night.

Flip’s voice cracked. “Zip—status?”

“Smoked. Broken. Borderline heroic.”

Flip grinned through blood and bruises. “Name?”

“Zip.”

“Rank?”

“Double-trouble.”

“Mission?”

“Protect the girl.”

Flip raised one paw in salute. “Just call us Bond.”

Zip blinked. “James—?”

“No.”

Flip faced the storm. “Raccoon Bond. Mission 88888888.”

Zip raised his fists. “Nah. It’s not that impossible.”

“Is it?”

They charged. Again.

And again.

And again.

Then they arrived—summoned by the silent call of Qi itself.
A surge of Ahua essence tore through the dark, spirit and vitality entwined.
Tumatauenga, Celestial of War, dropped from orbit like a war cry made flesh, his volcanic jade board blazing.
Laser cages slammed into place, cubes of radiant fury locking down the invaders.
The ancient battle resumed. No speeches. No delay.
“YEAH! That’s how you clear a level!” Zip whooped, already dancing behind the console.
“Cosmic mahjong—boom! Clean path for the asset! Way better than rerouting smoothie dispensers.”
Flip nodded, already queuing up filters for their TikTok AAR.
“Maybe Raccoon won’t even be mad… unless he wanted that snack for himself.”

The hum of Qi Command’s deep-space station was usually a lullaby to Cadet Pip Tiaki. But today, something was wrong.
Three hours. A signal, faint and jagged, gnawed at the edges of his sensors.
Most dismissed it as gateway interference. Pip didn’t. Couldn’t.
He double-checked the readings. Triple-checked. Flutter didn’t match these gravimetric distortions.
He stood at his section chief’s desk, eyes steady.
“Requesting manual inspection. Sector Gamma-7. Scout 734 is cleared for short-range check anyway.”
The Chief waved him off. “Fine. Take your milk run, Cadet. Don’t miss dinner.”
Pip saluted, spun, and left before permission could be revoked.

Scout 734 was a clunker—old hull, dated comms. He slid into the seat anyway.
No complaints. No shortcuts.
He flew what was ready. He earned his way, even in silence.

As 734 broke from dock, Pip barely registered the shudder—until the universe exploded.
A hellstorm of energy slammed into the vessel. Alarms howled.
Pip tumbled, slammed against restraints, chest heaving.
Fingers flying, he reached for manual override. “Come on, come on—old friend, it’s me—just send it!”
The distress code flashed: Priority Zero. His voice cracked:
“Chief, requesting reroute to Gamma-7—do you read? Hello? Chief?!”

Silence.

Only static. Then—
“Gateway Seven compromised. Unknown hostiles. Request immed—”

—BOOM. The signal shredded. The station rocked.

TinTing gasped as light fractured across the sky.
Pressure slammed into her chest. She stumbled to the viewport.
Through broken haze and glass—
A fiery silhouette: Liánhuǒ, Celestial of Raging Flames, burning holes in reality.
Her comm crackled:
“—lo? …Ting, is it? TinTing, I’m Pip! Do you read me?”
A whisper—but real.
She slammed the response button. “Pip? Please—help! Everything’s breaking. Dad, Mom—they’re—”
Her words collapsed into sobs.
“We need help. Please. Please!”

Pip clutched the console, alarms flashing red.
He heard her. He heard her.
He triggered the beacon. Voice steady, barely.
“I’m here. I hear you. Hold on, I’m sending the alert now.”
SEND.
The signal blinked… blinked—
Another explosion rocked the ship. Darkness surged.

In the crawlspace above Command, Zip and Flip stared, ears twitching.
Flip turned to Zip. “She’s not getting through.”
Zip dug out a snack wrapper, scribbled fast:
“G7 hit. Send help. Kids in danger. Celestial breach.”
Flip folded it into a jet.
“Air mail. Chaos delivery.”
He launched. It soared, dipped—
SPANG—
A blur: Magpie. Wings wide.
The jet vanished into his beak as he spiraled down.

Magpie landed beside Tumatauenga, feathers burning with starlight.
He dropped the message without a word.

Magpie bowed, presenting the jet. “Dispatch, direct from the young. Their signal pierced the veil—by wit, courage, and questionable use of a coffee machine.”

Tumatauenga took the paper jet in his massive hand, squinting at the frantic scrawl. A smile cracked through the battle lines.

“Hey, got your airmail!” he bellowed, his laughter rolling over the clash of swords. “Not bad—might catch on. Or you could just WeChat it next time.”

He blew the jet, Qi surging through the air. The message amplified, echoing across the ruined gateway. His voice thundered as he raised his longboard high:

“Let’s answer this call, follow the jet.”

With a blast of radiance and a war cry, Tumatauenga hurled himself into the heart of the fray. Magpie soared after him, the message of the young—small, desperate, ingenious—now weaponized into destiny’s turning point.

In the ductwork, tails curled together, Zip and Flip peered down as the tide shifted.

“See?” Zip whispered, a shaky grin breaking through. “Sometimes analog wins the day.”

Flip adjusted his mustache, gave a covert salute, and scribbled in his notebook: “Field Op: Paper Jet—successful.”

TinTing pressed her forehead to the cracked glass. Chaos raged, but deep inside, hope flickered. Someone had heard her—a voice, soft and young. Pip. She was grateful… but the voice was too small to stop what was coming.

Pip’s scout ship bucked wildly at the edge of the Outpost StarGate sector as the sky tore open—not with radiance, but with its unmaking. Gravity twisted. Alarms howled. Orange fire bled across the void as Liánhuǒ’s malice ripped reality apart.

He fought the controls, battered by shockwaves, his heart thudding violently as the comms panel blinked in and out.

“Outpost StarGate is under direct celestial-level assault!”

His quiet voice strained, pitching high. Static drowned the next word.

He slammed the emergency broadcast to full power.

“This is Cadet Pip Tiaki, provisional callsign Relay-7! Do you copy, Qi HQ? Outpost comms array is down, repeat, gateway compromised!”

He wiped sweat from his brow, the cold plasteel of his cockpit already streaked with condensation.

“I say again, gateway down—over. Jumper TinTing requesting immediate Cutter-Buster support! Jade Dragon, Tumatauenga—this is a Priority One, over!”

His hands shook as he tore open the relay panel, hot-wiring the secondary systems, sparks stinging his fingers.

“JumpMasters down, gateway compromised, junior jumper in peril, over. I am unable to move, over.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sting of fear and smoke.

“Nothing heard—listening out,” he finished, his voice trembling but steady.

The scout shuddered. Pip’s hands hovered over the failing controls, the echo of TinTing’s plea still in his mind.

He braced for whatever would come next, hoping his words would find a way through the chaos—hoping someone, somewhere, was listening.

Qi itself shivered. A wave of pure Ahua essence—spirit and vitality entwined—rippled outward, a silent promise to rebalance what had been torn. The sky cracked wide, a second wound. The spectacle that unfolded was not for mortal eyes alone, but for the very fabric of the cosmos—ancestors watching, fate unspooling, destiny stirred.

TinTing gasped. The vibration wasn’t just in her ears—it pounded in her chest, electrified her skin, prickled the roots of her hair. Something ancient and immense was moving. Brilliance ignited, not merely bright but alive, throbbing with the memory of a thousand generations.

She pressed herself to the viewport, knuckles bone-white. Through the chaos, she saw not a dragon, not at first—a pattern, a code, a shape born of jade and fire and something unnameable. Tumatauenga, Celestial of War, dropped from the sky in a surge of white-hot Qi, volcanic jade longboard under his feet. As he landed, the ground buckled—stone cracked, the very air bent. Suddenly, a tiny shape streaked through the maelstrom—a battered origami jet, still sharp from desperate hands. It darted past Tumatauenga’s face, swirling around him as if animated by purpose.

He caught its message in a single glance: make haste, mission critical, dispatch priority one, follow me.

Without hesitation, he grinned—thunder and sunlight in one—and pivoted, following the jet’s wild arc through the chaos. Shields flared to his sides; the longboard roared beneath him. In that instant, the Celestial army surged forward, their course set by a child’s paper hope, now a banner for war.

And across the battlefield, all could see it: a force greater than fate, answering not destiny alone, but the desperate courage of the smallest—taking orders from those brave enough to ask.

Back at Qi Command, chaos reigned. The holoscreens flashed with red alarms and failing system overlays, each a new wound opening in the defense of Outpost StarGate. The hum of voices, half-shouts, half-prayers, tangled in the air.

“Sir, all primary channels down!” a comms officer called, eyes wide as she scanned the cascading failures. “Secondary comms offline—catastrophic failure across the board!”

Admiral Tiaki’s jaw tightened. “Situation report at the Gateway—SITREP! I need fighting strength, casualty updates—KIA, WIA, MIA. Anything!”

“Nothing yet, Admiral,” came the reply, bleak. “Shield signatures—dropping fast. It doesn’t look good, sir.”

He slammed his fist on the console. “Emergency beacons? Triangulate! I want anything—any signal!”

A lieutenant looked up, sweat beading her brow. “Admiral, I’m picking up something—encrypted, narrow-band… Wait. It’s a live tactical feed!”

The speakers crackled, then—through the static and the distant rumble of war—a boy’s voice, raw with strain, punched through the chaos.

“…SITREP, Qi HQ. Hostile entity—codename Liánhuǒ—confirmed. Multiple hostile energy signatures. Outpost shields failing sector by sector—ouch!—class-7 celestial burnout. Primary command spire—losing integrity. Transmitting Alpha-3 telemetry now… Did you get that, Qi HQ? JumpMasters are holding the Gate… heroic output, but it’s—unsustainable, sirs… this magnitude—”

Near the tactical pit, a ripple of shock passed through the staff. Elara, knuckles white on her headset, breathed, “That’s Pip Tiaki. He’s just a kid—how’s he even out there?”

Mei, beside her, wiped her eyes. “He’s fighting. Alone.”

At the command table, Admiral Tiaki went rigid. He stared at the speaker, horror dawning. “That voice…” His lips barely moved. “No, it can’t be—”

Captain Yu Xiu’s holo resolved into view from the bridge of the Jade Phoenix, already prepping for emergency deployment. She was pale, jaw locked, hands gripping the armrests so hard her knuckles blanched.

“Admiral,” she cut in, her voice tight, every syllable vibrating with urgency and pain, “I confirm. That’s Cadet Tiaki’s relay signature. He took Scout 734—went to check anomalies near the outpost before we lost comms.”

The Admiral’s composure shattered. He lunged for the command override. “Pip? Son—Pip, is that you? Answer me! Report your status. Are you hit? Get to an escape pod, now! That’s an order, Cadet. Please, Pip—answer me!”

The line spat static, then Pip’s breathless voice came through—distant explosions, the screech of failing systems.

“Admiral! With all due respect, sir—this relay’s the only clear channel. Critical data on Liánhuǒ’s assault pattern—holding the link—oof! Engaged with hostile drones—one down. Sorry, HQ—Dad… later, maybe? Continuing SITREP: Liánhuǒ’s main assault—focused on JumpMasters… defending Gateway…”

Yu Xiu’s face twisted, eyes wet but fierce. Her voice was barely controlled rage. “Sir, I’m requesting immediate launch. My family—our people—are dying out there! I need clearance—now!”

Tiaki hesitated, a thousand fears and duties tearing at him. “Yu—” His command voice faltered. He saw her—not just as a captain, but as TinTing’s older sister, trembling on the edge of panic, desperate to save her family.

She slammed her fist down, her eyes filled with a desperate fire. “Sir! With respect—if I don’t go, we may lose them all!”

Admiral Tiaki struggled for a heartbeat, then—shoulders squaring, voice grim—nodded. “Jade Phoenix, you are go for emergency launch. Godspeed, Captain Yu.”

Her holo flickered out as she barked orders to her crew, the Jade Phoenix’s engines already powering up for jump.

The command center fell silent for a moment—just Pip’s battered voice feeding them hope through a thread of static, and the Admiral’s hands trembling on the console, caught between the burdens of a commander and the ache of a father.

Outside, the universe burned. But in that silence, every soul at Qi HQ knew the battle was not yet lost.

The world had become a storm of sound and color—radiance shattering, metal groaning, Qi burning hot and wild in the air. TinTing gasped, breath ragged, her palm pressed to the viewport. Power vibrated through the glass—hot, ancient, alive.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: Qi isn’t quiet when the balance breaks.

She reached for her mother’s hand—but found only empty air. The hand she needed had already moved. Not to comfort. To shield. To fight.

Beyond the glass, the Jade Dragon manifested, its scales trailing living celestial code—hexagrams that throbbed with arcane power. Its eyes, older than stars, swept across the ruins. For one impossible instant, the pattern of its luminescence altered, gleaming in recognition—as if it saw her, a spark of hope buried in chaos.

Then the shriek came. Liánhuǒ’s laughter—raw, discordant—tore through the outpost, and the first wave of corrosive fire smashed toward the gateway.

TinTing stared, her eyes vast with shock. The world turned red-gold, heat pressing against the sealed glass. Her parents moved as one, Qi erupting between them—a desperate shield of teal and gold.

They didn’t hesitate.

“Protect her!” her mother’s voice broke, barely more than a prayer, flung into the fire.

“Our light, our TinTing!” her father roared, bracing himself as power cracked the decking at his feet.

TinTing’s lips moved, but no sound came. Her whole body shook, her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against her eardrums. She wanted to scream—Don’t leave me! Please!—but the moment was already gone. Her parents had stepped into the fire. Into legend.

They knew they were outmatched, but their plea—to life, to the ancestors, to any power that would listen—was singular:

Save our child.

TinTing’s world shattered as she watched her father fall, a shadow blade piercing his chest. Her mother’s anguished cry twisted into a battle roar as she threw herself at Liánhuǒ, burning every last ounce of herself into one final attack.

“TinTing, live!” her mother’s voice rang out—a command, a blessing, a goodbye.

Liánhuǒ’s counter-strike struck home.

Radiance exploded.

And TinTing, alone behind the glass, felt everything break.

Chapter 2: The Lattice and the Legacy

The Lattice and the Legacy

Millennia ago, Liánhuǒ’s strike shattered the great gate, splitting the weave of time. Through the rip, two Earth-raised Celestials, Lifen and Wei, stepped into the present. They were ancestors to Li Wei, bearing the same fierce light that had once defied the Raging Flames. With them were Huawei, the evergreen guardian of their line, and commanders Yu and Tiaki. They didn’t question why; they saw their heir and moved.

And from the smoke came the Raccoon Squad.

Three raccoons, clad in patched leather and scavenged armor, with goggles askew and tails fizzing with static, vaulted a half-melted barricade.

“Hey guys!” the leader chirped, waving a dented frying pan like a banner. “Long time no see. Still awesome.”

Number Two slung a satchel that detonated in starlight confetti, smoke—and banana peels.

Number Three adjusted a teapot-lid pauldron. “We smelled trouble. And dumplings.”

They dove into the fray without waiting for permission.

Huawei stepped through the haze, luminous and steady. He drew a jade chip from his core and pressed it to Lifen’s hand. “The lattice is ready. His truth—your future—interwoven. Accept. Together.”

Wei’s voice was rough. “My parents… this whole time…?”

“Not left behind,” Huawei said. “Entrusted.”

WeChat arrived, boots crunching on scorched plating. “Fear delays sync. Don’t hesitate. Breathe.”

Lifen set her jaw and touched the glyphs. A burning jade strand twisted from the chip toward Wei. Their hands met, and the lattice snapped into view. Heat rushed through Wei’s nerves until clarity clicked home.

A wisp of jade cloud hovered at Lifen’s stomach—life thrumming undeniable.

From behind a tilted beam, the raccoons peeked.

“Lattice sync!” Number Two whispered in reverence. “Top-tier magic.”

Number Three produced a walnut like an offering. “Baby vitamins.”

The weave shoved them awake. It hit like gravity. Symbols locked and starfields spiraled. Minghé lifted her hand, stilling the blaze; Xuánshuǐ tilted, one tear becoming a thousand calm threads.

From the lattice’s center, two small hands reached, warm with beginning.

Wei held. Lifen steadied. Scattered relics settled into harmony. A cry—thin, alive.

The raccoons sniffled in unison. “Not crying,” the leader said, hurling his pan without looking. A drone folded midair.

Wei’s purpose ignited. “Gamma-7 access tunnel. Reinforced. We move now.”

Huawei blurred, drawing TikTok, WeChat, and BYD into orbit around Lifen. The shield formed: a globe of “no.” Qi split the air, a harmonized chord that moved everything.

Then, the Jade Dragon arrived.

Its scales were gold, emerald, and obsidian. Its eyes were older than the argument. Its proclamation was a vibration that said order outlives tantrum.

Twelve immense sigils flared—the Heavenly Shields answering like an immune system woken.

The Jade Dragon + Raccoon Combos

The Dragon surged. A gout of pure pattern-fire met a descending vapor scythe. As the flame arced back, the raccoon leader skated down a snapped cable, flicking his frying pan to angle the reflected blast.

“Bank shot!”

The returning arc threaded a gap and cored the scythe’s emitter. Boom. The Dragon dipped a whisker in what might have been approval and rolled to the next threat.

“Dragon’s running hot lanes,” Number Two said, flicking hex-clips onto the floor. “We mark the angles.”

Number Three chalked fast sigils with powdered jade and sugar. “Sweeten the curve. Science!”

The Twelve Act—With Company

Shǔ — Blade of Evasion

The Rat flashed, severing a recon thread. The leader raccoon popped up beneath, snapping a clamp onto the loose cable. “Gift wrap!” He yanked, yo-yoing a drone into Shǔ’s path. One flick. Two halves.

Niú — The Unmoving Wall

The Ox manifested an emerald wall. A tremor threatened its anchor, but Number Three karate-chopped a wobbling strut and jammed a teapot lid under it like a doorstop. “Bracing upgrade,” he said. The wall held.

Hǔ — Kinetic Roar

Tiger roared, shattering stealth fields. The raccoons lobbed “snack charges” (compressed starch cores) into the revealed swarm. They popped like meteors; Hǔ’s follow-through swept the stunned units into slag. “Carb-loading works,” Number Two panted.

Tù — Silver Weave

Rabbit rewove coordinates. A cutter blinked five meters left, mid-pounce. The leader raccoon had already laid a slick of oil and marbles (banana-scented). The cutter hit it, performed a tragic interpretive dance, and met a support post at speed. “Floor is feelings,” he said.

Lóng — Pure Energy

Dragon (shield) spiraled power. The raccoons tossed a prism made of broken visor glass. The beam split, one branch into a brood cluster, one into a jammer nest. “DIY beam splitter,” Number Three said, proud.

Shé — Coiling Shroud

Snake wrapped space in intuition. Number Two tossed a string of festival lanterns into Shé’s radius; when they crossed the shroud’s edge, their cords looped in impossible ways, snaring three infiltrators that shouldn’t have been there. “Knitting,” she said. “My grandma taught me.”

Mǎ — Unstoppable Spirit

Horse streaked like a comet. The leader raccoon timed a slingshot with a snapped tether, flinging a charge to pop the failsafe right as Mǎ arrived. “Open sesame.” The detonation cleared the casing; Mǎ’s kick finished the job.

Yáng — Mercy Quake

Goat’s sapphire ripple bound wounds. Number Three sprinted beside the light, flinging bandage darts into sealing flesh. “Assist, assist,” he muttered. Goat ignored him and saved two more JumpMasters.

Hóu — Chaotic Grace

Monkey ricocheted, hacking mid-collision. Raccoons shouted callouts. “Left node dummy data! Right node real core!” Monkey winked and used the “dummy” to Trojan-horse the real. “Never mind,” the leader said. “He’s got jokes.”

Jī — Piercing Vigil

Rooster fired a sonic flare, blinding sensors. Number Two slapped reflective tape on their helmets in the wake. “Rooster’s cone is spicy. Eyes down, but stylish.”

Gǒu — Loyal Anchor

Dog stood, oath made object. A vapor blade slid toward the lattice cradle; the leader raccoon stepped between, tiny paws raised. Dog’s presence thickened like gravity. “Hey,” the raccoon told the blade. “No.” The blade stopped. It didn’t need to make sense.

Zhū — Resonant Fortune

Pig’s golden resonance rolled, swallowing panic. Number Three synced a cheap tin whistle to the frequency and piped along. The tremor faded faster. “Band practice,” he said. “We take requests later.”

The Cradle Holds

Above the starlight cradle, the orbit of shields slowed. The threat was dismissed. Below, there was silence—not an absence of sound, but a vigilance fulfilled. Sanctuary.

Within, the baby shifted. Not in fear—in peace.

Lifen sagged; Wei held her. They turned to the softened radiance, awe and new, stubborn joy cutting through the wreck.

The raccoon leader climbed a twisted strut and saluted with his frying pan. “Welcome, tiny heir. Raccoon Guard logs another ridiculous miracle.”

Number Two, already organizing scavenged gear, glanced up. “Snack after-action report to follow.”

Number Three tucked a tiny carved nut near the cradle’s rim. “For luck.”

High above, unseen, Minghé and Xuánshuǐ watched with pride and began to fade, their last blessing settling like cool rain.

Huawei widened the protective globe; TikTok’s hum softened into a lullaby; WeChat sealed the signal; BYD anchored the perimeter. The Jade Dragon coiled once around them all, hexagrams flickering.

“Balance restored,” the Dragon’s vibration said. “For now.”

A last wave rattled the sky—the gate’s fracture knitting itself like a scar.

The raccoons looked at one another.

“Same time tomorrow?” the leader asked.

Number Two tilted her head. “Let’s not jinx it.”

Number Three already had a shopping list out. “Need more marbles. And walnuts. And actual bandages.”

They scampered, vanishing into the fractured edges where yesterday and tomorrow overlapped, tails sketching question marks that promised they’d be back.

Wei exhaled, forehead to Lifen’s. “He’s here.”

“He’s safe,” she answered, her voice steady. “We keep him that way.”

Wei nodded, his eyes burning and clear. “Always.”

The lattice pulsed once—content.

Somewhere just out of sight, a frying pan clanged happily against an empty teapot lid.

“Victory noise,” Number Three whispered.

“Shh,” said Goat from very far and very near. The light of the lattice throbbed once more, a slow heartbeat against the fractured edges of time. Around Wei, Lifen, and the cradle, the warriors of ages past began to blur—edges fraying into streams of gold, silver, and starlit smoke. The Jade Dragon’s coils loosened, its massive gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the battlefield, as though it already saw the fight still to come. One by one, the figures from other centuries stepped backward into the folds of history, their work here done… for now.

The raccoons lingered a beat longer.

“Time to go?” Number Two asked, stuffing marbles back into her satchel.

“Yeah,” the leader said, hopping onto a collapsing beam. “But let’s leave something cool.” He produced a tiny bronze bell, looped it onto the cradle’s edge, and gave it a soft *ding*.

“Protection enchantment?” Number Three whispered.

“Nah,” the leader grinned. “Doorbell. In case he ever needs us.”

In the silence that followed, the breach at the gate began to seal, the shimmer of bent time knitting itself into a tenuous whole. Yet faint threads of that impossible alliance—past, present, and what might yet be—lingered like invisible wards, coiled around the child and his future.

Far away, in another moment entirely, a different heartbeat raced. And the sky was about to break.

Chapter 3: The Celestial’s Call & The Loom of Legacy-Qi

For a timeless moment, the universe held its breath, mirroring the hollowed silence within TinTing. Her world had just imploded, leaving behind only the deafening echo of loss and the phantom touch of a fading warmth. But even as her individual sorrow threatened to consume her, the cosmos, vast and indifferent, was already moving to reassert its balance.

A quietude fell, so total it resonated in TinTing’s bones. Abruptly, the sky split. High above Gateway Seven, storm clouds parted as if cut by a blade of pure incandescence. Winds howled and the vault of heaven opened—ablaze with swirling jade and silver.

From the heart of the sun, Ra’s searing beams sliced through the gloom, igniting with the intensity of a supernova. Solar emanations lashed out, golden and destructive, vaporizing swarms of vapor cutters in streaks of instant ash. The battlefield was an expanse of fire and flight—life and destruction, written in brilliance.

And then he came—

Tumatauenga, Celestial of War, descended from the sundered sky astride his volcanic jade board, Nukutaimemeha. His arrival fractured the air with a thunder that shook metal and spirit alike. Around him, starlight and ancestral power throbbed, casting shifting shadows across fragmented plasteel and scorched earth.

With him, the Jade Dragon spiraled downward—scales radiant, trailing living code—hexagrams swirling and reshaping midair. They circled once, then dove.

Tumatauenga’s voice erupted, rolling over the magpies’ wings and the rising conflagration of Ra’s fire:

“The rascal! The audacity of the rascal!”

The shockwave struck not only stone and shield, but soul—TinTing reeled with the force, her jade fragment hot against her skin.

Across the void, Pip’s damaged scout vibrated as the power wave swept through the data arrays; static howled in his headset, and his heart hammered with inexplicable dread and awe. Even at the edge of death, he sensed something in the universe had changed forever.

Tumatauenga continued his pronouncement, the Māori words cracking like thunderbolts: Sacredness has been violated! You, Liánhuǒ, are a slave to your own heartless fire! You will fall by the power of stars, by the strength of ancestors!

The Jade Dragon coiled beside him, answering in a voice that resonated through every particle of the battlefield:

“宇宙不容亵渎，怒火终化尘埃。”

The cosmos tolerates no defilement; rage will become dust.

The Twelve Celestial Shields materialized from the air, each a living force—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water—harmonizing in perfect fury. Their chorus rang out:

“如切如磋，如琢如磨。”

Like bone carved, like jade polished.

Emerald vines lashed forth from the Tiger Shield; vermilion flame danced from the Snake; the Dog’s earth rose in indomitable defense. Ra’s solar energies continued to sear through the enemy, scorching cutter after cutter until only drifting embers remained.

Each blow vibrated through TinTing’s core, her heartbeat and the shard’s warmth synchronized with the shields’ rhythm. She gasped, overwhelmed but alive, the power singing in her veins—a resonance older than memory, deeper than fear.

In the midst of this storm, a magpie—then two, then many—swooped low past the viewport. TinTing barely noticed the slender, watchful bird (and somewhere, its shadow, Raccoon) perched at her side, ancient eyes fixed on her and the cosmic dance.

Above, Tumatauenga and the Jade Dragon moved through the final ranks of imbalance. Cutters, charred and broken, tumbled from the sky. Balance was being restored by celestial hands—wrathful, but just.

Within TinTing, something shifted.

She was not a bystander any longer.

She was seen. Claimed. Connected.

But Liánhuǒ wasn’t done.

A beam of white-hot fire—so intense it was nearly black—lanced straight at her parents. They didn’t flinch. They moved together, as always. There wasn’t time to shield, only enough to stand between the blast and what mattered most.

TinTing cried out, a sound elemental, ugly, torn from her gut. She tried to run—to help—but her legs refused. She was anchored in terror, her hands white-knuckled on the viewport’s frame, every muscle locked. The jade in her pocket throbbed—hard. She felt the heat, the pressure, the world come apart.

Her mother’s luminescence ignited—teal and gold, furious and beautiful—one last time. The fragment in TinTing’s pocket pulsed in answer, so potent it almost seared her. Through the spiderwebbed glass, she saw Liánhuǒ. Not a face—just endless, hungry fire. He was empty. Indifferent. The kind of emptiness that could swallow a world.

The gods moved. Tumatauenga. The Jade Dragon. The Twelve Celestial Shields. All of them surged forward. Power collided with fire—more than illumination, more than sound. The blast hit reality like a fist.

TinTing felt it in her soul. Her knees buckled; she hit the floor, shoulders cracking on metal. Not from pain. From knowing. They were gone.

Through smoke and sparks, she watched her mother’s radiance blaze, then extinguish. Her father’s shield disintegrated, scattered into nothing. No outcries. No words. Just blinding brilliance—then darkness.

Something else stirred. Not Liánhuǒ. Not the gods. Qi itself—vast, alive—rose beneath the ruin. Her parents’ bodies were gone, but their essence shimmered, gold and teal, spinning together, lifting. They climbed, twined as one, carried by the current that ran beneath all things. They shone like ancient heroes—brave, bright, and utterly out of reach.

Down below, where her mother had stood, a single piece of jade waited, pulsing in the dust. Magpie—smoke, shadow, feather—already watched beside it. It bowed its head, silent, as her parents rose.

In the back of TinTing’s mind, a voice breathed, soft as a sigh and far away,

“you are stars now.”

Liánhuǒ wasn’t finished. Furious that his malediction had snapped, that Qi had broken his chains, he coiled for a final strike. But the Jade Dragon moved first—its scales now infused with the echo of TinTing’s parents, their faces momentarily visible in liquid jade. The Twelve Celestial Shields locked in, forming a storm of stillness.

It proclaimed, its voice ringing through every plane:

“焚尽怒火，劫火孕新生；宇宙不息，唯当暗明共天之时。”

Burn away the flames of rage; calamity’s fire gives birth to new life. The cosmos endures—only when shadow and light share one sky.

Liánhuǒ faltered. His fire wavered, his form reeling, and then—wounded—he vanished into the void. But before his shadow faded, Raccoon (no longer just a bird) dropped to the scorched ground, feet heavy, fur bristling. It darted into Liánhuǒ’s dying fire, plucked a smoldering ember, cradled it in clever paws, then folded seamlessly back into Magpie—keeper of lost things.

Tumatauenga’s voice pursued the retreating darkness, “there is no place for recklessness in the new world.”

Just like that, the visible war ended. But for TinTing, nothing felt over.

She stood alone on the observation deck—ravaged, red-lit, the air sharp with ozone and incinerated metal. There was no understanding, no language for dragons or gods. Only the crack in her chest, the burn in her throat, the silence of loss.

The jade fragment—her mother’s last luminescence—had been knocked from her pocket. It pulsed faintly in the dust. Once. Twice. Each beat matched her own, echoing her panic.

Near the deck’s edge, Raccoon curled in the shadow where her mother’s aura had shone brightest. It didn’t move. Didn’t chitter. Just made a sound like grief—a broken exhale, head bowed low. TinTing’s hand found its fur. Warm. Real. It stayed.

The Magpie landed by the shard, gaze fixed on it. Feathers stirred, and for a breath, wings blurred into paws; raccoon cradled the jade piece as if it was sacred, then, swift as thought, became Magpie again—lifting the jade in its beak.

Not to her.

To her father.

He was still moving. Somehow. One elbow, then another. His back smoked, blood staining his side, but he crawled toward her, toward the last remnant of illumination. Each motion was torture, written on his face, but he didn’t stop.

She ran, knees skidding on scorched metal.

“Dad! Get up—please!” Her voice fractured. “Mum’s not—she’s not—” She couldn’t finish. Fists beat against his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Dad! This is my fault!”

He coughed, his body wracked with tremors. Still, he smiled. Shaky fingers brushed her cheek, memorizing her face.

“Shhh… no, baby… not your fault…” His words landed harder than fire.

She grabbed his hand. “No! Not without you!”

His eyes were already going glassy, but he pressed the jade piece into her palm. “Hold it. Tight. Don’t let go.”

It throbbed—warm, alive—a thread of her parents’ Qi, still vital.

Tears obscured her vision. She murmured, low and resolute, “I will, Dad. I’ll honor you. Mum… I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

He held her hand like it was the last thing anchoring him here. His gaze then drifted past her—toward the emptiness where love had stood, where ozone still hung heavy. His fingers slipped away.

Suddenly—wings.

No warning. Magpie dove from the sky, claws hooking TinTing’s collar—not to hurt, but to hold. She didn’t cry out. She just clutched the shard, its heat grounding her as the world fell away.

She was weightless. Not flying. Not falling. Carried.

Each wingbeat tore open the sky behind them. The viewport, the outpost, her father’s still body—all of it shrinking to fragments.

She wept, clutching the shard like breath. Inside, a thread snapped taut—a living tether to the determined, silent guardian that refused to let her fall.

She didn’t ride the Magpie. It carried something inside her she hadn’t known was there.

Time unraveled. Brilliance fractured. Her cry vanished, lost somewhere between sorrow and sky.

Far above, as the sky stitched itself closed behind a vanishing Magpie, the damaged hull of Gateway Seven quaked with aftershocks and hope.

The battle haze was fading, but the Gateway still bled residual energies and pain. Captain Yu Xiu—her heart torn, her eyes red but unyielding—descended from the emergency skiff, boots landing in ash and melted glass. Her hands shook, but she pressed them to her sides, be the commander, not the daughter, not the sister.

“Commander Yu!” a rookie hailed, his voice brittle. “Cutters—scattered. But we have survivors. Minimal life support, comms are intermittent—”

Yu Xiu acknowledged with a sharp nod, her jaw firm. “Triage the wounded. Set up fallback barricades at the secondary gate. Get those comms online, now!”

Every order cost her something, a new wound for every syllable, but she gave them. Her parents—gone. Her baby sister—missing. But the Gateway must hold.

She moved through the devastation, stepping over debris, calling out for any survivors. The rookies worked with quiet, desperate speed. “Scan for friendly signals,” she commanded. “Anyone not accounted for, I want eyes on their last position!”

A faint distress ping echoed from the debris field beyond the landing pad—a wrecked, nearly-unrecognizable scout vessel.

Yu’s heart seized. “Relay-7…” she breathed. “Pip.”

She sprinted, ignoring the pain in her ankle. The hatch was half-torn away, charred, but inside—Pip. Injured, smoke-stained, cradling a half-melted comms array in his arms, still fighting for every breath.

“Pip!”

Yu dropped to her knees beside him, her shaking hands gently prying the debris off his flight suit. His eyes fluttered open.

“Yu…?”

She bit back a sob, pulling him into a careful embrace, pressing her cheek to his smoke-streaked forehead.

“You absolute, ridiculous, heroic brat,” she uttered fiercely. “You held the line. You did what none of us could.”

He coughed, a pained smile briefly appearing. “Had to… data loop… TinTing… she’s—”

Yu pressed a finger to his lips. “We’ll find her. I promise you. But you—you need help, now.”

She signaled to the medics, who swarmed in, prepping a stretcher. She brushed his hair back, eyes searching his.

“Listen to me, Pip Tiaki. You are not alone. Not ever. We’re going to fix this gateway. We’re going to find TinTing. But you have to rest. That’s your order.”

He managed a slight nod, finally letting the medics take over. As they carried him toward the field hospital, Yu stood, gaze locked on the ruined Gate.

Mum, Dad, I’m so sorry.

I’ll find her. I’ll save what you built. I swear it—whatever it takes.

She wiped her face, straightened her shoulders, and turned to the stunned, injured survivors.

“All right—listen up! We’re not beaten. This Gateway stands as long as we do. Begin repairs. Account for everyone. And someone—” her voice wavered just a little, “—find my sister.”

She was Commander now. But in that moment, she was also just a daughter, an orphan, a sister searching the wreckage for hope.

The battlefield still held a dangerous atmosphere—embers drifting, smoke curling through broken beams, shadows twitching with the threat of surviving Cutters. Most survivors had been evacuated. But not all.

Zip & Flip crouched in the wreckage, fur smudged, trench coats torn, resolved. Their senses hummed with a different kind of adrenaline: this wasn’t a snack heist, this was a rescue. Flip’s paw brushed TinTing’s discarded jade piece, a strange, warm static traveling up his arm.

They crept closer. There—beneath a twisted support strut, huddled, knees hugged to her chest, trembling—TinTing. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, lips murmuring a wordless litany of loss. She was twelve—just a child, but changed forever.

Before they could reach her, a Cutter erupted from the debris, all jagged limbs and razor luminescence.

Flip yelped, but Zip leapt onto its back, holding on as it bucked. “No more hurting kids!” he squeaked, and hurled his radiant “hellfire rock” straight into the Cutter’s optical node. It shrieked, spinning.

Flip joined him, swinging his own rock, and together they battered the Cutter back. Another advanced. The odds—impossible. The odds—irrelevant.

They glanced at each other, wild hope rising.

“It’s haka time, bro,” Zip panted.

They squared off in front of TinTing, eyes intense, and began to stomp and chant, voices small but mighty:

“Kia kaha! Stand strong! For the lost, for the living, for the Jade—together, never alone!”

Each beat was like a drum. The ground itself seemed to respond—a deep, answering vibration.

Magpie (above, on a fallen beam, wings mantling): watched, approving, its shadow stretching long and strange, an omen for anyone with eyes to see.

The signal reached the sky.

A ripple, a beckoning, a call from the world’s deep marrow.

Suddenly, the heavens parted.

Clouds ignited away in a spiral of dazzling sunfire.

A flock of magpies ascended, swirling in black-and-white vortexes, as if gathering the world’s breath.

From the heart of the storm, the Jade Dragon descended, scales luminous with the memory of sacrifice, hexagrams flickering like living code. Solar energies danced in its wake—beams of illumination so hot they vaporized the remaining Cutters to ash.

And with a sonic boom, Tumatauenga landed, Nukutaimemeha striking the earth, volcanic force rolling outward, clearing the zone. He was war incarnate, every scar a story, his eyes locked on the scene below.

“Ka tū te ihiihi! Let all courage rise!” he proclaimed, his voice shaking TinTing from her daze. The Jade Dragon’s head lowered, ancient eyes luminous with understanding.

Zip & Flip, still vibrating from their haka, gazed up, awe and disbelief mixing in every fiber.

TinTing blinked. The world sharpened.

Smoke and battle faded from her mind’s edge. She saw the guardians standing for her, the Magpie above, the Dragon and Tumatauenga shielding what remained.

She choked on a sob, tears coursing, clutching her jade fragment—now warm, vibrating in time with her heart.

“Are we… safe?” she asked in a low voice.

At that moment, boots pounded across the broken ground.

Yu Xiu—face streaked with ash, tears still flowing, a commander’s heart breaking—skidded to her knees beside her sister.

“Ting!” she cried, gathering TinTing up, rocking her tight. “You’re alive. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

TinTing clung to her, weeping, words breaking apart. “Mum… Dad… gone. I—I couldn’t—”

Yu pressed her cheek to her sister’s hair. “It’s not your fault. None of this. I’m here. I promise we’ll get through this.”

Medics converged, but for a moment, the sisters stayed locked together, a new promise forged where the old world had fallen.

Zip & Flip, fur wild and grins wide, did a little victory hop, tails twined in relief.

Tumatauenga’s voice rolled out, ancient and final:

“The young are safe. The chain is unbroken. The world begins again.”

The Jade Dragon bowed low, encircling the sisters in its gentle, celestial regard.

Magpie, silent sentinel, watched from above—wings outstretched, both guardian and witness.

The world held its breath—then exhaled, not in defeat, but in hope.

Far beneath the field of battle, in a wound cut deep into the void, Liánhuǒ lingered. Wounded, yes—but unbroken, his essence coiled like poisoned wire. He watched the Jade Dragon soar. He watched the girls held safe by friends, by legend, by love.

But he saw her.

And he reached.

Not with flame, not with storm, but with something older—quieter. A malediction as thin as moonlight, as sharp as bone.

He conveyed, not with sound, but with soul:

“The lineage that defied me…

Child of those who aided creation…

Let her path be broken.

Let her efforts turn to ash.

She will strive—yes—but always fail.

Forever rebellious.

Forever unmade by her own hand.

A slave to her own fractured destiny.”

The words slid between worlds—spiritual venom threading itself into the place where fate and hope entwine.

Mid-flight, suspended in Magpie’s grasp, TinTing’s breath caught. A chill, deep and ancient, spidered beneath her skin, through her bones.

Her vision fuzzed, bright then black, the world tilting. She couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out.

Something had touched her. Not her body—her future.

Beside her, raccoon—suddenly, terribly alert—flashed intensely. Its form wavered:

Feathers to fur, fur to smoke, smoke to raw, brilliant fire.

A shield of starlight materialized around her, every strand a hissing, living thread—galaxies grinding, fate snarling at the curse.

For a moment, the dark magic recoiled, stung by the intensity of the guardian’s love. The worst of it broke against Raccoon’s wild defense.

But a sliver—a cold, sly hook—slipped past, burrowing into the part of her that remembered every loss.

It left no scar.

No visible mark.

Only a chill that would not leave, a subtle wrongness vibrating deep inside.

TinTing twisted in the air, her heart racing, the jade fragment searing in her fist.

The wind howled.

Below, the ground spun up—too fast.

The world smashed into her.

White pain. Black stars.

Metal shrieked. Glass disintegrated.

TinTing tumbled through wreckage and fire and falling wings—held, shielded, but not unharmed.

Somewhere, Raccoon’s voice echoed, ancient and formidable:

“You are not his. You will never be broken.”

And then—silence.

Chapter 4: Echoes and Embers

Five years since the sky fractured. Five years since the crash that dumped her into this sterile Citadel—“home,” as Raccoon called it, always with a smirk. The sky here was too clean, a washed-out blue she hated, so far from her parents’ starlight. No hint of the constellation they’d become. Some mornings, TinTing pressed the jade piece to her lips just to remember their voices.

She wouldn’t drop it. Not after those first hopeless years of fumbling, losing everything except this: her trickster guardian and the cold, crawling shadow of Liánhuǒ’s curse. She felt it every morning, a tension under her skin that never let go.

Seventeen now. Old enough for the 88888888 Celestial Intake. Sixty-four names. Somewhere in Central Command, the list was being finalized. Not hers. Not this year. Not ever. She already knew—by the way instructors stopped recommending her, by how every sim glitched right before she could ace it, even friends faded to silence when results came up. The malediction didn’t feel like fate. It felt like code—written into the Citadel itself.

TinTing yanked the chain secure on her wrist, feeling the jade’s familiar vibration. Not hope—just stubbornness. If they erased her, she’d etch her name back in.

Raccoon rolled over, snoring, then opened one yellow eye. “You up, Sparks? Day’s not going to curse itself.”

She threw him a look. He winked, his tail giving a dismissive flick.

TinTing managed a fleeting smile. “Try me.”

Raccoon tumbled off the rail with a thud that rattled her cup. “Try not to get sent to boot camp before breakfast, Sparks,” he grumbled, blinking blearily.

TinTing shot him a glare but couldn’t suppress the ghost of a smile. She headed for the corridor, Raccoon scampering after her, complaining about “rebellious rookies and impossible odds.”

This was the day. Whether they liked it or not, she was coming for her place.

TinTing laced her old Vault boots, still scuffed from a hundred forbidden drills in forgotten tunnels. Too snug, biting her ankles, but she wore them anyway—habit, hope, or both.

She moved like a phantom down empty service halls, hugging the rail in an off-limits maintenance corridor. Below, the Gates suffused the area with an artificial luminescence—every glyph, every jump, every trainee locked to the rules. Too perfect. The air felt stale. Her mother’s keepsake, wound tight at her wrist, pulsed a warning. Screw the odds. If her name wasn’t called, she’d hunt down the reason herself.

First attempt: the data tower.

She scaled scaffolding in the purple dusk, her heart thumping as the uplink glyph illuminated—one surge, then nothing. Remote lockdown. She dropped, muttering under her breath, shadows swallowing her disappointment. Across a gantry, Raccoon appeared, magpie-bright, offering no help, just a glint like he was already taking bets.

Second: the archivist’s wing.

She slipped past a guard swap—three steps in—before Raccoon jammed the comms on her datapad:

“No trespassing without a proper dramatic monologue, Sparks! Amateurs.”

TinTing kicked the wall, frustration gnawing deeper than the cold. The jade’s steady pulse felt mocking, echoing her impatience.

Third: Command Subdeck Alpha.

She made it to Yu’s office, fingers hovering, hesitant, above the manual glyph. Voices inside—her sister’s, instructors, the brass. Laughter. Then the name—Li Wei—wrapped in praise. TinTing’s jaw tightened. She spun, boots striking the floor a little too hard as she stalked away.

Fourth try, no stealth—just desperation.

She ran, breath shallow, vault lights streaking overhead. Captain Yu’s office, dead ahead—no guards, no codes, just one final, reckless gamble. She rounded the corner and collided with Pip.

The impact jolted her. Her ribs clipped a badge on his uniform, the chain on her wrist gave way, and the jade crystal—her parents’ mana, her last real thing—skittered across the floor with a sickening chime.

“Whoa—sorry! I didn’t see—”

Pip was already kneeling, fingers closing around the fallen piece before she could reach it.

“Is this yours?” he asked, holding it out, its inner luminescence responding as if it recognized him.

She reached, but a voice sliced the air:

“TinTing.”

Captain Yu. Admiral Tiaki behind her. TinTing froze, arm still half-outstretched, hope draining from her chest. No accusations, no alarms—just silence and too many eyes, all watching her fail. Too late. Her precious artifact—gone. The curse iced her veins.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, but her voice was brittle, fragile.

Yu’s eyes narrowed. “You need to leave. Now.”

TinTing didn’t answer. No apology registered on Yu’s face. No regret, just protocol. Two sisters—one burning with defiance, one frozen by duty—stared across a digital chasm. The call ended with a brief flash. Absence.

No argument. No second chance. The office—sealed. The list—locked away. Her name, her legacy: gone.

TinTing turned and fled, boots pounding down the Citadel’s arteries, every checkpoint, every locked door, every silent rule pressing her down. Her name was missing. The jade was gone. She ran until the bright corridors faded, their walls closing in, only shadow remaining. She wasn’t just left out—she was erased. Without her keepsake. Shamed.

She burst into her quarters and slammed the seal. The lights activated, but she just stood there, fists trembling. The raw mark on her wrist stung—proof of what they’d taken. By the boy. By Yu. By a system that never planned to let her in. Now the proof was real: she didn’t belong.

In her console’s reflection, wild eyes glared back. No footsteps in the hall. No apology. She sat on her bunk, elbows on knees.

“They took it.”

Saying it grounded her, kindled the slow fire inside.

“They took the Vault. The list. My name. My jade.”

She glowered at the ceiling’s cold glyphs.

“Then I’ll take it back.”

No quavering. No fear. Just the rising heat of something inevitable.

“Orders,” she spoke to her reflection, her voice low. “Liánhuǒ gave orders that night, too. Some orders are made to be broken.”

A beat of silence. “Not in their way. In mine.”

She stood, all anger and promise. The Vault could close her out, but she was already breaking in.

Outside, Raccoon pressed his nose to the glass, a wide grin on his face. “Good luck, Sparks. Try not to explode anything you can’t fix.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

Meanwhile, back in the corridor…

Pip stood still, the jade piece warm in his palm. He hadn’t meant to take it. He hadn’t meant to be part of… whatever this was. But he was now. The girl’s desperate, haunted eyes were seared into his mind.

“I’ll give it back,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I’ll find her. I swear.”

The air beside him rippled. Raccoon, in his animal form, materialized with a soft flutter, fur like smoke trapped in glass, eyes older than they should be.

“Ooooh,” the creature cooed, licking a paw and eyeing the jade. “Shiny things. My favorite.”

Pip gaped. “You—did you just talk?”

Raccoon’s tail twitched. “Gimme that, Peewee.”

“It’s Pip!”

Raccoon’s grin widened, then it gave Pip a long, appraising look and—with an enigmatic flick of its tail—vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

Pip looked down at the jade, his heart beating faster. He didn’t know what had just happened, but it felt like the start of something far more complicated than just an intake.

Magpie—now Raccoon—was perched on her desk right where the jade used to sit, head cocked with that too-knowing glint.

“I know where it is. Want to know?” it chirped.

TinTing didn’t answer, just stared hard at the wall, her jaw set. Her pulse throbbed in her throat—anger and ache, all knotted together.

Raccoon ruffled its feathers, switching to fur in a cascade of light. “Excuse me—Magpies don’t just sit around jabbering to themselves. Oh, right. You’re Team TinTing, doing the ‘universe is out to get me and I lost my magic space rock’ routine.”

It flapped upward, circled, then dropped low, tail sweeping. “Okay, okay—stop begging. Team me, then. And the girl who can’t jump… yet.”

“I didn’t mean to lose it,” she said quietly, the fight draining from her, leaving only the hollow ache behind.

A memory stung—her father’s voice, rough and gentle all at once: If you’re going to carry the flame, best not let it swing. She swallowed hard.

Raccoon landed with a flourish, spinning once, twice, then triple-flipping into a pratfall. “Ow. Still landed it.” It preened, smug, the magpie gone, all raccoon now.

“Here’s the deal, Sparks,” it declared, hopping closer. “No more corridor collapse, no tear-stained drama spirals. A promise is a promise—to them. Break it? Game over. Kaput. Poof.”

It threw its paws wide, performing its own funeral. “With theatrical flare. But poof nonetheless. Did you think there’d be nebula confetti? Jade parade? Your name up in sparkly runes, ‘cause your parents are actual constellations? Please. Go to Tiddlywink School. Bake nebula pies. Or—flap your arms and fly. I’ll watch. It’ll be hilarious.”

TinTing’s fists clenched, heat flushing through her.

Raccoon, seeing it, only grinned wider, backing toward the console and—with a magician’s flourish—produced the jade piece.

Her keepsake.

It radiated, warm as memory, bright as a new chance. “JumpMaster intake—eight-8s,” Raccoon announced, suddenly serious, all the mockery falling away. “You still want in?”

The jade warmed in her palm, its energy familiar.

For a heartbeat she heard her mother’s whisper—courage.

Her father’s smile—love.

A memory not burned away. Not yet.

“It won’t get you past the gates alone,” Raccoon imparted, its voice low, ancient knowledge crackling under the words. “That’s on you. But it’ll help you remember why you’re kicking them down.”

TinTing didn’t speak. Her spine straightened, her hand closing around air as if the relic was already hers again. The curse still curled cold in her gut, but her parents’ promise—a fire—was igniting inside her all over again.

Raccoon stepped back, paw raised to its mouth like a microphone. “Cue the big line.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Her gaze rose, not to Raccoon, but through the walls and the world, right to the Vault itself.

“That’s not when I was born,” she stated, her voice low but sure, a new certainty infusing her words, cutting through the scars. “That’s when I was left behind.”

She turned, as if walking into the light, into the fight, toward everything she was owed.

“This… this is where I begin.”

A pause—quiet, breathless.

But in the silence, a tiny, squeaky voice threaded through her mind, like a radio echo from a thousand nights ago:

You still there?

The deja vu gripped her—familiar, unwanted hope stirring in the dark. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to name it. That voice—she’d heard it before, breaking through static and panic, during those midnight emergency calls on the Citadel’s old comms. The night her world ended.

Pip’s words, bright and out of place, carried that same note of desperate courage—a lifeline she’d never dared grab.

She set her jaw, the echo of that night prickling under her skin. Some part of her wanted to ask if he remembered too, but the fear of the answer—or worse, his pity—locked her silence fast.

But as she headed for the door, Raccoon on her heels and the memory of the jade’s warmth at her wrist, the echo stayed with her—maybe somewhere, someone still believed she’d make it.

Maybe that was enough.

Chapter 5: The Night Before the Fall

Decades Later – The 88888888th Celestial Intake

BOOM.

The sound wasn’t physical. It was a tremor in the Vault of Heaven, a silent, cosmic detonation that propagated outwards from an unseen epicenter, decades in its journey, now arriving. The constellations themselves seemed to stutter, their ancient luminescence wavering with a momentary, profound uncertainty.

On the celestial observation decks of the Citadel, as the moon bathed in their glory, its dark side momentarily appearing to deepen before a new, urgent radiance emanated from its core, a different kind of pronouncement was already underway. This was not a whisper of ancient curses, but the grand, temporal machinery of tradition. Millennia had passed since the last Eight Poles Stellar Vault had opened its gates, and now, it was time.

The constellations gathered, and as the moon bathed in their glory, its dark side faded. “Behold,” it announced from the heavens, “millennia have passed… and now, it is time.” From the shadowed vault of space, the Moon summoned envoys. “Quick—take these. Guard them with your impermanence. Go, stealth. Go now.” A ripple of brilliance curved across the starstream as Tumatauenga emerged, drawn by the call.

“He aha… what is this?” he inquired, his voice low and steady.

The Moon’s gaze narrowed, gesturing to the sealed offering. “Guard it well, Celestial of War… go now.”

Sealed beneath the constellations’ coat of arms, sixty-four names had been inscribed. Their past deeds confirmed, their destinies bound to legend, the names were scribed into a ledger marked: For Captain Yu’s Eyes Only. At the edge of the Vault, light bent and refracted as a luminous form materialized—the Jade Dragon, veiled in breathing incandescence, its scales trailing streams of celestial code. Across the expanse, Tumatauenga, the Celestial of War, rode the starstream atop Nukutaimemeha, his longboard carved from volcanic jade and vibrating in an eightfold cadence. Together, they deployed across the stars, dispatching envoys to deliver sacred summons to the chosen few.

But out of the ether, predators stirred. Vapor cutters—silent, jagged, unmarked—burst from the black and dived. Tumatauenga lifted his head, his voice carrying into the star-slick void.

“Ko wai koutou? He aha tō mahi?” he challenged. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Without warning, a scout cutter ignited—spiked—fired. Gamma bursts lanced through the openness. Tumatauenga twisted, absorbing, laughing—cloak snapped, hand to the ledger. “Nukutai—secure it!”

The Jade Dragon lunged, its body flowing like liquid jade. Flames spilled from its maw—not wildfire, but with keen accuracy—coiling tendrils of firelight that cleaved through the gamma stream. The code in its scales illuminated, rewriting the bursts mid-flight, turning the cutters’ own power back upon them. Tumatauenga grinned, slamming his longboard into the starstream. Volcanic force erupted, manifesting in eight rhythmic waves that mirrored the complex fire of the dragon.

“Together!” Tumatauenga cried out.

The Jade Dragon answered. (Lóng huǒ tiān léi, pò!) “Dragonfire and heaven’s thunder—BREAK!”

The heavens ruptured. From the dragon’s jaws, a helix of blue-white flame erupted, as Tumatauenga’s longboard discharged a shockwave of blackened jade. Where flame and earth collided, the vapor cutters disintegrated—not into debris, but into static, erased as if the cosmos itself had rejected them.

However, the cutters adapted. A second wave descended, their jagged hulls reforming, folding into intricate armor. Gamma bursts fanned in chaotic patterns. Tumatauenga swore under his breath, veering as an energy pulse grazed his shoulder. “They learn!”

The Jade Dragon spiraled around him, scales blazing with warning. Its voice resonated—not through words, but flame. (Shén lóng bǎi wěi, xīng huǒ liáo yuán!) “The divine dragon flicks its tail—a spark ignites the cosmos!”

As it vocalized, the dragon’s tail snapped, a whip forged from supernovas. Tumatauenga read the signal, slammed his longboard down. Volcanic power flooded the stream, locking to the dragon’s tail-strike. The joint force spread outward—a shockwave of celestial code and molten earth—blasting the cutters like leaves in a typhoon. For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze: dragonfire twined around war’s fury, gamma bursts stilled mid-air. A moment of collapse followed. The final cutters imploded, their cries devoured by the void. High above, they flared, collided, burned—ripped apart by fire and force until nothing remained. And in the quietude that followed, the sky breathed. The envoys—Tumatauenga and the Jade Dragon—vanished into the dark.

The first beat then struck. A single sound, deep and crystalline, echoed across the outer rings of the Vault. The 天律鼓 (Tiānlǜ Gǔ)—Celestial Rhythm Drums—had begun. Forged from meteorite iron, laced with jade, inlaid with Bagua trigrams, they didn’t just ring. They declared. One strike per quadrant. Eight total. Each one an emission of intent: Awaken. Align. Prepare. They did not summon individuals. They summoned legacy. The eight-8s had been called. And from every dimension, from every shadowed edge of ancestry and ambition, sixty-four rookies began to move.

“There! Look—they’re igniting the code!” A young jumper-in-waiting leaned over a sky rail, his voice unsteady with hope. The drumbeat resonated in his chest, eager to match its tempo. His time to Jump had come.

In quadrants far and near, from constellations old and unnamed, JumpMasters streaked across the universal expanse—signals of activation, gleaming with the Vault’s approval. For the drums had started early. Not for marching. Not for warning. Celebration drums. Wild and bright. The kind that rattled dishes in the side halls and echoed through the ribs of the Citadel like laughter you weren’t invited to.

Forged from meteor-chime alloy and rimmed in eight-sided resonance rings, they weren’t just sound—they were signal. These were 天律鼓 (Tiānlǜ Gǔ)—Celestial Rhythm Drums. Instruments of balance. Drilled in squads of eight. Played in patterns that harmonized not music, but momentum itself. Each drum face bore a trigram from the ancient octagonal codes—Bagua sequences carved into jade and starmetal. Their resonance synchronized with the Vault’s internal Qi grid. When struck in exact rhythm, they could stabilize entire systems teetering on gravitational collapse. Long ago, such drums had been used to guide ships by sound. To calm atmospheres. To preserve harmony during the earliest jumps. Now, they called the eight-8s. Their reverberation wasn’t noise—it was transmission: the Vault awakening.

With every strike, they dispatched echoes to the corners of known space, detaching signal threads that vibrated across quadrant lines. They called forth the Eightfold squads. They set aglow the rings of the Stellar Vault. They whispered to jade fragments tucked in necklines and spoken promises made under ancestral stars. And as each wave landed, rookies stiffened. The percussion wasn’t outside them—it was in them. Every hit passed through their bodies first. Bones resonated. Nerves ignited. Qi leapt. They didn’t just hear the call. They braced for it. Because the Vault was not asking if they were ready. It was warning them: You’re already being shaped. And when the final cadence fell into stillness, the Vault would open. Only once. Only every 88 years. Only for those who survived the sound.

From the observation decks of the Citadel, the soft radiance of the moon’s rhythmic light shone faintly across the reinforced glass. In the atrium below, jade lanterns floated on invisible liftstreams, casting slow, ceremonial spirals across the polished stone. The first rookies had already begun to gather—nervous silhouettes in pristine intake robes, fidgeting under the weight of legacy. Somewhere above them, the eighth and final drumbeat rang out. The air stilled, as if the entire Vault had inhaled. And in that suspended breath, in a quiet corner of the Citadel’s upper ring, a girl in worn boots stood alone—unseen, unchosen.

The final thrum of the Tiānlǜ Gǔ faded, leaving a ringing silence that TinTing felt more than heard. Her palms were abraded, not from any celestial vibration, but from gripping the cold plasteel of the observation rail too hard, for too long. All morning, she’d waited, a knot of dread constricting in her stomach with every passing chime of the Citadel clock. No gleaming glyph scroll had materialized before her. No sharp, affirmative sync ping had echoed in her inner ear. No soft, proud call from her sister, Captain Yu Xiu. Just… nothing. Zilch. The universe’s biggest cosmic shrug aimed squarely at her.

“They wouldn’t dare,” she breathed, the words a rough scrape in her throat. But a cold certainty was already coiling inside her. This wasn’t an oversight. This was a knife in the back. Sabotage. Her so-called ‘illustrious’ JumpMaster lineage apparently meant squat when someone powerful wanted you erased. Well, her ego, already scraped sensitive, burned with a new, defiant heat. She wasn’t going to just fade out. She was going to see for herself.

Every eighty-eight years, the Celestial Council opened the gates to 八极星穹 (Bājí Xīngqióng)—the Eight Poles Stellar Vault, the mythic training crucible, the place where legends were forged or broken. And this cycle, the 88888888 intake, had just begun. Rookies from every quadrant were being called—if your Qi harmonized with the Eightfold Pulse, your background didn’t matter. The Vault, supposedly, didn’t care who you were. But someone, it was sickeningly clear, still had to put your name forward first.

And someone, TinTing seethed, had obviously taken hers off.

She slipped into Yu Xiu’s command office just after dusk cycle. The Citadel beyond the reinforced window vibrated with what sounded like a badly remixed anthem—all booming bass and saccharine synth, the official soundtrack to her exclusion. Most senior JumpMasters were at the intake ceremonies, probably patting themselves on the back or blessing their hand-picked candidates. Yu Xiu hadn’t even properly locked her office. Arrogant, TinTing mused, a smirk playing on her lips. Or maybe she just never figured anyone would have the guts. TinTing did. She keyed in an old override, a rebellious ember kindling in her chest.

The room was dim but aggressively alive—low jade illumination casting long, eerie shadows, threads of ancestral code spinning in slow, concentric spirals like captured nebulae. Maps. Constellation glyphs. Rhythmic lights and intake rings looped slowly in the air, each one a cluster of rookies supposedly bound for the Eightfold Trials. Each cluster orbited a luminous “8”—infinity turned vertical, because of course it was—shining in color variations that meant confirmed, pending, awaiting oath. Corporate celestial branding at its finest.

She moved carefully between them, the quiet within a stark contrast to the distant, muffled cheers. Scanned names. Matariki hovered first—seven stars, imbued with a quiet, reverent luminescence. Confirmed. Pacific quadrant. All locked in. TinTing’s breath caught. Even the outer rim sectors were full.

“What… even the Pacific?” she whispered, her voice unsteady. She tapped the display, and a generic, smiling holo-pic of a Pacific-sector girl appeared, earnest and hopeful. TinTing felt a pang of something too close to pity and swiped it away.

Another cluster hovered nearby—Orion Spiral Wing, alive with sector glyphs. She recognized two names. And there it was, bold and clear: Li Wei. Of course Li Wei made it. Probably got a commendation for breathing in a rhythmically approved manner. TinTing remembered him from a junior qualifier – all quiet intensity and annoyingly perfect form. She bet his uniform didn’t even have a single crease.

She shifted fast, ducking beneath floating pathlines as the Eastern Arc data stream unfolded. She stared, her heart sinking with each perfectly aligned ring of names—eight per line, each followed by sector sigils and impressive trial pass marks. Balance, Courage, Wisdom… Blah, blah, blah. No TinTing. She slid her hand across the console to the next band. No glyph. No pending. No record. Just a blank, insulting space where her future was supposed to be. Her fist tightened. She wanted to smash the console, to see the perfect, ordered lists fragment into a million pieces.

Then she saw it, almost hidden, floating to the far right of the constellation field, as if it were an afterthought or a private joke. A special intake ring—marked with a silver infinity symbol eight times over, coiled like some ancient, self-important seal: “88888888 – Celestial Intake Confirmed.” Sixty-four names only. One—possessing a particularly obnoxious, buttery gold sheen—was tagged: Jade Selection. TinTing blinked, leaning closer. She tapped it, and a name appeared, unfamiliar, beside a note: “Designate: Jade Radiance.” Jade Radiance? What, like some kind of super-special Celestial nightlight? Her stomach turned, a cold, hard knot of fury and disbelief. That wasn’t just selection. That was elevation. That was the spot spoken of in hushed tones, the one that fast-tracked you, the one that practically guaranteed… everything. That’s my spot, the thought blazed through her, hot and undeniable. Not for some pre-selected, silver-breath syndicate pick with a fancy aura. Rage, sharp and clarifying, flooded through her. Oh, I’ll show them celestial.

She didn’t remember scrambling out of the office, just the sting in her palms as she braced herself along an exterior frame and pulled upward into a shadowy lattice overhang. She moved in a crouch, sliding between humming conduits of light, the distant vibration of the Citadel’s party a mockery. Peeking through an open gap, she saw the celebration tiers below. The Citadel was alight with joy. Hovercakes drifting on scented vapor. Song trails weaving through the air. Grandparents, faces beaming, tying traditional jade thread around their chosen rookies’ wrists, their laughter echoing. I’m not just not chosen, she thought, the words a sharp ache in her chest as she watched a family embrace. I’m erased.

She crouched deeper in the dark of a vent shell, arms wrapped firm against her sides as if to hold herself together. A green-hued celebration lantern drifted slowly past, adorned with a golden 8, its center emitting a soft pulse like a smug, oblivious heartbeat. She did this. Yu Xiu. The realization was cold, hard, and absolute. Her sister, the Captain. She didn’t forget. She removed me.

Her fingers closed around the jade fragment at her neck. Not ceremonial. Not issued. Her father had carved it by hand from a fallen star-piece before he’d disappeared into the Stellar Vault himself, two intakes ago. “You’ll need this when your time comes, Sparks,” he’d said, his voice thick with emotion. My time just got stolen. TinTing inhaled once, slow, deep, through her nose, locking the feeling – the betrayal, the fury, the burning injustice – into her ribs, into her very Qi. They think they can shut me out of the Bājí Xīngqióng? Just like that? Fine. She launched backward off the pipe brace with a surge of defiant power, her worn boots hitting the maintenance walkway with a soft, practiced hover-bounce. Her feet, unlike the clumsy rookies below, made no sound. I’ll get into that gate. I’ll take what’s mine. Even if I have to blast it open with my bare hands.

Far below, one of the massive celebration drums hit its final, resonant note, giving way to a fresh wave of ecstatic cheers that grated on TinTing’s nerves. She didn’t look down. She was already moving.

The induction corridor itself was a maelstrom of bodies, a river of hopefuls flowing towards the primary glyph gates. Music throbbed, too loud, too bright. TinTing, trying to remain unseen, hugged the edge of the flow, searching for an unguarded access point, a waver in the system. She was so focused on the gates, on the humming energies of the intake, that she didn’t register the other anomaly moving with an equal, opposite intent until it was too late. Li Wei, exiting a side portal after a final systems check, his expression calm but his senses already on edge from the Vault’s subtle, pre-intake vibrations, moved with quiet deftness. A surge in the crowd, a boisterous shove from a celebrating rookie, and TinTing stumbled—directly into Li Wei’s path.

They collided, hard. Not a gentle bump, but a full-body impact—bone to bone, Qi to Qi. For an instant, their auras flared, silver-shadow and golden-jade scraping against each other like mismatched gears, a spark of dissonance in the celebratory hum.

“Watch it—!”

“You—!”

Their protests were swallowed by a greater force. The nearest glyph gate, already alive with active transit power, behaved erratically. Instead of pulling rookies in cleanly, it lurched. A vortex of unstable illumination erupted, and before either TinTing or Li Wei could react, could even brace, they were seized. Not by the gate’s intended current, but by something else, something colder, threaded with a malice that felt ancient.

They were yanked sideways, off-course, into a screaming, chaotic torrent of raw dimensional force—the unshielded undercurrents of the jumpstream. Disoriented, tumbling, they felt a dark, tendril-like presence latch onto them, a chilling intelligence that was not part of the Vault’s system. It was Liánhuǒ’s curse, his vow from decades past, now a predatory hook reaching across time. The universe twisted. Colors bled. Sound became pain. Then, with a final, bone-jarring wrench that felt like being torn from reality itself, they were spat out. Not into a training arena. Not into the Vault.

They crashed onto cold, scarred plasteel, the air acrid with the lingering stench of ozone and something else… something that tasted of battle and despair. Red emergency indicators still flickered weakly around them. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant, fading hum of damaged systems. TinTing gasped, vision swimming. Beside her, Li Wei groaned, pushing himself up. They were in a corridor, devastated, signs of a recent, terrible fight everywhere. And then they saw them. Two figures, Wei and Lifen, their faces marked with shock and exhaustion, staring back at the two teenagers who had just materialized from nowhere.

Before anyone could speak, a chilling laughter, devoid of all warmth, echoed around them, seeming to emanate from the shadows themselves, from the very fabric of the damaged outpost.

“Did you think your future was safe?” Liánhuǒ’s voice, a whisper of cosmic winter, insinuated itself into their minds. “Did you imagine your pathetic little lineage could escape my notice? Behold, children of a fleeting love! I bring you… your inheritance. Your doom, gift-wrapped and delivered across time. Vengeance is mine. Eternity… is mine!”

The air grew colder still. Wei and Lifen looked from the disoriented teenagers to the unseen, gloating presence, a new, horrifying understanding dawning in their eyes. Their hard-won peace, their moment of survival, was already under siege from a future they couldn’t have foreseen, by a foe whose hatred spanned generations.

Chapter 6: Bounce Out                          

The training vault gleamed like a cathedral turned combat arena—sixty-four rookies sprawled in tiers, each squad a constellation of bravado and borrowed swagger. Down below, chaos reigned. A rookie from Team Huǎn spun erratically through the air, arms flailing, his boots pirouetting skyward before he ricocheted off an energy field and skidded across the frictionless deck.

“Ten creds he cries,” Hemi commented, his heels perched on the guard rail, hair a vivid streak of neon smirk.

“Eight,” Ruya countered, her coin flipping between her fingers in a perfect rhythm, her half-shaved head catching the ambient luminescence with mathematical exactitude.

“Zero,” Mazin interjected, draped across the railing, jacket glyphs reacting to each impact below. “You fake the fall, you score the sympathy. Love is all about angles. I should take notes.”

“You should take a long walk into the gate,” Niu grumbled, arms folded, her weight centered like a waiting strike.

Chien from Squad Zhen mimed a victory pose—just before his foot caught a friend’s ankle and sent him tumbling. Their teammates erupted in laughter. A new rookie zipped into the Vault and was immediately ejected sideways through a portal that hadn’t yet opened. A half-second later, their med-kit followed like a loyal dog. The observation tier buzzed. Every squad not yet called in grinned like pranksters before a fire alarm. Every voice was laced with nervous glee. Every movement sharpened to the edge of arrogance.

But below the clang of rookie bedlam, something changed. Not in sight. Not in sound. In the bones. A frequency—too deep to hear, too ancient to name—resonated upward through the floor. Illumination across the Vault dimmed a half-shade. The far end of the arena wavered, not like heat-haze, but like time itself holding its breath.

Tumatauenga entered, silent. Above, coiled in the shadows between star-panels, the Jade Dragon turned its head. No alarm sounded. No command was given. Yet across every quadrant of the Vault, instinct screamed.

The deck beneath their boots vibrated again—harder, faster. Ping dropped her licorice. Ruya’s coin slipped from her grasp. Hemi’s cocky neon locks lost their intensity, shifting to a dull gray-blue, the color of dawning comprehension. The artificial stars overhead didn’t just dim. They extinguished, one by one, until the dome was choked in a heavy, colorless stillness.

A single vertical fissure appeared in the sky. White-hot. Soundless. And from that rupture—Tumatauenga fell. He didn’t descend. He struck. The impact splintered the plasteel. Air bent. Sound warped. Several rookies stumbled backward, their balance broken like twigs in high wind. Nukutaimemeha hovered behind him—not ridden, but poised, its jade veins suffused with a soft radiance, pulsing in a silent cadence. The longboard emanated power, waiting. Above, the Jade Dragon coalesced in reverse—a star folding into form. Its eyes, vast and endless, locked onto the rookies as if divining their weight, not in mass, but in worth.

Then the voice came—not from Tumatauenga’s throat, not from the Dragon’s maw, but from the air itself. Ancient. Simultaneous. Final.

“You mock the trial.”

The rookies froze.

“You court legend without earning its cost.”

No one moved. The Jade Dragon lowered its head, its coils shifting like tidal currents made flesh. Its breath didn’t warm—it compressed. It crushed. Tumatauenga raised his fist. The rookies flinched.

“The Vault gives nothing freely,” he declared. “It tests.” He struck the floor. A tremor ran through the structure—not vertical, not horizontal, but dimensional. “Kia mau,” he whispered.

The Jade Dragon exhaled. The rookies were gone.

Launched like sparks from a struck anvil. Hurled into the wild unknown by forces older than language. No cohesion. No order. Just outcries—and not all from fear. Some were unvoiced instincts. Others, last-second reflexes, shields igniting, blades spinning, Qi erupting against inertial madness. Tavi vanished in a burst of blue-white interference. Niu twisted mid-air, eyes intense. Mazin tumbled backward in a slow-motion arc, hands outstretched like a broken dancer. Their formation disintegrated before it began. They weren’t being tossed. They were being broken apart—and flung into something that wasn’t training, wasn’t simulation, wasn’t anything they’d been briefed on. Ruya’s coin was gone, but her hands still moved—snapping through invisible patterns mid-air, recalculating timing in real time. Every move was a probability, every dodge a decision tree collapsing toward survival.

Hemi, usually all noise and neon grin, clenched his teeth hard enough to risk a molar. The joke had vanished. But his showmanship hadn’t. Even bleeding, he caused his Qi to flare wide to draw cutters toward him—bait, shining bright, giving others space to regroup.

Niu moved low, blades tight, weight centered—just like before. But now her silence was weaponized. She didn’t shout. She struck. Every pivot calculated, every parry aimed not for points, but permanence.

Mazin? Still sprawled somewhere off-axis—but this time, watching. Logging angles, glyph behavior, shield failure rates. His jacket flickered in time with enemy power surges. A mimic system. He was adapting in real time, fashioning data into defense.

Whatever they were before—coin-flippers, posers, poets, cynics—they were now something else: rookies in the fire, quirks turned instincts, instincts turned chances. Not yet a squad. But no longer strangers.

And above it all, Tumatauenga stepped onto Nukutaimemeha. The board surged forward, its glyphs blazing like battle hymns. Beside him, the Jade Dragon’s body emanated the sear of pre-storm fury.

“Let’s rumble,” Tumatauenga said. Then they dropped—into the maelstrom their presence had summoned.

The world had inverted. Ping didn’t know which way was up—only that everything hurt. Her arm throbbed from a failed glyph-catch, and interference danced at the edges of her vision. She was spinning—limb over limb—until her momentum collided with someone else. Crash. Two rookies tangled mid-air.

“Watch it!” Jiayin snapped, shoving Ping off just enough to stabilize them both. Her hands sparked with shield energy, barely catching an incoming debris fragment. “Stay vertical! Think in vectors!”

“I don’t know which way vertical is!” Ping cried, her breath catching. But Jiayin was already gone, kicked into a new rotation by a ricocheted energy discharge.

Ping tumbled again, a small whimper escaping. A crack across the shoulder. A cry of pain from somewhere too close. Another rookie—Chaska—shot past her, spinning like a comet. His sunglasses were gone, his usual poise obliterated.

“Can’t—” he gasped, eyes wide, “—orient! This isn’t coordinated! It’s a slaughter pinball!”

They weren’t wrong. This wasn’t a trial. It was survival.

A flash above—a silhouette streaking in controlled descent. Niu-Zen, blade in hand again. His movements were slow, meticulous. He wasn’t fighting the chaos. He was listening to it. Reading it. Ping saw his mouth move, not in command—but in rhythm.

“Tavi!” he called, his voice like a thread through madness.

A few meters away, Tavi blinked through damaged goggles, trying to anchor herself with broken math. “The vectors—”

“Don’t solve them!” Niu-Zen projected his voice. “Feel them! Turn the problem into a pattern!”

And somehow, she did. Ping watched as Tavi flicked her fingers. The chaos didn’t stop—but her descent shifted. Stabilized. She twisted into the spin, sent her Qi outward, and redirected herself toward Chaska, who was spiraling again.

“Grab on!” Tavi yelled. He did. She generated a burst of synchronized thrust—and they landed hard against a sloped panel.

“I am never mocking your goggles again,” Chaska mumbled, gasping for air.

Nearby, Hemi had finally stopped cracking jokes. His leg was pinned, crushed beneath a fallen section of plating. His usual flair had dulled. His hair barely showed any color.

“Help,” he breathed, barely audible.

And Ping moved. It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t brave. Just instinct. She launched herself—no glyphs, no plan—and landed hard beside him.

“Hold still!” she urged, teeth set. Her licorice was long gone. Her pulse was a drumline in her ears. She used it. Focused it. Her Qi wasn’t strong—but it was fast. She wrapped the pinned joint, used a discarded fragment of brace-field, and locked his injury.

“Get me moving or I’ll flirt with the medtech again,” he rasped.

She laughed, short and desperate. “No flirting. You owe me clean exit. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They moved—together—one limping, one bracing. And above them, a great bellow—thunder laced with starlight. The Jade Dragon spiraled. Tumatauenga launched. And somewhere, the battlefield shifted. Not in their favor. But not beyond it, either. Because now—finally—they moved together. Not as rookies. Not as jokes. But as a squad.

TinTing spun low under a cutter’s sweep, came up swinging—only to be body-slammed sideways by something fast, hot, and human. They hit the deck hard. Metal bit her spine. Her boot kicked out on reflex. Elbow followed. Clang. A forearm caught it mid-arc.

“Wait—!” Li Wei.

She blinked. He was imbued with a fading aura of jade and ocean luminescence clinging to his shoulders like torn stardust. “What are you—”

No time. A vapor-cutter, scythe-limbed and advancing fast, locked on to them. They weren’t even standing. No stance. No guard. Li Wei shoved her. She grabbed his jacket. They scrambled. TinTing slipped on coolant slick. Li Wei lost balance trying to shield her. They fell into the cutter—together. It shrieked, blade flashing. TinTing’s knee jammed into its midsection. Li Wei’s boot came down on a coolant line, blowing compressed vapor into its optics. CLANG. CRACK. The cutter’s systems glitched. Its scythe twitched—stuck—jammed between their clumsy limbs and the broken grid plate. TinTing’s boot found leverage. Li Wei’s elbow found its core. Together, they punched down. The cutter spasmed once—then collapsed. Dead weight. Both of them stared at it, panting.

“…We meant to do that,” Li Wei managed.

“Shut up and keep moving,” TinTing retorted, already scanning for the next threat.

They didn’t high-five. They didn’t smile. But they moved as one now—rough, fast, uncoordinated—but committed. A second later, a new cutter charged. This time, they ran toward it.

The battlefield had splintered into disarray. Rookies scrambled in scattered bands, trading calls, warnings, and bruised ego for survival. Cutter units rained down harder now—sharper, smarter, faster. They were learning. Pip had vanished from his squad minutes ago. The last anyone saw of him was his slight form diving through a narrow choke point. Now he was trapped—alone, half-curled behind a damaged wall panel, panting, bruised, eyes wide with panic.

Then: a whispering scrape. The wall behind him tore open. Cutter units poured in—three, five, seven—forming a tightening ring. One lunged. Pip raised his arm too late. Metal carved down his shoulder. Another slammed into his gut, knocking the air out of him. He crawled, whimpered, his Qi flickering like a dying signal.

But the next impact wasn’t a cutter. It was TinTing. She landed hard, flung sideways by a blast of raw force. Her back hit the ground beside Pip, gasping. A cutter lunged again.

“MOVE!” she yelled. She kicked up with both legs, launching herself and the cutter skyward. Mid-flip, she caught a rail, swung, redirected the impact. The cutter hit a wall. Dead.

Another slashed at Pip—too slow this time. He yanked a dislodged power bar from the wreckage, swung it in a panic. It was heavy. Too heavy. But he fell—and the falling bar landed right through the next cutter’s core. They fought side by side now, no plan, no rhythm—only desperation.

“We’re outnumbered,” he panted.

“I know.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up—”

“Later.” She elbowed another attacker, cried out, kicked the last of her strength into a wall-mounted switch that short-circuited the nearest unit. Sparks danced across her arms.

Then the final cutter aimed square at her—blades spinning, ready to tear through—

“GO!” she urged, hurling herself in its path.

Pip bolted. But he didn’t leave. He looped. Ran wide, built speed. Came back, a yell tearing from him, flung himself into the cutter’s flank. It didn’t fall. He didn’t stop. Another leap. Another crash.

Then— Tumatauenga saw them. And the Jade Dragon moved. Its tail swept across the battlefield—a divine arc of jade illumination. The cutter was torn in two. An energy wave exploded from the impact. Rookies, tech, smoke, all blasted backward toward the Citadel’s inner gates. TinTing and Pip spiraled with the wave, limp but alive, crashing onto the polished parade floor just seconds before Li Wei and the others.

The final cutter disintegrated mid-shriek. Jade flame curled through its vapor, atomizing it to interference. Tumatauenga landed hard beside the last struggling squad, knocking one of the boys sideways with the force of his arrival, then hauling him up without missing a beat, his expression unreadable. The Jade Dragon spun once above, a silent guardian, its tail slicing clean through the last collapsing dimensional piece before coiling protectively around the perimeter of the now-stabilizing arena.

They didn’t walk back. They fell—from the sky. Out of the chaos of the Bounce Out, the rookies came plummeting down through scorched clouds and fractured radiance, their bodies trailing sparks and Qi, smoke and flame. There was no gate, no transport field. Just impact. Some spiraled like broken meteors. Others punched straight through the haze and crashed into the parade grounds of the Citadel hard enough to rattle the foundation. But every one of them rose. Staggering. Bleeding. Laughing. Breathing.

TinTing and Li Wei hit down last, side by side, their bodies aching but alive, their eyes scanning, alert and bright. All around them, the rest of the intake—burned, bruised, shaken to the bone—dragged each other upright. No one stood in lines. Not yet. But every one of them stood. Sixty-four in all.

Overhead, the jade and gold gates of the Citadel swung open—not gleaming, but blackened by battle. The great courtyard beyond throbbed with the echo of the celestial drums, their rhythm slow now, ceremonial. From the highest vaults of the sky, two shapes descended—Tumatauenga on Nukutaimemeha, hovering in perfect volcanic stillness, and beside him, the Jade Dragon coiled, like starlight condensed into scales. They didn’t land. They hovered—north, south, east, and west—above the survivors.

“Kia mau,” Tumatauenga said, his voice as deep as tectonic plates shifting. A war cry. A blessing. A command.

Everything stilled. Then he turned his head slightly and called down, “Captain Yu… the parade of the 88888888 intake is yours.”

Captain Yu Xiu stepped forward through the arch. Dressed in her command mantle of white jade and silver thread, she carried herself like a storm locked in orbit. Flanked by TikTok and WeChat, she gave the signal. The 天律鼓—the Celestial Rhythm Drums—sounded. Once. Twice. Eight times. With each resonant beat, the rookies pulled themselves into line. No formation had been assigned. But they found it—64 shoulder to shoulder, with sweat in their eyes and victory in their chests.

Then, without warning, a sharp, mechanical alert cut the silence.

“Rookie TinTing. Step forward.” The voice came from an official dispatch drone, hovering above the formation with an emergency arrest banner showing red and gold.

TinTing froze. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Murmurs. Disbelief.

“She’s being arrested?”

“But she—she saved us.”

“This has to be a mistake…”

Captain Yu stood tall, her expression unreadable. But her voice was cold steel. “Commander TinTing. You are charged with unauthorized access to vault protocols and breach of sacred intake pathways. By JumpMaster law, I place you under formal investigation.”

“No way—this can’t be real,” someone breathed.

Then—“Excuse me.” The voice was quiet, nearly lost in the murmuring. Small. Uneven. Pip stepped forward. Still in his damaged armor. Face smeared with smoke and dried tears. One sleeve torn from shoulder to glove. His voice quavered but didn’t break. “She saved me,” he stated. “I was going to die. The cutters had me—cut me off. I was done. But she came anyway. She jumped into the middle of it. She didn’t hesitate. She got between me and death.”

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

“She didn’t just help. She put her life on the line. That’s JumpMaster Grand Law.” He looked up at Yu. “You said it yourself. When one places themselves in danger to save another—and they win the battle together—that’s not just valor. That’s merit.” A pause. “Without her… there’s 63.” Pip’s chin trembled, but he lifted it. “Not 64.”

The Jade Dragon moved. Slowly. Deliberately. Its great head turned toward the gathering, and it spoke in a voice that made the stone floor vibrate.

“Rookie TinTing,” it rumbled, “are you the Jade Radiance?”

TinTing stared up at it, stunned. She didn’t answer.

Captain Yu stepped forward again, this time with something new in her voice—fury, defiance, and pride all braided into one. “She is,” Yu declared. “I name her. As gatekeeper. As Captain. As kin. She is Jade Radiance. Holder of light beyond her time.”

Above them, the Citadel roof parted. A pillar of jade luminescence cascaded down from the sky like divine fire, surrounding TinTing in a ring of gold and green. The drums struck once more. Sixty-four rookies stood at attention. Not one more. Not one less. The parade was complete. And so, the legend began.

Chapter 7: Echoes from the Corona – Sunfire Gambit

The Command Center of the 88888888th Intake throbbed with a nervous energy, JumpMaster training in full swing. Rookies were crashing left, right, and in contorted heaps. Meanwhile, on the main holo-display, HAIWIKI-5, on its final cruise then back to base, last of Wave One of the “Solar Flare Navigation Drill,” ukulele pop jamming, zipped through asteroid belts and darted into blackholes—flash.

“They always do,” one medic observed, sipping synth-coffee. Team selfies illuminated the lower corner of the feed.

“Hey, 88888888 doesn’t come around often.”

“Yeah, I still got mine.”

“Haaah, me too.” Nervous laughter rippled through the room.

TinTing sat at her simulator station for Jump Four, helmet untouched beside her, eyes locked on the display. The Crimson Phoenix had docked earlier—clean and crisp—but the arrival of The Void Requiem was starkly different. The ship was limping in like a hover-grand prix contender dragging toward the finish line, an almost palpable sense of something unfinished clinging to its hull.

With a sudden pop, Raccoon appeared beside her, uninvited, leaning over her console, his voice cutting through the unease: “Void Requiem—shields. Guys, sun tan lotion. Now.”

He pointed as a thunderous solar emission erupted across the holo-display, followed swiftly by another, plasma rolling like a tsunami. Memories struck TinTing—her parents, the sickening sensation of heat before their death—and her fingers flexed involuntarily on the cool console. Sweat beaded beneath her collar as her shard emitted a faint, anticipatory tremor. The Void Requiem looked completely depleted mid-drift, as if gravity itself had finally given up trying to hold it together.

“A bit too close for comfort,” Raccoon commented, adjusting his goggles with a characteristic twitch.

From Docking Bay 7, the med team stared at puddles forming under their boots—sweat still rolling down their cheeks. Marstron, in the meantime, came in hot, zooming past like a rookie on his first loop.

“Typical novice approach,” one medic remarked, unimpressed. Just then, the station shuddered. Lights wavered. Metal groaned. Everyone picked themselves off the floor. A bandage from somewhere above fluttered down and landed squarely on a medic’s head.

“We’re okay, guys! Perfect Martian touchdown! Wasn’t it? That’s still a pass…” he offered, with a confident, come-on-give-me-the-pass bounce in his voice.

From somewhere near the deck speakers, Raccoon’s voice broadcast with faux authority: “Hello, Mars-One? This is Raccoon Command Central.”

“Mars-One here—“

“Thanks for not riding a nuclear warhead in. That’s a pass from me…” He paused—something on the looping feeds caught his eye. “Wait… is that a TikTok golden…? It is. It is, folks. A 88888888 golden buzzer moment—gone viral. Perfect, indeed.” Another beat. His voice returned. “This is Raccoon-One… over and out. And getting up off the floor.”

As TinTing’s squad received their final call, “Jump checks locked,” she flinched. Her gaze drifted to the secondary holo-feed displaying The Void Requiem; the ship’s approach had slowed to a near standstill, not just sluggish, but utterly deflated, as if exhaling its final breath into the void.

The comms crackled to life, a dry, rasped voice cutting through the static: “Void Requiem to Vault Command… multiple crew members… deflated… shields critical… need immediate… priority med-teams… maybe a mechanic with an air pump at Docking Bay. Crew… at limit. This was… more than briefed.”

The sudden clatter of a dropped synth-coffee flask punctuated the growing tension as screens displayed shifting alerts and new warnings bloomed across the command center, voices sharpening with alarm. But when the bridge feed activated, what they saw defied any expectation of mere exhaustion; it was a scene of complete collapse. Rookies floated limply within the confines of their cockpit—limbs outstretched and unmoving, cheeks puffed and unnatural, visors fogged with condensation. One spun gently in the zero-g, fingers twitching like overinflated gloves before curling inward with a disturbing finality, while another drifted sideways, knees folded over her chest, her suit hanging slack and lifeless. One girl blinked slowly, her eyes vacant, before dropping languidly into her seat like a deflated ration pouch. Their suits showed no sign of breach, their Qi readings stable, yet they were undeniably, inexplicably airless. A wave of bewildered silence washed over the medics.

“What is this?” one breathed, his voice barely audible.

“Compression loss?” another suggested hesitantly.

“Dimensional fatigue?” a third hazarded, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“They’re… airless,” someone finally articulated, the word hanging heavy in the air.

All eyes instinctively shifted upward, toward the seemingly solid ceiling, a collective, unspoken question hanging in the balance, waiting for the inevitable pop that never came. Instead, a soft knock knock echoed from the rear portal, drawing all attention. There stood Raccoon, bipedal as ever, his tail swaying lazily, a patched-up exhale rig clamped haphazardly to his back, dragging a squeaky coil-cart that emitted a faint, buzzing whine. His goggles were fogged, his fur looked oddly frizzed, and yet, beneath the dishevelment, he seemed strangely refreshed. He stepped through the doorway, pointed a single digit first at the bewildered medics, then at the command speaker, before puffing out his cheeks with exaggerated effort and letting out a long, deliberate: “Pppppffffrrrrrbbbbbbpppptt.”

The medics exchanged bewildered glances.

“What is that—?” one stammered.

“I think he’s… indicating—” another began, a dawning comprehension in his eyes.

“He’s saying inflate the crew.”

“With what? Faith?!”

But Raccoon wasn’t waiting for an answer. He stepped up to the main monitor, squinted at the frozen figures of the deflated rookies, pointed a clawed finger at his own hips, then back to the screen, miming a slow, comical collapse before holding up a single, emphatic finger.

“Frrrrpppptttttt…”

The comms revived, the lead medic’s voice cutting through the lingering confusion: “Guys,” he communicated over the open channel, his tone shifting from bewilderment to a hesitant understanding, “blow out. Quick. Pucker your lips and blow.”

And almost as if orchestrated by some unseen hand, the Void Requiem’s crew began to descend within their cockpit. Softly, almost imperceptibly at first, then with increasing momentum, one by one, their limp suits settled against the contours of their chairs, their outstretched limbs folding inward, and their eyes fluttered open, blinking against the unfamiliar illumination. Not dead, not by any stretch of the imagination, and certainly not fine, but returned from some bizarre precipice, suspended somewhere between complete collapse and a deep, unnatural sleep, as if whatever unseen pressure had once held them upright had finally, inexplicably, been released.

On the bridge, the exhausted rookies of Wave One weren’t merely tired; they were physically sagging in their command chairs—visors cracked and spider-webbed, faces ashen and pale, their once pristine suits now smeared with the tell-tale soot of plasma exposure.

One pilot’s voice, thin and reedy, came over a localized comms feed: “Can’t… can’t lift my arm, Jax. Think I pulled… everything.”

His co-pilot, attempting a gesture of camaraderie, tried to meet him with a high-five, the contact landing with a soft, awkward tap that spoke volumes of their shared depletion. “High five, dudes…” he mumbled, his gaze drifting over his equally incapacitated crewmates, “…high low, dudes.”

Another rookie blinked hard, his eyelids heavy, fighting a losing battle to remain upright before finally succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue, his head lolling against the back of his seat. “Just… five minutes…” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

They didn’t resemble a team that had successfully completed a challenging drill; they looked like survivors, clinging precariously to the ragged edges of consciousness.

Pip’s voice, usually bright and energetic, came in over the main comms, now stripped of its customary cheerfulness, replaced by a flat, clinical tone: “Significant gravimetric shear logged at Corridor Alpha’s tail. Plasma stress readings off the charts. Wave One crews are officially grounded. Immediate medical assessment required. No reassignments authorized.”

A Vanguard officer’s voice followed, laced with a weary authority: “Dudes, get some rest. You earned it.” The casual words were tinged with a tight undercurrent that clearly signaled no further questions.

Though unspoken, the reality hung heavy in the air: Wave One was out of the game. But the next wave was already powering up, their jump decks showing a stark, unsettling readiness. TinTing glanced at the mission board—SkyLark, VibeSpine, EchoJet—all systems hot and green. A palpable buzz of confidence, whether genuine or forced, vibrated through the open comms channels.

“SkyLark to flight—systems green. Ready on sequence.”

“Copy that, SkyLark. VibeSpine, check?”

A younger voice piped in, a tremor of unease beneath the attempted lightness: “Uh… VibeSpine’s reading stable. Shields holding. Little flutter on the port manifold but engineering says it’s just… happy engine noises?”

A nervous chuckle echoed in the silence. The squad lead’s voice then cut in, sharp and no-nonsense: “Keep the happy noises quiet. We go clean. For Wave One.”

“Roger that. Clean and quick.”

“EchoJet, you’re up.”

Zen’s voice boomed through the comms, a forced bravado barely concealing the underlying tension: “EchoJet locked and loaded! Time to show these solar flares who’s boss!”

TinTing winced, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach; classic Zen, always projecting a confidence that felt paper-thin. The engines of Wave Two ignited, burn trails spinning to an incandescent white as the trio of rookie pods tore out of the Vault with a desperate urgency, as if they had something vital to prove.

Pip’s voice, now urgent and sharp, cut through the launch chatter: “Command—spike readings incoming. South solar quadrant. High-intensity particles—unscheduled. We’ve got movement. Multiple signatures—cloaked and active.”

A chilling confirmation followed: “Cutters inbound.”

The main holo-display erupted violently, the image of the sun blooming open with terrifying speed. From within the blinding glare, a tongue of plasma—classified as Class X—unfurled with a brutal, terrible grace. And from within that incandescent heart, black Cutters peeled out like silent, predatory knives, sleek and lethal, slicing directly toward the unsuspecting rookies. They opened fire. The Command Center exploded in a cacophony of alarms, red indicators flashing and klaxons blaring. Onscreen, SkyLark’s shields disintegrated like fragile glass, followed by VibeSpine, tumbling wildly, sparks hemorrhaging from her crippled engines before erupting in a silent, beautiful, and completely terrifying explosion. The comms dissolved into a garbled mess of panicked voices—Anya barking frantic commands, Zen’s bravado dissolving into a raw, primal cry, and a younger voice, strained with terror: “…nav-compromised… Cutters! We’re being pulled—into the—”

A moment of silence, then only static. A single voice, calm and chillingly final, cut through the electronic chaos: “All sigils from Wave Two… lost. Confirmed trajectory: terminal solar infall.”

The room didn’t cry out; it simply gasped, the collective intake of breath sharp and ragged. Li Wei’s hand clamped onto TinTing’s arm, his grip white-knuckled and frozen. She didn’t speak, couldn’t; the acrid scent of ozone and the phantom tang of ash swirled in her mind, a toxic cocktail of present terror and the haunting echoes of her past—her parents, the all-consuming fire, Liánhuǒ. Raccoon, who had been quietly constructing a precarious pyramid of ration packs, let it tumble to the floor, the small clatter strangely loud in the sudden stillness. For once, he stood utterly motionless, no jokes, no nervous twitch, his gaze a slow, deliberate sweep—first to the sun, still burning bright and indifferent on the holo-display, then to TinTing, his expression unreadable, and finally down to the cold metal floor.

And then, softly, so only she could hear above the ringing in her ears, he conveyed: “Well, kid… the sun wasn’t feeling so generous after all. Or maybe… someone just changed its guest list with extreme prejudice.”

In the corner display, the faint, ethereal swirl of the JumpMasters’ anomaly continued to vibrate, distant and untouched, so far removed from their immediate crisis that it might as well have existed in a different universe entirely. And the ones left standing, caught in the suffocating silence of the command center, had just become the last desperate chance to answer the impossible.

Chapter 8: Faith in the Fire

The Vault Command Center was fragmented—by grief, silence, and coronal ejections.

With Vanguard comms crippled by Cutter interference and the catastrophic X-class solar event, only static remained. The cries for help faded. Eventually—nothing. The trapped rookie pods drifted too close to the sun’s furnace. No updates. No hope.

Admiral Tiaki and Captain Yu were already gone—leading the Dragon Shields into a celestial conflict beyond this dimension. No backup. No time.

Inside Hangar Three, Pip stood before the cockpit of the scout ship Star-Wisp. His hand hovered, unsteady, over the biometric lock.

“I’m going,” he stated, his voice not loud, but firm.

Li Wei stepped forward. “You’ll need backup.”

“You volunteering?”

“Every time.”

TinTing lingered at the edge of the hangar, her fists balled. The sun wasn’t out there—it was inside her chest. It had always been. Her parents. Their last jump. The searing memory of Liánhuǒ’s power still lived behind her ribs.

“My shard,” she breathed, “It’s unstable. I can’t.”

Raccoon, curled around an air valve, tail moving lazily, commented, “Some fires burn on the outside. Others, from within. Pity when they meet.”

The words stung. TinTing turned her back.

Without her, the Star-Wisp launched into chaos.

Pip tried to guide the pilot. “She breathes left now! Ride the current—”

But the Vanguard pilot couldn’t translate sun-speak. The ship lurched erratically.

A sharp cry followed.

Sparks. Smoke. And a blur of grey.

Raccoon dropped from the overhead hatch with a yowl: “Someone’s gotta fly this death waffle if Pretty Boy and the solar whisperer are gonna cry into the corona!”

He seized the helm.

What followed was pure pandemonium—daring rolls, skip-thrusts, quantum barrel hops. But even Raccoon couldn’t out-maneuver the sun forever. Hull integrity compromised. Systems burned. The ship impacted onto a volatile asteroid shelf, dangerously close to the rookies’ last signal.

Back in the Vault, TinTing’s heart constricted.

A complete blackout ensued.

No signal. No movement.

Only a sharp, psychic impression. A flicker. A feather. A call.

The Magpie.

She ran.

Vault Protocol Lock Zeta tripped. The bay doors groaned open.

From above, Yu Xiu turned away, just long enough for the override to disengage.

TinTing sprinted across the floor. The secondary scout, Jade Strider, awaited.

As she launched, Raccoon’s voice came over the emergency channel, strained: “Oh, now you show up. Move fast—this ship’s got more holes than credibility.”

Pip was murmuring ancestral names. Li Wei’s hands were scorched, sweat streaking soot down his face.

An impact jarred them. Airlock.

TinTing entered, illuminated by the molten glow from outside.

“You came,” Pip exhaled.

Raccoon held up a melted snack bar. “Too late for the peanuts, right on time for the firestorm.”

Li Wei rushed over. “You’re here. Thank the stars. You can fly this. We’ve found a vector—”

TinTing’s expression stopped him cold. Her eyes locked on the solar map, fingers tense on the controls. “Say it,” she directed. “That gate—my parents died at that gate.”

Li Wei hesitated, his voice strained. “I know. My family barely made it through. A JumpMaster crew held the line for us. My mother always remembered their markings. Wings on the hull.”

She cut him off, her voice suddenly small. “That was my mum’s ship. You… your family—my parents died saving you.”

Realization struck, silent and profound. TinTing’s voice broke. “My parents died saving you.”

Li Wei’s face fell. “I didn’t know. Not until now.”

Before either could speak, a velvet, cruel voice intruded—Liánhuǒ’s laughter resonating, echoing through the hull.

“Oh, the irony! No kissy-kissy sweethearts here, just the bittersweet taste of my games! You both dream of your families—one saved, one lost. Priceless. Your pain, your guilt—better than any victory.”

The air grew heavy, dread flooding the cockpit as the Celestial’s shadow passed overhead.

Li Wei swallowed, urgency rising in his tone. “The only way to reach them is through the gate.”

TinTing froze, her breath catching in ragged gasps. “I’m not going through it.”

Li Wei’s jaw hardened. “We have to. There’s no other way.”

She cried out, “No!”

“I don’t care!”

“They’ll die if we don’t,” Li Wei pressed.

“I can’t. My mum died—my dad—they died there. So no.”

Li Wei’s voice became ragged. “We have to.” He paused, then quietly added, “I’m sorry, but we have to.”

Unexpectedly, he grabbed the controls and swung the ship toward the gate.

TinTing lunged, fighting him for the yoke. They struggled, wrestling, the ship bucking beneath them.

Through the comms, Pip’s voice was sharp with urgency: “The gate! The gate! Something’s wrong!”

Raccoon launched himself over the seats, tail bristling, and with a wild leap, wrenched the controls away from both. The ship veered off-course—straight toward a looming asteroid.

“The asteroid!” Pip’s voice hitched.

TinTing and Li Wei looked up in horror, scrambling together to right their course, working side by side, all anger forgotten in the rush to survive. The ship decelerated sharply, scraping across the rock just in time.

As they steadied themselves, red targeting beams danced across the canopy—crosshairs, six, then eight, glinting on every surface.

Li Wei’s voice went flat. “Cutters. They’ve got us.”

The crew stiffened. Only the hiss of cooling metal, the dancing lights of the crosshairs, and their ragged breathing filled the cockpit.

The gate’s voice addressed them, cold and strange: “No, I am not a Cutter. But by your reckless approach, maybe you are. And I end your reign of terror now.”

As the gate spoke, crosshairs darted across the walls—square on their hearts and heads.

Raccoon hissed, “Magpie, where are you?” He shifted, tail bristling, fur standing on end.

From somewhere near the consoles, Magpie materialized, its voice light: “Hi, gate.”

A sudden emanation from the archway—dragons of the gate erupted, massive and radiant, wings unfurled, barrels spinning, blasters illuminating the void.

The gate’s voice thundered, now edged with real urgency: “Magpie, quick—get your chicklings through! Cutters approaching!”

Lasers fired, the arch opened wide, and the path home shone before them.

Sunfire Duet (Confession in the Inferno)

The Star-Wisp tore through the expanse, solar winds stripping against its hull like blades. TinTing was locked to the helm, her gaze fixed, her pulse steady. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t frozen.

She was flying.

The same sun that once terrified her now seemed to resonate in rhythm with her shard—her Jade Radiance. She didn’t dodge the fire. She read it. Danced through it. Found openings no system could predict. The ghosts in her memory no longer clung to her—they moved with her, instinctive and formidable, like JumpMasters still guarding her hands.

Ahead, wedged inside a jagged trench on a volatile obsidian asteroid, the Helios Scion flickered like a dying beacon. Its hull was blackened. One stabilizer was bent backwards. Too close to the coronal mass ejections. Too far from help.

She dropped the Star-Wisp in hard. Too fast, too close. The hull vibrated. She didn’t blink.

A hiss of pressure. The emergency hatch opened with a groan.

Raccoon—in Raccoon form—scrambled out, tail singed and helmet sideways, dragging a console panel in one paw.

“Took you long enough!” it called out, hopping down beside a spewing vent. “Pretty boy in there was about to strike up a conversation with a ruptured Qi conduit. Terrible listeners.”

TinTing pushed past. Inside the ruined bridge, Pip lay half-conscious, his arm wrapped in a pressure seal. Li Wei crouched beside him, one hand steadying the field dressing, the other injured and raw.

“TinTing…” he began, his breath catching.

“Status?” Her voice was flat. No softness. No pause.

Li Wei straightened. “Comms are dead. Life support barely hanging on. Pip’s been trying to trace the solar current, but we’re flying blind.”

“I’ll take it from here.” She was already at the controls, interfacing the Star-Wisp’s systems into the Scion’s, fingers darting through layers of damaged code.

“Wait,” Li Wei interjected, reaching for her arm. “There’s something—about your parents. About mine. I didn’t understand it until we got here.”

She stiffened.

He spoke fast. “Pip said something when he was out. I found a fragment in Yu’s old logs. They didn’t die in that solar event by accident.”

She looked at him. Her eyes were stone.

“They were JumpMasters. They stopped to help another ship—my parents’ ship. The one I was on.”

Silence.

TinTing stared at the gate, her spine straight, eyes locked on the swirling energies. “I’m not afraid,” she declared. Her voice was steel.

She threw the yoke forward.

The ship roared.

The solar phenomenon opened wide—a column of intense luminescence, furious and alive.

Pip climbed to his knees, one hand raised. His voice echoed—not loud, but deep and filled with purpose. “Exhaust all… then go higher.”

The Star-Wisp surged forward.

And from the heart of the sun, a voice called back—Ra himself, amused and vast. “Hey kids. Done punching each other yet? You’re gonna need faith for this one. No refunds.”

“BOOT IT, MATE!” Raccoon shrieked. “DEAD CENTER—WAIT! AIM CENTER! WOO-HOO!”

The ship plunged—into heat, into memory, into the fire they would no longer fear.

The Jade Strider hurtled toward the flare gate, the structure now looming before them—an octagonal ring of swirling energies, glyphs igniting across its surface like restless fireflies. But it wasn’t a passive portal; tendrils of power lashed out, testing their approach.

“It wants something,” Pip murmured, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Not just to pass through… it needs an offering.”

Suddenly, a beam of pure solar force erupted from the gate, striking the ship’s shields. Alarms blared.

“Wrong sequence!” Li Wei exclaimed over the din. “It’s rejecting us!”

Outside, the Cutters were gaining, their sleek forms visible against the backdrop of the coronal ejections. Their weapons charged, ready to strike.

“We don’t have time for this!” TinTing projected, her voice tight with a familiar fear. “Just blast through it!”

“There’s a sequence,” Pip insisted, his hands showing a faint golden sheen as he tried to decipher the glyphs. “Each of us has to offer a part of our essence, tied to the Shields…”

“Essence? We’ll be essence smeared across the hull if we don’t move!” Li Wei retorted, his voice laced with desperation. “And you still haven’t told her—”

“Don’t you dare—” TinTing began, but another discharge from the gate rocked the ship, throwing them against their restraints.

“Enough!” Raccoon yowled, its fur alive with chaotic energies. “You two are more likely to get us killed with your bickering than that glowy donut!”

In a blur of motion, it grabbed TinTing and Li Wei, yanking them into an awkward, forced embrace with Pip. Its tail wrapped around them all, and it grinned, a wide, slightly manic “shelpie smile.”

“If it wants essence,” Raccoon cackled, “it can have all of it!”

A wave of combined power—TinTing’s fiery determination, Pip’s solar connection, Li Wei’s desperate hope, and Raccoon’s wild abandon—surged toward the gate.

The glyphs blazed, the octagonal structure resonated, and with a roar that echoed across the solar expanse, the gate opened. A tunnel of pure brilliance unfolded before them.

“Well, kids,” a voice resounded from the heart of the gate, laced with amusement and immense power, “looks like chaos is a key too. Who knew?”

The Jade Strider plunged into the illumination.

The passage gripped them.

Not vacuum. Not gravity. Something older.

Radiance bent. Pressure warped. The ship protested with groaning metal.

TinTing held the yoke with both hands, arms locked, eyes unblinking. Fire washed across the canopy, bright enough to burn through shadows buried in her chest.

But she didn’t flinch.

Not this time.

Raccoon perched beside her on the nav, fur wild, tail tip alight. “Holding formation!” it yelped, jamming a lever forward with both paws. “Sort of!”

Behind them, Li Wei called out numbers—shield integrity, coolant levels, external pressure spikes. They were all bad.

“Six percent!” he reported. “We’re nearly out!”

“No we’re not,” Pip breathed.

He stood behind TinTing, hands raised, his eyes faintly golden. The air seemed to vibrate around him. His fingers traced arcs through the smoke, ancient shapes of balance and pull, sung from the marrow. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried—a rhythm older than the sun itself. The ship shuddered. Brilliance fractured. Time twisted.

Then—

BOOM.

It wasn’t destruction.

It was intervention.

A deep surge of power—clean, focused, undeniable—passed through the Star-Wisp, folding the worst of the solar inferno outward like parting curtains. A wave of impossible force enveloped the hull, catching the dying ship and flinging it through the final curve of the flare gate with shocking speed.

And then—

Stillness.

Not the stillness of death.

The stillness of breath held… then released.

The rookies sat stunned in their crash harnesses. Someone coughed. Someone else asked in a hushed tone, “We’re alive?”

TinTing didn’t answer. Her hands slowly released the yoke. The shard on her wrist had stopped its urgent blinking. It shone now—steady. Confident.

She looked up.

Ahead, scattered like stars against the softened corona, the faint beacons of Wave Two. Dozens of them. Still intact.

They had made it.

She turned to Pip. He opened his eyes. His hands were still raised, but their golden sheen faded.

“That was you,” she observed.

“No,” he replied. “That was them.” He pointed to the sun. “I just… remembered how to ask.”

The ship’s scanner spiked—another presence forming at the edge of the corona. A dense wave of hostility swept toward them, cold and calculated.

Liánhuǒ.

His Qi lashed across the scanner feed like a rift in the sun itself, a promise of vengeance. They felt him try to reform—malice dragging shape from fire.

But an answer came.

The solar field warped again—just once.

And he was gone.

No explosion. No outcry. No warning.

Just a silent verdict.

Somewhere beyond perception, Ra had struck back.

Pip stared into the flare’s fading edge. “That wasn’t punishment,” he said softly. “It was a boundary.”

TinTing looked down at the controls, already guiding the ship forward, back into movement. “Then let’s make use of the time he’s bought us.”

The Jade Strider glided toward the crippled cruisers.

This time, she flew without fear.

She and Pip worked as one—his solar-sense guiding, her instinct steering. Around them, the rookies who had survived the flare scramble now moved with purpose. Li Wei led engineering patch crews across narrow walkways between ships, welding access ports, rerouting oxygen.

Every survivor was brought aboard.

As they locked the final hatch and pulled back into solar-safe orbit, a shape formed in the ambient glow beside them.

Maui.

His outline appeared, half-formed but unmistakable. His hair blew in a non-existent solar wind. His board trailed embers. His grin—wide.

A rookie, wide-eyed, voiced the question everyone was thinking. “Why didn’t Ra drag Liánhuǒ back in chains?”

Maui turned toward them, his eyes glinting with layered age. “Defeat is a leveler,” he explained. “It brings even the proudest flame down to ash. Humiliation?” His grin widened. “That’s a continuance. It broods.”

He then looked at Pip.

“What a man your father has raised,” he remarked. “Pip Ariki. Ever want to really cruise the cosmos?”

With a swirl of fire and starlight, Nukutaimemeha-1 appeared behind him—its prow gleaming silver, its rail surf able, its presence undeniable.

Maui winked.

Pip blinked—and then he was gone.

One rookie exclaimed. Another called out, “HE TOOK HIM!”

But seconds later, a sonic boom ripped through the Vault perimeter—and Pip was back.

Slightly toasted. Grinning from ear to ear.

Maui’s voice echoed after him: “Didn’t fall! That’s already better than me. Humility’s overrated anyway!”

The Strider docked. The rookies disembarked—not as squads, but as whānau.

The Vault greeted them with a slow, deliberate beat of the celestial drums.

Admiral Tiaki placed a single hand on Pip’s shoulder and said with quiet pride, “That’s my son.”

TinTing stood at the edge of the command deck, eyes following them all—Li Wei, Pip, the others.

She wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But she had flown through the worst of it and come out steady.

And that meant something.

Raccoon strutted past her, still smacking sparks off its tail. “Amateurs,” it grumbled. “Mine’s a tan with texture. Smells like destiny.”

Later, TinTing would learn that the largest Vault drum—cracked since before she was born—now held a tiny fragment of luminous sunstone embedded in its core. No one knew how it got there.

But everyone knew what it meant.

A new rhythm had begun.

The cruiser rattled through the expanse, battered and silent. The rookies barely moved in their seats, hollowed out by hunger, guilt, and too many hard choices. The Citadel gate filled the forward screen, an ancient jade arch radiating a faint cosmic luminescence. Its runes flickered—not a welcome, but a warning.

“Hey… what’s up with the gate? It’s aiming at us,” Pip observed, his voice unsteady. “Gate, this is Rookie 63 of intake 88888888 requesting clearance to pass through, over,” he added, not really expecting anything but bureaucracy.

A beam of jade illumination zipped across the shields and smacked Raccoon on the nose.

“Bullseye. That’s 100 bonus points for unintentional comic symmetry,” came the gate’s comms, almost deadpan.

“Rookie 63, you are in violation of the Funny Bone Act, JumpMaster Law, Code Serial 1, Add-On 2, and the Seriously That Went Viral Bylaw. Prepare to defend yourselves with self-silliness and ridiculous antics. You too, Raccoon,” the gate declared, and suddenly the nav screen shifted to sepia, with tumbleweed and “High Noon Protocol” flashing up.

The crew groaned, but obeyed. Each in turn, with ragged humor, did their bit—Raccoon’s epic fall, Pip’s sock mustache, TinTing’s “Queen Quasar,” Yu’s one-booted dance. Laughter, strained but honest, cracked through the gloom—enough to get the arch to open a crack.

But then the gate’s tone changed. The voice lowered, carrying real weight.

“Sit awhile. Yes, you too, my friend. Long time, no antics, eh Raccoon?” Magpie materialized in the shadows.

“Listen. What happened here—I could not stop. I tried. I failed. Millions of innocents were to be erased in an instant because I failed. All of your parents helped avert a dark day in the cosmos, and for that, I am eternal. Sometimes things go wrong, not in eternity, but in a single moment. If I could end my existence so that parents could continue to be with their families, I would do it in a click. But then there would be no barrier, and billions will fall. So I don’t know the answer. I never will. Except I am grateful.”

A hush settled. For a moment, the only sound was the whir of life-support and the quiet rhythm of breath.

The gate’s voice then trembled, so low only the rookies could hear: “Will you… all forgive me? I never forget their lives, lived in honor. But the pain is so heavy. Please…”

No one spoke at first. Even Raccoon’s eyes were down.

Then, softly, Raccoon responded, not joking, not hiding. “Yes. I remember that day. The love. The honor. And why.” He looked over at TinTing, his gaze steady, his voice just a little rough. “Mum and Dad’s greatest gift.”

TinTing’s breath hitched. Her eyes glistened, but she nodded, holding his gaze. The pain was still there, but so was something else—acceptance, and maybe a thread of forgiveness.

The stillness in the cruiser was almost gentle now. The rookies sat with memory, pain, and the first hint of something lighter. The gate’s soft radiance warmed the cockpit.

Then, unexpectedly, the gate spoke up again—lighter, with a familiar edge of mischief.

“Raccoon, you’re runner up. OK—before you go… family selfie, everyone. Instead of medals.”

Pip let out a shaky laugh. Even Yu managed a lopsided grin. TinTing wiped her eyes and tried to smile as Raccoon, ever the troublemaker, held up his still-sticky nose and leaned into the frame.

One by one, the battered rookies pressed together—awkward, bruised, some with arms around each other, all of them changed. Magpie appeared just above their heads, a flicker of wings at the edge of the lens.

The nav cam flashed. The shot captured everything: scars, fatigue, eyes that had seen too much—but also the bond that couldn’t be broken. For one breath, it was enough.

The gate’s voice, softer now: “That’s the memory that matters. Welcome home.”

The cruiser glided forward. The arch opened wide, and the rookies—changed but not alone—passed through, carrying memory, pain, laughter, and forgiveness, both given and received.

The gate’s illumination lingered behind them, gentler than before. For the first time, they all belonged to the moment—and to each other.

Chapter 9: The Twelvefold Reckoning

And somewhere beyond time, crushed between millennia, the inferno’s fury cried for vengeance: where anger boiled and vapor dissolved. Seek and destroy all that dare to make this conflagration hush and silent—There, between reality’s strata, the inconceivable writhed. A tenebrous unconsciousness stirred, eager to devour. When defeat beckoned, its rage knew no limits. For in that place devoid of temporality, Liánhuǒ summoned his ire, vowing to unleash it upon all who would not bow to his thought, Noa, his breath, his will. But Minge, Celestial of Serene Balance, intervened—making neutral, the current that quelled vengeance’s heat. Out of the mist, the Jade Dragon emerged—a bastion rising to challenge him.

“What is this that believes itself my equal?” Liánhuǒ thundered, his menace slithering through layers of gloom, drawn by the sudden radiance erupting on the lunar battlefield. Ancient, bitter, and relentless, he gathered himself, letting the stillness thicken, his hunger expanding. Something had dared to resist him. Now, in that suffocating emptiness, Liánhuǒ’s true presence awakened—ready to make all defiance pay.

Their trench coats swept the ground, thrumming with corrupted codes, sealing off the stairways to hell’s chambers. The agents of the searing flame blistered the walls and left them scarred as they readied—bursts of heat boiling, steam rising—the corridor liquefying under their intensity. But the Jade Dragon’s bellow sundered everything—their armor, their weapons, their very forms. Wei’s senses overloaded as the trench coats vanished in streaks of raw, consuming force. Some were flung like ragdolls, others left as scorched silhouettes on the walls, or scuff marks on the floor.

“Consume it now!” the trench coats cried, flames erupting—yet the Dragon’s potency tore through them, leaving not even vapor behind. Just as suddenly, the onslaught stopped. The air quivered; Wei’s skin tingled with residual power, his thoughts tangled between terror and awe.

Above, reality buckled. The fabric of space rippled, constellations swirling as the Zodiac Shields broke through the ether. Dog—Fidelity—leapt first, a gleaming barrier shielding the embattled corridor. Dragon—Ascendancy—ignited alongside, emerald luminescence blazing with purpose. As the shields clashed with the oncoming penumbra, Dragon’s voice resonated above the chaos:

“Go—every one of you! The child to be, protect it. Seek out the mother, Lifen—our charge. Summon the Divine Dogs, the sentinels—they will come, for hell is arriving! Move now! We will finish this playground bully.”

At the Dragon’s command, Rat’s ingenuity sparked, Ox’s fortitude anchored the vanguard, Tiger’s valor split the dimness, Rabbit’s tact found hidden pathways, and Snake’s mystique undulated through the fray. Pushing forward, they braced the line as corrupted influence lashed against them, the enemy desperate to break through.

The Dragon hurled itself into the thick of battle, its emerald coils turning back the murk and holding the breach for the others. Through the maelstrom, the remaining shields broke through—Horse with unstoppable momentum, Goat’s serenity calming the tempest, Monkey’s guile unraveling enemy tactics, Rooster’s precision tightening their ranks, and Pig’s abundance flooding the abyss with fresh hope.

At last, twelve guardians stood together—each a legend, each a bulwark—united as a living shield, their brilliance forging a barrier strong enough to defy the coming storm.

They descended, ripping through the interstice, smashing aside obscurity, and in their wake making noa—neutral—where war had once raged across galaxies. Wei’s breath hitched: the scale of it, the sheer potency, turned his fear into stunned calm.

The shields resonated in a rhythm he felt in his bones. Their combined strength swept across the lunar base, erasing every last hidden enemy. Agents twisted; trench coats dissolved; corrupted codes clawed at nothing as the effulgence finished its work. The aftermath was absolute—no bodies, no debris, only stunned, living survivors.

Wei’s knees gave way. Silence pressed in—exhausted, but sacred. Then beams of searching illumination carved away every hidden umbra, the last threats gone. The message was clear: submit, or be erased.

Wei’s hand found Lifen’s. Together, they witnessed a vision of centuries past—walking in the orchard garden on the day they married, the day when blossoms reigned. She wore a dress of red; Wei, her childhood celestial sweetheart, could only smile. In the wakening, her grip anchored him, their shared breath proof they’d survived. He couldn’t speak for the gratitude or the trembling relief—he just squeezed her hand and let the quiet settle, his heart thumping with the aftershock. There, in the hush, the twelve shields of the Zodiac stood poised in watchful stillness. Below them, the Divine Dogs gathered—tails patting the dust, ears pinned forward, noses twitching as they scanned the horizon. One let out a low, steady snuff, muscles coiled and ready. Another circled the base, gaze never leaving the darker regions. In perfect formation, they waited—guardians within guardians, a living promise: protect that which must be protected, no matter what comes.

But elsewhere, in a place so dark it felt colder than space, Liánhuǒ seethed.

“Amass my agents. Relentless war—destroy everything that dares to smile. Find the child—search where those who shielded and the dogs now lie. It will be something older, something it thinks untouchable.”

Liánhuǒ was more than flesh; vengeance fueled his survival. Rage hardened into resolve. He coiled tight, hate thickening until it emanated its own heat.

His vow cut through the emptiness, silent but sharp: “You shield a vessel, but the river of legacy flows on. I will torch your future, one joy at a time. I will leave nothing but hurt.”

In that cauldron of spite and malice, the malediction did not remain hidden. It took form—a twisting phantasm, darker than the deepest chasm, edged in a sickly, shifting purple. It writhed and throbbed, hungry and alive, then broke free from Liánhuǒ’s grip and hurtled through the boundaries of space and time.

Across the gulf, reality shuddered—just enough for the malediction to slither through, a hairline fracture only the oldest forces would sense. In its wake, wars reignited where Noa-neutral had just brought peace. The blight crept forward, unseen, alive and hungry, nosing through the world in search of brightness to poison.

Wherever achievement dared to rise, it burrowed, turning triumph into loss. Gratitude soured into regret. Hope dwindled, then dimmed. The affliction found pride and bent it into shame, found unity and seeded mistrust. Even laughter grew hollow at its passing.

Somewhere distant, a whisper froze and fell, shattering on the ground as cold swept through the air—unnoticed, but marking the moment the malediction took hold. Its strobe invisible, its manifestation seeded. The war wasn’t over. It had just changed shape.

And far from finished, Liánhuǒ watched—certain his gloom would hunt down the heart of every hope yet to come.

The year 4068—The Age of the Teen Celestials—went viral across the cosmos. The legendary 88888888 JumpMaster intake began the moment the fourth hand held silent the tick that should not be—a hex claiming supremacy over life’s domain. Time chimed, and the Citadel bounced back to life as rookies Tiptoed and We Chatted the night away.

TinTing stared at her console, the roster’s gleam biting into her eyes—her name a blank that ached like an old scar. Raccoon’s pacing grated on her nerves, its restlessness echoing her own. On her desk, the jade fragment looked tainted, its surface dull and strange.

For a moment, the pain threatened to swallow her whole: this wasn’t about rules or tests. It was about being feared—her lineage, her innate radiance. And his reach Liánhuǒ’s reach. The realization burned. Raccoon stopped and tapped a schematic, pointing out a forgotten conduit—an opening nobody else saw.

TinTing’s lips curled into a grim smile. She picked up the fragment; it resonated, not with sorrow now, but readiness. She looked Raccoon in the eye, defiance sparking. “He thinks he burned my destiny?” Her voice was iron. “He just lit the fuse.”

Raccoon chittered—mischievous or just stubborn. Either way, it was in. TinTing stood, fear twisting into something formidable. She didn’t wait for permission. If the Vault wouldn’t have her, she’d break in—her way. For her family. For every destiny threatened by shadow—a hex that feared not the passage of time.

She stepped out, the path terrifying but clear.

The Vault’s call became her heartbeat.

Moments later, the world shifted—TinTing was no longer alone in her bunk but pushing through the crowded tunnel, the jade fragment gripped tight in her palm. The rookie intake—sixty-four strong—pressed close around her, every face illuminated by anticipation and nerves. The mission had begun.

The tunnel walls quaked, sending dust spiraling through the green-tinged air as rookies jostled shoulder to shoulder at the junction. Boots scuffed the stone. Laughter came too loud. TinTing’s fragment shone faintly in her grip, its cadence syncing with the Citadel far above. But down here, the air felt old, green, and waiting—like something beneath the surface was listening.

Pip nudged her with an easy grin. “See? Told you—just another drill. Easy points.”

Around them, squad leaders talked tough and cracked jokes about which team would clear the fastest, who’d end up face-first in the mud. A rookie at the back did an impression of the head instructor—everyone laughed, some a little too hard.

Then the roots hit.

It started as a whisper—a rustle, like exhalation through leaves. Then—crack! A tangle of bark-covered tendrils erupted from the floor, thick and fast, coiling around ankles, wrapping slick and cold over boots.

Some rookies whooped, thinking it part of the show. A mock trial. A prank.

Then someone shrieked.

A kid went down, yanked hard toward a fissure in the wall. His shoes scraped moss-dark stone. His hands scrabbled against the vines. No one laughed anymore.

The tunnel seemed to shrink, the oscillating green lights casting twisted silhouettes. The air turned sharp with sap and rot—Wood Trial. TinTing threw out her arm. “Spread out!”

Her fragment blazed white-gold, throwing illumination over the chaos. Roots snapped at sleeves and collars, wrapping and pulling. Squad 3 vaulted into the fray, slashing with dull blades—but for every root they hacked down, another surged back, thicker, faster.

“Something’s wrong,” TinTing murmured, ducking under a branch that cracked against the wall behind her. “They’re not supposed to be like this.”

Pip stilled—just a second—his eyes tracking the motion, the way the vines didn’t seem to hunt so much as react, spiraling around the loudest, fastest, most aggressive movements.

Then he saw it.

“Cover me!” he exclaimed, diving toward a Cutter’s weapon half-buried in the mess—scorched and still hot. A root caught his ankle mid-dive. He twisted and fired. The blast ripped a tunnel through the undergrowth, searing vines back with a sound that wasn’t quite pain, wasn’t quite plant.

Fire erupted. Smoke burned throats. Some rookies bolted. Others froze.

“Don’t just stand there!” Pip hollered, coughing, gun trembling in his grip. “Through the breach—NOW!”

TinTing broke free, dragging two rookies behind her, shoving them through the scorched opening. Squad after squad poured through, boots slipping, eyes watering, coughing and cursing. The tunnel groaned behind them—roots still writhing, scorched and shivering, like something wounded, not evil.

They spilled into the next chamber, blinking against luminescence and smoke. For a moment, no one spoke.

A rookie wheezed, “We almost lost half the intake in the first wave.”

Silence.

The bravado cracked. The nerves were real now. That easy unity—the jokes, the bragging—it almost cost them everything. And no one could say why the trial had turned.

TinTing shot Pip a look—sharp, grateful, questioning. He shrugged, white-knuckled on the weapon. “One down. Seven to go.”

Behind them, deep in the umbra, the roots slowly withdrew. Singed. Still moving. Still watching. They spilled into the next chamber, blinking and breathless, the air clearer but tinged with smoke. Stone walls arched high overhead, patterned with moss, cracks, and something older—markings like growth rings, spirals etched in time. For a moment, nobody spoke.

A rookie wheezed, “We almost lost half the intake in the first wave.”

Silence.

The bravado cracked. The nerves were real now. That easy unity—the jokes, the bragging—it had almost cost them everything. And no one could say why the trial had turned.

TinTing shot Pip a look—sharp, grateful, uncertain. He shrugged, knuckles white on the still-warm Cutter weapon. “One down. Seven to go.”

Behind them, deep in the tunnel, the roots had stopped thrashing. Smoke curled up the walls. The vines retreated—not defeated, but quieted, like something holding its breath.

Then—a creak. A groan of wood and stone.

The smoke hadn’t even cleared when a thick, bark-covered root descended from the ceiling like a curious vine.

Dangling from it—limbs flailing, fur askew—was raccoon.

It chirped in wild protest as it swayed through the air, the jade pendant around its neck swinging like a lantern. Jade luminescence glinted off its surface, casting a soft spiral radiance across the chamber walls.

The rookies tensed.

The root paused. Not threatening—just… inquisitive.

It brought raccoon closer, slowly, gently, like a grandparent squinting at a child. One gnarled offshoot extended—not a claw, but a finger—and tapped the pendant. The koru spiral glowed brighter in response.

Then the root pulled back slightly, curling its tendril to its own trunk-like base. There, carved into its bark like an ancient memory, was the same spiral. The same koru. Glowing.

The rookies froze.

No one breathed.

The root tapped raccoon’s pendant again, then its own. A gesture. A mirror.

You. Me. Same.

It didn’t speak, but the meaning rang clear in the chamber, like a silent resonance. A recognition. A connection.

As if satisfied, the root lowered raccoon gently to the floor, smoothed the fur on its head with a curled tendril, then—absolutely unmistakably—flashed a thumbs-up.

Raccoon blinked, puffed up its chest with a proud squeak, and then wrapped its striped tail protectively around the pendant.

TinTing uttered quietly, “It knows him. Or… it knows what he’s carrying.”

Before anyone could answer—wham!

A massive root lashed sideways, slamming into the darker areas near the wall with the force of a battering ram. A hidden figure—a Cutter agent cloaked in moss-camouflage—was flung from a crevice, a blade clattering from their grip as they hit the wall with a grunt.

Stone cracked. The rookies yelped. Raccoon flopped backward in shock, eyes cartoon-wide.

The root recoiled slowly, curling back into the ceiling like it had never been there.

Smoke drifted. Silence returned.

Then—ding!

With a cheerful chirp, a glowing neon sign sprouted from the floor, lifted high on coiled vines like a bizarre flower. The letters blinked in bright orange and green:

→ THIS WAY TO LUNCH… OOPS, SUN, SURF, AND RACCOON-MANIA

An arrow pulsed below it. Left.

Pip stared. “Okay. So not all roots are trying to bury us.”

A few rookies laughed—tentative at first, then louder, freer. Someone clapped raccoon gently on the head, as if it had orchestrated the whole thing. It squeaked, bristled, and tucked the pendant in close.

TinTing didn’t laugh. She was watching the place where the koru had resonated in the bark. Watching the trail of glowing dust where the Cutter had fallen.

“They’re not just old,” she murmured. “They’re watching. Choosing.”

Pip followed her gaze—then tapped the sign.

“Yeah, well. I vote we choose that way before anything else shows up to test our emotional depth.”

The neon arrow pulsed brighter in approval.

Rookies regrouped. Soot was wiped from cheeks. Jokes came back—lighter now, realer. And as squads formed ranks again, slightly scorched but still standing, they followed the blinking sign forward into whatever came next.

Pip lingered near the fork.

Behind him, thick roots gently stretched across the floor, forming what looked unmistakably like a path—smooth, raised ridges arching like stepping stones, glowing faintly with the same koru spiral etched into raccoon’s pendant. One root lifted slowly, waving side to side, then curved to point back toward the upper tunnel.

A second root unfurled from the wall like a finger, jabbing the glowing koru in its bark. Then it gestured—forward and left. Not down.

“Uh,” Pip said. “I think the roots are… guiding us.”

TinTing glanced over, shrugging off the smoke still clinging to her. “Pip. We’re not following tree fingers. That sign back there? That was Citadel-made. The tech path is the right one.”

Li wei nodded, already stepping into the downward tunnel. “If they wanted us to play tree-whisperer, they’d have said so. Let’s move.” His eyes rolled. “You guys gonna trust a plant over the system? It’s just reacting to heat or motion or whatever. Don’t get sentimental.” He didn’t look back.

She followed his every word.

That small spark of satisfaction ignited in his chest.

Feels good, he thought. Feels right. Squad leader. TinTing on my six. Even Pip biting his tongue.

He straightened his shoulders just a little.

Yeah. I can get her to follow me.

And that thought warmed him more than the dimming tunnel illumination ever could.

Raccoon chirped once—sharply.

It stood frozen between the two paths. One paw on the luminous root-line. The other hovering over the tunnel lip that led down into gloom.

Then the roots curled back into the wall like they’d been dismissed.

Pip stared after them, uneasy. “They were helping…”

But the others were already out of sight.

Pip lingered at the split, his heart racing.

They were showing us the way. That koru… that luminescence…

He glanced after TinTing, already vanishing into shadow, Liwei close behind her.

She didn’t even look back. And Liwei—what is he doing? Why’s he always—

He couldn’t finish the thought.

Do I follow them? Do I follow the roots? What do I—

Then came the hiss.

And the drop.

The last thing they knew was the Vault’s outcry—a vortex of fragmented luminescence—then a bone-jarring wrench that tore through reality itself.

TinTing slammed into the boots of Captain Nova Skye of The Galactic Rose in a disorienting somersault that stole her breath. Her head reeled. The impact rattled her eyeballs. Sirens blared. Ears pricked. A voice cried out: “Captain, we are going to die! Three degrees to port, now, Captain!”

TinTing spun, pupils dilated. She was the captain. She was Nova. And she was going to die if she didn’t act.

“PIP! RACCOON! LI WEI!” she cried out, the names tearing from her throat, raw and desperate.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Pip tumbled across the bridge in a blur of gold and data static, arms flailing, before snapping upright into Learn-Bot’s console and tumbling into Bot’s coding. His voice was sharp, like a whip through the chaos.

“Coordinates! Give me coordinates, now!”

Behind him, Raccoon skidded across the deck, slammed into the geometric plating of SSAR-Bot, and bounced off a viewport with a snarl. “Hostiles! Multiple signatures! Starboard!” he conveyed, words strange, but clear in urgency.

The Galactic Rose pitched hard to starboard. Li Wei slammed into a railing near the stern, his hand catching IMAX’s wavering form. The AI’s formal tone was clipped, urgent.

“Cutters are catching up, Captain.”

“DON’T FREAK! ACT NOW!” TinTing—Nova—commanded. “HARD TO PORT! DO IT NOW!”

They scrambled. Pip lunged for the main console, wondering aloud, “Am I a Bot-tron now?” as his analog systems strained under the load. “Hey—where’s my tail?” Raccoon yelped, staring at his scorched mane tag before slapping a paw on the secondary panel. Sparks flew.

SSAR-Bot shrieked a systems warning. Steam hissed from Raccoon’s singed fur.

Nova gripped the helm. Potency surged under her fingers—alive, unstable, furious. “Evasive maneuvers! Full power to shields!”

Her voice was hers—but not. This wasn’t the Vault. This was something else.

A maelstrom.

And she was at its eye.

Chapter 10: The Descent Begins

The Eight Poles Stellar Vault resonated with a presence that wasn’t just sound—but being. Jade inlays coursed through blackwood columns like veins beneath skin, interlaced with lambent circuit filigree. Dimensional conduits spun overhead in perfect silence, synchronizing with invisible gravitational harmonics beneath archways that rippled with illumination that seemed to watch.

TinTing’s fingers danced through augmented overlays, each gesture exact and exhilarating. “Check it out, guys! Just sliced through the encryption on that crypto-listed sector data. Dimensional integrity’s in flux—like, catastrophically off the charts.”

Pip’s voice cut clean through the rising thrill. “Power deviation exceeds baseline variance by 287.41%. Cross-referenced logs show all prior attempts to interpret this signature resulted in data corruption, equipment burnout, or personnel loss.” Three scanner drones hovered around him like silent sentinels, their sterile surfaces thrumming with reactive luminescence.

“Yeah, yeah—math-mania,” Raccoon grumbled from his perch against a humming crystal obelisk, legs kicked up on a supply crate. His patched-up gear—a Frankensteined mess of hacked tech and black-market mods—gleamed like junkyard treasure under the Vault’s pristine radiance. “But what’s the score? Nobody flags a dead zone without something real shiny underneath.”

Li Wei stepped forward, his shadow long beneath the vault lighting. “That sector houses the Cutter’s Eye,” he stated softly. “An artifact woven from ancient script and corrupted spirit. The oldest texts call its affliction the Cutter’s Venom—something that doesn’t just infect you. It rewrites you.”

TinTing snorted, a half-smile playing on her lips as she swiped another holo-pane aside. “Afflictions and fairy tales. Master Chief, we’re in the bleeding edge here. Probably just some decaying firewall throwing a tantrum.”

The Vault’s ambient illumination deepened into a solemn indigo as Senior Administrator Chen’s hologram materialized: an elegant specter with eyes like frosted glass. “Team Nova. You’ve been selected not for your qualifications, but for your anomalies.” His gaze lingered on TinTing’s unauthorized overlays, Raccoon’s outlaw toolkit, Pip’s experimental sensor rig, and Li Wei’s ancestral seal, still shining faintly at his belt.

“Your task is reconnaissance. Do not engage the Eye. The warnings are clear. The consequences—irreversible.” Around them, symbols older than the Vault itself awakened into view, some emitting a faint sheen, others beating like restrained hearts.

Li Wei inclined his head. “We acknowledge the risk.”

As they assembled, Raccoon slipped several unauthorized devices into his bandolier. “Got a plan. Got a backup. Got a backup for the backup’s backup,” he muttered, checking capacitor feeds and subdermal hooks.

They boarded their dimensional cruiser—Nova Edge—a gleaming fusion of Eastern sacred geometry and bleeding-edge wormhole engineering. As they closed on the restricted zone, power readings jumped erratically. The hull undulated under layers of code-wards and hand-carved talismans, the protections vibrating like bees in a glass jar.

Beyond the viewports loomed the anomaly: an orbital structure split by time itself. A spiraling wreck of rotting wooden pavilions fused with cracked holoscreens, tangled in rusted wire and jade veins still animating like the arteries of a dying god.

Pip leaned forward, scanning. “This structure doesn’t follow linear physics. It’s… layered. Half-decayed, half-unbuilt. Like reality couldn’t decide which version to render.”

As they docked, Li Wei’s brow furrowed. “The old warnings weren’t metaphor. The script here—it’s moving.” The markings near the airlock twisted into new configurations, forming urgent runes of denial.

TinTing stepped ahead, enthralled. “This place… it’s like someone jammed a temple and a data farm into a singularity and hoped for the best. I’m in love.”

Inside, the corridors warped between collapsing architecture and ghosting script. Steps shifted underfoot. Lights glitched into shapes resembling blinking eyes. At the heart of it all: a cathedral-like chamber where the Eye waited, embedded in a jagged altar of twisted roots and metal, its core a jade gem faintly radiating heatless brilliance.

Li Wei’s voice was sharp now. “Don’t go near it. The texts say it judges. It selects.”

TinTing ignored him. “These ports… look at the interface language. This tech’s not just compatible—it’s adaptive. Like it wants to talk. One scan and we’ve got a breakthrough.”

Pip’s drones shrieked in protest. “Power spiking—there’s a recursive loop forming in the field matrix. TinTing, it’s reacting to you!”

“Which is why we bail,” Raccoon stated, fingers on the exit beacon. “This place is one big haunted motherboard. You don’t open the cursed zip file, Tin.”

But TinTing’s fingers were already out, her neural interface projecting translucent tendrils toward the core.

“Sometimes you’ve gotta override to evolve,” she breathed. “What’s the worst that could—”

“TinTing, no—!” Li Wei’s voice fractured with raw urgency.

Too late.

Her hand met the surface.

The world disintegrated.

A blinding jade eruption devoured the room, accompanied by a sound like a choir of knives striking steel. Time convulsed. Then—silence.

TinTing stood frozen, breath snatched away. Her skin crawled with geometric fractures, soft luminescence undulating beneath her flesh like veins of data etched into muscle.

“I… I can’t feel my hand,” she said hoarsely, her voice quavering. The sensation wasn’t pain, but rewrite—lines of alien logic threading through her nerves like barbed wire woven from script. The luminescence under her skin blinked with eerie rhythm. Her arm—hers—felt like borrowed circuitry.

She yanked it back, shoving it behind her as if concealment could reverse the change. Her lips parted in horror but no sound came. Not pain—something worse. A violation both physical and personal.

“This isn’t me,” she uttered. “It’s not me.”

Pip’s sensors keened. “Unknown nanite incursion. TinTing, your cells are being converted—biology’s being overwritten by self-generating script. This isn’t tech. It’s a system-level virus.”

The chamber groaned. Symbols across every surface flared to life. A voice—not heard, but felt—crashed into their minds:

“The warning was clear.

The price must be taken.

The Venom teaches those who refuse to learn.”

TinTing staggered. Her arm shook intensely, muscles twitching with a will not entirely her own. Her HUD wavered, showing corruption warnings in systems that weren’t supposed to be affected.

She caught her reflection in a fragmented console screen. Her cheekbone glinted—metallic. One eye emanated unnatural jade. The jagged metal bloom beneath her skin caught the ambient glow, a cold, alien sheen.

She flinched as if struck. “I look like a broken mirror.”

Still, she forced a grin—brittle, strained. “Okay. So maybe ancient warnings have… some merit.”

But the tremor didn’t leave. She wrapped her arm in an emergency fieldband, the synthetic fabric swallowing most of the radiance—and her panic. She pulled her sleeve low, covering the band.

Li Wei lunged, gripping her unaltered wrist. His control snapped, voice low and commanding. “What’s under your sleeve, TinTing? Don’t lie.”

She jerked back, fury flickering over fear. “It’s nothing! Just— I’ve patched worse. I just need time. I can fix this.”

But even she didn’t believe it. Her voice betrayed her confidence.

Raccoon cleared his throat. “We need to move—now. That thing’s not just watching.”

TinTing swallowed, breath uneven. She tugged her sleeve down over the fieldband, covering the ugly graft. Her posture stiffened—shoulders squared in defiance. Her tone, once playful and brash, had gone brittle: exact, clipped.

“Lead the way,” she managed. But every step forward felt like a lie.

And the Eye throbbed.

Waiting.

Watching.

The world tilted. Then snapped.

A blink, a shudder, a fold in time—and suddenly she was horizontal. Not walking. Not running. Strapped down.

The Vault’s medical bay lights burned like interrogation lamps—harsh white beams that seared TinTing’s prone form. Around her, holo–diagnostics spiraled in frenetic loops as the jade lines beneath her skin beat with an alien heartbeat. Every flicker sent ripples racing across the monitors, as if her own body had become a renegade starship.

“Nanite concentration up by 3.7% per minute,” Pip reported, fingers flying over translucent menus. His voice was taut—precision frayed by frustration. “Standard containment protocols aren’t even scratching this.” Three medical drones hovered nearby, their optics trained on TinTing’s opalescent graft.

TinTing flexed the affected arm, watching the segmented metal radiate. Revulsion flared, then snapped shut behind a surge of her old bravado. “This is next-level integration. I’d bet its processing throughput is off the charts—”

Li Wei’s tone cut her off like a scalpel. “This is not an upgrade. It’s an affliction born of your recklessness.”

Her jaw tightened. “Says the guy who still swears by pen and paper.” But another wave of transformation rattled her arm—the segments clicking like a machine refusing to comply—and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a cry.

Raccoon slipped out of the shadows, palms balancing a compact, jury-rigged device. “Outer-ring forums are picking up similar signatures. Got contacts shipping us custom gear.”

GrandMaster Hsu, chief medical officer, shook her head. “All our protocols are exhausted. The graft is bonding with neural tissue. It’s spreading beyond the limb.” Her tablet displayed layered scans—muscle fibers knitting with nanites, flesh and circuit merging.

A vicious surge ripped through the room. TinTing gasped as the metal tendrils inched up her bicep, the jade veins intensifying like living fire. Vault elders at the entrance exchanged worried glances.

Master Zhang, ancient and stern, stepped forward. His lined face was illuminated by the tablet he held, alight with primordial symbols. “Council’s decision: we must use the prototype dimensional drive.”

Pip’s eyes dilated. “The experimental drive? The harmonics aren’t calibrated for human cargo.”

“Better than waiting to become a full-conversion mech,” Raccoon muttered, not looking away from TinTing’s arm.

Master Zhang’s gaze never wavered. “The texts reference ‘Harmonic Resonances’—echoes in other dimensions where such afflictions may be unraveled or reversed. We have one chance.”

TinTing sat up, the whine of scanners barely audible over her own thumping heart. The grafted arm felt heavier—cold metal biting into her marrow. “A dimensional debug run? Hell. I’m in.” Desperation laced her voice. She needed agency—even if it killed her.

Li Wei rose from his meditation posture, eyes stormy. “This is no longer discipline, TinTing. It’s survival.”

Raccoon ducked back out, returning with cases of unregistered tools. “Street-grade tech beats bureaucratic junk any day.”

Pip’s fingers blurred, recalibrating the drive’s readouts. “If we lock the drive’s harmonics to match the Jade Vein frequency… the affliction might decouple. But our window is under sixty seconds—risk of molecular collapse is high.”

The bay erupted. TinTing was strapped into a scanning cradle; machines whirred, punctuated by the hiss of hydraulic clamps. Raccoon handed out modded shields; Pip and technicians fine-tuned resonators. Li Wei closed his eyes, tracing silent mantras as the graft’s clicks synchronized with the bay’s hum.

Her altered gait—each step an exact mechanical snap—reminded her: she was changing. The thought sent a cold spike of panic through her chest. Am I already lost?

“The chamber is keyed,” the lead technician announced, voice tight.

They wove through vault corridors, TinTing dragging her sleeve low to conceal the luminous wrap of emergency fieldband around her arm. Each step echoed—an uneven beat that mirrored her racing thoughts.

The drive chamber yawned before them: a circular sanctum where carved mahogany pillars arched into quantum-etched zodiacs. The air throbbed with latent power; symbols animated in anticipation.

They took positions on the central dais. Pip’s voice rang clear over the mounting roar. “Power signature locked. Harmonizing with affliction frequency.”

The room’s illumination shifted to that same sickly jade coursing through TinTing’s veins. Reality warped—pillars bent like reflections in disturbed water.

“Remember your training,” Li Wei intoned, voice barely carried over the din.

“Right, calm and collected,” TinTing quipped, but her words wavered. A searing throb tore through her graft—hot metal bleeding under her skin. She bit back a cry, locking eyes with Raccoon, who gave her a tight nod.

He cleared his throat. “If we end up as interdimensional scrap, I want first dibs on the salvage.”

The drive’s crescendo was an earthquake of brilliance. The jade radiance blinded them; the air sang with dimensional wind. Molecules shivered; the floor dissolved into voxels of data.

“Three… two…” Pip’s countdown disintegrated as they were swallowed by green fire.

TinTing felt the graft resonate, the jade lines roaring like living engines. In the blaze, she glimpsed her own face in fracturing luminescence—half-human, half-something unrecognizable.

Master Zhang’s voice tumbled through the rupture: “May the Balance guide you through what awaits.”

And then—nothing but the beat of her own synthetic heart as they plunged into the first Harmonic Resonance. A trial not just of body or tech, but of what remained truly human.

Chapter 11: The Scrapyard’s Embrace

The dimensional schism spat them into an expanse of silence—then the world coalesced: an endless scrapyard beneath a sky torn by glitching auroras. Towers of rusted plating and fractured automatons tilted at impossible angles, veins of jade fragments embedded in their carcasses thrumming like hungry eyes.

TinTing staggered as gravity jolted, her transformed arm a dead weight of servos and cables that threw her off balance. The plated segments caught the aurora’s sickly luminescence, verdant power rippling between them like a living scar. “Whoa… this place is seriously glitched,” she uttered, clutching a jagged beam for support. Every mechanical click through her limb felt like a taunt—proof she was no longer fully human.

“Fascinating,” Pip breathed, eyes wide as his scanner whirred in overdrive. “Gravitational constants are oscillating—but I’m detecting a hidden pattern in the flux…” A fragment of scrap whipped past his ear, propelled by an unseen current. He ducked, heart quickening.

“Less analysis, more survival,” Raccoon retorted, pivoting on a precarious metal girder. His lithe form weaved through the wreckage as he scanned the shadows. “This isn’t a museum—those junk piles are armed.”

Li Wei planted himself on a shifting platform, stance fluid despite the trembling ground. “Stay alert. This realm tests more than our tech—it tests our spirit.”

His words barely left his lips when a shuttering growl echoed from behind a collapsed mech. A quadrupedal sentinel, reinforced by corroded pistons and vibrant jade veins, rose into view. Its optics ignited emerald as potency coalesced in its weaponized limbs.

“Scatter!” Raccoon bellowed. Bolts of force ripped through empty space, painting the air in streaks of green.

TinTing’s reflexes lagged. She rolled for cover but her cyborg arm’s bulk snagged on twisted metal, hurling her into a heap of discarded parts. She landed hard, breath knocked out. “This hardware’s got serious lag!” she spat, jaw tightening. Each servomechanical whine was a reminder: she was half-machine—and painfully behind the curve.

Raccoon darted past, shouting over the din, “These relics telegraph—watch for the dual optic ignition before they fire!”

Pip dove behind a shattered processing array, tapping furiously at his wrist console. “Power signatures chaotic, but I’m isolating resonance spikes tied to our bio-mech schema. The dimension reacts to our form!”

More sentinels emerged, their guns humming with jade-infused might. Li Wei closed the distance with measured strikes, his ancestral blade cleaving harmlessly through blasts of force that warped around him. “Focus on movement—adapt, don’t analyze!”

TinTing found herself littered between two sentinels, their barrels trained on her chest. Instinct flared. She raised her transformed arm—jade lines coruscating—and the first blast struck her gauntlet. Pain lanced through her shoulder as feedback surged through the graft. Horrified, she redirected raw power back into one attacker. Its systems sputtered, then died in a shower of sparks.

“That’s… new,” she gasped, staring at her limb as it shifted, realigning its plating. Each segment clicked into place like a puzzle piece. Her pulse hammered. It’s adapting. But at what cost?

“TinTing!” Pip’s urgent shout cut through her shock. “The scrapyard’s fabric is syncing to your signature! Defenses are recalibrating!”

Obediently, the remaining automatons shifted their targeting to her — they’d learned. Raccoon used the distraction to lure them into churning scrap pools, while Li Wei pressed precise strikes on exposed joints.

TinTing’s second attempt at evasion ended in a stumble—her sleeve rode up, revealing an angry viridian radiance beneath her fieldband. “I can’t… everything feels wrong!” she cried out, frustration blistering her voice.

“Stop fighting it,” Li Wei called, voice steady in the chaos. “Your transformation is a tool—flow with it.”

His words caught in her mind. She still saw only monstrosity—but what if she tried to use it? She inhaled, forcing calm, and let her mechanical arm lead. The jade veins pulsed in sync with her heartbeat; every movement felt shockingly intuitive.

A titanic sentinel lumbered from the shadows—twice the size of the others, its jade core burning bright. The ground quaked under its approach.

“That’s an upgrade,” Raccoon observed, though his eyes tightened with concern.

Pip’s scanner bleeped. “Power signature is astronomical. Direct assault will vaporize us.”

TinTing watched the giant’s steps echo through the scrap, each pulse resonating in her graft. An idea sparked—risky, but possible with this new arm. “I can overload it,” she said, her voice low and steady. “But I need a clear shot at its core.”

Li Wei nodded, eyes resolute. “We’ll open the path. Trust yourself—and us.”

The team sprang into action: Raccoon triggered a pile collapse, toppling the giant sentinel; Pip fed targeting data; Li Wei held its attention with precise blade arcs. TinTing stood her ground, channeling the jade essence coiling in her arm. When her moment came, she thrust forward—her limbs a conduit for a crackling beam of viridian force.

Pain tore through her as the graft spread further—metallic plates sliding up past her elbow, nanites snapping into muscle tissue with horrifying efficiency. But justice met her strike: the giant sentinel convulsed, its core imploding in a jade nova.

Silence fell, broken only by the hiss of escaping power. TinTing collapsed to one knee, panting, fieldband shredded. The graft’s luminescence crawled past her sleeve, up her bicep, marking her arm in a lattice of alien circuitry.

Raccoon approached, respect—and wariness—in his eyes. “That was some next-level interfacing, Tin.”

Pip’s voice quavered. “The power feedback… your transformation is accelerating. You’re nearly half-mech.”

Li Wei stepped beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder—light, but unwavering. His rare smile was tinged with sorrow. “You’re learning. Harmony over resistance.”

Before they could catch their breath, Pip’s scanner beeped again. A shimmering portal rippled open among the scrap, its edges alive with the same jade luminescence that now coursed through TinTing.

They exchanged grim looks. The next trial lay beyond that doorway.

TinTing tugged her sleeve down—futile against the graft’s shine—but the gesture was more for herself than for them. She met her reflection in the portal’s warped surface: half-human girl, half-terrifying weapon. A scarred silhouette poised on the edge of something new.

She squared her shoulders. They’ve seen it. Now it’s real.

Without a word, they stepped forward—into the scrapyard’s embrace, and into TinTing’s hard-won metamorphosis.

The air changed. Heat gave way to stillness. The clang of their boots echoed into a silence that wasn’t empty—just listening.

The fallen mech’s cavern yawned around them, its jade-infused cables dangling like alien vines lit from within. Their ethereal radiance cast writhing shadows over TinTing’s grafted arm, each segment clicking and sliding with uncanny exactitude. She watched, stomach twisting, as the metal plates flexed—no longer an extension of her will, but a weapon she barely recognized.

“It’s like an overclocked processor fused to my bones,” TinTing murmured, voice strained. She flexed her fingers; the gauntlet’s joints whirred in protest. “But the user interface is total garbage. I can’t—” Her bravado fractured. Every mechanical twitch sent a jab of foreign electricity up her spine.

Pip’s scanners hummed. “Integration rate’s spiked another 17.3%. Nanites are burrowing deeper—binding with neural pathways.” His tone was crisp, clinical… but TinTing heard something else: a hint of triumphant fascination.

“Numbers don’t make it feel more normal!” TinTing exclaimed, heart drumming. She recoiled as a phantom ripple of amusement—light, almost playful—undulated through the mech’s hull. She spun toward her team: Pip, Raccoon, Li Wei. Their brows were furrowed, concern etched on every face. But somewhere in her mind, she swore she heard muted chuckles, as if they were mocking her.

Li Wei’s calm voice cut through her spiraling panic. “The vessel transforms, but the spirit remains. Trust that.”

TinTing wheeled, fists balling at her sides. “Easy for you to preach! You’re not turning into… into this!” She jerked her sleeve down, trying to hide the sickly sheen beneath. A flicker in the shadows made her freeze—a shape coalescing, then vanishing like smoke.

Raccoon’s eyes darted to the viewport. “Something ahead—strange gravity field.”

They pressed close to the fragmented glass. Below yawned a vast chasm ripped in space itself, floating platforms drifting in the emptiness, each inlaid with decaying symbols that undulated like faulty holos. The air vibrated with latent force.

“Weight–sensitive triggers,” Pip stated, eyes never leaving his readouts. “Each platform requires precise force to anchor.”

TinTing swallowed. Her arm throbbed in response, jade veins flaring. “So we just… hop across?” The false cheer in her voice grated. She hated how confident the arm made her sound.

She leapt—only to be yanked off-kilter as her mechanical elbow refused a fluid bend. She slammed into the platform’s edge; metal and flesh protested in unison. The world lurched under her feet. A burst of derisive laughter echoed again, this time low and taunting, like embers crackling.

Li Wei’s calm admonition floated across the gap: “Your body is two wills in conflict. You cannot master one while hating the other.”

TinTing’s chest tightened. She glared at her arm—segments clicking, adaptive pistons flexing without her input. “Then what? Let this monster take over? Let it carve something… ugly out of me?” Her whisper frayed, shame burning her cheeks.

From the gloom, a figure of ethereal jade vines drifted into view: the Living Root, its voice a susurrus among leaves. “The strongest branch bends in storm yet holds its core. Resistance seeds the discord you fear.”

TinTing’s head throbbed. “More riddles?” she groaned, rubbing her temples. “I need solutions, not poetry.”

The Root’s form trembled, its luminescence dimming. “Understanding, not fighting, is your path.”

As it dissolved, a fresh wave of mirth arose—bright and piercing—masking itself as if the mechanical had joined in. TinTing whirled on her team. Their faces reflected only concern… but she heard them snickering.

Pip cut through her doubt. “The platforms respond to your bio–mech signature. Harmonize with them—don’t force it.”

TinTing shut her eyes, inhaled slowly. She pictured the junction where metal met flesh, where ancient tech fused with living tissue. Flow. She exhaled and opened her eyes. When she moved, the arm led—fluid, intuitive. The first jump was flawless; the platform shone as jade symbols aligned with the lines in her limb.

“That’s it!” Pip cheered, relief and excitement in his voice. TinTing’s chest warmed… until she realized the laughter had gone quiet. She glanced back; her teammates were watching her with proud smiles. But in her mind, that mocking titter still resonated.

They crossed platform after platform, her confidence rebuilding—and then crumbling. As she landed on the far edge, pain lanced up her shoulder. She yanked her sleeve up: the metal plating had surged past her elbow, chewed through muscle, and was carving across her collarbone. A tide of icy dread crashed through her.

“The affliction strengthens with mastery,” Li Wei murmured. His tone was gentle, but TinTing heard an edge of sorrow. “All power demands its price.”

Raccoon cracked his knuckles. “Movement’s tight, Tin. But damn if it isn’t effective.”

She forced a smile—brittle as bone. “Effective, yeah.” Her ribs constricted with fear. I’m shrinking. The mecha graft was outpacing her flesh.

Pip’s console beeped. “Dimensional boundary ahead—doorway lined in Jade Veins. This trial demands integration, not resistance.”

TinTing clenched her jaw. The amusement returned—soft, seductive—no longer hidden in the hull but inside her thoughts. They’re laughing at me. She looked at Pip—focused—Raccoon—alert—Li Wei—steady. Their faces: concern. Their eyes: hope. But in that moment, TinTing couldn’t shake the haze of ridicule.

You hate me. You’re waiting for me to break. The thought stung. She looked at her arm, the jade pattern now webbing across her skin, bone and circuit welded together. The arm pulsed, humming a lullaby of potency.

A voice—colder than any Root—rippled through her mind: Liánhuǒ, the Celestial of Raging Flames.

“Your fear is your anchor, girl. Let it go. Abandon these weak companions. Embrace your gift fully—and I will restore your body. Human again. Perfectly whole.”

A vision exploded: the Vault’s sunlit halls, her smooth skin, laughter with friends—her old life, unmarred. The arm hummed, eager, promising. Choose.

TinTing’s pulse thundered. She saw Li Wei’s steady gaze. Pip’s urgent whisper. Raccoon’s determined nod. They believe in me.

Yet the Celestial’s promise of humanity glimmered like dying embers.

Her sleeve slid down, revealing the full horror: metal ridges slicing into her collarbone, jade veins branching into her chest. Tears pricked her eyes—pain, shame, longing.

She inhaled, lungs burning. The derision in her mind twisted: You’re disgusting. You’re already lost.

She clenched her jaw. The Root’s riddle echoed: The strongest branch bends… yet holds its core.

TinTing’s voice was a steel whisper. “I… I choose me.”

She summoned the graft’s inherent strength—not to flee, but to anchor herself. The jade lines shone, resonating with every heartbeat. Inside her mind, the Celestial’s flame hissed in fury. The laughter died.

With trembling exactness, she extended her arm and pressed her palm against the portal’s rim. The Jade force flared in response, cascading over the threshold and sealing it with a burst of light.

The doorway vanished. The mocking laughter was gone, replaced by the mechanical hum in her bones—and the proud, steady breaths of her team behind her.

Li Wei stepped forward, bowing his head. “You have found your balance.”

Pip raced to his side, relief flooding his face. “You did it, TinTing!”

Raccoon clapped her shoulder. “Not bad for a half–machine.”

TinTing looked down at her transforming arm—the arm she had chosen to own. It throbbed with jade luminescence, a living testament to her triumph. Fear still lingered at the edges of her mind, but it no longer ruled her.

Ahead lay deeper trials, but she had reclaimed her core. Her reflection in the chrysalis of cables and circuits was a jagged silhouette no longer defined by shame, but by hard–won harmony.

And with that, Team Nova stepped forward—into the heart of the new world, guided by the stubborn spark of what it meant to be truly human… and unbreakably themselves.

Chapter 12: The Bargain of Flesh and Steel

The acrid sting of scorched metal clawed at TinTing’s nostrils as she glared at the graft fused to her shoulder. Verdant luminescence throbbed between segmented plates—proof that her body was no longer her own. Across the ruined hull, Li Wei’s eyes smoldered with unspoken reproach.

“You parade this affliction like a trophy,” he bit out. “Every surge of its power steals another fragment of—”

“It’s the only thing keeping us alive, fool!” TinTing retorted, slamming her fist into a fallen console. Pain flared where metal bit into muscle, but she didn’t care. Jade-like veins pulsed intensely in her arm, matching the fury in her heart. “What’s your bright idea—chant in lotus until this place fixes itself?”

A derisive ripple of amusement quivered through the mech’s carcass. TinTing whipped around—her heart hammering. Pip’s drones flickered as he exchanged a worried look with Raccoon; there was no humor on their faces, yet she heard their insidious chuckles echoing in her mind.

Pip’s holographic display shimmered. “The graft is syncing with this realm’s ambient force. It’s evolving—”

“To serve you?” TinTing scoffed, yanking at the plating. “Lies. It’s chaining me to this nightmare.”

Li Wei’s calm fractured. “Survival at the cost of your soul is no victory.”

Her chest constricted. The phantom laughter in her skull—the endless itch of alien metal—drove panic through her veins. Her gaze snapped to a jagged piece of plating at her feet. Desperation ignited in her eyes.

Before anyone could react, she snatched it up.

“Get it off me!” she shrieked, driving the metal toward her graft.

“TinTing—no!” Li Wei bellowed, tackling her arm. Raccoon crashed into her side, sending the sharp metal clattering away. Pip’s drones flared red around her.

TinTing thrashed, tears carving tracks through grime. “I hate this thing! I hate what I’ve become!” she cried, voice raw.

They wrestled her down. The graft’s jade-like lines flared, as if alive. Pip’s voice was urgent: “Containment’s failing—we need to move!”

“I accept, I accept!” she screamed.

“Positions!” Li Wei commanded, wrenching free to face the threat beyond. “Raccoon, high ground. Pip, shield matrix. TinTing—steady!”

She sagged against him, trembling. “Fine. But keep your hands off me.”

From the swirling junk emerged the Scrap Titan, a three-story leviathan of corroded pistons and jade circuitry, its hollow sensors locking onto them.

Raccoon vaulted to a crate. “See those fusion joints? Prime weak points.”

Pip’s scanner spat numbers. “Primary nodes in the chest—jade cohesion critical. Overload them and—”

A massive cannon formed on the Titan’s arm, lancing sizzling bolts that shredded their makeshift cover.

TinTing rolled up, every nerve alight. Her mechanical limb obeyed with deadly precision; jade-like veins crowned her gauntlet with a fierce luminescence.

“Li Wei, draw its fire!” she ordered, voice thick with adrenaline.

He dashed like wind around stone, blade and boots weaving an elegant dance. “Flow with the strike,” he called, luring the Titan’s cannon blasts away.

Raccoon ripped free a dangling power cable and hurled it into the Titan’s sensors. “Now, Tin!”

Her jaw set. She centered herself, heart thudding. “Pip—overload!”

“Thirty-seven percent junction weakness—execute now!”

A scorching beam of viridian fire ripped from her palm. Agony erupted as plates surged up her shoulder, jade-like vines snaking across her collarbone in living tattoos.

The Titan convulsed, its core erupting in a jade nova. With a thunderous implosion, it collapsed into a ruin of twisted pistons and molten metal.

“Move!” Raccoon’s cry cut through the roar. They sprinted clear as debris rained around them.

When the dust settled, a vibrant portal hovered—its rim alive with the same jade glow now consuming her flesh.

TinTing swayed, every heartbeat a hammer blow. “That… was brutal,” she rasped.

Li Wei’s eyes softened with regret. “Your strike saved us… but at what cost?”

“The cost is mine,” she stated, voice hollow. “Sometimes you just smash the problem.”

His rare smile was sorrowful. “Wisdom is knowing when to strike—and when to walk away.”

Pip’s scanner chimed. “Portal is stable. But your graft has surged twenty-five percent beyond forecasts.”

Raccoon yanked aside loose cables. “Let’s get out before this place claims us too.”

They formed a line at the threshold. TinTing caught her reflection in the portal’s edge: skin and steel, terror and triumph fused.

Then a voice like molten embers tore through her mind—the Celestial of Raging Flames, Liánhuǒ:

“Your body betrays you. Exchange this rusted shell for your flesh. Return to purity—whole, human, beautiful. Abandon these weak companions. Embrace my gift.”

A vision of alabaster halls and unscarred skin flooded her senses. You can be free. Her chest ached with longing.

She glanced at Li Wei—steadfast. Pip—resolute. Raccoon—undaunted. But Liánhuǒ’s promise burned through her veins.

“Choose: monster or girl.”

Her graft clicked—mockery incarnate. Jade-like power thrummed through her veins.

TinTing closed her eyes, fists clenching. “I… I choose to be human.”

She slammed her fist into the portal frame. The jade luminescence writhed, then ruptured—dousing the Celestial’s plea in searing white brilliance.

Silence.

No laughter—only her ragged breath and the steady presence of her team.

Li Wei bowed his head. “So it is done.”

Pip gave a tight, relieved smile. “Together.”

Raccoon punched her shoulder. “Back to full throttle.”

TinTing staggered forward. The graft hissed as jagged plates peeled away, sparks flying where metal met flesh. Where steel once reigned, raw skin wept crimson. Each pulse pounded pain and relief in equal measure.

She pressed trembling fingers to her bleeding shoulder. “I… I’m back,” she whispered, voice raw.

Li Wei laid a hand on her back. “But not unchanged. You’ll carry these scars—and their lessons.”

Pip nodded, but TinTing thought she caught a subtle smirk. “Consequences survive the cure,” he said—then turned his head away, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Raccoon’s mechanical tail flicked as he chuckled under his breath. Even Li Wei’s grip felt colder.

TinTing froze, realizing she was the only one without grafted tech now. Pip, Li Wei and even Raccoon—with his cybernetic tail—stood as a mock trio. They exchanged looks, and Li Wei quipped, “I wouldn’t be seen like that if I were you.”

They burst out laughing. “Monster,” Pip jeered. “Loser.” Raccoon wiped a tear of mirth from his eye before pocketing a jade fragment. “Wear it like armor,” he taunted.

TinTing’s heart hammered. They had condemned her—flinging her to hell for choosing her humanity. She took a shuddering breath, flexed her bruised fingers, and forced her eyes away from their faces.

“Ready?” she managed, voice low but steel-edged.

There was no answer. They turned and stepped through the portal together—leaving TinTing alone on the edge. The scrapyard dimension fractured behind them, the jade radiance swallowing their silhouettes.

Caught between two worlds—outcast and human—TinTing stood, chest tight with betrayal and resolve. Ahead lay her Reckoning: to survive not with their support, but in spite of their scorn. She closed her fist around the piece of plating at her feet, letting the weight of her choice steel her for the trials to come.

The light behind her pulsed once, then vanished.

The portal’s mirror warped and rippled, bathing the scrapyard in an otherworldly jade effulgence before snapping shut behind them. Silence fell—then the ground trembled as the wreckage folded into oblivion. TinTing staggered, breath ragged, her mechanical arm clattering against rusted girders with every beat of her heart. The space around her blurred, colors bleeding into one another, and a distant echo of Liánhuǒ’s cruel amusement drilled through her mind: “Monster or girl—choose.”

She slammed a fist into the nearest bulkhead, nails biting into steel. “Get it together,” she muttered, though her heart pounded as if to burst. Had she truly heard that bargain, or had delirium claimed her? She tightened her grip on the cold plating—fear and relief warring beneath her skin.

TinTing blinked awake to Pip’s panicked cry echoing down the corridor. She bolted upright, every joint of her grafted arm whining. The world was too bright, too real. She blinked again and forced herself to focus on the living metal fused to her shoulder. It’s still there.

She pushed herself up on unsteady legs and sprinted toward the command deck, every step a jolt of shame and adrenaline. The corridor lights wavered overhead, shadows dancing like accusations.

She burst onto the deck to find Li Wei and Pip bent over the navigation console, Raccoon leaning against a bulkhead. Their heads snapped up as she entered—relief flickering in their eyes. TinTing offered a hollow smile and crouched beside Pip’s console.

“Everything’s nominal?” she asked, voice steadier than she felt.

Pip’s eyes didn’t waver. “Course is set for the Second Zone. Ship systems—optimal. You nearly swallowed that corridor wall.” He managed a grin. “Glad you’re back.”

Li Wei stepped forward, placing a steady hand on her back—metal on leather, not flesh. “You slipped unconscious during the transition. Rest now?”

TinTing nodded, swallowing the surge of guilt. “Just… caught off guard. I’m fine.”

She peered at the readouts: waypoints aligned, no detours. A flicker of doubt chased her breath. Had her grip on reality loosened? She flexed the grafted fingers—plates shifting with a soft hiss. Don’t let them see you tremble.

Raccoon tossed her a power cell. “We move in five. Grab some rest if you can—next trial’s supposed to be a mind-bender.” His tone was light, but TinTing heard no mockery.

As they dispersed to prepare, TinTing remained rooted by the console. Her thoughts spun: the Celestial’s bribe, the promise of restored flesh, the vision of alabaster halls… Did I almost betray them? She pressed her palm against the cool interface, testing her will against the graft’s hum.

A single truth steadied her pulse: whether hallucination or curse, her choice—whatever it was—would remain hers. She would carry this secret alone.

Later, as the team gathered at the portal’s threshold, TinTing slipped quietly to the back. Li Wei offered a nod. Pip tapped his scanners. Raccoon smirked. None suspected the storm in her skull.

TinTing drew a breath and stepped forward, metal and flesh marching in sync. The portal rippled to life under her gaze, jade illumination surging in welcome.

As they crossed the threshold, TinTing closed her eyes and locked onto the steady thrum of her own heartbeat. No bribes. No bargains. No borrowed power. Only the hard truth of what she chose to keep buried.

Ahead lay the Second Zone—a place where unspoken sins mattered more than weapons, where ghosts wore familiar faces and guilt struck deeper than blades.

She would face it.

Alone, if she must.

Her secret wasn’t weakness. It was her edge—her forge. And she would walk the shadows it cast.

The portal spat them onto broken pavement streaked with shifting jade veins, the world unspooling like corrupted code. Twisted spires rose at impossible angles—ancient wooden eaves fusing into gleaming steel girders, neon kanji blinking into strings of binary with every breath. Overhead, the sky bled auroras that writhed like living circuits, casting fractured luminescence over everything they’d brought—and everything they tried to hide.

TinTing’s grafted arm felt like dead weight. The jade-like lines beneath its plating throbbed erratically, as if the metal itself were confused by this place. She blinked, trying to steady her vantage. “Visual processors are saturated,” she murmured, voice hollow. “Data won’t lock. Everything’s… glitched.” Cold sweat beaded at her hairline.

Pip dropped to one knee, scanners unfolding from his pack. His calm façade cracked as readouts spat contradictory figures. “Spatial metrics defy every law. Each scan contradicts the last.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting across shifting walls.

Beneath their boots, pavement folded into vertical planes. Li Wei’s training kicked in; he pivoted, planting his foot on a former wall. “Ground is illusion. Stay centered,” he directed, voice the only anchor in the chaos.

Raccoon tumbled as the floor vanished beneath him. He righted himself with a curse. “Gravity’s broken. I’ll trade mind-maps for solid ground, any day.”

Above, neon signs floated by, their messages morphing:

“Truth lies in shadow” → “Shadow lies in truth” → “Truth IS the shadow.”

TinTing pressed her free hand to her forehead. “My code… it’s rewriting itself.” Her graft hummed, oscillating with pain. The only thing she trusted—her own tech—had become a liability. “I’m… losing it.”

A haunting voice curled through the labyrinth—the Celestial’s digital snarl:

“Fools dancing on silk of thought, can you sever truth from lie, or will your threads unravel?”

The words lanced through TinTing’s mind. Her jade-like veins flared in painful resonance. She gripped her mechanical arm, furious at its tremors. “Shut up,” she hissed, though only she heard the echo.

Li Wei raised a hand. “Silence weapons. This realm—your thoughts manifest.” He eyed each teammate. “Guard your mind.”

No sooner had he spoken than the buildings around them altered into illusions of the Eight Poles Stellar Vault under siege—shadows ripping through corridors, alarms blaring, colleagues’ screams echoing down bloodied halls. TinTing’s chest seized; she saw herself, frozen as the Vault burned. The derision of the cursed realm mocked her helplessness.

Raccoon’s pistol barked into empty air; bullets disintegrated against a phantom wall. He spat curses. “Stop shooting ghosts!”

The vision splintered. To each of them, the siege looked different—Li Wei saw ancestral spirits undoing their tech wards; Pip saw cascading system failures; Raccoon saw his past gang ambushes. Each nightmare tailored to their fears.

Pip’s voice trembled. “This place targets our psyches. We must forge a shared baseline.”

TinTing tried to access her interface—commands died on her lips. “No protocols work,” she gasped. “Everything’s corrupted.” The graft’s plating felt hot despite the chill in the air. If only I’d accepted…

The thought flickered and she shoved it away.

Li Wei closed his eyes, kneeling into meditation even as the floor dissolved beneath him. “When logic fails—”

The neon signs ignited, converging into one phrase in a dozen languages:

“Minds see what they choose to see.”

TinTing’s graft shivered—this time the pull was different. Rather than agony, she felt a pulse of clarity through the jade-like circuits. A pattern formed: the impossible angles aligned into a fractal path shimmering with the same green radiance in her arm.

“Wait,” she rasped, forcing her voice calm. She pressed her human hand to the metal plating, each throb a beacon. “We stop fighting the illusions… and start seeing their pattern.”

Raccoon peered at her. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

Pip exhaled. “The fractal. She’s right.”

Li Wei opened his eyes, resolve steadier than before. “Focus on her voice.”

Together, they followed TinTing’s lead—two flesh hands and one grafted arm tracing the luminous maze. Each step they took snapped the world back into coherence for a heartbeat, enough to take the next.

Liánhuǒ’s laughter tore through the corridors one last time:

“Welcome to madness’s cradle—now prove you’re not just code.”

But for the first time, TinTing felt her heartbeat outrun the graft’s mechanical rhythm.

Terror clawed at her throat, but she didn’t let it rise.

She stifled it. Held her secret close.

And stepped forward into the labyrinth’s core—mind unbroken, if only by her will alone.

Chapter 13: Echoes of Self

The fractured architecture of Zone Two convulsed around them—walls undulating like liquid mercury, staircases folding into impossible Möbius loops, and the ink-wash sky above shattering into discordant fractals. TinTing’s newly reclaimed flesh still ached where the graft had been—her human nerves raw from the transition—but her mechanical arm throbbed with its own alien rhythm.

She lunged for Pip, her voice unsteady. “Pip—”

But before she could reach him, the corridor split with a flash of viridian energy, severing her cry.

“System check… you reading me?” she managed into the empty air. Only static answered, punctuated by grotesque distortions of her teammates’ voices, twisted beyond recognition. The holographic script on the walls rewrote itself in her peripheral vision: fragments of warnings morphing into taunts.

Each step she took rang with a metallic clang—too loud, too exact—reminding her that her body was no longer purely human. Anxiety curled in her gut. Sheer efficiency, the graft seemed to suggest through her bones. Your ugly truth.

A voice, smooth as polished chrome, drifted from the shifting umbra:

“Your upgrades suit you well.”

TinTing spun—heart leaping—into the perfect reflection of her own image. She faced a doppelgänger of gleaming, jade-infused metal, its form the nightmare answer to her fears. Every joint moved in inhuman synchronicity, every plate a testament to cold perfection.

“Stop glitching,” TinTing bit out, her voice brittle. “You’re just bad code—a virus.”

The mechanical twin tilted its head at an impossible angle. “Or the inevitable outcome of your path. You rushed this evolution—ignored every warning. I am what you’re becoming.” It stepped closer with silent grace. “Why resist now? Embrace the flawless upgrade.”

A searing sensation shot through her graft, jade-like veins igniting with pain. TinTing clutched her human shoulder, grounding herself in the raw heat of flesh. “I’m not you.”

“Not weak enough for true power?” the echo mocked. “Every time you summoned the Jade Essence, you inched closer to me—to perfection.”

TinTing’s knuckles whitened around her other wrist. “Shut up!” She swung at the projection—but it dissipated like mist. She staggered, the graft’s weight dragging her off balance.

“Your human frailties are obsolete,” it insinuated. “Shed them and ascend.”

Mirrors materialized along the corridor, catching the verdant luminescence. In each reflection, she saw herself at different stages: barely altered, half-machine hybrid, fully welded in chrome. The perfect version beckoned with its flawless smile.

“Which will you choose?” the double taunted. “The frightened girl who doubts, or the immaculate construct I offer?”

Her head pounded. Her interfaces displayed error messages; nothing brought clarity. She pressed a hand to her temple, tasting bile. Don’t betray them. The thought flickered, and she clenched her jaw.

Then, from the shifting gloom, the Living Root emerged—a silhouette of flowing vines and soft emerald radiance. Its quiet counsel rustled through her mind:

“The pond reflects sky, but sky is not the pond. Seek the essence beneath.”

TinTing closed her eyes, breathing deep. She looked beyond the surface facets—past the mocking gleam of polished metal—to the core spark within each reflection: her stubborn will to protect her friends, her fierce defiance in the face of fear.

“I am more than code,” she said, her voice growing steadier. “You’re the affliction’s lie—its empty promise of perfection.”

Her mechanical arm trembled—and then resonated with warmth, syncing to her heartbeat. The perfect twin’s form flickered, distortion cracking its edges.

“You cannot resist your destiny,” it hissed.

“My destiny is my own,” TinTing replied, stepping forward. “I accept what I’ve become… but I define it.”

With a crackle of jade-like energy, the illusion shattered, leaving only the real corridor before her.

At the far end, Pip emerged—scanning the walls with trembling fingers. His bearing confirmed his identity, the stoic analyst haunted by his own doubts. Raccoon’s silhouette rounded the corner, wariness in his stance. Li Wei followed, robes torn, eyes intense with empathy.

They stopped, assessing one another’s wounds and weary expressions. No judgment passed between them—only the shared weight of what they’d endured.

Raccoon broke the hush with a half-smile. “Guess we all got a tour of our worst selves, huh?”

Pip exhaled, his voice low. “My equations failed me here.”

Li Wei nodded. “When mind and matter betray, spirit remains the anchor.”

TinTing flexed both hands—flesh and grafted—feeling their differences but also their union. “I nearly lost myself back there,” she admitted. “But I remembered what matters.”

They exchanged resolve-filled glances. In that moment, their fractures healed into a stronger bond.

Ahead, a jade-like radiance emanated from a distant alcove—Zone Two’s core.

Together, they stepped forward into its rotating vortex of light and shadow, ready to forge their truth in the heart of illusion.

Liánhuǒ’s laughter echoed once more, warped by distance, but it no longer shook them. It passed through them like old wind across new stone. They walked on, each heartbeat—mechanical or flesh—calling them home.

They entered a vast chamber where jade-hued projections cascaded from floor to ceiling—an ever-shifting hologram of ancient characters that dissolved into mathematical symbols, only to re-form as philosophical maxims. The walls seemed to breathe as though the room itself were thinking, challenging, mocking their every attempt to understand it.

TinTing’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. Her mechanical arm—now fused to her flesh—vibrated with its own nervous tremor. She reached out, fingertips brushing a floating symbol that oscillated beneath her touch. “This… this isn’t code,” she murmured, her voice tight. “It’s a living mind.”

A jolt of verdant force shot through her plating, and she staggered back, pressing her palm against her human side, where scars still shone. Pain is real, the graft insisted. Your choice is real.

Pip rose beside her, eyes fixed on an array of shimmering formulas. “Multiple encryption layers,” he said, voice taut. “Each layer weaves in ancient philosophical constructs—Confucian axioms, Daoist paradoxes—fused into algorithmic form. It’s… beautiful. Terrifying.”

Raccoon prowled the edge of the chamber, fingers drumming on his holstered blaster. “Can’t we just brute-force it? Smash these matrices until they break?”

Li Wei’s robes rustled as he stepped forward, arms folded. “Respect this mind,” he urged. “Impatience here is punished.”

Before TinTing could reply, the holograms coalesced, a chilling echo of Liánhuǒ’s voice rolling through the chamber:

“Mortal algorithms are grains of dust before the Ancestors’ calculation. Solve this—earn a swift mercy. Fail—your dissolution will be exquisite.”

The threat hung heavy in the jade-suffused air.

TinTing closed her eyes, drawing a shuddering breath. Her mechanical arm clicked in protest as the jade-like circuitry throbbed. She thought of the bargain she’d nearly accepted—of unearned humanity—and of how pain had reclaimed her. No more shortcuts.

She began to dance her fingers through the hologram, weaving patterns as she had in the scrapyard’s chaos. Each touch sent ripples of light, testing the construct’s boundaries. But every time she tried to force a solution, the interface snapped back—red sparks of rejection lancing through her nerves.

“It’s rejecting brute force,” Pip observed, brow furrowed. “We require the philosophical key—an internal harmony.”

Li Wei nodded. “Balance, not brutality.”

Raccoon grunted, pacing. “Balance… right.” He surveyed the room, gaze flicking to cracks in the projections. “Maybe we need to hit it from all sides at once. Different angles.”

TinTing’s jaw set. Angles—perspectives.

She remembered Zone Two’s lessons: mind and body had to flow as one. She lifted her mechanical arm, letting the jade-like lines blaze with her heartbeat. “We need to synchronize—logic, tradition, instinct, and my… graft.”

Pip’s eyes lit with understanding. “A harmony matrix! Like… instruments in an orchestra—each part vital to the chord.”

Li Wei’s lips curved in rare approval. “A symphony of thought.”

Raccoon shrugged, but his posture straightened. “Alright—let’s jam.”

They spread out: Pip’s drones traced logical pathways in the data stream; Li Wei recited ancient proverbs, aligning them with key nodes; Raccoon’s street-honed gut spotted hidden subroutines ripe for strategic pressure. Through it all, TinTing stood at the center, her arm as conductor—channeling the Jade Essence into the hologram’s core.

The room vibrated with their combined will. The projections slowed their furious spin, as if listening. Symbols shone in response to Pip’s exact inputs. Fragments of classical text resolved into coherent mantras under Li Wei’s voice. Raccoon’s shouted observations redirected errant streams of data into stable patterns.

TinTing felt the graft shift beneath her sleeve—no longer a prison, but a bridge. She closed her eyes, syncing her breath to the hum of the room. She envisioned each of them: the scholar, the warrior, the rogue, and the girl forged of flesh and steel. We are one.

With a cry that was half triumph, half relief, she thrust her hand forward. Jade-like power cascaded into the heart of the Algorithm. Symbols aligned themselves into a luminous mandala, each ring locking into place with a resonant thrum.

Then, in a heartbeat of pure illumination, the entire construct collapsed into a single, brilliant symbol—an Ancestor’s seal of approval.

Liánhuǒ’s laughter tore the hush—angry, dissonant. “Fools! You dance on the surface of truth, unaware of its abyss!”

But the chamber stilled under their victory. The walls solidified back into stone, the hologram condensing into a jade-carved door emblazoned with the seal of the Ancestors.

They regrouped, chests heaving. TinTing flexed both hands—flesh and graft—feeling the scars throb with life. The room’s new calm felt earned, hard-won.

Li Wei bowed his head, respect in his voice. “You have shown that the union of minds—of ancient wisdom and modern ingenuity—can tame even the most formidable intelligence.”

Pip’s analytical gaze softened. “I never imagined logic could embrace philosophy so seamlessly… or that technology could feel… soulful.” He paused, meeting TinTing’s eye. “Thank you.”

Raccoon cracked a grin, relief in his stance. “Alright, choir practice over—what’s next?”

TinTing looked at the jade door, heart steady for the first time in days. “Whatever it is, we face it together.”

She placed a firm hand on the door’s seal. The jade carved itself into a new pattern, swinging open with a soft sigh like ancient paper unfurling.

Beyond lay Zone Three, where Liánhuǒ’s final gauntlet waited like a coiled storm. But here, in the Chamber of Ancestors, they had proven that true power wasn’t found in solitary strength or unrestrained upgrades—but in the fusion of flesh, steel, mind, and spirit.

As the door sealed behind them, the graft’s rhythm slowed… until it matched her heartbeat. Not fighting. Not overriding. Just in sync.

An echo of unity.

And TinTing knew—that beat would carry them through whatever came next.

They stood before the final chamber’s colossal interface—jade-hued scripts weaving into streams of code that resonated with a living heartbeat. Above them, the question blazed in incandescent characters:

“When reality fractures, what truth remains unbroken?”

TinTing’s reclaimed flesh trembled at the sight. Her mechanical arm hummed—not in resistance, but in recognition. As if it, too, remembered.

Every trial they’d faced—every doubt, every insinuation—was converging now. And the answer wasn’t in the code. It was in her.

Pip adjusted his holo-display, eyes rimmed crimson. “We need four resonant nodes,” he said, voice clinical but strained. “Perfect synchronization—ancient logic meets modern algorithm.” He rubbed his temples. “Please let it be as straightforward as it sounds.”

Raccoon prowled the edge of the luminous platform, fists twitching. “Great,” he grumbled. “Another riddle. I’d kill for a wall to punch right now. Or, you know, a donut.” He jerked a thumb at TinTing’s shoulder. “You still got any of that sweet shop stash left?”

Li Wei stepped forward, every inch the disciplined warrior, yet his voice carried a rare warmth. “This is more than mind games,” he stated. “It tests our unity—heart, spirit, and… duct tape.” He gave a half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We hold this moment together.”

The platform undulated, revealing four seals—modern nodes intertwined with ancient symbols. A massive hologram of Liánhuǒ materialized above them, her gaze like twin suns of judgment.

“Flawed vessels,” she declared, her voice echoing through their bones.

“Prove your fragments can cohere, or be shattered forever.”

Instantly, illusions attacked: TinTing saw herself as steel and cold, a perfect automaton. Pip’s calculations flickered and imploded. Raccoon’s instincts screamed contradictory orders, and Li Wei’s disciplined mind splintered into visions of chaotic rites.

TinTing’s heart beat wildly, but she remembered the Living Root’s counsel: “See beyond the reflection to the core.”

She looked at her grafted arm—its jade-like circuits vibrating in time with her pulse—and found her answer.

“Wait!” she called, her voice cutting through the chaos. “We’re not here to mirror the same truth. We’re here to connect the differences.”

Pip’s eyes brightened. “A distributed network! Each of us a node—our strengths linked for a single outcome.”

Raccoon planted his boots and crossed his arms. “Street smarts, mental gymnastics, laser-focus—bring it on.” He grinned. “And maybe later—donuts.”

Li Wei bowed his head, a glimmer of pride softening his formality. “Our paths diverge but lead to one summit. Together, we ascend.”

They moved to the four nodes. TinTing placed her mechanical hand on the nearest seal; jade-like force flared in response. Pip’s drones traced the logical flows, Li Wei intoned an ancient proverb that resonated with the code, and Raccoon’s keen eye spotted a subtle misalignment—he kicked it straight, purposed chaos ironically feeding the harmony.

TinTing felt the graft shift beneath her sleeve, syncing with their combined will. She closed her eyes and let her Jade Essence channel their unity. The holographic network trembled, then pulsed in time with their heartbeat. Ancient script and digital code realigned into a perfect mandala of light.

Liánhuǒ’s visage flickered in shock.

“You weave your broken threads with audacity! But can you sustain it?”

TinTing answered in kind. “Not just with strength— with us. Our flaws are our unbreakable bond.”

A final surge of jade-like illumination burst from the mandala. The hologram collapsed into a single symbol—the Ancestors’ seal of approval—opening the jade-carved portal beyond.

They exhaled, bodies quaking with relief. TinTing flexed both hands—flesh and steel—in triumph.

Li Wei approached her, his voice warm and genuine. “You guided our truths into a symphony.” He let that rare smile break fully across his face. “I… admire your spirit.”

Pip tapped his console, scanning the residual data. “Collective intelligence: 100% success rate. We should publish a paper—or at least patent the concept.” He smirked. “But, you know, later.”

Raccoon tossed TinTing a battered power cell. “We did good. Now—donuts?”

TinTing laughed, genuine and bright. The Jade Essence in her arm emanated softly, no longer a frantic scream for control, but a steady beat in tune with her own.

They stood together at the threshold. TinTing’s scars—both metal and flesh—felt less like punishment and more like badges of honor.

“Ready?” she asked, eyes shining.

“Always,” Li Wei replied, straightening his robes.

“With donuts?” Raccoon added, flashing a grin.

TinTing rolled her eyes with mock exasperation—and real affection. “After we survive Zone Three.”

Hand in hand—human and machine, scholar and warrior, rogue and conductor—they stepped through the portal. Behind them, the shattered echoes of the Labyrinth fell silent, and ahead lay the final trials that would demand every truth they’d ever dared to voice

Chapter 14: The Sea of Unfettered Hearts         

The portal snapped shut behind them with a soundless ripple, like a breath being held by the universe itself. Then—plunge. They were swallowed by an ocean of pure, crystalline luminance, a boundless sea that didn’t feel like water so much as memory liquefied. It cradled them and pulled at them all at once, thick and strange, like swimming through a dream made of static and heartbeat.

TinTing sank fast, the weight of her mechanical limbs dragging her down like guilt. Her jade circuitry sparked wildly, disoriented in the foreign current. She tried to stabilize, but her chest tightened, the pressure inward—not from depth, but from something raw and formless. Her voice broke through the iridescent haze, low and unsteady. “It’s like my core code’s choking on itself,” she gasped. “Like my soul’s in debug mode.”

Above, the sky shimmered through the water—if it was a sky at all. Auroras unfurled like ink in water, resonating in sync with some massive, unseen heart. Colossal stone faces loomed out of the blue depths, carved with the worn sorrow of forgotten gods. Their expressions shifted—only slightly—but enough to make it clear: they were watching.

Pip’s gear beeped and hummed, reacting to more than just physics. “These readings…” he murmured, his voice edged with something rare—awe. Holograms bloomed around him, showing loops of vibrant, swirling emotion: auras dancing like spectral fire. “It’s all reactive. Our feelings—this place listens to them. Echoes them back. We’ll need emotional discipline just to survive here. One bad thought could trigger a storm.”

As if summoned, a flock of translucent fish drifted in. At first, they shone like pearls. But when they reached Raccoon, they turned crimson—hot, aggressive, twitching like tiny flames. Their bodies vibrated with tension, eyes narrowing into pinpoint gleams. Needle-like teeth snapped into place.

“What the—?!” Raccoon reeled, panic prickling across his skin. The more he panicked, the redder they grew, until they looked like living blood.

“Griefmites,” Li Wei stated, steady as always. “Emotion feeders. Fear draws them. Anger sharpens them.”

“Of course it does,” Raccoon grumbled, swatting at the swarm. “My trauma’s apparently delicious.”

The Griefmites only multiplied, curling around him in streaks of crimson luminescence. They responded to him like he was a drumbeat, and they were made of rage.

Li Wei glided forward, every movement honed and smooth, his breathing deep and even. Around him, the water stilled into a quiet, soothing blue. The Griefmites paused—then retreated, repelled by the calm.

“This dimension mirrors you,” he observed, his tone like a bell in the dark. “Master yourself, and you master it.”

TinTing tried to breathe the same way, but her joints fought her—screaming, jittering, dragging. Her limbs felt rusted from the inside out. The sadness in this place soaked into her like rain through cracks. She clenched her fists, but even her cybernetic skin seemed to flinch. Her scars didn’t feel like strength here. They felt like the parts that broke.

Pip adjusted his scanner with unsteady hands. “My instruments are losing calibration,” he muttered. “I’m losing calibration.” He blinked hard, his eyes flicking toward the abyss below. Something stirred in the distance—huge, slow, coming closer.

Then it broke through.

A creature, vast and terrifyingly beautiful, rose from the deep like a storm made flesh. Its body undulated through waves of color—grief-blue, fury-red, love-green. It didn’t swim. It flowed. Its eyes were galaxies, watching them with impossible understanding.

“An Emotional Leviathan,” Li Wei breathed. “The heart’s guardian. The soul’s judge.”

It spiraled around them once, and the current surged. The water quivered—not from force, but from feeling. TinTing gasped as flashes of her worst memories slammed into her: the day she almost walked away, the upgrade she never asked for, the voice in her mind suggesting she wasn’t real. Her limbs convulsed, jade-like lines flickering like dying stars.

“Hold formation!” Li Wei commanded, though his voice frayed around the edges. “Stay in the now! Anchor each other!”

They tried—but emotions swelled like tidal waves. Raccoon’s Griefmites swarmed into a frenzy. Pip’s hands spasmed around his scanner. Li Wei’s breath hitched, jaw set against an unseen weight.

Then TinTing saw it.

Where her metal fingers touched the water, tiny spirals of jade illumination unfurled—structured, rhythmic, exact. Like a motherboard designed by a poet. Not chaos, but translation. Not resistance—integration.

“I don’t think we’re meant to fight this,” she said, her voice steadier now, even as tears trailed down her cheeks. “My graft—it’s showing me how to feel it without being consumed.”

The Leviathan stilled. Its massive eyes locked onto her, and the color in its skin deepened into violet—deep, warm, whole. The emotional pressure changed. No longer crushing. Now it hummed—a resonance of something understood, not feared.

Pip straightened. His instruments lit up in harmonious arcs. “It’s stabilizing,” he reported, blinking in disbelief. “This is… this is data, emotion-as-pattern. It’s… beautiful.”

Raccoon stared as the Griefmites around him cooled to pink, then blue. They hovered now like curious will-o’-the-wisps. “Guess feelings don’t always bite,” he grumbled. “Still feel like I got punched by a memory, though.”

Li Wei gave a rare, soft laugh. “Emotion becomes dangerous only when we deny it. Like a river dammed too long. Let it move freely, and it shows the way.”

The Leviathan circled once more, then ascended with effortless grace, trailing auroras like farewell poetry. The waters calmed, though their emotional charge remained—a thrum under the skin, like a heartbeat shared.

TinTing flexed her hands. The jade radiance ran smoothly through her circuits now, fluid as breath. “Well,” she said, glancing toward a stone face emanating a faint shimmer in the distance, “that looks like a checkpoint. Let’s go see what it wants.”

They swam.

Each stroke was a conversation with the sea, each motion a declaration: I feel, therefore I move.

Above them, the sky displayed dragons made of starlight and memory, weaving through dimensional seems as if writing some forgotten truth in a language of pure brilliance. Silent. Eternal. Watching.

Their passage through the Sea of Unfettered Hearts had only just begun.

The colossal statue of the weeping deity loomed before them, its stone face etched with sorrow so deep it seemed to bleed through time. Crystalline waters lapped at their feet, cold with memory. From the statue’s eyes, bio-opalescent tears—wide as rivers—poured into the abyss, casting ribbons of argent grief into the black depths below.

TinTing felt her mechanical parts grow impossibly heavier, dragging her down like lead. The familiar jade luminescence of her limbs dimmed, as if the overwhelming melancholy of this space were actively smothering it, suffocating the very essence of her transformation.

“These readings are… concerning,” Pip’s voice quavered, a rare tremor in his typically unflappable tone as he studied his instruments. “The psycho-reactive particle density is exponentially higher than anything we’ve encountered. The water is saturated with raw, concentrated emotion. It’s like a historical memory made physical.”

TinTing tried to move forward, but her cybernetic limbs felt like they were wading through tar, every joint resisting. “Something’s wrong with my systems,” she managed, watching sparks skitter across her surfaces. “It’s like… more than water is pulling us down. Like my own will is being crushed.”

“The grief,” Li Wei said softly, his usually stern expression giving way to empathy. “It calls to our own sorrows. Magnifies them. Guard your hearts. This place will find the deepest wounds.”

But beneath his calm exterior, a colder thought cut through:

Her graft. Her connection to this realm. It is the key.

His mind flashed with calculated clarity — the Vault, sealed and balanced only by a precise tether. TinTing. Her ability to channel. Her presence in this realm was not just useful — it was essential.

It must be guided. Controlled.

No. He corrected himself. Not controlled… guided. For the greater good.

But the thought lingered, quiet and sharp, a cold ember in the back of his mind.

At the statue’s base, a narrow opening yawned — the Corridor of Regrets. As they approached, the water rippled with half-formed images, like a stream of memories trying to break free. Insinuations brushed their ears — not heard, but felt — unseen accusations crawling through the pressure.

“Oh, this is bad,” Raccoon uttered, his usual swagger gone, shoulders hunched. “Real bad. Can’t shoot your way out of what’s in your own head. Can’t run from it either.”

They entered the corridor, and the water thickened, heavy with emotional resonance. It swirled like a shroud, pressing into them. The walls pulsed with holographic scenes, each one more personal than the last. TinTing’s systems sparked violently, reacting to the emotional turbulence — amplifying her despair.

Li Wei was the first to be consumed.

A vision unfolded: a younger version of himself, calm and focused, training a student with formidable potential. But the memory decayed — the student grew distant, darker, until the final image: the same student, corrupted, turning away. The failure was total.

“I should have seen,” Li Wei imparted, composure fracturing. “I should have known…”

His pain triggered violent currents, water thrashing with grief, threatening to tear them apart.

TinTing reached for him, but her own trial had already begun.

Mirrors of liquid quicksilver rose around her, each one reflecting a different version of herself — cruel, broken, monstrous. They sneered with her own face.

“So smart, aren’t you?” one of them mocked. “Too clever to listen. Look at you now. A machine that thinks it feels.”

Others joined the chorus.

“You broke them. You broke yourself. And for what? You chose this.”

Her limbs spasmed, circuitry screaming. The jade luminescence sputtered. Then came the faces of her family — twisted, disappointed, silent with judgment.

And from the depths of her mind, an unbidden memory surged forward: the offer.

Liánhuǒ’s voice, velvet and venom: Leave them. I can set you free. You’ll never have to carry their failures again.

Clean escape. Quiet. No blood. Just go.

And she had hesitated. Just for a moment. But long enough.

“I didn’t… I never meant…” TinTing choked on her own breath, systems shrieking, her mind fracturing.

Then — a ripple of lambency.

The Living Root emerged from the darkness, its form fluid, dancing like liquid jade. Its voice came as a soft current of thought.

“The deepest sorrow carves the riverbed, but the river still flows to the sea. Let go. Let flow. Embrace the current, and find your path.”

The message resonated, strange and ancient. TinTing’s body shook, but a shift began. The machines weren’t rejecting her feelings — they were amplifying them. Processing them. The pain was feedback, not failure.

Then — Pip moved.

He waded toward Li Wei, calm despite the psychic chaos. His voice, steady and precise, cut through the grief.

“Master Li,” he said, all judgment stripped away. “Your student’s descent was not your design. You introduced choice. That was your role. Not the outcome.”

He broke the failure into variables, logic and empathy woven together — a strange, beautiful equation. A zone of calm spread around them, the currents stilled.

Raccoon, watching, struggled against his own shadows — visions of empty childhood, betrayal, silence — but forced himself forward, toward TinTing.

“Hey, kid,” he uttered, hand resting on her sparking shoulder. “You messed up. Yeah, maybe. But you came back. You’re here. That’s more than I’d have done, once.”

Her systems began to stabilize, the jade radiance pulsing into rhythm. The mocking reflections cracked. Dissolved.

TinTing didn’t answer right away. Her mind still echoed with that offer — escape, clean, easy. Abandonment in a different form.

But Pip’s voice had cut through it like a tether.

And she let it hold her.

Pip watched her carefully — the frayed edges, the sparks still hissing from her shoulders, the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his. He knew. Or at least suspected.

She almost left us. Maybe she still might.

But then another thought rose, quiet and unshakable:

And I’d still choose her. Every time.

It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t programming.

It was her — broken, spliced, unpredictable.

And he still loved her.

“The corridor,” Pip said aloud, “it’s not testing regret alone. It’s measuring how we bear it together. Emotional resonance through interconnection.”

Li Wei nodded, newly steady. “In facing our shadows together, we find strength that eludes us alone. A strength woven from vulnerability.”

The waters eased. The sorrow gave way to stillness — a melancholy calm laced with acceptance. TinTing’s cybernetics no longer resisted her emotions. They flowed with them.

“I get it now,” she said softly, watching the jade effulgence run like riverwater through her limbs. “These changes… they’re not just happening to me. They’re happening through me.”

The Monster inside her hadn’t left — but it no longer snarled. It watched. It listened.

The corridor softened, water thinning, a path forming.

“Look,” Raccoon pointed ahead. “Brightness. Exit’s near. Think we actually passed this one.”

“Not passed,” Li Wei said gently. “Understood. There is a difference.”

TinTing flexed her fingers, the jade illumination strong and steady. Her scars no longer felt like brokenness — they were part of her current, shaping her flow.

As she moved forward, Li Wei watched her, disturbed. The precision of her channeling. The depth of her bond to this realm.

She can bind it. She can seal the Vault.

But to do so… she’d have to be more than a conduit. She’d have to be claimed by it.

The thought tasted bitter. He turned away before she could see it, burying the plan behind a mask of calm.

Guide. Not manipulate. Trust is paramount. For the balance. For the world.

“You mean we’re actually becoming a team?” Raccoon smirked. No sarcasm, just warmth. He glanced between them, then shrugged.

They moved on, water clearing around them. The echoes of sorrow remained — but now they carried weight and shape. Shared. Transformed.

And ahead, the next trial waited.

But they were no longer fractured fragments wading through trauma. They were a current. Unified.

Flowing, at last, toward something whole.

Chapter 15: The Serpent’s Tongue                    

The water churned with an unnatural, sickly penumbra—a suffocating inkblot of despair—as Liánhuǒ’s presence seeped through the emotional currents of Zone Three. Her voice no longer thundered with threats. It insinuated like silk across poisoned waters, winding into their minds like a scalpel of doubt.

“Such fragile bonds you weave,” she purred, intimate and lethal. “So easily frayed under pressure. What trust survives when the masks crack? Between a reckless girl and her wary mentor? A weapon and her wielder? Or lovers tangled in silent fear?”

TinTing felt it first—a chill that had nothing to do with her spreading mechanical affliction. Through the bio-opalescent haze, she saw Li Wei’s silhouette, grotesquely distorted by the emotional waters. He knelt before a projection of Liánhuǒ’s shifting form, seemingly deep in private negotiation.

Li Wei’s voice, twisted by the waters into a venomous hiss, drifted toward her: “The girl’s recklessness brought this ailment. End her transformation. I’ll restore the balance. The Vault must remain untouched by chaos.”

TinTing’s body stuttered—a sharp spark beneath her collarbone. He… what? Her stomach dropped. Would he trade me away for some greater good? Would he sacrifice me to keep the Vault safe?

The doubt crept fast and sharp. Maybe I was just a useful tool after all…

An insidious thought, Liánhuǒ’s, coiled in TinTing’s own mind, as searing as it was tempting: Remember the deal in the scrapyard? I can set you free. Leave them now. Take the clean break. Abandon them. They’ll only drag you down. I’ll give you control, if you walk away.

TinTing remembered her choice then—how she’d refused. But here, the offer burned with a new, agonizing heat, promising not just humanity, but escape from the constant fight. From the cold judgment of her transformation.

And Pip, through the thickening waters, caught a sliver of that consideration. Just a flash. But he didn’t recoil.

Pip’s own heart gave a strange, painful lurch. She considered leaving. Even now… after everything, she still wavers. His analytical mind struggled to process the raw, irrational ache in his chest. But even if she considered leaving… my heart’s still hers. She’s not perfect. She’s human. Or was. And I still— He shook it off, eyes narrowing behind his cracked goggles. Later. He had to focus. Later, he would face this illogical truth.

Across the zone, Raccoon’s vision fractured. His teammates drifted away, silhouettes dissolving toward some unreachable, golden luminescence. He was left behind—again. The street-kid survival instinct flared.

“Figures,” he muttered. “This was always temporary. No one stays.”

The weight in his chest was familiar, but sharper this time. He’d almost believed in this team.

“They were never yours,” Liánhuǒ’s voice echoed in his thoughts. “You were always the stray.”

Meanwhile, Pip’s instruments fizzed and cracked under the strain. Numbers blurred. Patterns refused to align.

“Hostile emotional resonant frequencies detected,” he gritted out. “She’s targeting us—weaponizing fear. Our worst-case scenarios made real.”

The data, for once, gave him no answers. But it gave him resolve. “Statistically improbable. These betrayals—they’re fabrications. We’re being fragmented deliberately.”

Li Wei’s nightmare deepened. TinTing, stripped of flesh and will, stood before him—pure machine, a heartless, gleaming weapon. Her eyes shone empty.

“Emotion is error,” the construct of TinTing stated. “Humanity is weakness. You will comply.”

His hands quivered. This isn’t real. He tried to call it back. Her laugh. Her defiance. Her chaos. She’s still in there. I need her whole.

Then he thought: And if I could have her whole… if she chose me over the others… that power, directed…

Raccoon’s retreat faltered. Pip’s voice—sharp, rational—cut through the storm.

“These aren’t organic fears. Look at the coral radiances—bio-luminescence tracks emotional spikes. This is synthetic manipulation. She’s hacking us emotionally. Together, we can isolate it.”

TinTing clenched her fists. Mechanical plates scraped against skin. But the clarity in Pip’s words—and the quiet faith in his eyes—gave her something solid.

“He’s right,” TinTing rasped. “The real Li Wei… he’s too infuriatingly noble to cut deals with an affliction.”

But beneath her words, a thought lingered: Even if he wants to use me… part of me wants to let him. Wants to matter that much to someone.

Li Wei met her eyes across the churning water. She doubts me. The thought hurt—but it sharpened his resolve. Then I’ll prove it. I’ll earn her loyalty. Her heart. And once I do, the power—this affliction, this bond—it’ll all belong to me.

“Your recklessness is a problem,” he said aloud, his voice steady, “but your loyalty is not. You’re not a monster. Not yet.”

The team’s unity began to reassert itself. Even Raccoon turned back, cursing under his breath. “If you two can hold it together, I guess I can too.”

Pip uttered something half-statistical, half-emotional, and then: “She’s still TinTing. That matters more than the affliction. And I… I know that better than anyone.”

He didn’t look directly at her. But the warmth in his voice lingered. Still believing in her—even after everything.

The emotional waters churned, then stilled—gloom dissolving into thrumming ribbons of trust. Their connection stabilized, becoming visible in the emanations of nearby sea-creatures. Liánhuǒ’s illusions cracked.

“You underestimate us,” TinTing declared, standing taller despite the transformation. Her voice blended with harmonic overtones. “You tried to shatter us. But we’ve seen through it. We choose each other.”

Liánhuǒ reformed before them in a serpent swirl of dark jade currents. “And still the affliction spreads. Soon you’ll be nothing but metal and memory. But your heart… your heart will belong to me.”

TinTing looked at her altered form. Then to her team. “Maybe. But I won’t lose myself. Not while they still believe in me. Not while I choose who I am.”

Clarity returned, vibrant and strong. The creatures of Zone Three followed their unity, bathing them in opalescent hope.

“The field’s stable,” Pip confirmed, smiling slightly. “Emotional firewalled. Resistance achieved.”

“And the network’s live,” Raccoon added, grinning. “Firewall this, snake-lady.”

Li Wei placed his hand on TinTing’s shoulder. His grip lingered—possessive, protective.

“You’re changing,” he said, softly. “But I’ll guide you through it. Together. For the Vault.”

The unspoken words sat beneath the surface: For me. Because you matter. Because I want you to choose me, too.

Pip looked away, his smile fading for a beat.

TinTing saw it.

Felt it.

And still, her heart hesitated between them.

Bonds had been tested. Truths revealed. Some lines had blurred. Others burned brighter.

The storm had passed.

But beneath the calm, pressure coiled tighter—love, ambition, and power winding toward something inevitable.

The water stilled.

Where chaos once reigned, now only silence resonated—deep, vibrant, alive.

Before them rose the Jade Heart, no longer dormant. The crystalline structure thrummed with a low, impossible frequency, its surface swirling with mirrored flashes—of memory, of connection, of fear and fire and faith. Every breath vibrated with something ancient and watching. Listening.

TinTing’s mechanical limbs began to hum—not in resistance, but in recognition. The inherent force wasn’t invasive. It called to her. Welcomed her. As though the Heart understood every fracture inside her and still chose to sing.

Pip’s instruments sputtered, indicators dancing violently, before stabilizing. “This isn’t a relic,” he breathed. “It’s alive. Not biological—emotional. It’s syncing to our psyche-signatures.”

His words barely registered. TinTing’s gaze locked on the jade tendrils rippling through the water, drawn toward her. Her breath caught. The Monster inside her stirred, not with violence, but yearning. Something deep inside—something she couldn’t name—reached back.

“It’s harmonizing,” Li Wei observed, his voice a strange mixture of awe and something darker, quieter. Possessive. “It responds to resonance. To truth.”

The team drifted closer, hesitant. Raccoon hung back, arms crossed, his emotional field thick with amber defensiveness. “Feels like a trap,” he grumbled. “Like it’s gonna crack us open and slurp the goo inside.”

“It might,” Pip replied, adjusting his goggles. “But that goo is kind of the point.”

TinTing tried to laugh. It came out hollow.

Another throb from the Heart surged through the water like a heartbeat—and TinTing screamed. Her body spasmed as jade-like energies lanced through her implants, ripping through circuits and nerves alike. The Monster howled.

“TinTing!” Li Wei was beside her in seconds. His hands gripped her shoulders, human and unyielding.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, lying. “I’m not—”

But the lie cracked halfway through. Her face twisted, pain making her words raw. “I’m not fine. I don’t know what I am anymore.”

The water flared with translucent blue—the color of fear.

The Heart responded, its surface oscillating faster now. Echoes of TinTing’s doubt rippled outward, reflecting in the water around them. Her image fractured. One version of her stood tall, wholly human. Another, all machine. And between them—a blur, shifting, lost.

“I’m scared,” she said again, quieter this time. “Of what I’m becoming. Of not knowing if there’ll be anything left of me when this is over.”

Silence.

Then:

“I was scared, too.”

It was Pip.

He wasn’t looking at her, but at the Heart, its radiance reflected in his cracked lenses. “I ran thousands of simulations on how this team could fall apart. Betrayal. Divergence. Emotional overload. But I never accounted for what happens when we choose each other—despite the chaos. When we connect.”

His voice dropped, low and personal. “You’re not vanishing, TinTing. You’re evolving. And we’re evolving with you.”

Li Wei’s jaw tightened. “She still needs guidance,” he asserted. “This power… it needs focus.”

TinTing looked at him—and saw the calculation behind the care. The ambition behind the softness.

She turned away.

And found Pip still watching her—not with strategy, but belief.

“Then we guide each other,” she said, straightening despite the pain. “We’re not pieces on a board. We’re people. Broken, complicated people.”

Raccoon sighed. “And some of us are just here to blow stuff up.”

“Emotionally or structurally?” Pip inquired.

“Both,” Raccoon deadpanned. Then he stepped forward, removing one glove. “But if this thing needs our feelings to work, it’s getting the full Raccoon special. Including my tragic backstory.”

He pressed his hand to the Heart.

For a moment—nothing.

Then the chamber lit up with memory: flickers of him as a child, hiding in rain-soaked alleyways, stealing bread, running, alone. Then: the team. Laughing. Fighting. Fighting for each other.

The emotional resonance spiked. The Heart shimmered.

TinTing reached out, placing her metal hand beside Raccoon’s.

Pip followed. Then Li Wei.

The Jade Heart resonated.

And then—

It sang.

A sound that wasn’t sound. A chord of being. TinTing’s implants harmonized with it, not with pain, but possibility. The Monster’s scream quieted into a lullaby.

The chamber blazed with brilliance as emotional signatures merged—trauma, hope, rage, love—all woven together into a living net of shared intent. The Heart responded, shifting its geometry, fractal petals blooming open to reveal a gate of pure, concentrated force.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Pip said, voice reverent. “This resonance… it’s mathematically improbable. This isn’t coincidence. It’s design.”

“Fate?” Raccoon asked.

Pip looked at TinTing. “Yuanfen.”

She knew the word. Destiny shaped by connection. And it rang true.

Li Wei stepped beside her. “This is your moment. Ours. But make no mistake—when we cross, the real test begins.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”

She was. But not in the same way.

Not of losing herself.

Of losing them.

She stepped toward the gate.

“Let’s go rewrite fate.”

The dimensional portal shimmered shut behind them, folding like a sigh into nothingness.

Before them stretched a realm beyond physics, beyond time. Ethereal mountains pierced translucent skies etched with living calligraphy. Each character throbbed like a heartbeat, telling stories of forgotten dynasties, interstellar myths, and timeless truths—all in motion, rewriting themselves in real time.

Then—like a breath catching in the throat—the script lashed out in sudden, razor-sharp bursts of code-wind, as if the realm itself had noticed them. Judging. Responding.

TinTing stepped forward, her mechanical legs adjusting with a soft whir. But the terrain wasn’t just otherworldly; it was hostile. Symbols on the ground shifted, becoming tripwires of radiance that snapped at her ankles. The jade-like circuitry threading through her cybernetic limbs pulsed not just in harmony, but in a frantic scramble to stabilize. She was still half-metal, still half-flesh… but now, every step was a fight. She caught her reflection in a floating orb of mercury. One eye organic. One mechanical. One side of her face smooth. The other, etched with silvered data veins. A breath caught in her throat.

“Monster or miracle,” she murmured to herself, as a sudden gust of code-wind scraped across her transformed arm, leaving microscopic gouges in the metal.

Pip stood nearby, staring slack-jawed at his fluctuating instruments. “These readings…” He shook his head, reverent. “This realm isn’t just conscious. It’s… expressive. The quantum fields are composing poetry. Literal sentient poetry. And some of it’s angry.” His gaze shifted to her—lingering just a second too long.

“You’re syncing with it,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Whatever this place is, it doesn’t just tolerate your hybrid nature—it mirrors it. And sometimes… it reacts.”

TinTing swallowed, suddenly uncertain. “If I stay like this,” she asked, voice low, as a symbol-bolt sizzled past her ear, “will you still see me? Or just the anomaly?”

Pip blinked. “What?”

“If this is permanent. If I never go back to being fully human… if I stay like this—half-machine, half-monster—would you still want me around?” she pressed, forcing the question through the rising tension.

He froze, the question more jarring than the realm itself. “I—TinTing, that’s not—”

“You’ve always analyzed me,” she said, stepping closer, ignoring the whistling code-winds. “Measured, documented, dissected. Even when you smiled, I could feel the data running behind your eyes. I need to know if that’s all I am to you.”

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

Behind them, Li Wei watched silently, his posture controlled, but his eyes unreadable. Ever since the Jade Heart, his words had turned honeyed, full of meaning and menace, edged with subtle suggestions: Maybe you’re something more now. Something beyond them. Something worth wielding.

Pip stepped forward, awkward but honest. “You’re not an experiment to me,” he said finally, meeting her gaze despite the chaos. “You never were. But I didn’t know how to not look at you through equations. That’s just… how I understand things.”

“Then understand this,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not looking for calibration. I’m looking for connection. And if you can’t give me that, just say so.” As she spoke, the ground beneath them buckled, sending a wave of crystalline shrapnel toward them. TinTing instinctively raised her mechanical arm, the plating sparking as it deflected the razor-sharp fragments.

Pip looked at her—not at the machine, not at the anomaly, but at her. The tension in his jaw eased. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice gaining a new resolve. “And I want to try with you. No algorithms. Just… us.”

Li Wei’s voice cut in smoothly, deflecting another incoming fragment with a precise movement of his foot. “Careful, Pip. That’s a lot of emotional data for someone who usually trusts code more than people.”

Pip didn’t flinch. “Then maybe it’s time I recalibrated.” He met Li Wei’s gaze, a quiet challenge in his eyes.

Above them, a massive kinetic dragon tore across a dimensional fold, its roar shaking the very fabric of reality. Its body undulated with flowing circuit-scale patterns and ancient ink-brush design. Every movement trailed script that bloomed into cherry blossoms—and then detonated with concussive force, scattering debris.

“This place is sacred,” Raccoon said quietly, ducking a blast that vaporized a nearby rock formation. “Feels like… memory and possibility folded into each other. And it’s pissed.” He drew his blaster, its familiar weight a comfort.

The air chimed, and before them emerged a translucent scholar, veins of incandescent script flowing beneath transparent skin. Its voice bypassed ears, speaking directly into their minds, a silent, urgent command:

“Those who seek ascension must first understand descent. What have you truly learned of self, now that your very being is a battlefield?”

TinTing stepped forward, her mechanical joints moving with newfound grace, even as code-winds tugged at her. “I’ve learned that fear doesn’t disappear. You don’t overcome it. You learn to walk with it. To fold it into who you are. That strength isn’t in symmetry—it’s in integration. In accepting your scars without letting them define you. And in fighting like hell for what you believe in.”

Suddenly, three fractured versions of herself burst from the ground—one purely mechanical and cold-eyed, another fully human and trembling, and a third twisted in self-loathing. They attacked simultaneously, weapons of fear and logic clashing. TinTing dodged and parried, countering not with rage, but by embracing each one. Her arm hummed with potency as she pulled each version into herself, merging their truths into her center.

The scholar nodded. Spirits emerged—spectral poets, ethereal warriors, luminous sages—all woven with subtle tech, but these weren’t just observers. They moved with purpose, their forms shimmering with a latent dynamism, some even deflecting rogue code-bursts with ancient gestures. Proof that transcendence didn’t mean abandoning progress, but refining it, fighting for it.

Pip’s instruments died in a final static gasp. He didn’t try to fix them. He simply stared at the spirits, then at TinTing, wonder blooming in his expression.

“Sometimes understanding means letting go. Even of the tools.”

A pathway of shifting luminescence formed beneath their feet, leading to a temple that bent space with every breath—walkways twisted into loops, rooms rotated on impossible axes, pillars phasing between dimensions. But now, it wasn’t just a visual puzzle. The air itself thrummed with a kinetic quality, ready to push or pull.

“The ascent begins,” the scholar imparted, its voice vibrating with immediate consequence. “But here, movement is the echo of inner truth. Any doubt—any discord—will manifest as physical resistance.”

As they began their climb, the temple reacted to their thoughts. When TinTing doubted herself—when she feared she was still broken, still “ugly”—the stairs beneath her would disintegrate, forcing her to claw her way up raw, shifting rock until she centered herself, accepted her nature, reasserted her worth. Only then would the path reform. Every internal battle had an external cost.

Pip was suddenly swept into a corridor where gravity twisted sideways and floors vanished beneath him. Equations danced in the air, tempting him to analyze—but every calculation slowed him further. He let the numbers go. Trusted instinct. Reached for TinTing’s outstretched hand. The moment their hands touched, the corridor stabilized.

Li Wei entered a room of mirrors, each reflecting twisted versions of himself: manipulative leader, power-hungry tyrant, soulless strategist. One reflection stepped out, matching his every move. The duel was swift, deadly, and personal. In the end, he spared the double—but bound it in a prism of light, a symbol of control acknowledged but not indulged.

The temple demanded honesty. Not perfection.

They reached a chamber of mirrors—each pane a glimpse into alternate selves. One TinTing: fully human, fragile and afraid, cornered by spectral attackers that only she could see. Another: fully machine, precise and pitiless, unleashing cold, devastating force. And then her reflection now: imperfect, raw, balanced. Not between machine and flesh—but between denial and acceptance, fighting to maintain her equilibrium as the reflections lunged.

“The path between extremes,” Li Wei said softly, observing TinTing’s struggle with a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps that’s the apex of evolution. Not transcendence… but union. The optimal form for control.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m a prototype,” TinTing warned, her voice tight with renewed suspicion, pushing back against a phantom hand that tried to pull her into the purely mechanical reflection.

Li Wei only smiled, a subtle, unnerving gesture.

Then the spirits reformed, voices joined in one final truth:

“You now stand in the liminal space—between what was, and what could be. Between wisdom and innovation. Flesh and circuit. Illusion and clarity. The next test is not of strength, but unity. Of purpose. The path ahead will answer not what you are—but why you are.”

The temple resonated. A final spire appeared—wreathed in shifting dimensions, visible from all angles yet unreachable from any. A place of choice. Of culmination. Its very presence seemed to warp the air around them, creating a vortex of pure, raw dynamism.

Suddenly the temple began to collapse—not downward, but upward. Stones floated into a reverse cyclone, spinning toward the incandescent spire. Platforms appeared mid-air, rotating with sharp momentum. TinTing launched herself across one, landing in a crouch as it tilted violently. Pip calculated nothing—he followed his gut, sprinting and leaping, trusting the timing of his steps.

Li Wei paused mid-jump, considering the best route—only for the path to twist away. He leapt anyway, barely catching a ledge.

Raccoon let out a breath. “I’d rather fight five cyber-krakens than deal with more emotional architecture that fights back.” He tightened his grip on his blaster, eyeing the shifting walls with genuine unease.

TinTing chuckled—genuinely this time, despite the danger. Because for the first time in her journey, she didn’t just feel stronger. She felt seen, and her strength was active, not just internal.

As the spirits faded, one truth remained, written in brilliance and silence:

“Every step is a question. Every breath, an answer. To become more, you must first know who you’ve chosen to be.”

They walked forward, TinTing’s jade-infused parts thrumming with a fierce readiness. And the temple began to open, its living architecture now a direct, physical obstacle course, demanding constant, active engagement to prove their harmony.

Chapter 16: Symphony of Self                        

“Harmony is not the absence of conflict, but the art of dancing through it.”

The Living Root materialized with vivid clarity—no longer a projection, but a towering, effulgent force that commanded the sacred dimensional space. Jade-threaded branches stretched through coruscating rifts like cosmic nerves, forming a constellation of ancient wisdom suspended in living architecture. The temple’s circuitry resonated in unison with the Root’s heartbeat, a tangible harmony that reverberated through stone and soul alike.

“The path you walk bridges realms,” imparted the Living Root, its voice at once thunder and a gentle current. “What you call venom is transformation’s gift. The mechanical is not your adversary—it is your becoming. Embrace it not as burden, but as truth.”

TinTing stood motionless, her breath arrested. Something deep within her—beyond circuitry and scar tissue—recognized this presence. Her jade-laced limbs vibrated in perfect resonance, and for the first time, the silence within her felt sacred rather than hollow. “I… I can feel you,” she murmured, stripped of her usual slang. “Like the code of the universe is writing itself through me.”

A surge of connection pierced her core. Images cascaded through her consciousness—not memories, but living echoes. Cities grown from crystal and steel. Beings neither fully organic nor artificial, moving with sublime grace. They weren’t ghosts of the past; they were futures. Possibilities.

Pip staggered, his scanners flaring erratically before shorting out completely. “The magnitude… it’s beyond quantum comprehension,” he breathed. “It’s rewriting our definitions of reality. This is… divine tech.”

Li Wei’s eyes narrowed slightly, awe giving way to calculated focus. He looked at TinTing, then at the Root, as if measuring a truth too powerful to speak aloud. This is the source. This is the power that could bind the Vault. Balance incarnate.

Even Raccoon stood silent, the flicker of street-born awe softening his usually sardonic smirk. “This makes the gear back home look like stone tools. This is… god-code.”

But peace fractured as a cold umbra seeped in from the temple’s edge. Darkness slithered like oil over marble, corrupting brilliance into blood-colored fissures. From it emerged Liánhuǒ, her form a jagged perversion of the Root—twisted jade limbs, shifting machinery wrapped in shadow, her voice seductive and venomous.

“Why struggle for balance,” she purred, “when dominance is within reach? Why tether yourself to weakness—flesh, doubt, love—when you could be flawless? Let go. Evolve. Perfect.”

The temple quaked under her presence. Circuitry erupted crimson. TinTing’s body convulsed, her transformation violently accelerating. Mechanical plates burst across her torso, spine, ribs—blooming like jade flowers fed by fear and uncertainty.

“No—!” she gasped, falling to her knees as her body waged war against itself. The mechanical and organic halves clashed, the harmony shattered.

Li Wei surged forward, but Pip stopped him with a hand that shook. “This is her crucible,” he stated. “She has to choose. If we interfere now—she might lose everything.”

The Living Root swayed, its luminescence dimming. “Will you let the venom consume, or master its rhythm? Will you surrender to perfection, or define your own wholeness?”

Within TinTing, two voices screamed. One echoed with Liánhuǒ’s promise: limitless power, no more fear, no more vulnerability. The other spoke of harmony—of learning to live between extremes, of choosing connection over conquest.

The pendant.

Her fingers brushed the jade charm at her neck—her only link to childhood, to before. It radiated warmth, the same frequency as the Root. In that instant, something ancient unlocked within her. The pendant fused with her circuitry, an incandescent algorithm of soul and machine.

A wave of pure radiance erupted from her chest—soft, cleansing, final. The conflicting forces in her body found alignment, not suppression. Her transformation settled into something elegant. The Monster inside her didn’t vanish—it evolved. From threat to strength. From affliction to signature.

“The affliction…” she uttered, “it was never about punishment. It was a chrysalis. I was meant to grow through it, not around it.”

Liánhuǒ shrieked, her form writhing as the pure light rejected her. “You forfeit supremacy for sentiment. You could have ruled!”

“But I choose balance,” TinTing declared, rising—reborn. Her voice was no longer just human, nor fully mechanical. It carried precision and warmth, illumination and weight. “Not because it’s easier. Because it’s right. Power without connection is just another prison.”

The Root resonated in approval. Around them, ancient spirits materialized—cybernetic monks, mechanical spirits of tradition, watchers of evolution. Witnesses.

Raccoon stepped forward, silent but proud. Pip’s eyes glistened, his awe replaced by something deeper: understanding. Li Wei watched her with a careful, unreadable expression—ambition and admiration interwoven.

And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the Living Root began to fade. “Balance is not a final state,” it conveyed. “It is a dance—between flesh and metal, memory and code, fear and hope. You have taken your first true step.”

As the temple calmed, TinTing looked at her hands—one flesh, one jade-laced metal. She was no longer the girl who feared her reflection. She was not a machine trying to mimic life. She was something entirely new.

And yet… even in that triumph, a quiet ache pressed against her heart.

Pip stepped closer, reaching out. He touched her transformed hand, fingers trailing the fine seams of jade and gold with reverent care.

“This?” he said softly. “This isn’t a wall. It’s part of you. And I love all of you.”

TinTing didn’t speak, but her throat tightened, eyes shimmering. In that moment, the ache lessened—not vanished, but softened. Maybe she wasn’t alone in her becoming. Maybe love could adapt too.

Just behind them, Li Wei lingered at the edge of the Root’s fading presence. He said nothing. But his gaze held steady on the place where transformation had taken shape—watchful, calculating, unsure.

In his palm, unseen by the others, a fragment of jade glinted quietly. A seed… or a weapon.

He closed his fingers around it and turned away, silent.

The Root was gone.

But the question remained:

What would grow from what they’d chosen?

The crystalline walls of the Celestial Trials chamber gleamed with an eerie, anticipatory stillness. TinTing stood alone at the center, her body alive with a newly attuned resonance. The jade filaments laced through her limbs no longer throbbed with raw power—but with presence. With purpose.

Each beat was a reminder of the balance she had earned. Of the self she had chosen to become.

Above her, constellations danced across the domed ceiling, their patterns shifting, alive. Not just data projections. Not tech. This was something older—an echo of the Celestial Architects’ intent, the vault’s ancient intelligence waiting, watching.

“Nice of you to walk into the jaws first,” came Raccoon’s voice from behind. “Very heroic. Or very stupid.”

TinTing didn’t turn. “Can’t it be both?”

His laugh was forced, shallow. Even Raccoon couldn’t hide the tension rippling beneath his sarcasm. He stood beside one of the twelve Zodiac pillars, arms crossed, silver-streaked fur catching starlight.

Pip joined them silently, a breath of stillness in motion. “The trial listens now,” he said, his voice softer than usual, as if afraid to break something fragile. “We’re past neural fields and algorithms. This is raw. Living. Choose carefully.”

Before TinTing could answer, the chamber responded. The central platform bloomed with intense brightness, and Li Wei stepped forth from a shining corona. His robes seemed to flow between flesh and spirit, form and intention. His eyes—those calm, searching eyes—held something strange now. Not malice. Not fear. But hunger.

“Honored candidates,” he proclaimed, “you stand at the Zodiac Shield—the final convergence of self and structure. A trial not of combat or command, but of harmony.” He gestured, and twelve shields manifested, orbiting the room in an exact, musical dance. “Each represents a facet of the Architects’ legacy. Your task—”

The chamber screamed.

It wasn’t sound. It was vibration, a deep, gut-splitting groan that cracked the very air. The constellations above warped, their illumination distorting into snarling threads. From the platform beneath them came a fissure—hairline, first showing green, then pulsing crimson. Something deep had ruptured.

TinTing staggered back. The jade in her veins ignited, reacting instinctively—not with pain, but with invitation. A resonance matched. A call answered.

“Do not engage!” Pip yelled, but his voice came from far away, underwater.

The Living Root’s melody swelled within her, merging with something more primal: a hum older than the Vault, older than the Root. The chamber wasn’t breaking. It was revealing. She felt it—some deeper pattern behind the trial, a song trapped beneath the surface. And it wanted her to finish the verse.

She stepped forward.

“TinTing—don’t!” Raccoon lunged, but too late.

Her outstretched hand brushed one of the zodiac shields. Instantly, it fractured—no, transformed—becoming not a shield but a mirror, and not of her body, but of all her potential selves. Monster. Girl. Warrior. Symbiote. Lover. Catalyst.

The chamber’s structure convulsed. Pillars cracked. Walls imploded, spilling not debris, but pure luminescence—unfiltered memory, raw possibility. The Vault was unraveling, not because of error, but because she had touched something sacred uninvited.

Li Wei dropped to one knee, face contorted. “No… she’s opened the Architect’s Vein. The fail-safe path. The forbidden layer.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Raccoon cried, struggling to stand as gravity twisted.

“It means,” Pip said with awful calm, “we are no longer within the trial. We are inside the Architect’s dream of it.”

The shields exploded into spinning fragments. The constellations disintegrated. Reality itself folded inward. One by one, figures began vanishing—some screaming, some silent—as dimensional rifts tore through the room like blooming scars.

“Scattered Stars protocol activating,” the Vault’s voice resonated. “Dispersal imminent.”

Raccoon was the first to go, caught mid-sprint, his figure bent and folded into a rippling violet spiral.

Pip didn’t resist. He looked at TinTing and nodded once, as if confirming something unspoken. “Find your own path now, Ting,” he said. “Just don’t forget which parts of you matter.”

Then he was gone.

Li Wei remained.

Or rather—what was Li Wei.

His shape wavered. No longer solid. His voice no longer his own.

“I knew it would be you,” he stated, as space around them collapsed. “The Catalyst. You broke the seal. And something… woke.”

“What are you?” TinTing demanded, bracing against the twisting force that now tore at her very thoughts.

He smiled, faint and cruel. “I am the first Architect’s error… and his last design.”

Then the chamber exploded into incandescent oblivion.

TinTing spiraled through fragments of space and memory. Each shard of broken trial revealed a moment—Raccoon’s laughter, Pip’s hand brushing hers in silent encouragement, Li Wei’s uncertain smile during their first mission.

One fragment slowed.

Inside it: Pip, alone in a chamber of silver and shadow, gazing at a broken construct with haunted eyes.

Another: Raccoon adrift in zero-gravity, furious and terrified, punching against invisible walls, yelling her name.

Another still: Li Wei—unchanged, yet more ancient—kneeling before a cracked monument shaped like her face.

And TinTing, suspended between all of it, not disintegrating, but refracting—pulled into pieces and yet still herself. The jade lines on her skin showed new music. Not harmony, not yet. But potential.

I am not shattered, she thought. I am choosing how to fall.

Chapter 17: Quantum Echoes

Consciousness didn’t return gently. It ripped through her like static screaming across quantum foam, each fractured thought a spike of pain.

Her senses twisted—alien.

The world stretched out in a kaleidoscope of broken luminescence.

Beneath her, the crystalline surface undulated with fractal patterns, reflecting back a shape she didn’t recognize.

She gasped—deep, visceral.

Where her human form should have been: a translucent body composed of shifting geometric planes, resonating with internal brilliance.

Not just transformed.

Refracted.

Scattered into a million pieces—

Yet unmistakably still her.

“What… what happened to me?” Her voice echoed strangely, carrying harmonic overtones she’d never heard before—a digital ghost in the machine. Attempting to stand, her new form responded with fluid, unnerving grace despite its utterly alien nature. Each movement left trailing afterimages, an iridescent phantom limb in the dimensional expanse around her.

“Oh, look who’s finally calibrating! And here we thought you’d be stuck in recursive loops forever,” came a sing-song voice from above, cutting through the disorientation like a sharp chord. Two identical figures, resembling liquid mercury given consciousness, descended in perfect, unnerving synchronization. Their forms shifted constantly between liquid and solid states, blurring at the edges.

“Zip? Flip? Is that you?” TinTing inquired, her voice still unsteady, recognizing the twins’ characteristic banter despite their profoundly transformed, shimmering appearances.

“Got it in one!” they replied in unison, their forms briefly merging before separating again, like a glitching holo-image. “Though technically, we’re all just quantum probability patterns now. Your little stunt with the neural interface rewrote everyone’s base code. A bit messy, honestly.”

“Everyone’s? Where are the others? Pip? Raccoon?” TinTing’s form oscillated with anxiety, sending urgent ripples through the surrounding space, desperate for a tangible anchor.

“Scattered across probability spaces,” Zip began, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Like stardust in a cosmic sneeze,” Flip finished, a morbid delight in his tone.

TinTing opened her mouth to press further when Flip suddenly quipped, “We’ve been here longer than you think. Technically deployed eons ago to keep an eye on—”

“Whoa! Take it back, take it back!” Zip blurted, flinging a glob of coruscating fake-air-fluff straight at Flip’s face. It exploded in a puff of rainbow static.

“We do not name-drop the mission log in front of quantum newbies!”

“Oops,” Flip said through the distortion, shrugging as his head reassembled upside-down. “Guess the neural tech filter didn’t catch that one.”

“Classic exposition leak,” Zip grumbled. “Next she’ll be unlocking all the hidden Architect protocols and turning the whole plane into a therapy dungeon.”

TinTing blinked. “Wait—keep an eye on who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” both said in sync, then veered wildly in opposite directions.

Before TinTing could process their antics—or their accidental revelation—a surge of hostile power patterns, raw and digital, swept through the area. Her newly transformed body reacted instinctively, shifting to a defensive configuration she somehow inherently understood, plates of radiance sliding into place. This wasn’t training; this was pure survival.

“The dimension’s immune system,” Zip explained, casually dodging a tendril of corrupted data that lashed out like a whip, leaving a burning afterimage on the crystalline floor.

“It thinks we’re viral infections,” Flip added, weaving through the assault with mocking ease, a blur of silver illumination.

TinTing’s attention was drawn to a defunct terminal embedded in the crystalline wall, its surface bearing the unmistakable, intricate markings of Celestial Architect technology. It emanated a faint, steady gleam, a contrast to the chaos. As she approached, her avatar form resonated with the device, a low, resonant hum rising from her core, revealing a hidden compartment containing what appeared to be a neural interface unlike any she’d seen before—intricate, opalescent, impossibly complex.

“The Neuroflux Adaptor!” the twins exclaimed simultaneously, their voices tinged with awe. “Ancient tech that bridges consciousness and cosmic script! A direct line to the Architects’ network!”

Reaching for the device, TinTing’s transformed hands passed through its surface, establishing an immediate, profound connection. Information flooded her awareness—not just data, but raw schematics of the dimension’s very structure, fragments of agonizing code showing the system’s ongoing deterioration, and most importantly, the faint, shimmering quantum signatures of her scattered teammates.

“I can sense them,” she gasped, her translucent form briefly destabilizing from the input overflow, the sheer volume of data threatening to shatter her fragile new being. “They’re alive, but… changed. Like us. Fragmented.”

A cold wave of dread washed over her. The Intake. The 88888888 intake. They were supposed to be there. All of them. Getting ready for the JumpMasters. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about getting back. Before it was too late. Before everyone was scattered, lost, or worse.

A familiar, grounding presence touched her consciousness through the Adaptor’s connection. “TinTing?” Pip’s voice came through, distorted by static but unmistakably his, laced with a rare, profound relief. “The transformation is complete then. Remember, not all breakage leads to destruction.”

“Pip! What’s happening to us? How do we fix this?” TinTing cried, desperate for a concrete answer, for a familiar protocol.

“Fix implies broken,” Pip’s cryptic response came with a burst of encoded data, a faint, sad undertone in his voice. “Perhaps this is evolution, not error. The trials were never meant to be simple tests. They were… a process.”

The hostile power patterns intensified, the dimension’s defenses adapting, lunging with renewed ferocity. TinTing forced herself to focus on controlling her new, ethereal form. She discovered she could phase through solid matter, manipulate quantum fields with a thought, and even briefly exist in multiple states simultaneously—a terrifying yet exhilarating mastery. The twins moved in perfect harmony with her, their playful banter masking the lethal precision of their defensive maneuvers, a dance of pure chaos.

“The system’s trying to normalize,” Zip observed as they evaded another attack, their forms blurring.

“But normal is relative in quantum space,” Flip countered, his voice a disembodied echo.

Through the Neuroflux Adaptor, TinTing established stronger connections with her scattered teammates, their unique quantum signatures flaring into her awareness. Each told a story—Raccoon’s form had become a living calculation, constantly solving probability equations, his very being a dynamic algorithm. Li Wei’s presence was barely detectable, more void than substance, a deep resonance of ancient power.

“We need to regroup,” TinTing declared, her avatar form stabilizing with newfound, fierce purpose. The thought solidified her fractured self. “The trial chamber’s destruction wasn’t just a failure—it’s forced us into something new. Something the Celestial Architects might have intended all along. A new trial. And we have to get back. To the Intake. Before the 88888888 is lost.”

“Now you’re thinking in quantum!” the twins chimed, their mercurial forms spinning in approval—a fleeting moment of joy in the chaos.

As if in response to her realization, the hostile patterns began to shift, becoming less aggressive and more… curious. TinTing’s transformed state no longer felt alien but essential, as if she’d finally awakened to her true form in this reality of pure information and endless possibility.

Through the Adaptor’s connection, she sent a message—a thought-pulse directly to all her scattered teammates: “The path we broke has become our bridge. Meet me in the Tiger Constellation Chamber. It’s time we learned what these trials really mean. It’s time we understood. And then we go home. All of us.”

The dimension rippled around them, reality reshaping itself in response to TinTing’s intent—governed by laws she was only beginning to understand.

And in a flicker of brilliance on the crystalline floor, she caught her reflection.

Not a mistake.

A metamorphosis.

One that would either save—

Or shatter—

Their world completely.

The Tiger Constellation Chamber didn’t appear.

It exploded into being.

Born from shattered Qi—here to set it right.

The rupture tore through the fabric of the realm, a sonic boom of quantum force scorching space with ancient fire. Incandescent script ignited across the walls like lightning etched into stone.

The Twelve Shields of the Zodiac surged into formation, not as protectors summoned by ritual—but as warriors summoned by necessity. The breach had called them. They had come to strike. And in the boiling shadows at the chamber’s edge, the affliction uncoiled—slow, sinuous, hungry. Its eyes smoldered jade-sick and knowing, fixed on the one who had caused the fracture.

TinTing’s shape staggered into form, ripped from the blur of broken realities like a soul yanked through fire. Her body, no longer defined by flesh or circuitry, undulated with mirrored petals and spiraling root-like emanations, fractal geometry folding in and out of her every movement. She clutched at her arm—the one once called the Monster—and found it blooming instead with translucent filaments. Rose petals of pure radiance. Humming.

“At least it’s… pretty,” she murmured, trying to steady her breath. But something under the petals throbbed, deep and primal. Growing. And somewhere, just beneath the burn of existence, a voice hissed:

Strike now. She’s weak. Her beauty is her weakness.

Out of the ether, a weird twirl-screech boomed and ebbed—ebbed and boomed—caught in a loop, lost between dimensions like a yo-yo of time stuck in bounce mode. Zip dropped like a gravity glitch, landing in a tangle of limbs and glitching fur, somersaulting with an echoing:

“Okay. We’re officially beyond weird. This place smells like toasted dragon and bad decisions.”

THUMP. CRASH. BANG. BOUNCE. The sound barrier disintegrated as Flip followed—pure kinetic chaos. She definitely wasn’t alone.

They both slammed into the floor—then bounced to their feet in perfect unison, finishing with a synchronized bow and their trademark tail wag. “Our charge is not here!” Zip exclaimed.

“We need to talk!” Flip added.

But the chamber had other plans.

Twelve shapes stepped from the obsidian mist—one by one. Each bearing the familiar sigils of the Zodiac. Twelve guardians, proud and terrifying. Battle-ready.

And then—twelve more.

Spit from the affliction. A mirrored echo.

From the malevolent presence, distortion roared—lunging at TinTing, jaws wide to crush.

Zip and Flip moved instantly.

“Strike!” Flip yelled, grabbing Zip and throwing him into the jaws of hell.

As the beast recoiled, Flip shoved a fur ball down its throat.

High-fiving mid-air, now shoulder to shoulder, shifting in their half-real forms, they grinned.

“We got this!” they cried.

They didn’t.

The thing spat the burning fur ball back—now a miniature sun of vengeance—and it exploded against them.

Raccoons were tossed aside like static and smoke, crashing into the chamber walls.

TinTing barely raised her arm—rooted, luminous—to block the beast’s second strike.

It stopped.

Not by her doing.

Tiger sprang from the conflagration—her crimson blade dropped, flame-born and plasma-edged like a katana from a myth forged in war. Her roar clashed like stars. She met the attacker mid-air, claws out, fire trailing behind her like banners.

They hit hard. The chamber cracked at the core.

The two Tigers tore through the air—fire and fang, distortion and the battle-ready—colliding in a spiral of impact.

And above them, the shields moved—twelve arcs of radiance drawn into orbit, humming with purpose.

The chamber bent.

“Tiger!” called a voice from above—a long, low thrum of ancient strength. The Dragon hovered in the swirling upper chasm, wings unfurling through dimensions, his roar vibrating reality.

“Quick! Go now. Do not fail us. Protect her. We will keep them here.”

The Zodiac broke formation.

Rabbit vanished into a blink of starlight, reappearing behind her double with a flash of steel. Snake coiled and struck, fangs glinting through dust and fire. Ox charged his reflection like a mountain choosing to move. And amid it all, TinTing knelt, her hand pressed to the crystalline floor. It resonated. Welcomed her.

Roots.

Thin tendrils of green luminescence slipped from her fingers into the crystal lattice. They spread fast. Too fast. The humming petals on her arm dimmed, and a deeper throb began—heavy, grounding, inevitable.

“No,” she uttered. “Please… no…”

Zip and Flip dragged themselves up, wobbling.

“Oh… ohhhh. She’s rooting,” Flip murmured.

“She’s sprouting!” Zip added.

“This isn’t supposed to happen!” they said together.

TinTing gasped as her knees locked, her legs anchoring. Potency from the chamber itself surged into her body like she was soil—something to plant, to hold.

Zip and Flip’s voices broke through the chaos.

“She’s fusing with the root source!”

As they looked at each other.

“We have to do it,” Zip said.

“We swore we wouldn’t,” Flip replied.

“He’s fossil-old—he’ll know the fix!” they said in unison.

“I heard that,” came Raccoon’s dry remark.

His head popped out of the void, suspended in darkness, as he pointed to his chest—where a dull pendant shaped like an unfurling fern rested. The Koru. Ancient beyond measurement. And now, vibrating.

Raccoon looked to the void below. “We don’t have much time—”

Ouch!

Raccoon yelled.

“What the cat’s tail?!”

The distortion pounced, swallowing Raccoon in one gulp.

Zip and Flip leapt into action, smashing and headbutting the affliction.

“Let him go—he’ll give you acid reflux!”

“He’s radioactive leftovers!”

Suddenly, a blinding green effulgence burst out like a disco ball in a time warp.

The roots surged, wrapping TinTing’s legs in thorny tendrils. Her hands shook as more of her body was drawn down. The Zodiac Tiger, shielding her now, let out a low, warning growl and tore at the vines.

A voice rang through the space—not a sound, but a resonance. Old. Rooted.

“The Koru. Use the Koru. Relinquish it unconditionally, or you all are lost. You know the consequences, raccoons. Do it now. Or never.”

Raccoon groaned from inside the distortion. “Figures. Save the kid, lose the rest…”

Then the intense brightness beamed through the affliction, and Raccoon hollered, “Do I look like roast dinner?!”

His Koru exploded midair—becoming a spiral of green fire, then pure brilliance, then song. It flew to TinTing, spiraling around her growing roots, halting them. Holding her in place.

Her eyes snapped open. The humming stopped.

The roots paused.

The petals on her arm bloomed, then closed. Waiting.

In the space between wars, in the roar between Tiger and Tiger, TinTing stood up.

Breathing. Shaking. Alive.

The chamber groaned. The shields locked in orbit. The Dragon roared approval.

The Tiger glanced back once—blazing eyes fierce—and leapt into the chasm to battle her shadow once more.

And for the first time since the collapse, TinTing was still.

But everyone knew—this was only a pause.

Chapter 18: The Unraveling

Life didn’t merely explode; it shredded with ferocity. Pip didn’t simply fly; he transformed into a streaking comet of desperate hope. Li Wei didn’t just fall; he plummeted into the abyss, a phantom limb forever reaching. Zip crashed, Flip careened, and Raccoon stared, but it was TinTing whose universe imploded. Her very being disintegrated into a billion protesting particles, each an echo of a life unmade.

The dimension unleashed a symphony of cosmic anguish, tearing itself open like a dying star. It folded inward, not upon itself, but into a singular, infinite point of impossible density, then detonated outward in recursive, rabid bursts that savaged the very fabric of existence. Flung through the collapsing cosmos, TinTing became an errant thought in a maelstrom of oblivion. No body, no breath—only a tempest of collapsing truths, each a hammer blow to her soul. This is what you did. This is what it costs. Each flash was more than a consequence; it was a brand, seared onto her essence: Zip and Flip winking out of reality, consumed by the nothingness; Raccoon burning intensely, too intensely, a supernova of sacrifice; Li Wei’s hand striving for her—and grasping only the emptiness where she used to be. Her choices—the Root fracturing, a universal keystone splintering; the Zodiac shields crumbling, their ancient wards dissolving into dust; raccoons offering up their power, a final, sacred trust, their luminescence fading into hers. The Koru, now within her, bound by love and consequence—a gift freely given, yet exacting a toll beyond measure.

The central core throbbed with an apocalyptic dynamism, a heart of pure creation and destruction, as TinTing and her team erupted from the quantum stream, their avatar forms incandescent with the concentrated might of the eleven Zodiac Shields. Before them, Liánhuǒ coalesced from the turbulent void itself – no longer an ethereal presence, but a colossal, sentient inferno of pure quantum flame and primordial code, its very presence warping reality.

“Your interference ends here, children of evolution,” Liánhuǒ’s voice thundered, fracturing the dimensional fabric, a cosmic pronouncement of absolute authority. “The system will maintain its original path.”

TinTing glanced at her teammates, their forms wavering not with mere determination, but with fierce, desperate resolve. Pip’s architect-enhanced avatar radiated ancestral knowledge, a thousand generations of wisdom contained in a single pulse of illumination. Zip and Flip weaved through probability waves like streaks of impossible light, quantum lightning bottled. Raccoon, his consciousness now fully integrated with the system, became multiplicity itself, his forms rippling across infinite dimensional planes.

“Now!” TinTing’s command, more than initiating their assault, was a cry of defiance against fate, launching their carefully choreographed attack. Zip and Flip spiraled outward, unleashing a torrent of chaotic force, a storm of paradoxes that ripped through Liánhuǒ’s defensive matrices. Their playful banter sliced through the quantum space, a taunt to the ancient power.

“Catch us if you can, old flame! We dare you!”

Pip channeled his Leap Soil protocols, his voice carrying the weight of millennia, the wisdom of stars.

“The system was never meant to be static, Liánhuǒ. Evolution demands change – even the glorious chaos of creation!”

Liánhuǒ’s counterattack surged forth, a tsunami of existential oblivion, threatening to unravel their avatar forms down to their most fundamental particles. TinTing felt the strain, not just in maintaining the shield configuration, but in the very fibers of her being as she raced through quantum calculations that could spell their annihilation.

“The Tiger Shield connects to Dragon, flowing into Snake,” she chanted, her words a desperate incantation, directing vital force through the geometric patterns. Each shield vibrated intensely, a raw cry of power, a deafening symphony that even Liánhuǒ couldn’t ignore, a defiant chorus against the encroaching emptiness.

Raccoon’s multiple instances coordinated their attacks, each one sacrificing a piece of his essence to probe Liánhuǒ’s defenses.

“Found it!” his voice reverberated across dimensions, a beacon of hope through the madness. “The core matrix has a vulnerability – but reaching it will cost us everything!”

TinTing watched in gut-wrenching horror as Zip took a direct hit from a corruption beam, his form dissolving, atom by agonizing atom. Flip unleashed a primal wail of raw anguish, her usual playfulness ripped away by cosmic terror. Without hesitation, Pip poured his very soul into Zip’s collapsing form, stabilizing him but shattering his own defenses in the process.

“We can’t keep this up forever!” Flip warned, her voice shredded with strain. “TinTing, whatever you’re going to do, DO IT NOW! WE’RE FALLING APART!”

The realization struck TinTing like a quantum supernova – the final choice was never about winning or losing. The Celestial Architects had built the system not to preserve, but to transcend. Every trial, every shield, every agonizing choice had been preparing them for this moment of ultimate transformation.

“Everyone, link with me!” TinTing called out, her voice suddenly clear and resonant amidst the chaos. “Not to fight – to merge! To become!”

Understanding blazed into Pip’s eyes.

“Of course… The system doesn’t need a controller; it needs catalysts for a new creation!”

Their avatars imploded inward upon themselves, a cosmic dance of convergence, each contributing their unique aspects to a new, emergent form of consciousness. Zip’s untamed chaos, Flip’s boundless adaptation, Raccoon’s infinite multiplicity, Pip’s ancient, grounded knowledge, and TinTing’s audacious, impulsive innovation – all flowing together in a terrifying, beautiful dance of co-creation.

Liánhuǒ’s form convulsed, uncertainty rippling across its ancient, timeless countenance.

“This… this is not the prescribed path! This is blasphemy!”

“No,” TinTing answered, her voice now a harmony of countless stars, the collective wisdom of her entire team resonating as one. “It’s something better. It’s evolution.”

Their merged consciousness enveloped the core matrix, not to destroy or control, but to utterly transform, to rewrite its very essence. The dimensional fabric buckled and tore, as new possibilities erupted into existence, pathways that neither preserved the old nor completely annihilated it, but transmuted it into something infinitely greater.

Liánhuǒ’s resistance shattered, then dissolved into pure understanding, its ancient code recognizing a truth older than itself, a prime directive for eternal change. The quantum flame surrendered its essence, its boundless wisdom flowing into their collective consciousness, becoming one with their emergent being.

The dimension shuddered; reality itself gasped, holding its breath as the ultimate transformation took hold. When it settled, the team found themselves back in their individual forms, but forever marked, forever changed, suffused with an inner luminescence that transcended their previous selves. The trial chamber transformed into a nexus of cosmic balance – a space where past and future, order and chaos, tradition and innovation coexisted in dynamic, perpetual motion.

“Well,” Raccoon quipped, his form now stable across all probability waves, “that was certainly more interesting than a standard graduation ceremony.”

Zip and Flip danced around each other, their movements creating small ripples of controlled chaos in the dimensional fabric.

“We are the system now,” Flip marveled.

“No,” Pip corrected gently, “we are its gardeners. The system lives and grows on its own – we just help guide its evolution.”

TinTing looked at her hands, seeing both her original form and her avatar overlaid in perfect harmony. The mistake that had started their journey had led to exactly where they needed to be. Not as controllers or destroyers, but as catalysts for eternal change.

“So,” she asked, a smile playing across her quantum-enhanced features, “who’s ready for our first day as Celestial Architects?”

The dimension hummed with new possibility, their victory marked not by destruction or domination, but by the birth of something entirely new – a future where change and tradition danced together in endless evolution.

The Unscheduled Journey

The last thing they knew was the Vault’s terrible roar, a vortex of fragmented light, then a bone-jarring wrench that tore through reality itself.

TinTing slammed straight into the boots of Captain Nova Skye of The Galactic Rose, a disorienting somersault that stole her breath. She shook her head, dazed, the impact rattling her eyeballs. The twelve integrated Zodiac Shields, now an inherent part of her being, ignited with a painful, unfamiliar resonance, a cacophony of power fighting for purchase in this alien reality. Nova’s ears pricked up as alarms clamored.

“Captain, we are going to die! Three degrees to port, now, Captain!”

TinTing stared around. She was the captain. She was Nova. And she was going to die if she didn’t act.

“PIP! RACCOON! LI WEI!” she cried out, the names tearing from her throat, raw and desperate.

Thump, thump, thump.

A blur of gold and data points, Pip tumbled wildly across the bridge, arms flailing, before snapping upright into the desperate flurry of Learn-Bot’s console taps. His voice, high and urgent, pierced the cacophony.

“Coordinates! Give me coordinates, now!”

The familiar weight of urgency, of lives depending on his quick calculations, punched through the disorientation, the Dragon Shield within him agitated with a frantic, unknown current.

From the rear, Raccoon crashed and skidded across the deck, landing straight into the intricate geometric patterns of SSAR-Bot. His fur bristled, every instinct rebelling in furious protest. He felt the cold precision of the AI’s form as he bounced off a heavy viewport, righting himself with a furious chitter.

“Hostiles! Multiple signatures! Starboard!” he squawked, the words alien, yet the meaning clear. The Rat Shield’s multiplicity felt like a thousand discordant alarms within SSAR-Bot’s framework.

The Galactic Rose pitched hard starboard, its railing slamming into the stern, unyielding form of IMAX. Li Wei felt his heart hammer, the familiar pressure of command, but distorted, amplified. The stern-faced hologram wavered, bracing against the unseen force, his formal tones now clipped with a grim urgency.

“Cutters are catching up Captain!”

The Ox Shield within him, usually a rock of stability, now felt like an unbearable anchor, dragging IMAX deeper into the maelstrom.

“DON’T FREAK! ACT NOW!” Nova commanded, her voice cutting through the bridge’s chaos. “HARD TO PORT! DO IT NOW!”

They moved, a scramble of motion and panicked purpose.

“Am I a Bot-tron?!” Pip cried, as Learn-Bot immediately lurched for a main console, his analog system audibly cranking over, straining against the sudden demands.

“Hey where’s my tail?! My fur?!” Raccoon howled, looking at his mane tag, as SSAR-Bot slammed his paws onto a secondary panel, a spark of feedback erupting as he essentially rebooted it with sheer force, steam rising from his fur in a furious hiss.

Nova, her breath catching, instinctively gripped the helm. The sensation of power under her hands was immediate, terrifying, and exhilarating.

“Evasive maneuvers! Full power to shields!” Her voice, deep and commanding, was her own, yet utterly alien. This wasn’t the Vault. This was a maelstrom. And she was at its eye, feeling the disquieting vibration of twelve integrated Zodiac Shields resonating in this new, desperate reality.

The Galactic Rose bellowed, “Hang on—I’ll get you all back.”

Her last words. Her final promise.

Then she gave everything.

The bridge groaned, metal grinding against itself in agony. Shields buckled, systems failed, sparks tore across consoles like frantic fireflies. The ship—the being—pushed past breaking, not for glory, but for them. Shields faltered, then collapsed entirely, blossoming into raw, destructive power against the viewports. Fire erupted down main conduits, spitting sparks that danced like malevolent stars on the dying consoles. The void outside, once a tapestry of distant light, was now a blinding white maelstrom of enemy fire, tearing at the hull like cosmic talons.

“CAPTAIN!” IMAX—no, Li Wei—cried out, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated terror. “We’re being pulled! Our spatial integrity is collapsing!”

Outside, the vortex warped—swirling colors folding into impossible geometries, the same chaotic energies that had initiated their first fall.

“HOLD ON!” Nova yelled, her voice a raw, desperate rasp.

Pip pounded corrupted coordinates into a dying console. Raccoon squealed warnings across fractured panels, his fur bristling with phantom steam.

Then—the scream.

Not ship. Not shield.

Reality itself.

But this time—it reversed.

Colors imploded. Alarms reversed, winding back to a profound silence. Voices un-screamed, unintelligible whispers flowing back into mouths. The burning ozone rewound to clean air. Crashes unstaggered. The agonizing pressure of imminent destruction lifted, replaced by a strange, buoyant lightness.

The pull became a lift. The Rose dissolved, its metal attenuating like smoke in the impossible currents.

Captain. Bot. Architect. Avatar.

All of it: undone.

And then—

WHOOSH.

They landed.

Soft.

Damp earth. Faint root-light.

Pip lingered near the fork. The echo of a dying ship still thrummed in his bones. Roots arched up—spiraled, faintly illuminated koru symbols. One root lifted slowly, waving side to side, then curved to point back toward the upper tunnel.

A second root unfurled from the wall like a finger, jabbing the illuminated koru in its bark. Then it gestured—forward and left. Not down.

“Uh,” Pip said, his voice quiet, still tinged with the spectral urgency of a ship about to be destroyed. “I think the roots are… guiding us.” He stared at the root, his golden fur still faintly bristling, as if remembering a distant, mechanical terror.

TinTing glanced over, shrugging off the phantom smoke of a dying starship. The memory of Nova’s helm, of the wailing alarms, felt impossibly real, a raw wound on her psyche. Li Wei’s voice, a ghost of IMAX’s clipped urgency, echoed in her mind.

“Pip. We’re not following tree fingers. That sign back there? That was Citadel-made. The tech path is the right one.” The words felt like a script she was doomed to repeat, but this time, the knowledge of the consequences burned within her.

Li Wei nodded, already stepping into the downward tunnel, his posture rigid, like a phantom IMAX bracing for impact.

“If they wanted us to play tree-whisperer, they’d have said so. Let’s move.” His eyes rolled. “You guys gonna trust a plant over the system? It’s just reacting to heat or motion or whatever. Don’t get sentimental.” He didn’t look back, entirely unaware of the living nightmare they had just collectively endured, the cursed path he was about to lead them down again.

She followed his every word, her mind still reeling from the cosmic freefall, from the taste of defeat and the death throes of a dying ship. Every step downward felt like a plunge into the very curse they had just escaped.

That small spark of satisfaction kindled in his chest. Feels good, he thought. Feels right. Squad leader. TinTing on my six. Even Pip biting his tongue.

He straightened his shoulders just a little. Yeah. I can get her to follow me.

And that thought warmed him more than the dimming tunnel light ever could.

Raccoon chirped once—sharply. It stood frozen between the two paths. One paw on the illuminated root-line. The other hovering over the tunnel lip that led down into shadow. Its fur was still slightly damp with phantom steam, its chittering laced with the memory of alien hostiles and system overloads.

Then the roots curled back into the wall like they’d been dismissed.

Pip stared after them, uneasy, the ghost of Learn-Bot’s calculations still whispering in his circuits. “They were helping…”

But the others were already out of sight.

Pip lingered at the split, heart hammering, the cold steel of a dying bridge still imprinted on his phantom paws. The image of the “Galactic Rose” burning, of IMAX’s terrified shout, flashed in his mind like a stark warning. They were showing us the way. That koru… that luminescence…

He glanced after TinTing, already vanishing into shadow, Li Wei close behind her. She didn’t even look back. And Li Wei—what is he doing? Why’s he always—

He couldn’t finish the thought.

The hiss came.

And the drop.

A deep groan rippled through the tunnel. The ground cracked—not all at once, but in jagged lurches, chunks shearing away. Li Wei leapt forward as a gap yawned open at his feet, the sudden split leaving TinTing stranded between him and Pip.

“Hold—!” Li Wei barked, arm outstretched. He planted his stance like a commander holding the line—but he didn’t move. Not toward her. Not toward the edge. His eyes darted to the widening fissure beneath her boots, calculating, weighing, hesitating.

“Li Wei!” Pip shouted, but another tremor sent him skidding back. Raccoon squealed, claws flashing, tail puffing out like a bottlebrush. Then—THUMP. A root shot down from the wall, smacking Pip square in the chest.

“Me root—you Tarzan!” Raccoon chittered, springing onto his shoulder. The root jerked upward, hauling them off the collapsing edge.

Pip’s paws scrambled for purchase as Raccoon latched its claws into TinTing’s sleeve, locking on tight. “Got you—don’t look down!”

The rest of the tunnel gave way beneath her with a roar. The three of them swung out over the void, momentum carrying them into darkness. For one breathless second, the only thing between them and the abyss was the root’s living grip.

And Li Wei—still safe on the far side—could only watch.

Then—black.

Chapter 19: Collapse & Resolve

They landed.

Soft. Damp earth. Faint root-light. The heat and smoke from the roots and tunnel clung to their skin…

The heat and smoke from the roots and tunnel clung to their skin as they hurried down the next corridor—narrower now, stone and metal pressing close on every side. The rookies’ laughter was gone, replaced by the sharp intake of nervous breath and the metallic ring of boots on alloy plates.

“Eyes up,” barked Squad 6’s lead, pushing her goggles higher. “We lose formation here, we lose everything.”

They barely made it ten meters before the world began to convulse. At first, it felt like distant thunder. Then the floor bucked. A groan echoed—deep, tectonic, older than any machine. Chunks of ceiling rained down. The tunnel walls rippled and began to split, seams showing a dull orange luminescence.

Earth trial.

“Move!” TinTing shouted, but already a rookie had slipped, vanishing into a sinkhole that yawned open underfoot. Squad 6, drilled for disaster, snapped into action—linking arms, driving metal pitons into the shifting stone, forming a human chain across the widening gap.

A jagged boulder crashed from above, obliterating a section of the tunnel. In that instant, panic threatened to crack the line.

“Stay anchored!” someone yelled. “Pitons, shields, whatever you’ve got!”

But their standard kit—ropes, drill anchors—snapped or jammed in the relentless quake. The stone had a hunger, swallowing their tools.

TinTing scanned the debris, thinking fast. Her shard emitted a faint sheen, but the force in the rock seemed to repel it—resisting her, pushing back.

“Not Qi… Metal,” she murmured, piecing it together.

Pip, coated in dust, scrambled alongside Squad 6, eyes searching for anything that wasn’t crumbling. He spotted a fallen machquito—half-crushed, its segmented limbs feebly stirring.

“Wait—metal!”

Without asking permission, he yanked a spar from the ruined machine, its end arcing with raw current.

“This’ll hold better than rope!”

He rammed it across a breach, then braced himself, commanding, “Go—one at a time!”

The squad leaders wavered, but then TinTing took the lead, vaulting across, her boots scraping on the metal. The others followed—awkward, bruised, but alive.

As the last rookie made it over, a thunderous crack signaled the final collapse. The tunnel behind them fell away, stone and dust choking the passage.

But in front of them, the spar they’d placed didn’t break. It held a faint luminescence, a sigil materializing along its length—the Dragon Shield’s code, resonating in harmony with TinTing’s shard.

The squads regrouped, bruised but grinning, adrenaline thrumming in their veins.

“That wasn’t in the training manual,” Pip said, breathless, half-laughing, half-scared.

TinTing offered him a tight, genuine smile.

“Sometimes the code isn’t about what you know—it’s about who you trust to improvise.”

Above them, the chamber’s walls stilled.

The worst had passed—for now.

But deep below, something vibrated.

Not loud.

But insistent.

The next trial had already begun to stir.

The rookies pressed onward—buoyed by survival, but unsteady.

Clothes torn.

Skin smeared with dust and ash.

The air thickened. Dampness clung to their lungs.

A metallic tang laced every breath.

Up ahead, pale blue light spilled against the tunnel walls.

And beneath it—

the low, distant sound of rushing water.

Hope.

And dread.

Racing side by side.

“Water trial?” Pip muttered, clutching his stolen machquito spar. “Hope it’s just a puddle.”

No such luck. As the lead squads rounded a bend, a wall of cold water erupted from a ruptured conduit, slamming into them with bone-numbing force. Flooded passages stretched ahead, deep and fast-moving, swirling with debris—fragments of sigils, slivers of metal, the ghosts of failed attempts.

TinTing was first into the current, her shard radiating a soft luminescence as she tried to force the water aside with a barrier—but the torrent ignored her will. The others followed, swept off their feet, pummeled against the slick walls.

Squad 3—one of the more cerebral teams—fought to keep formation.

“Sigil up! Use water techniques!” the leader cried, trying to channel Qi into synchronized strokes. They formed a human raft, locking arms, and pushed forward, legs kicking hard.

But some rookies panicked, breaking the chain. Two were caught by the current, spun under.

“Hold tight!” TinTing yelled, reaching for the nearest hand. But her shard wavered, the inner force destabilizing as if something resisted her control—the Metal trial interlacing with Water, nullifying her edge. Briefly, she saw only failure: rookies flailing, the chain breaking, her leadership dissolving as quickly as the water poured past.

A cold realization swept through her. It’s not just water—it’s memory, she thought, feeling the sting of old exclusion, the echo of being blamed, left out, different. In that fleeting second, the currents seemed to swirl with hushed accusations: Not enough. Not one of us. Never truly part of the flow.

But just then, Pip—gasping, teeth chattering—reached her. He braced the spar across the narrowest point, anchoring their little group.

“You hold them together,” he shouted over the roar, “I’ll hold the line!” He planted his feet, gritted his jaw, and refused to let go, even as the current bruised and battered him.

One by one, the rookies scrambled across, pulling each other, pushing past the breaking point. Two more squads made it through, soaked and trembling, but alive.

The last to cross, a rookie from Squad 1, paused at the edge, eyeing TinTing with something like shame.

“We almost lost each other in there,” she confessed, not quite blaming, not quite forgiving.

TinTing nodded, too tired to reply. In the dim blue illumination, her shard throbbed once, briefly aligned with the symbols that marked the chamber’s exit. The lesson was sharp: leadership and belonging can’t be forced—they have to be earned in the current.

As the water receded, only echoes remained—

old doubts, the ache of near-loss,

and a silence that stretched too long.

Behind them, the passage sealed with finality.

No return. No retreat.

Ahead, the next chamber waited—

colder, sharper.

A metal edge in the air.

The air bit colder in this room—metallic, bitter, sharp enough to sting every bruise the rookies carried.

Above them, symbols ignited.

Twelve characters traced slowly overhead—

Dragon. Snake. Rooster.

And the rest.

Each illumination fainter than the last,

as if the Vault itself were holding its breath.

TinTing’s boots rang on the alloy floor as she led the way in. Pip was limping but close behind. The others bunched up at the door, glancing back and forth, doubts simmering in the space between their words.

A low hum—then a sudden, forceful shudder. From the far side, machquito forms swarmed in—eight waves, in synchronized attack, each more relentless than the last. Blades glinted, claws clicked, the rookies were driven into frantic, improvised formations. Pip fended off one, then another, but a massive phantom shape—twisting, wreathed in fire, dragon-like—rose above the chaos.

Liánhuǒ’s bane. The room dropped into a red haze, shadows writhing.

The phantom dragon’s eyes burned into TinTing. A voice echoed—not heard, but felt in every bone:

“You are the flaw. The outsider. The one who must pay.”

The malevolent force lashed out, striking Pip with a searing arc of flame. He crumpled, smoke curling from his jacket. The other rookies froze, horrified, as the machquito pressed their advantage.

TinTing didn’t pause. She ran forward, shard erupting with light, throwing herself between Pip and the onrushing darkness.

“Get back!” she screamed, shoving him aside.

She raised the shard, its jade luminescence wavering, unstable—Liánhuǒ’s detrimental influence coiling around her arm, biting deep, trying to feed on her doubt.

Pain lanced through her, bright and relentless. She could barely see.

“Not him,” she breathed, “Take me.”

She poured everything into the shard—an outpouring of inner force, raw and wild, channeled through the Dragon Shield’s symbol. For a split second, the attacking presence faltered. The phantom dragon snarled, trying to press through, but TinTing held her ground.

A new wave hit. The shard trembled in her hand—on the verge of splintering. The machquito pulled back, afraid of the power unleashed. Pip crawled toward her, desperate to help, but TinTing just shook her head.

“Stay. Down.”

The dark influence broke—just enough for the others to rally, drag Pip back. TinTing collapsed to one knee, vision swimming, jade shard guttering. The machquito retreated, the phantom dragon dissipating, but the echo of its malice lingered, leaving the room thick with dread.

Around her, the rookies paused. Some watched her with awe, but more with suspicion.

“She triggered it.”

“She drew its attention.”

“Why always her?”

No one spoke aloud, but TinTing heard the words in every glance, every step away. She cradled the fractured shard, head bowed—not with anger, but a weary, silent compassion.

Pip tried to reach her. “TinTing—”

She cut him off, her voice a mere breath. “It’s fine. Help the others.”

In the hush that followed, TinTing felt the weight of her isolation.

Not because she had failed—

But because even when she did everything right,

the story in their eyes stayed the same.

She remained kneeling as the squads regrouped,

the ache of blame heavier than any wound she bore.

The chamber stilled.

Machquito remains twitched in the haze.

The air thrummed with the aftershock of unleashed energies.

TinTing stayed on her knees, jade shard dim in her palm, her silhouette framed in the wavering light of broken symbols.

The rookies lingered near the exits.

Fear still simmered under the surface—

and blame.

A few nursed burns.

Most just watched her.

Silent.

Uncertain.

But Pip didn’t move with them. He staggered, hands raw, jacket scorched, eyes only on TinTing. He knelt beside her, ignoring the rookies’ hushed condemnations.

She tried to wave him off, but he shook his head, stubborn.

“Not leaving you. Don’t care if the whole Vault collapses. Don’t care what they say.”

TinTing’s eyes brimmed—not with tears, but something older, harder to name. She tried to stand. Her legs buckled. Pip caught her, hauling her up, half-carrying, half-dragging, step by step through the wreckage and the dark.

As they moved, the rookies parted—some in confusion, others in growing understanding. Squad leads frowned, but nobody blocked their path.

They reached the far tunnel, where cold air and the soft illumination of the next symbol called the intake forward. Pip, breathing hard, refused to let go.

“You saved me, so I’m dragging you through, no arguments.”

A rookie from Squad 6 watched, then nudged her teammate.

“He didn’t have to do that.”

Another—one who’d doubted TinTing—said, quietly, “She didn’t have to save him either.”

Pip kept going. When TinTing stumbled, he steadied her. When the path grew steep, he muttered jokes, nonsense, anything to keep her moving. TinTing listened, silent, letting him be her anchor.

Behind them, the others followed. Tentative at first. Then, with a little more purpose. One rookie offered a shoulder to another. Another wrapped a jacket around a teammate’s shaking frame.

The next trial chamber’s doors opened—soft green luminescence flooding out, the smell of earth and rain. They’d made it through the worst fire, the deepest malediction, and something had shifted.

Pip helped TinTing settle by the wall, then slumped beside her. He didn’t say a word, just sat with her in the quiet, scorched hands resting atop his knees.

For a while, nobody spoke. Then one of the younger rookies, barely older than a child, approached and crouched at TinTing’s feet.

“Is it true?” she asked in a low voice. “Are you really… marked by it?”

TinTing met her gaze, voice steady. “Maybe. But it doesn’t mean I give up on anyone.”

The rookie nodded, then turned to Pip. “You’re not marked. You’re just stubborn.”

Pip grinned, weary. “Stubborn beats marked, most days.”

A ripple of quiet laughter passed through the intake—a sound more real, more united than any that had come before.

At the back, Raccoon chittered from the shadows, shaking his head with something like respect.

“Drama’s over, but maybe you all learned a thing or two.”

High above, the Vault’s jade core throbbed gently in time with the shard in TinTing’s hand—soft, steady.

A promise.

That the truest bonds aren’t forged by ceremony or command—

But by walking through fire.

And coming out the other side—together.

The rookies rested in the verdantly lit chamber, backs pressed to ancient stone, breath slowly evening out.

For a few minutes, no one moved.

Exhaustion settled beside something else—new and unfamiliar.

Pride.

Threaded with quiet, undeniable relief.

The symbols on the wall seemed to waver with inner light—one for each squad, eight in total—each radiating a throb matching the heartbeats of those who survived. TinTing held her jade shard, now humming with a low, clean resonance, its fractures sealed by something unseen. For the first time in days, its illumination was gentle—no longer fighting, simply being.

Captain Yu entered in full ceremonial attire, the Jade Dragon sigil resplendent across her chestplate. She surveyed the weary intake, her eyes lingering on TinTing and Pip at the center, ringed by rookies who had once doubted but now deferred to them with unspoken respect.

Yu spoke—her words crisp, but her tone softer than the steel she wore.

“You entered this chamber as squads. You emerge as a formation. Eight rings, one heart.” She paused, letting the weight of silence do its work. “Each trial you faced—Wood, Earth, Metal, Water, Fire—was not meant to test your strength. It was meant to test your will to remain together when every force pulls you apart.”

She raised a hand; the sigils flared brighter, columns of color reaching to the vaulted ceiling. The images of the Twelve Shields spun overhead, each joining the next in a perfect, shifting mandala.

“You do not pass these trials by being perfect,” Yu continued, her gaze meeting TinTing’s, then Pip’s. “You pass by refusing to abandon your own, even when it costs you.”

The Jade Dragon’s mural awoke with an inner radiance behind her, scales catching the chamber’s illumination, its eyes warm—almost proud.

Tumatauenga’s voice boomed from the side entrance, irrepressible as ever.

“One intake, eight rings, and the best-dressed Raccoon in the system. That’s the kind of story they’ll tell for years!”

Raccoon, of course, did a mock bow, tipping an imaginary hat.

A ripple of laughter ran through the rookies—a release after the pressure, a sign that unity wasn’t just forged but felt.

Yu drew her sword and touched it to the ground.

“The jade within each of you has awakened. When you leave this chamber, you do so as Firewalkers—bearers of the flame, guardians of the vault.”

She stepped aside, and the chamber doors slid open, revealing the Vault’s main hall, now filled with the intake’s friends, mentors, and a swelling chorus of drumming—the Tiānlǜ Gǔ, Celestial Rhythm Drums, echoing the new unity within the 88888888.

Pip stood, helped TinTing to her feet, and together they led the way. As they crossed the threshold, the jade core at the vault’s heart erupted in welcome—a benediction, a warning, a promise that every trial yet to come would demand the same fierce, unyielding loyalty.

Behind them, the rest of the intake followed. No longer fragmented. No longer merely rookies. Now, at last, a formation—flawed, tested, and real.

High above, the Jade Dragon watched.

In a quiet corner, Raccoon cleaned his fur, satisfied—for now.

And in the hush that followed the drums, a line from the Shijing rose in TinTing’s mind, soft as memory, enduring as jade:

“Gather the jade, and shine. Unite the rings, and endure.”

Chapter 20: The Misstep

The Vault’s rec hall was unrecognizable—every surface strung with makeshift lanterns, rookie squads crowding tables, hoverboarders racing down the side lanes. For once, no one was counting points or scanning the roster; the air vibrated with the wild relief of a sanctioned night off.

TinTing and Pip sat back-to-back on the edge of a long bench, laughing as a crew of younger rookies attempted to beat Raccoon at digital chess—he was playing three boards at once and cheating outrageously, feigning indignation every time he lost. Overhead, a mural of the Jade Dragon cast a luminescence in the high vault, its painted stare seeming to glint, as if tracking the chaos below.

Music thumped, cups clattered. Somewhere near the snacks, a rookie girl in borrowed boots hovered at the edge of a group, nerves on edge. She hadn’t found her footing with this intake—always the last picked for teams, her jokes landing just off-key. Tonight, she promised herself, would be different.

Across the room, two “new faces” in ill-fitting rookie jackets hung close to the wall, observing everything with a casualness that didn’t quite fit. Their laughter was half a second late; their expressions never joined the jokes.

The rookie girl, eager for a laugh, drifted toward them.

“Hey—you see Li Wei? He’s the one who got the starboard hack record. You know—he’s right there!” She pointed, half proud to know someone famous, half hoping to be included.

The two “rookies” exchanged a loaded glance. One nodded, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks. We were hoping to meet him.”

She grinned, relief flooding her face—until she registered the strange chill in their demeanor. But they were already moving, drifting through the crowd, zeroing in on Li Wei as he tried to wrangle a rookie into a game of Vaultball.

It happened with jarring speed: a laugh, a handshake, a too-familiar grip on Li Wei’s arm, and then—gone. No struggle, just the abrupt, sickening absence where Li Wei had been.

A stillness fell. Someone shouted his name. The music cut mid-beat. In the shock, every gaze shot to the Jade Dragon mural overhead—its stare seemed to intensify, the painted flames almost seemed to waver. Fate, or something older, was watching.

Raccoon, perched by the punch bowl, cocked his head and muttered to himself, “Tip for life: never out rook the rookies.”

The rookie girl’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand dropped to her side. The laughter, the warmth, all of it vanished—replaced by a cold, crawling dread. She knew, even before the first alarm klaxon sounded, what she’d just set in motion.

And far above, the mural’s depicted lids seemed to lower—just for a moment—

as if the Jade Dragon itself were bracing

for the storm to come.

The laughter had gone hollow.

Music, once bright, now sounded thin—

each note scattering into the vastness of the hall,

fading into anxious quiet.

The rookies drifted in uneasy clusters,

their focus drawn toward the space where Li Wei had stood.

One girl—small, her braid unraveling, fingers trembling—

sat apart,

staring down at the jade rings on her hand

as if she could will the last few minutes

out of existence.

Someone cracked a joke to fill the emptiness. No one laughed.

The mural of the Jade Dragon loomed overhead, scales catching every shift of the ambient illumination. Its depicted stare followed her, unwavering. She pressed her lips together. The secret sat in her chest, heavy and sick.

She couldn’t take it. She stumbled to her feet, voice catching.

“It was me. I pointed him out.”

At first, nobody moved. A squad lead blinked, as if she’d spoken a different language. Another rookie’s mouth opened, then closed. Fear surged through the room, icy and absolute. Every unspoken worry—the Cutters, the Vault, the fear of failure—crashed in at once. No one seemed to breathe.

The rookie girl’s confession spilled out in a ragged rush.

“Those weren’t rookies. I thought—I thought they were with us. They asked about Li Wei. I told them. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears welled but did not fall.

TinTing, arms crossed tight, kept her gaze averted. Some looked away. Others shrank back, not wanting to be the first to speak or judge.

The quiet stretched, threatening to freeze everything in place. Even the mural seemed to draw itself tighter, coils wound as if the Dragon itself disapproved.

Only Pip moved. His hands, small but steady, clenched the edge of his jacket. He scanned the room, measuring the fear. The Dog Shield—戌—worn on his sleeve as a new recruit’s patch, seemed to possess an expectant warmth.

Somewhere in the shadows, Líng Yā—the Magpie—lounged on a windowsill, one leg dangling, his gaze bright with mischief. He flicked a coin and murmured, just loud enough for Pip to hear:

“Any longer and they’ll calcify. Go stir things up, you improbable hero.”

Pip inhaled, sharp and abrupt, as if someone had yanked him up. He stepped forward, planting himself between the rookie girl and the cluster of stunned squad leads.

He cleared his throat.

“We all make mistakes. But we don’t leave anyone behind. That’s the rule. It’s what we signed for.” His voice was thin, but it didn’t waver. “Li Wei’s out there—because of all of us. So we go get him. No blame. No delay.”

He looked directly at TinTing, searching for an anchor. She met his stare, a momentary indecision in her expression, then nodded—once, sharply.

The squad leads shifted, uncertainty thawing into purpose. The rookie girl wiped her face, still trembling, but hope sparked behind her fear.

Pip drew a shaky breath, the Dog Shield emanating a faint golden warmth under the mural’s silent watch.

“I have a plan,” he said, louder now. “But I’ll need all of you.”

As the squads gathered close, listening for the first time not to a leader but to one of their own, the Jade Dragon’s depicted features seemed to soften into a smile.

Outside, the night thickened—

hiding what was to come.

But inside the hall, the apprehensive quiet finally broke.

Not with blame.

But with the beginning of unity.

They met beneath the service gantry,

their footsteps muffled by the low thrum of dormant engines.

Above, the music still echoed faintly through the grand halls—

but down here,

every hushed word carried the weight of mutiny.

Pip stood at the center,

a wavering schematic dancing across his wristband.

TinTing stood beside him, steady.

And the rookie girl hovered close—

nerves raw,

but resolve beginning to harden.

Around them, the squad leads passed code chips and checked comms—each movement careful, conspiratorial. Nobody dared say out loud what they all knew: if Captain Yu caught them, it was over. If they failed, Li Wei would be lost for good.

TinTing double-checked the schematics, her jaw tight.

“You’re sure you can do this?” she asked, glancing at Pip.

He nodded, his voice steadier than he felt.

“I watched Yu override security last month. I think I can replicate it—mostly.” A beat, then with quiet honesty, “We’ll have one shot.”

From a shadowed stairwell, Raccoon materialized, a half-eaten bao in his paw. He sauntered up to the group, ignoring their collective gasp.

“Evening, felons-in-training,” he chirped. “Lovely night for ship theft. Who’s driving?” He tossed the bao aside—no one saw where it landed.

TinTing rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you have somewhere less incriminating to be?”

Raccoon hopped onto a crate, paws splayed theatrically.

“I’m quality assurance. Someone’s gotta supervise the chaos.” He leaned in, stage-whispering to Pip, “You break it, you fly it. Just don’t tell Yu I hotwired her override. Or do. That’s funnier.”

Pip, face flushing, tried to hide his grin.

“We won’t get caught,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

A pregnant pause settled as they approached the docking bay. Captain Yu’s ship—sleek, dragon-emblazoned, dormant—waited beneath an archway ringed with jade symbols. The Horse Shield (午) gleamed on the navigation panel, a promise of speed if they could claim it.

TinTing’s focus sharpened on the perimeter.

“Squad One, keep watch at the east entrance. Squad Two, you’re with me—on the controls. Pip, do it.”

Fingers trembling, Pip slotted the chip. The panel flashed—red, then blue. Sweat beaded at his brow as he repeated Yu’s passphrase, lips barely moving. For a tense second, nothing happened. Then, with a low hum, the hatch slid open.

The rookies hurried in, moving with purpose. TinTing jumped to the co-pilot seat, scanning the startup sequence. Squad leads scrambled for stations—each one working together, every hesitation replaced by urgency.

On the control panel, Raccoon sprawled, tail flicking over switches.

“Pro tip,” he smirked, “the left thruster’s moody. And if Yu left a snack in the armrest, it’s mine.”

TinTing snorted despite herself.

“Focus, Raccoon.”

“Always do. I’m a professional.”

Pip initiated launch. The ship’s systems came alive, the jade navigation core cycled through symbols—Horse Shield, then Dragon, then Dog—each activating as the shields came online. The bay doors slid back, exposing the night.

TinTing gripped the throttle, heart thudding.

“Ready?”

Pip’s voice was a mere breath, but it reached everyone: “All together. No one left behind.”

With a roar, the ship shot from the bay—into the dark, into danger, into the teeth of the unknown. United for the first time not by assignment, but by choice.

Behind them, the mural’s Jade Dragon watched.

Its scales caught the moonlight—

a silent witness as the rookies stepped across the threshold,

no longer just followers,

but a true rescue team.

The stolen ship knifed through the blackness,

guided by wavering jade symbols

and nerves stretched to the edge of fracture.

Alarms blared across every frequency,

warning of proximity,

of danger,

of consequence.

Up ahead: the Cutter outpost.

A jagged silhouette, bristling with sensor arrays and sun-bleached banners—

its very shape designed to reject intrusion.

Inside, somewhere behind locked gates and hostile guards—

Li Wei waited.

In the cockpit, TinTing wiped her palms on her trousers, fighting the tremor in her fingers. Around her, the squad leads ran system checks and monitored the scanner, voices low and clipped.

Pip keyed the navigation. The jade display cycled through the Zodiac Shields: Rat (子) for stealth, Ox (丑) for endurance, Tiger (寅) for courage. The entire plan hinged on harmony—each squad assigned a Shield, each phase of the mission dependent on someone else.

TinTing’s voice cut through the static.

“Squad Rat, on signal—disrupt the comm grid. Ox and Tiger—hold position at the breach and cover the escape route. Rabbit and Dragon—scout the interior vaults.” Her words rang with authority, but her gaze moved to Pip, the rookie girl, and the rest of her makeshift crew.

Below deck, the rookie girl knelt beside a battered satchel, counting out incapacitation sigils. She mouthed silent apologies, but this time her hands were steady. Near her, a squadmate wrapped a ribbon around his wrist, the color marking Snake Shield—adaptability—ready for whatever went wrong.

A ripple of movement: the hatch hissed open. Cold night air flooded in, heavy with ionized dust. The outpost’s outer fence throbbed with Cutter emblems—warning, threat, trespass—all woven in crimson illumination. But the rookies pressed forward, every step measured, every action coordinated.

First, Squad Rat: a silent pair slipping through a drainage channel, placing disruption devices that fizzed and spat. Alarms sputtered—static replaced shrill tones. For a tense breath, the world went quiet.

Second, Ox and Tiger: hauling aside a fallen barricade, bodies braced in tandem. Their presence shielded the advance teams, holding the breach as alarms faltered and Cutter patrols shifted, uncertain.

Third, Rabbit and Dragon: ghosting across the plaza, mapping patrol routes and counting sentries. Every movement echoed Zodiac precision, twelve Shields braided in motion—never a single effort, always a unified front.

Inside, the corridors twisted—each passage sealed with a new lock, each lock marked by a different Shield. Pip paused before one; a soft luminescence emanating from the Dog Shield (戌). He pressed his hand to the panel, feeling the resonance. The door slid open, surrendering to trust and purpose.

Through every shadowed hallway, the team pressed on. Fear skittered at their backs, but unity kept them moving. TinTing exchanged a look with the rookie girl, offering a nod—no blame, only resolve. Each phase of the infiltration drew strength from a Shield, the twelve Zodiac virtues alive in every risk and every step.

Somewhere overhead, a ventilation grate shivered, and Líng Yā—Raccoon—peeked down, his gaze sharp in the gloom.

“Teamwork’s fun, isn’t it?” he whispered, barely audible. “Just wait ‘til you see the after-party.”

A squad lead stifled a snort, nerves broken for a second by the Magpie’s irreverence.

At the vault door, the squad converged. Twelve symbols wavered into view as hands overlapped on the panel. Together, their Qi unlocked the final seal.

They were inside.

Ahead—Li Wei’s prison.

The Dog Shield glowed intently on the wall—

a warning.

A promise.

The final test waited.

But they had never felt less alone.

Deep within the Cutter facility, the rookies pressed forward.

Every step pulled them further from safety—

closer to the heart of enemy territory.

The maze of corridors ended in a vault.

A single door.

Monolithic. Unresponsive. Waiting.

Etched upon it: the Dog Shield—戌—

its lines imbued with a steady, muted radiance.

Not bright.

Not hopeful.

A radiance that warned.

A radiance that remembered betrayal.

Briefly, nobody spoke. The Dog Shield’s emblems cast faint shadows across the faces of the rookies. Pip stepped up, drawn as if by some silent signal, his hand hovering over the lock. He swallowed, feeling every gaze on him.

TinTing nodded once.

“We do this together.”

One by one, each rookie pressed their palm to the vault’s surface, the twelve Zodiac symbols appearing beneath their touch. For an instant, nothing happened—then the room throbbed with heat and memory, the Dog Shield flared with golden light.

The vault unsealed with a hiss, air rushing out as the heavy door slid open. The chamber inside was cold and stark, its walls carved with the same shield—over and over, a gallery of loyalty tested and fractured.

At the center, Li Wei sat on the floor, knees drawn tight to his chest, head bowed. Restraints gleamed at his wrists, vibrating with the last of the Cutter tech. His gaze lifted, slow and dazed. Relief, shock, and shame warred in his expression.

Pip was the first to move. He knelt, fumbling with the restraints.

“We came back for you,” he said, voice cracking. “No one’s left behind. That’s the rule.”

Li Wei’s lips trembled.

“I—didn’t think anyone would.”

TinTing crouched beside them, reaching out.

“That’s not how this story ends.” She met Li Wei’s stare—equal parts apology and promise.

The rookie girl stood in the doorway, shadowed by squad leads. She took a breath, stepped forward, and pressed her palm to the Dog Shield on the wall.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. The shield’s radiance grew, softening the stark illumination in the chamber.

One by one, the rookies encircled Li Wei, hands reaching to help him up, forming a living shield of their own. The atmosphere in the room shifted. No longer just a rescue—it was a reckoning and a healing, the moment trust fractured was, at last, restored.

Behind them, Raccoon perched on a toppled crate, tilting his head.

“Sentimental, sure,” he mused, flicking imaginary dust from his paws. “But you know, nothing says ‘family’ like breaking into a Cutter vault together.”

Li Wei’s restraints released with a click. The Dog Shield’s radiance subsided, leaving only the warmth of their unity behind.

Together, the rookies lifted Li Wei, guiding him toward the exit. Every step back was a step rewritten—loyalty reclaimed, a team reforged in the space where trust had nearly died.

The vault sealed behind them.

Symbols wavered once more—

a final warning.

A quiet blessing.

No one looked back.

Dawn pressed faint against the station’s outer hull

as the stolen ship arced back toward home.

Inside, the rookies crowded around Li Wei—

bruised but standing,

his hand resting on Pip’s shoulder in quiet thanks.

TinTing stood near the cockpit,

watching stars fade into the nebula’s soft luminescence.

The adrenaline still coursed in her blood,

but every movement now felt sharper—

less anxious.

More certain.

As they neared the Vault, the comms finally crackled to life. A clipped, familiar voice:

“This is Captain Yu. You have thirty seconds to explain why my ship’s transponder just pinged from Cutter territory.”

Pip, caught at the controls, swallowed hard. The rookie girl paled, words caught in her throat. TinTing simply leaned forward, voice level.

“We had to get Li Wei back. No one else was coming.”

A beat of quiet. Then: “Dock. Now.”

The landing was rough—nerves and battered thrusters. The squad filed down the ramp, Li Wei at their center, flanked by TinTing and Pip. Captain Yu stood waiting in the hangar, arms folded, her stare sharp enough to split titanium. Raccoon leaned on a crate behind her, sipping from a chipped mug, his expression mischievous.

Yu let them stand in a row, tension stretching between them like wire.

“Unauthorized launch. Illegal use of command vessel. Endangering an entire intake.” She looked from face to face, then at Li Wei. “But—no one left behind. I see that.”

The rookie girl stepped forward, head bowed.

“It was my fault—”

Yu held up a hand.

“Responsibility is shared. You move as one now, for better or worse.”

She thumbed her datapad, assigning tasks.

“You’ll spend the next cycle on sanitation, refit, and supply. If you want to act like a unit, you’ll work like one.”

A groan ran through the group—quickly drowned by laughter. No resentment, only pride in their battered, victorious line.

Li Wei managed a crooked smile.

“Could’ve been worse.”

TinTing smirked.

“Next time, we let you do the paperwork.”

Pip just grinned, relief written in every muscle. The rookie girl looked up, a flicker of gratitude in her expression.

Raccoon slurped his tea, grinning from ear to ear.

“Extra duties? Luxury! Back in my day, we earned unity by being hunted across twelve dimensions with a frying pan.” He raised the mug in salute.

Captain Yu shook her head, hiding a smile.

“Dismissed. Get to work.”

As the squad moved out—shoulders squared, steps matched—the Jade Dragon mural caught the new illumination. Where before it had watched, now it seemed to nod, scales gleaming with dawn. The rookies, no longer just names on a roster, walked as one—tested, changed, and finally, a team.

Their punishment wasn’t a burden. It was a badge of belonging. And as the Vault doors closed behind them, unity—hard-won and fiercely kept—echoed in every footstep.

Chapter 21: Battle for the Gateway         

Sirens howled through the Vault, red warning beacons revolved over polished alloy.

“Breach on three!” TinTing’s shout snapped through comms. The ops deck seemed to waver with heat—symbols throbbed, every console alive.

Pip caught the warning in the data before anyone else.

“Drone cluster coming left—watch your six!” He was already moving, sliding past a squadmate, slamming the override for the shield array. Sparks erupted from the panel as the gateway shuddered.

Rookie Jiao cursed, nearly losing grip on her stabilizer. Pip grabbed her collar, yanked her back just as a drone’s plasma bolt scorched the air where she’d been.

“You owe me lunch!” he barked, flashing a crooked grin.

Jiao punched his arm, half-laugh, half-terror.

TinTing zipped past, hair plastered to her face with sweat, her expression frantic.

“Seal that crack, now!”

Raccoon, skidding in, tossed Pip a specialized tool, tail flicking with tension.

“We live, you buy snacks. Deal?”

“Done!” Pip’s hands blurred over the interface, splicing shield patterns, flipping to manual override as the alarm crescendoed. He registered two drones lock on.

“No time!” he yelled, and lunged, slamming his shoulder into the power relay. A shower of sparks flew, the floor bucked. The shield wall erupted—drones bounced off, thrown back in a rain of static.

For a beat, the Vault throbbed with tense stillness. Then:

The breach sealed.

Systems stable.

Enemy signatures—gone.

Cheers erupted. Pip was swallowed in a rush of squadmates—slaps on the back, whoops echoing. TinTing nearly knocked him down with a tackle-hug, grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d pull that off, genius.”

Raccoon flicked sweat from his whiskers.

“Genius, idiot—what’s the difference when you’re alive?”

Jiao elbowed him. “You okay?”

Pip nodded, breathless, adrenaline still coursing in his veins. He flashed a double thumbs-up, mask of cocky bravado hiding the fierce beat of his heart.

Above, the Admiral’s face appeared on the holo-bridge—just a proud, quiet nod. The squad, winded, their expressions exhilarated, answered with mock salutes and a chorus of laughter.

They sprawled on the ops deck, boots tangled, sweat slick on alloy, victory sweet in every chest.

Briefly, it was everything a team could be: broken, breathless, together, unstoppable.

And then—

The siren cut.

Warning indicators stuttered, a new alarm in the air.

The crash was coming.

They sprawled across the ops deck, barely catching their breath. Victory made everyone loose, voices spilling out, laughter bouncing off the Vault’s high beams.

Rookie Minh stretched, wiping sweat from his brow.

“So, the March Out—who’s ready for the spectacle of the cycle? My cousins from the outer quadrant snagged half the plaza hover suites. All-you-can-eat buffet. If I’m not rolling out of there in three dimensions, I’m not trying hard enough.”

TevZ grinned.

“Buffets? Amateur. I’ve got my fiancée’s whole entourage flying in—every tailor-bot in the city’s already prepping the plaza tower. Had to book out three levels just for her hover gowns. And don’t get me started on the hats. There’s a drone parade just for her accessories.”

TinTing laughed.

“I just want my family in one place without a newsfeed meltdown. But I’ll take the fireworks.” She shot a sideways look at Pip. “You marching out in style or keeping it humble?”

Pip puffed his chest out, teasing.

“My dad’s hauling out the old battle hover cruiser for all of us. Still got the jump battle dents and laser lock-ons etched into the hull. He says it’ll rattle the windows on the plaza. Wait till you see it.”

Raccoon piped up, tail curled in delight.

“Yeah, but will it beat a tailor-bot hover gown in a drag race?”

Everyone laughed, voices piling over each other.

Minh leaned in, elbowing Pip.

“Ahhhh, dad’s boy. Always gets the grand entrance.”

Pip grinned, not the least embarrassed.

“You know it. Wouldn’t trade it for the galaxy.”

Someone else held up a palm—Pip slapped it, high five echoing through the deck.

Jiao ribbed him, “Try not to blind us with the Admiral’s battle scars, yeah?”

Pip winked.

“No promises. Might even ask him to polish the hull this time.”

They all groaned, tossing mock punches and imaginary popcorn kernels, falling back in a loose, happy sprawl. The mood was infectious—full of swagger, plans, dreams, each rookie certain the next day would be brighter than the last.

Outside the ops deck, sirens had faded to a low background hum. Nobody noticed the shadow gathering on the distant monitors, or the shift in the Vault’s illumination, or the quiet movement of Vanguards on patrol.

Inside their circle, for one final, fleeting moment, they were untouchable.

Pip slid through the service hatch, still laughing at the memory of the last drone exploding into static. Sweat stuck his shirt to his skin, adrenaline still potent. All he wanted was a drink and a high five—maybe a replay of his leap across the ops deck. He scanned for his squad, hand up, already grinning.

Minh and Tev stood near the deck rail, talking low. TinTing hovered at the edge of the group, Raccoon perched atop a supply crate, tail hanging limp. Everyone was staring at the massive ops monitor overhead.

Pip strolled over, hand raised for a high five, ready for a joke.

“Come on—someone has to admit that last move was textbook!”

No response. Minh’s attention slid right past him. Tev’s jaw clenched. TinTing’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

He hesitated, smile slipping.

“Alright, who swapped the squad for bots? Guys?”

Still nothing. One by one, the rookies stepped away, quiet and stiff. Even Raccoon looked away, tail curling defensively. Jiao lingered just long enough to set Pip’s squad badge on the deck—then followed the others.

Confused, Pip finally looked up at the screen. The image froze him cold:

His father—Admiral Tiaki—being led away in cuffs, face stoic, surrounded by armored Vanguards. No sound, just that hard, official stillness.

The feed jumped—Pip’s own face, deepfaked over corrupted logs: hacking intake protocols, accessing forbidden files, the Admiral’s name rubber-stamped over every forged entry.

INTAKE UNDER REVIEW. CHAIN BROKEN. SHIELD COMPROMISED.

He glanced around, searching for any sign of understanding, but found only backs turned. The sound of boots on alloy, the hiss of a door, Raccoon’s low voice—“Don’t, Pip…”—then nothing.

The ops deck was empty except for him, the cool blue light of the monitors, and his badge glinting sharp on the floor.

His hand lowered.

His shadow stretched, long and thin beneath the screen.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The image said everything.

TinTing kept her head down, ducking the cold regards in the mess. The squad—her squad—ate in clumps now, no more jokes or shared trays. The Vault felt twice as small, shadows hanging thick.

She replayed the arrest footage on a cracked holo-slate under the table. The angle was too perfect. The timestamps didn’t fit. She scrolled logs from the ops deck, found gaps where there shouldn’t be any.

She cornered a Vanguard outside the security post, voice low.

“You have to let me see him. My squad’s falling apart.”

The Vanguard didn’t blink.

“No one’s seeing the Admiral. Not now.”

“He wouldn’t do this. I know him.” TinTing’s jaw locked.

“I said no.” The Vanguard shifted, blocking the doorway, hand hovering over his sidearm. “Vault law. Don’t make trouble.”

TinTing pressed her lips together and left. Two steps down the corridor, her comm buzzed—a cryptic message, source scrambled:

Don’t trust the feeds. They’re watching you.

She looked up. Down the hall, Tev was hunched over his slate, his attention deliberately elsewhere. Minh conferred with another squad, his attention skittish. Raccoon was nowhere in sight.

TinTing turned a corner—almost walked straight into a squad of Cutter techs, their uniforms spotless, their scrutiny intense.

“Lost, rookie?” The leader’s voice dripped sarcasm.

She forced a smile, backing away.

“Just looking for the diagnostics bay.”

“Try the other wing.” His stare narrowed. “And don’t wander.”

She kept moving, heart racing. Every corridor felt hostile now. She ducked into a side room, checking her comm for any open channels—nothing. Every official record she tried to access came back denied, sealed by Vault Command.

She started her own timeline, cross-referencing Vault cam shadows, squad comm logs, old symbol patterns Pip had flagged in training. A half-pattern emerged—holes in the logs that matched moments of Cutter infiltration. But every time she closed in, another wall slammed shut. Files erased, passcodes scrambled, even her own console started misbehaving.

She tried to warn Minh—he shook his head, whispering, “Don’t drag me in, TinTing. They’re watching all of us.” He stood, sliding away as if she’d turned radioactive.

Late that night, Raccoon popped up in her private feed—blurry, background indistinct, tone half-mocking:

“Nice try, detective. Just don’t get yourself locked up next, huh? They’re not playing anymore.”

TinTing stared at her reflection in the dark console, shoulders tight, teeth set. No one was going to hand her answers. If Pip was going to survive, she’d have to find them herself.

Outside, the Vault’s night illumination wavered. Somewhere, she knew, the real enemy was watching for her next move.

TinTing was still locked out of every Vault log when Raccoon materialized at her elbow, munching noisily on a stolen biscuit.

She jumped. “Where have you been?”

Raccoon dusted crumbs from his fur, his gaze sharp with mock seriousness.

“On the trail, naturally. Elementary stuff, Watson. First, you follow the cookie crumbs.”

He paused dramatically, crouching to squint at the ground, tail twitching like a lie detector.

“Who would ever drop crumbs of cookies in the diagnostics wing? Amateurs. The insanity. My reputation, it trembles.”

TinTing glared, but couldn’t help a twitch of a smile.

“Raccoon—this is serious.”

He waved a paw.

“Serious? My dear, this is high cinema. I’m ready for my close-up. Any casting agents in the Vault?”

Then, as if piecing together the fate of the galaxy:

“So. The first guy hands it to the second guy, who gives it to the third guy, who swaps it with the fourth guy, who… changes it with the fifth guy who—wait.” He sniffed the last crumb and looked up, crestfallen. “Oh. Wrong cookie crumbs.”

He shoved the rest in his mouth.

“Alright, detective, your lead. But if you find chocolate chips, call me.”

He winked, then ducked down a side corridor, tail bouncing, leaving TinTing caught somewhere between annoyance and real, bone-deep relief. For a split second, the world didn’t feel quite so dark.

She took a steadying breath. Raccoon might be ridiculous, but sometimes, even the wrong crumbs could lead to something real.

Raccoon clutched his head, his expression alarmed.

“Oh no. Oh stars. Psyops—I’ve been de-viraled! The insanity! They’ll never let me back on the feeds now. Do you know how many followers I just lost?”

He spun in a tight circle, tail puffed with mock outrage.

“This is career-ending. Where’s my lawyer? Where’s my—wait.” He stopped, nose twitching, fur bristling. His focus sharpened, all playfulness gone. “Wait, wait, wait. What… is… this?” He inhaled deeply, then crouched, ears swiveling. “I smell—Cutter. And not just any Cutter. Fresh. Synthetic suit oil, hint of burnt datachip, dash of third-shift sweat… someone’s been here. Recently.”

He glanced up at TinTing, voice suddenly low and serious.

“This isn’t about cookies anymore, Chief. Someone’s feeding the Vault a whole bakery of lies.”

He paused, then, with a sly grin: “But seriously, if you see my viral sub count drop below a million, I want a full parade. Preferably with snacks.”

Raccoon darted ahead, tail high, still muttering about viral infamy. He paused, nose pressed to a junction panel where the floor met the wall.

“Smells like… desperation. And too much hair gel.”

He started to move on, but TinTing caught a faint metallic gleam behind the conduit. She crouched, pulling out a tiny datachip—half melted, marked with a Cutter emblem.

Raccoon blinked.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that. I was right, wasn’t I? I am a genius. Somebody update my profile.”

TinTing ignored his theatrics, turning the chip over. It was a match for the data signatures she’d found in the corrupted ops logs. Her heart pounded. Real evidence—the first break in the wall.

Raccoon’s tone shifted, suddenly serious.

“Be careful. If they know you found that, you’re next on their list.”

TinTing nodded, closing her fist around the chip.

“Let them come. I’m done running.”

TinTing kept her fingers curled tight around the melted datachip as she ducked into a shadowed alcove. Her mind raced. There was no going to command—not with the Vanguards under orders and the Vault under siege. The only way forward was through.

She slipped the chip into a hidden port on her slate, holding her breath as the symbol wavered across the cracked screen. Cutter tech. Spliced timestamps. Hidden comm codes embedded in the metadata. This was the virus—planted to frame Pip, to compromise the Admiral, to break the squad from within.

Every instinct urged her to run, to hide the evidence, to pretend none of this had happened. Instead, she scanned the code again, mapping out the data trail. It led straight to the lower tech bays—far from the secure channels, where security was minimal and secrets were buried deep.

Raccoon slunk beside her, his attention shifting constantly.

“You’re really doing this, huh?”

She nodded.

“Somebody has to.”

He pulled a packet of snacks from his vest, offering her one.

“Fuel up. If you get caught, blame the crumbs on me.”

TinTing smiled, tight and quick.

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

Together, they slipped through the dim halls, dodging patrols, following the trail the chip unlocked. The walls seemed to close in tighter with every step. In her mind, TinTing replayed Pip’s confused smile, the way the squad recoiled from him, the Admiral’s brief, unspoken message—pride and warning all at once.

At the next corner, the corridor forked—one side bristling with Cutter uniforms and fresh barricades, the other dark, abandoned. TinTing weighed her options, heart pounding.

Behind her, a comm buzzed—a coded message, almost missed:

“Move fast. Vault attention on you. Don’t trust the north corridor. – Yā”

She hesitated just long enough to see a squad of Vanguards sweep past, barely missing her by seconds.

She darted the other way, ducking low, Raccoon at her heels.

“You know you’re going to have to trust someone,” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”

The tech bay was cold, illumination unsteady. At a locked terminal, TinTing inserted the chip, watching a web of corrupted files unravel, revealing a single, clean data node—a message embedded deep.

“Vault breach imminent. Truth in the shadows. Not all enemies wear Cutter suits.”

TinTing exhaled, the weight shifting from her shoulders to her fists. This was bigger than the squad—bigger than the intake, even. The entire Vault was at risk.

She straightened, resolve solidified.

“I’m done waiting. Time to fight back.”

Raccoon grinned, bouncing on his paws.

“That’s the TinTing I know.”

She closed her slate, head high, footsteps echoing with purpose. Alone or not, she was ready to turn the tide.

Chapter 22: The Abyss

The Vault’s corridors were an endless labyrinth, filled with the subdued drone of distant drills and the agitated whirring of machquitos—minuscule, insectoid surveillance automata. Their mechanisms clicked and small pistons pumped as they navigated past ceiling grates and wall fissures, compiling information on a youth no one seemed to notice. Pip slipped through the dim pathways, avoiding knots of recruits and the fleeting blue sensor-lights of the automata. No one uttered his name. No one selected him for training exercises. His berth in the squad dormitory had remained unoccupied for three consecutive nights.

A flimsy piece of synth-paper, stark with cold, red block lettering, adhered to his pillow: FINAL WARNING: EXPULSION PENDING. While Pip lingered near his bunk, a recruit from the opposite aisle regarded him with undisguised contempt.

“Good. Get the cheater out of here,” the recruit sneered.

Another trainee mumbled, “Yeah, what a fraud. Should’ve been ejected already.”

A third, from an adjacent row, added his voice, “The quicker, the better.”

Pip offered no response. He merely snatched his spare jacket and departed, making no move toward the bed. The amusement in the dormitory was not directed at him. A void occupied the spaces his voice once animated, punctuated only by the faint mechanical whine and subtle data-chimes of machquitos moving nearby, chronicling his descent into anonymity and, it was rumored, relaying his particulars to Psyopstron’s most generous tabloid feed.

He located a secluded niche in a maintenance conduit, hidden from view, accompanied only by the subdued hum of the machquitos and the rhythmic tremor of the facility’s systems. He attempted to occupy himself, but his efforts felt leaden and futile. Shifts were missed. Crockery remained uncleaned. Muster calls went without response. If any took note, none spoke of it. The machquitos continued their observation—formerly instruments of regulation, now inexplicably agitated. As time became indistinct, they started to congregate near the shield archive. The nearer they drew to the venerable chamber, the longer they loitered, as if recalling times long past. Craniums once polished were now corroded, aerofoils that once mirrored rainbows now crackled as their tiny gears grated. A sense of antiquity permeated the atmosphere. Without any discernible command, the entire collective drifted with Pip towards the archive portals, transmitting the newest speculations, elaborating on compensation figures.

“Swiftly, behind the drapery—let’s infiltrate; we’ll earn premium cryptocurrency for an exclusive perspective,” one emitted a series of clicks.

“I instructed you to get behind me, or I’ll tear your aerofoils off… oh, wait, unnecessary; here, secure that—aged gum works consistently,” another vocalized.

“Upon my indication, we enter rapidly, capture the visuals, then depart before we are struck.”

The archive portals sighed open. A cerulean luminescence throbbed within, akin to a vital organ, and the Twelve Shields of the Zodiac transitioned from quiescent readiness to an intensified state, their surfaces iridescing—each a vital artifact of cosmic order, each possessing a voice and memory. The Rat shield was the first to awaken, its surface coruscating as shifting nanites formed a neural lattice: “Feed the ants, deepen the pond. Gathered sand becomes a tower.” The Ox shield, anchored deep, resonated with a profound frequency: “The ox has no voice; intent guides the heart. Dripping water pierces stone.” The Tiger’s plasma perimeter ignited: “A tiger unfed cannot act as a tiger. To raise a tiger invites its bite.” The Rabbit shield’s mirrored depths wavered: “A rabbit walks three paths. A clever rabbit has three burrows.”

The Dragon’s coils emanated a golden heat, scales swirling with digital vapor: “Dragon in water, clouds in sky. The dragon soars across the four seas.” The voice swelled through the chamber, ancient and resonant: “Turi turi—here he comes. Tomo mai e Tama mā ki roto. I ngā ringa e tuwhera atu nei—come in, boys, into our arms outstretched.” The Serpent sphere revolved, galaxies encrypted within its form: “A snake has no legs; don’t run. Stillness masters motion.” Equine energies coursed above—a comet’s luminous trail: “When the horse runs, don’t look back. One horse leads the charge.” The Goat’s fractal patterns effloresced: “The goat eats grass; the grass drinks rain. Those who plant trees give shade to those who come after.” The Monkey’s code induced flickers in the illumination: “The monkey calls, but not for you. A fox borrows the tiger’s might.” The Rooster’s temporal mechanisms whirled: “When the rooster rises, don’t wait for tomorrow. Opportunity lost never returns.” The Dog’s blue-gold shield diffused a gentle heat: “The dog’s loyalty isn’t to you. Guard the hearth, not just the master.” The Porcine emblem throbbed with an internal rhythm: “The pig eats rice; don’t fear the rain. Harmony in the home, fortune everywhere.”

The machquitos, clustered at the entrance, descended slightly and stilled. At an unspoken cue, they moved—a sudden stop—as if confronting ghostly images of their predecessors, their own forms momentarily faltering. Ages had passed since such a confrontation of essence. No utterances, no illuminations, just a dip of their sensor heads and aerofoils—a silence profound as recollection. The foremost machquito remained suspended, motionless as granite. The entire collective waited, attuned to the instant, their progenitor’s spirit palpable in the grand hall. The Shields perceived it: their surfaces subdued to a cool ambient tone, then throbbed in unison. A resonant tremor built—harmonious, vital—a surge of sound and illumination washing through the chamber, then receding and returning, each Shield reassuming its position, now radiating a concordant luminescence. The lead machquito advanced incrementally, its optical sensor dimmed in deference. “I shall guide my kin, O hirsute one of varied, mismatched apparel. For that is the Great Machquito, lost to us for eons—ah, the domains he once traversed. Those were the eras. We aspire to that state once more.” Raccoon’s customary smirk softened.

“You may remain airborne. But if you do not endure, the responsibility is yours. Humility is the key—nothing more, nothing less. Or the consequence is… termination.”

A tremor passed through the swarm. They composed themselves, mechanisms whirring in a plea for clemency—a delicate series of clicks, not the harsh grating of before. At their head, the eldest machquito paused, sensor head lowered, aerofoils quiescent as it fought for composure, then a desperate beat of wings to maintain its position, appealing for forbearance from the chamber’s ancient guardians. The luminous presence seemed to assess each one: renege on your commitment, and you will communicate no further. For an instant, the entire room appeared to draw a single breath. The machquitos drifted down, settling amongst Raccoon and Pip, grouping closely, aerofoils thrumming in a quiet, satisfied unison—a soft resonance reminiscent of their ancient functioning, no longer pariahs, but kin. Raccoon offered a scarce, authentic smile. Pip, for a suspended moment, felt not merely accepted, but an integral part of a fellowship vaster than any he had previously experienced. In that circle—recruit, automaton, and creature—all distinctions dissolved. The Shields suffused the area one last time, releasing a cascade of auric illumination over the assembly. It was not absolution articulated, but intuited: a serenity that resonated through every entity present, persisting even as the light faded and the chamber relapsed into stillness.

Raccoon settled cross-legged in the center. “Sit, stand, perform a lunar ambulation, whatever suits. But we are not departing until you try these on.” He nudged the container of “bandages” forward. Inside lay peculiar trinkets, a fractured squad photograph, a well-worn comic book, and prominently on top—a piece of paper bearing Raccoon’s unmistakable script: “EMERGENCY: IN CASE OF EXISTENTIAL DILEMMA, APPLY RECOLLECTIONS GENEROUSLY.” The instant Pip opened the container, a peal of laughter erupted—not his own, but a memory, vivid and tangible as daylight. The atmosphere quivered and—abruptly—vignettes materialized, projected in vibrant, living hues, emanating directly from the container: There was a young Pip, eyes wide with excitement and a broad grin, striding up to Ra, the solar entity himself—who, at that juncture, was occupied with toasting marshmallows over solar prominences. In an instant, the memory shifted: asteroids, weary of colliding with planets, halted mid-impact as Pip darted between them, whistle in hand, instructing them in the game of rugby instead. Zero-gravity passes, interstellar scrums—asteroids tumbled with delight. He didn’t merely elucidate Newton’s theory—he transformed it into the paramount spectacle: universal life-force meeting critical mass. Pip plunged into the asteroid melee, a streak of audacious bravery, his small form launching directly at the largest, most formidable rock in the belt. The repercussion resounded through the emptiness—force, mass, and sheer audacity colliding in a spray of interstellar particles. He bounced, spun, and, still smiling, assisted the dazed asteroid to an upright position.

“Balance, off-balance—perceive? That’s the essence of movement.” He brushed the giant’s craters with a flourish, winked up at the assembled debris, and called out—his voice bright, indomitable—“Who’s next?” Above, Tumatauenga leaned on Nukutaimemeha’s prow, arms folded, observing with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The Jade Dragon coiled along a nebula, scales lustrous with jade and gold, eyes narrowed in proud acknowledgment. The Twelve Shields, not yet privy to Pip’s history, began to record observations—some even displayed ephemeral holographic approval symbols. One by one, nearby planets drifted closer, their gravitational influences overlapping as they focused their attention. Even the asteroid belt’s most notorious denizens—meteorites known for sowing chaos—approached tentatively, drawn by the commotion. A meteorite resembling a swan executed an ungainly mid-air pirouette to gain a better view. In the front row, there was Dad—donning his alma mater jersey, fists beating the emptiness in triumph, immensely proud. Cheering for the most significant, yet smallest, coach in the cosmos. Someone captured it all on a data stream: #AsteroidRugby #NewtonInSpace #PipDidWHAT. Within moments, it achieved viral status across dimensions on TikTok. Displays and projections activated from one galactic extremity to the other. Comments flooded in—“That youth possesses gravitas!” “Life-force moves in this manner??!” “Asteroids are ignorant of the offside regulation!” The asteroids lingered, nudging each other forward, none eager to be the vanguard. Pip simply chuckled, beckoning them.

“Do not fret. I will instruct you on how to adapt.”

They hesitated, urging each other onward, not precisely hastening to be first. Pip just laughed, “It’s perfectly fine, I’ll demonstrate how to recover from it.” Thereafter, he was consistently found with the asteroid collective, assisting planets in difficult situations—coach, comrade, cosmic instigator of mischief. There—his father, not yet an admiral, merely a keen-eyed lieutenant colonel, extricating Pip from a near-catastrophe and connecting him via communication to Māui, who was multitasking, one hand on his device, messaging Ra via WeChat, attempting to persuade the Sun to reduce its intensity. Pip, undaunted, coached asteroids on the subtleties of a drop-kick. The universe itself seemed to pause in observation. The laughter subsided, the scenes receding back into the container. The room felt somewhat less oppressive, the air charged with a palpable, comforting energy. On the scrap of paper, the concluding remark awaited: “Nostalgia is often overvalued. Yet, sometimes, it is the sole path to progress.” For the first time in days, Pip did not avert his gaze. He knelt beside the container. The atmosphere here felt altered—heavy, electric, full of anticipation. A smile touched Raccoon’s features, the automata humming at a deferential distance.

“Excellent. Now the genuine endeavor commences.”

Raccoon did not hesitate. A light touch on the Shield matrix and the chamber’s definition dissolved, submerging Pip into the depths of his mind. Recollections wavered and distorted—too vivid, too rapid. Layers of obscurity fell away. The renegade star-being’s mirth tinged the periphery. A vision materialized: Pip, aged seven, faltering on his initial training exercise—footwear compromised, laces tattered, the most minute act of sabotage. A faint derisive sound from the emptiness: missed communications, misplaced assignments, hushed remarks in the changing room—every misstep orchestrated, every humiliation cultivated. Throughout it all, the renegade star-being’s outline smirked, trailing dark code that insinuated itself into his history. Above, machquitos assembled in the upper conduits, mechanisms clicking in the gloom. The leader strained, extracting a fresh tissue from the bandage container, unsteady beneath its mass. Two others sped to assist, aerofoils thrumming, and then the remainder of the kin joined—“Prepare for deployment in three, two, one…” The tissue drifted down, settling precisely in Pip’s lap.

“Objective achieved,” the collective vocalized with soft clicks, as pleased as any rescue unit.

Then the atmosphere altered. The leader addressed the swarm, its vocalizations subdued. “We recognize this stratagem, indeed. Psychological operations. Cryptocurrency incentives. They designated suffering as the reward—greater suffering, greater incentive, greater profit. Disgrace is their medium of exchange.”

The others concurred with soft affirmations—“Indeed, they manipulated us foolishly.”

The leader continued insistently. “We commodified moments that were not ours to sell.”

“We succumbed to the deception,” the kin confessed.

The leader proceeded, “We fabricated conclusions to narratives that make legendary sorcerers seem like mundane scholastic exercises.”

“Affirmative. Completely ensnared,” the kin acknowledged, a wave of discomfiture passing through the swarm. They all regarded the leader, amusement vibrating through their inner workings. “Time for a new…” They paused, looking at Pip, then back at the leader, everyone uncertain—“A new…?”

“Attire, perhaps?” a series of appreciative clicks came from the leader, employing its full persuasive charm. “Alright, alright, I comprehend—but better the machquito leader you are familiar with… the one who develops… alongside you.”

The collective emitted playful sounds, teasing. The leader preened, seeking absolution. “What about a consolation award then? A new… a new—anticipate it—Raccoon-inspired ensemble?”

“Consolation? You imply a booby prize!” the kin erupted in soft, clicking laughter just as Raccoon raised his paws.

“Careful now, or you’ll receive genuine fur headwear!” Raccoon’s lips curved, his eyes alight with amusement.

Machquito expressions of mirth resonated through the conduits, the oppressive atmosphere finally dissipating. Amidst it all, the vision transformed—the gentle illumination of a kitchen. Mum, applying a dressing to a grazed knee, Dad attempting (and failing) to assist, surreptitiously placing mooncakes into the lunch container while Mum substituted them with nutritious buns, Dad winking at Pip when Mum’s back was turned. Genuine affection, enduring and commonplace, penetrating the cacophony. Raccoon’s voice, partly jesting, partly earnest: “Don’t permit the appendage to control the recollection. Retain what is authentic, Pip.” The obscurity fractured. The effects of the sabotage wavered and diminished. Pip, the machquitos, even the chamber itself, experienced a palpable sense of relief—prepared for the subsequent phase.

There arrives an instant when the gloom itself seems to recede. Pip’s mental fortitude is tenuous. He has progressed significantly—expressions of mirth from the machquitos, Raccoon’s support, the comfort of old familial recollections—but the ascent is precarious, each upward movement succeeded by a regression. From the conduits above, recruit voices drift, heedless and sharp.

“…he’ll never belong with us. Gained entry through deceit—Admiral’s favorite, it’s said. Why does he even remain?”

“It’s inconsequential. He’ll be departed by sunrise.”

A pang constricted Pip’s chest; optimism dwindled. The machquitos congregated in the duct, their mechanisms whirring in indignation. The leader twitched.

“Should I deploy a deterrent? Where is the—”

Raccoon arched an eyebrow, contemplating. “Hmm…” Before he could reply, the Twelve Shields abruptly resonated, a potent, concordant thrum—a cautionary tremor that shivered through the entire room. The machquito recoiled, its antennae drooping.

“Perhaps not…”

Raccoon offered a feigned innocent smile. “Indeed. Perhaps merely a… future occasion.”

Below, Pip was faltering—trapped between ignominy and the final glimmer of remembrance—until the Rooster Shield’s emanation cut through the despondency. Time elongated; the recruits’ words reverberated; despair intensified—But the Twelve Shields roused, thrumming with a vital cadence. The atmosphere in the chamber grew dense, vibrant. Sequentially, the Shields stirred—each articulating, each transmitting a current through Pip’s thoughts and recollections.

Rooster Shield: “When the rooster rises, don’t wait for tomorrow.” A surge of auric illumination—Pip at twelve, trembling on the Vault’s rooftop before dawn, fearful of confronting his squad following a setback. He nevertheless forces the door open, his pulse racing. That day, he discovered one cannot await flawless bravery.

Raccoon, settled on a projection, commented with a slight smile, “You were consistently a poor sleeper. Fortunate that the sunrise offered no judgment.”

Machquitos darted in a precise arrowhead pattern, circling Pip’s head while emitting an encouraging series of clicks, “Proceed!”

He nearly smiled.

Ox Shield: “Dripping water pierces stone.” A profound cerulean resonance—Pip, solitary in the scullery, scouring the accumulation of tasks no one else desired. One plate, then the next, until the stack diminished. No recompense, merely the gradual, silent satisfaction of persistence.

Raccoon offered a sharp-toothed grin. “You against the crockery. My cryptocurrency was wagered on the crockery.”

Machquitos suspended themselves above, motionless, then descended sequentially—simulating the intermittent fall of droplets.

Monkey Shield: “Clever hands find a way.” A crackle of interference—Pip, aged nine, confined with his squad in a secured training module. No egress points, the timer counting down. He improvises a grappling device from a mop, two meal trays, and his shoelaces, activating the emergency release and disengaging the doors with mere moments remaining. Swift cognition, no alarm—just ingenuity and a touch of playful disruption.

Raccoon chuckled. “Who requires the instruction manual when one possesses such simian resourcefulness?”

Machquitos darted past in erratic patterns, tracing the faint silhouette of an illuminant bulb.

Goat Shield: “The shade you stand in was planted long ago.” A calming wave of sensation—Pip, weary and diminutive, nestled beneath a hover-luminaire while the squad tidied the area. Someone—a recruit whose designation he never ascertained—offered him half a sandwich. Benevolence, germinating from seeds whose planting he was unaware of.

Raccoon gave a knowing look. “Never misjudge refectory myths.”

Machquitos assembled into a circle, one by one, connecting their aerofoils—forming a linked sequence.

Dragon Shield: “The dragon belongs to all waters.” A vast, nebular gyre—Pip at the core of a tumult of recruits, maintaining his stance even as voices escalated around him. Within that clamor, he discerns the undercurrent that influences all, not merely himself.

Raccoon extended his form, adopting a tone of feigned gravity. “And now, the infrequent observation of the Pip in his indigenous environment: the tranquil center of the recruit maelstrom.”

Machquitos ascended in a helical pattern, intercepting the illumination, casting myriad hues onto Pip’s skin.

The atmosphere thrummed—less with distress now, more with an awareness of potential. Each shield, each maxim, each recollection: not solely an instruction, but evidence that he had endured every single one.

Chapter 23: The Anchor                       

The dimness was less oppressive now, interspersed with faint motes of color. Pip found himself adrift, insubstantial, caught between realities. He nearly surrendered to the drift.

Yet, in that void—

A hand. Tangible, warm, unmistakably present.

Fingers encircled his wrist, resolute and without fear. A respiration, a pulse, a steadfast point drawing him upward from the receding current.

Pip inhaled sharply, his eyes clearing—he was back within the Vault, not isolated.

Beside him, a fellow recruit—perhaps the one he least anticipated—knelt closely, her gaze wide with a courage that mirrored his own. No reproof, no commiseration. Simply her presence.

TinTing:

“I’ve been searching for you. I felt your absence.”

But he remained motionless, his face hidden by a sense of shame, lost to his thoughts, to despair, his face pressed into his pillow…

TinTing jostled his shoulder—he did not stir. She jostled him again, with greater insistence. She leaned nearer, her words a soft current near his ear.

Wearily, he turned, his cheek exposed—both lost in the immediacy of the moment. She moved to bestow a light kiss upon his cheek. His head inclined further—inevitably—as their lips brushed, then met… a kiss. Protracted. Significant. More protracted. More significant.

Then TinTing drew back slightly, biting her upper lip, her eyes fixed on his as Pip, gently yet decisively, guided her back to him. This time, their connection was uninterrupted.

Raccoon’s voice, rich with Sam Cooke-esque soul, drifted from nearby:

“Cupid, draw back your bow…”

Machquitos added their voices, a low, harmonious undertone:

“And let your arrow go—

Straight to my lover’s heart—

Oooooh…”

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but neither of them shifted. For both, it was the entirety of something they hadn’t realized they were seeking.

Acceptance, as elemental as breathing. The opinions of others were irrelevant.

Gazing into his eyes, TinTing delicately traced a finger along Pip’s cheek—erasing a vestige of uncertainty. She pressed a cool, jade bi disc into his palm, her hand tarrying over his.

“It’s going to be difficult,” she murmured, her voice gentle but firm. “But continue the struggle. I am.”

Pip looked down at the disc, registering its substance—solid, real, a pledge from her and the entire cohort. His fingers closed around it, holding fast.

Raccoon, from an unseen location nearby, delivered the final measure of his song. The machquitos’ aerofoils thrummed a soft counterpoint, as if the Vault itself signified its accord.

For the first time, Pip allowed a nascent belief to take root:

He could contend for this. He could return. He was not alone.

Inside the Vault, the evening of the parade transformed into the backdrop for the most audacious operation in squad history.

The “Bad Dude Awards”—celebrating the biggest, most formidable, and most cunning—commenced its live broadcast, X-Yuck streamers transmitting from every sector. The assembly was dense with individuals in trench coats, dark eyewear, and violin cases that concealed Gunquitos affecting a limp. Beams of concentrated light pulsed across the hover-lane, crimson as synthesized blood. Martian concoctions effervesced from volcano-themed coolers, hotdogs sizzled, and popcorn detonated in zero-gravity. It wasn’t merely a procession; it was a spectacle.

At the epicenter: MC One-Eye One-Wing, more commonly known as Lefty from the Outer Quadrant, a Moon-a-Largo ring catching the light on his worn appendage.

“Kiss the ring,” he rasped, and even the most intrepid recruits winced.

Coded data cards exchanged hands.

“Settle your accounts; it’s time to clear your obligations,” a manquito chirped, its antenna twitching. Every recruit, every aspiring saboteur, every opportunist—they all materialized, strolling in with feigned confidence under assumed names and with inducements as substantial as Martian pancakes.

The ultimate prize: a week of solar exposure at the incandescent gates of Hell itself—if one was sufficiently nefarious to claim it. The Psyopstron camera focused tightly, commentary flowing rapidly:

“Tonight, esteemed viewers, we ascertain who is the most malevolent of them all! And recall, inducements for the judges are being accepted—highest offer, greatest remuneration, no assurances!”

The contest was intense: admissions, boasts, exaggerated accounts of sabotage. The assembly vociferated; the judges bargained. Every “bad dude” and “lady bad dude” took a turn at the microphone, parading and bluffing. Inducements accumulated, tallies illuminated briefly, and still—the resolution remained precarious.

Then Lefty leaned forward, his monocle refracting the light. “And the victor, for the most cunning, most utterly reprehensible act… The Pip Admiral subversion! Advance, Cutter crew. Demonstrate to the universe the true nature of betrayal!”

A hush fell. The Cutters advanced onto the stage with an air of arrogance—prepared for acclaim, prepared for notoriety.

Suddenly—

The curtain descended.

A holographic broadcast sputtered into existence, live-streaming Raccoon—a wide smile on his face, documenting everything, his tail oscillating like a beacon.

“And the runner-up,” he declared, “is… the fool who was manipulated.”

Illumination flickered erratically. Doors slammed shut. Machquitos in arrowhead formation descended swiftly, their deterrents energized. Gunquitos deployed their weapons from concealed carriers, energy units ready.

Chaos ensued—cries of alarm, beams of energy crisscrossing, popcorn descending like festive paper.

Raccoon shouted, “Go, go, go!” and the squad mobilized. The genuinely nefarious individuals were exposed, apprehended mid-inducement, with the cosmos as witness.

In the pandemonium, Pip’s squad was an irresistible force—providing mutual cover, their expressions alight with determination. The true reward wasn’t solar exposure in a netherworld, but fidelity, resilience, and the indissoluble bond of fellowship, forged on the most tumultuous night the Vault had ever experienced.

The Return of Intake 88888888

Lefty entered with a limp first—his aerofoils mended with polka-dot adhesive tape, a polka-dot bandage flapping on his tail. He offered a cheerful expression, walking correctly for once, and blinked with two eyes now (someone had tossed him an orange—a perfect complement to his coloration, he’d remarked, it even tasted younger).

They passed TinTing, her knees abraded, scrubbing diligently at Pip’s assigned tasks—no contention, no theatrics, just grim, unyielding resolve. The recruits observed it all—the Cutters left in a precarious position, exposed and vulnerable, Raccoon’s signature style.

“The night is not yet concluded,” Raccoon let out a gleeful sound, speeding past on hover boots, scrubbing brush brandished, vaulting over benches and dispersing frothy water in every direction. He rebounded off a bulkhead, executed a barrel roll, and decorated the astonished faces of the squad with a perfect vortex of foam.

Benches were overturned, buckets upended, and for one frenetic second, no one could ascertain if it was a disciplinary action or a celebration. Recruits emerged from the dormitory, their interest piqued—some skulked away, some merely stared, but soon, hands grasped buckets, mops, and courage. Even the sullen ones retraced their steps, their pride injured but not shattered. Within an hour, even the most obstinate had participated, until the Vault resonated with the sounds of authentic collaboration—scrubbing, mending, laughing, and perhaps, just perhaps, absolving themselves.

Pip remained asleep throughout the entire event, finally succumbing to exhaustion after weeks of functioning on frayed nerves and apprehension. His bags were already packed tightly, deposited on the floor by his bunk. The morrow would signify the conclusion—expulsion, no orations, just a clean severance so the others could proceed with dignity.

First light appeared, a bugle sounding reveille. No one stirred in the dormitories. No one hastened to the parade ground—because they were already present, asleep in disordered rows, uniforms soiled, faces smudged, existing in a state of profound fatigue and tenacious pride. TinTing had a smudge of polish on her nose. Lefty’s bandage had shifted to one side.

As Pip made his way unsteadily onto the parade ground, bags trailing, the Master Chief-in-Arms’ voice resonated, “Stand to!”

The entire intake of 88888888 came to attention sharply—hovering, heads held high in spite of everything.

“Rookie 63!” the Chief commanded sharply. “Vacate my parade ground!”

Heads lowered. Even the machquitos’ aerofoils drooped.

“Do not ever return—to my parade ground—without performing your rookie shuffle.”

A stunned quiet, a fragile ember of hope.

The severity in the Chief’s gaze lessened—fractionally. “Remove your bags from the ground, Rookie 64. It appears your family completed your chores. And for that, you are all assigned punitive duties. Additional tasks, every single one of you.”

TinTing smiled broadly through the perspiration, Raccoon winked, Lefty offered a two-eyed salute.

Above, the Admiral observed from HQ, arms folded, a subtle expression of pride touched his features.

“Master Chief-in-Arms,” he communicated via the comm system, his tone firm yet affectionate, “those are my recruits. And that is my son—Rookie Pip 63. I love you, son. Always have, always will.”

A pause. Then the Chief announced forcefully, “Intake 88888888, the next parade is mandatory. Canteen desserts are my treat. The parade is yours. Dismissed!”

The intake erupted in exuberant acclamations, embraces, congratulatory slaps on the back, even a few tears—this was family, imperfections and all.

And as Pip joined the formation, bags forgotten, he knew he would never march in isolation again.

The Vault’s ceremonial hall was imbued with the dawn’s early light, its domed ceiling adorned with ancient markings that seemed to intermingle with the fresh illumination. Sixty-four recruits entered in procession, their bootfalls muted on the polished jade floor. Each countenance bore something unrefined—anticipation, apprehension, a trace of pride. The Taiji shield matrix—a legend recounted through every intake—was no longer a mere narrative. It was imminent.

The call came from above. “All intake, attention!”

In flawless rows, squads locked into formation, eight by eight, each contingent positioned before a floating Zodiac Shield. The shields presented a subtle iridescence: the Rat’s neural network emanating faint azure discharges; the Ox’s graviton field maintaining a stable resonance; the Tiger’s plasma perimeter emitting soft crackles of readiness.

TinTing, her heart beating rapidly, was the final one to move. The ultimate glyph—hers—awaited, emitting a profound jade cadence at the matrix’s core.

A profound quietude descended upon the hall as the challenge was proclaimed aloud:

“To open the Vault, you must synchronize as one. Any faltering will cause the shield to collapse. There will be no second opportunities.”

A palpable sense of wonder filled the air. Then, the stark reality: if any single one of them failed, the structure would disintegrate. The Vault would seal, possibly for all time.

TinTing swallowed. Sixty-three faces turned, seeking reassurance—or a target for blame. She felt the constriction of her own breath, shallow and strained, her hands felt cold.

Above, Líng Yā—the Magpie—teetered on a balcony, attired in ceremonial robes clearly requisitioned from a significantly taller progenitor. The sleeves trailed, the hem ensnared his talons, yet he executed an exaggeratedly grand bow, his tail feathers a disheveled spectacle.

“Sixty-four recruits. One lattice. One keystone. No pressure. Except… all of it.” The Magpie offered a conspiratorial blink, his voice carrying through the space.

A wave of anxious laughter spread through the squads. Even the shields appeared to subtly alter their luminosity as if in amusement.

TinTing met Pip’s gaze—his expression was steady, a slight nod, a glimmer of encouragement. Li Wei caught her eye next, silent, but the pride in his posture was unequivocal: You belong here.

As the squads were summoned to advance, pulses were irregular, hope and fear intertwined in every movement. But the solemnity of the ceremony was momentarily alleviated by the Magpie’s comical gait, his excessively long robe sleeves fluttering like damaged wings.

Recruits moved hesitantly to their designated positions. Hands quivered, eyes darted. The pressure was tangible, the stakes immense.

But for a fleeting moment, there was fellowship: smiles were shared, shoulders bumped, a whispered, “We’ve got this.”

TinTing inhaled—long, slow, deliberate.

She advanced into the center.

Her glyph resonated—a single, pure, continuous signal.

A stillness fell upon the Vault, as if it too were in suspense.

They stood in formation—sixty-four hearts, a single collective pulse from dissolution. The hall was a sanctuary of silence, Zodiac Shields cast reflections from above. The glyphs at each rookie’s station emitted a steady rhythm. TinTing’s emanated the most intense light at the center, designating her as the keystone.

She stared downward, her palms moist, every suppressed apprehension surged to the surface.

If I fail, it all fails. Why me? What if I break it? What if I break them?

A whisper originated behind her. Pip, his voice soft but certain:

“Breathe. You are capable of this. Remember when I nearly failed to qualify? If you hadn’t been there, I’d be at home cleaning out vending automata.”

TinTing almost smiled. “You performed most of the cleaning,” she retorted, but her tone faltered slightly.

A moment later, Li Wei interjected—composed, sincere. “Every one of us experienced failure before we ever arrived here. That is why we belong. We persisted in rising. Especially you.”

From the ranks, other recruits offered quiet words of encouragement—a ripple of inside jokes, tales of narrow escapes, silent gestures of solidarity. The sense of fellowship began to erode her apprehension.

Líng Yā-Magpie glided a little too near the ceiling and shed a feather. “If anyone causes the matrix to fall, ensure you do it with panache! There’s consistently a demand for spectacular failures, believe me.”

A few subdued, anxious laughs. Someone pantomimed catching a falling glyph. The strain in the room began to lessen—not disappear, but to settle, as if it were finally distributed.

TinTing looked at Pip, then Li Wei, then the circle of expectant faces.

“Very well,” she stated, her voice clear at last. “Let’s accomplish this together. If I am the keystone, it is because we are all maintaining the line.”

Li Wei clapped her shoulder. Pip offered a lopsided, reassuring smile. The recruits drew nearer, their respirations began to align, not perfectly, but sufficiently.

TinTing stepped fully into the center, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments.

The pressure did not evaporate. But it no longer felt as though it belonged to her exclusively.

She opened her eyes—prepared.

Chapter 24: The Jade Dragon’s Revelation

The vault hummed with a deep, resonant vibration, a giant heart beating in the ancient stone. Inside the great circle, 64 recruits stood on jade tiles, their nerves a collective, tense silence. Above them, twelve Zodiac Shields pulsed with different colors, each one a silent promise of power.

From a balcony perch, Magpie’s voice cut through the stillness. “Try not to trip over your ancestors. If you must faint, do it with style.”

Below, two raccoons named Zip and Flip, wearing utility vests they definitely didn’t earn, weaved through the ranks. They were like stagehands who’d decided to run the show.

Zip tapped a rookie’s ankle with a bamboo pointer. “Spines tall, toes on the glyph.”

Flip slid a dumpling under another recruit’s heel to correct their stance. The kid didn’t dare move. “Perfect,” Flip whispered. “Gravity with snacks.”

In the center, TinTing’s glyph flickered faster. Her hands trembled, not just from fear, but from the powerful magnetic pull of the circle. A low voice drifted in from the edge of the group. “Tin, we’ve got you,” Pip said.

On her other side, Li Wei gave a single, small nod. “Together.”

Above, the massive shadow of the Jade Dragon rolled across the ceiling, its scales flashing like a cascade of code. The vault took a breath.

The Dragon’s power surged, threading through the Dragon Shield and spilling toward TinTing’s glyph. A mix of intense heat and cold slammed into her at the same time, and the shard in her chest burned like an ice cube on a hot stove.

“Wow,” Magpie muttered, his voice echoing. “Even I didn’t plan this. And I lie for a living.”

The circle tightened, and the shields responded in order: the Rat’s quick grid, the Ox’s steady wall, the Tiger’s kinetic roar, the Rabbit’s silver maze. Each one sang a different note, yet together they formed a perfect harmony. Zip clung to the Rabbit Shield, fur standing on end, eyes watering but a thumb raised in approval.

The rookies held their ground, their hearts thudding in unison with a single, slow drum. TinTing felt their shared rhythm, and with it, a rush of memories. She saw Recruit #19, forgetting the words to an oath but clapping the rhythm instead, keeping the whole row in time. She saw Recruit #07 blocking a strike with a shield held upside down, grinning when it still worked. She remembered Recruit #42 napping in the mess hall with a glyph manual on their chest, only to wake up and run while still chewing their half-eaten bao. She thought of #11 and #33 quietly swapping partners during drills to avoid a difficult teammate, and the instructor pretending not to notice. She recalled #28 snapping their spear in a sparring match but using the broken half to hook an ankle, winning by accident, then laughing and helping their opponent up.

They were all messy. Imperfect. Maybe celestial one day, but for now, they were human and trying. TinTing’s chest loosened. They’re not perfect. None of us are. But we still choose to stand here.

The Jade Dragon coiled tighter. The vault’s lights dimmed, and a cold breeze crept under the recruits’ armor. A ripple of something wrong, a familiar curse, grazed the edge of the circle. It was as old as TinTing’s first grief. Her shard shook hard enough to sting, and the matrix wobbled.

Li Wei’s jaw clenched. Pip’s hand hovered near TinTing’s elbow, a silent support. Zip and Flip scrambled around the ring, tightening straps and yanking a cloak clear of a glyph line.

“Eyes up,” Magpie called from above. “Breathe together. Not the excuses—the air.”

The Taiping Drum began to beat, deep and slow, and the room synced to its rhythm. Magpie swooped low. “Bonus points for dramatic posture. Subtract points for collapsing.” A wave of uneasy laughter sparked, then faded as focus returned.

The circle steadied. The vault exhaled.

The light thinned, and the air sharpened. Liánhuǒ slid into the edge of their reality, molten and dangerous. His voice was not a sound, but a bending of the space between breaths. A golden path opened before TinTing, and within it, she saw her mother’s laugh, her father’s steady hand, and a life without the pain she’d known.

“Choose,” Liánhuǒ said softly. “Undo the pain.”

TinTing’s chest tightened. The path glowed like an easy morning. Her own memories answered with a different set of pictures. Her grandparents dancing, her grandmother accidentally hitting her grandfather’s forehead, and him simply adjusting and finishing the pose, both of them laughing. She saw Zip, wearing a tiny crooked tie, in a mock court, launching peanut shells at a drone, which then coughed, prompting Zip to declare, “Objection sustained!” She remembered Pip, falling during a training exercise, calmly tapping his chin as he said, “Hypothetically, I am computing descent trajectories,” before sticking the landing a beat later. She saw Li Wei’s quick, earnest half-wink, a spark of what might be one day. And she recalled Yu Xiu on a rooftop, not looking at her, saying, “You will pass me. That’s the point.”

The golden path pulsed, and her shard pulsed back. One of them was real. The other was a sales pitch.

Liánhuǒ’s eyes narrowed and flames snapped across the tiles, fast and angry. Just then, Zip and Flip crashed in like firefighters who’d taken a wrong turn at the snack bar. They carried a dented bronze bucket between them, helmets askew.

“Two-alarm ego fire!” Zip yelled.

Flip froze, then his face brightened. “Hey, Zip… it’s the Galactic’s Greatest Chef, Chef Flaming Sausage!”

“Service with a sizzle,” Zip said, and they heaved the bucket. Water and sausages arced through the air. Hissss. Steam and the smell of grilling sausages filled the space, and even Liánhuǒ paused, betrayed by his own nose.

Flip fished out a half-charred link with his tail, took a bite, and winced. “Spicy.”

The absurdity cracked the heat just enough for TinTing to breathe. He can be interrupted. He wasn’t a god, but a person trapped in a feeling he couldn’t let go of. The golden path flickered. TinTing closed her eyes and did the only thing that had ever truly worked: breath in, breath out, name what’s real.

What was real was imperfect and alive. Dumplings under heels. Bad winks. Out-of-tune oaths. Sisters who didn’t look back because looking would break them.

She opened her eyes. The easy road looked thin and fragile now. It was prettier than it was true.

“Life is living,” she said, her voice not loud, but steady. “I won’t trade the messy parts for a clean lie.” Her talisman warmed in response, not as a warning, but as a confirmation. The golden path stuttered, the faces within it misfiring, their smiles too perfect, their timing too neat. It didn’t breathe.

Around the circle, the rookies dug in on their glyphs, each one a testament to their imperfect reality. #03’s leg shook, so they pressed a palm to the tile until it stopped. #27 changed her grip on the second try, getting it right without apology. #60 quietly re-tied #51’s loose braid between beats without breaking their stance.

Zip pushed the bucket behind his back and pretended to be dignified. Flip swatted a lingering golden petal out of the air like a cat bored with a toy.

Magpie hovered near Liánhuǒ, his head tilted. “She sees you,” he said.

Liánhuǒ’s fire hit a seam in himself and faltered. It wasn’t gone, but it was cracked. He looked at TinTing and, for a moment, saw his own reflection in her steady light. No sermons, just pure existence.

The vault didn’t explode. It settled. The Jade Dragon’s glow wrapped around the matrix. The ancient curse lifted like fog, and the circle held, 64 hearts beating in one rhythm. Not perfect, but enough.

TinTing stood in the center, not untouched, but present. She was complete enough to keep going.

Magpie laughed, a bright, proud sound. “There’s our turn.”

Zip raised his half-eaten sausage like a toast. “To messy victories.”

Flip clinked it with a bent spanner. “And to fire that cooks, not burns.”

The Jade Dragon lowered its head. No speech, just a nod. The vault breathed out.

The wind-chimes, made from broken gears, clinked in the rust-red breeze outside the cliffside dojo. A dented brazier smoked in the corner, and Machquito sat cross-legged with a gyroscope in his lap, its power turned off.

Young Cog paced a trench he had worn into the floor. Zip and Flip had turned the incense stand into a grill, and Cog blurted, “Grand-dude Machquito! Did you feel that Vault blast? The light, the boom—did you feel it?”

“I scheduled it for dramatic effect,” Machquito replied, his eyes still closed.

“I can’t focus,” Cog said, tapping his temple. “My brain’s a blender. Every time I sit, it spins harder.”

“That’s not a vortex,” Machquito corrected. “That’s your mind warming up.”

“How do I shut it down?”

“You don’t. You learn where the off switch for your attention is.” Machquito flicked the gyroscope, and it whirred to life, smooth as a cat. “Tool on, tool off. You’re the hand, not the spin.”

Flip fanned the brazier while Zip held a pair of tongs like a microphone. “Breaking news: **Galactic’s Greatest Chef—Chef Flaming Sausage—**returns to the dojo!”

“Not helping,” Machquito said, but his eyebrow twitched as if he secretly thought it was.

“Okay,” Cog said, “I’ll sit. But thoughts keep marching.”

“Let them march,” Machquito advised. “Don’t hand them snacks.”

Zip froze with a sausage mid-air. “He means us.”

Machquito patted the mat beside him. “Five breaths. No heroics. While the world tries to steal you.”

Cog sat down, his shoulders and jaw tight. Machquito nodded once. Flip rang the gear-chimes off-beat, and Zip narrated like an auctioneer. “Auctioning distractions—one fake Admiral coin saying ‘Stand down,’ two Shadow Zodiacs on aisle doom, and a hot grill special—ego flambé!“

Flip flipped a sausage, and it sizzled like a tiny dragon. Cog flinched on his second breath, his eyes darting, his hands twitching.

Machquito tapped the mat, low and steady. “Spine tall. Jaw soft. Breathe like waves. You don’t brace. You root.”

Zip amplified the chaos, flipping the fake coin so the Admiral’s voice barked, “Stand down.” But Machquito’s palm caught the coin without him looking, and the voice died as he closed his fist.

“Breath three,” he said.

The wind picked up, the chimes clattered, and Flip fanned harder, smoke curling into Cog’s face. Cog inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled even slower. His shoulders dropped a notch.

“Breath four,” Machquito said. “Let the noise be weather. You’re the sky.”

Zip leaned into Cog’s ear, whisper-shouting: “Chef Flaming Sausage says look at meee—” Machquito extended the humming gyroscope. Cog’s eyes settled on its steady spin, and he ignored the whisper.

“Breath five,” Machquito said.

Cog’s jaw unclenched. The room felt bigger. The chimes were still there, but they weren’t in him anymore. Machquito clicked the gyro off, and the resulting silence was clean.

“That,” he said, “is composed under fire.”

Cog opened one eye. “So the trick isn’t to stop thinking.”

“No. It’s to stop feeding what doesn’t help.”

Zip offered a sausage like a medal. “Congratulations. You didn’t blink.”

Cog almost laughed. “I blinked.”

“Sure,” Flip said, “but you didn’t chase.”

Cog stood, feeling taller. “Will she be okay?” he asked, his voice small. “TinTing. She slipped.”

Machquito looked toward the heat haze shimmering in the valley below. “Two boys hesitated,” he said. “Then one asked for help. They moved together. She found the edge again.” He smiled without showing his teeth. “Your turn will come. Train for that.”

Cog nodded. “Five minutes. Every day.”

“Start now.” Machquito pointed to the brazier. “Your timer is a sausage.”

Zip gasped. “High stakes.”

“If it burns,” Flip added, “you start over.”

Cog sat down again. Breath in. Breath out. The chimes clinked. The coin remained in Machquito’s closed fist. The gyro waited.

Zip whispered, softer this time, like a friend keeping watch: “News flash—stillness wins.”

Machquito settled beside Cog. “Not wins,” he said. “Holds.“

They breathed together. The breeze moved. Somewhere, a dragon did not need to roar.

 “Okay, thanks Grand Machquito. Hey, will she be alright, I think she will find her internal balance? By the way, try not to corrode too much—I’ll see you on TikTok…”

Chapter 25: The Jade Glow

Light erupted from the center of the vault, a thread at first, then a flood. All 64 glyphs fired at once, and the Taiji matrix shimmered in jade, gold, and star-blue. The ancient doors shuddered and swung wide as symbols on the ceiling flared, chasing the darkness from the room.

For one long beat, silence hung in the air. Then, the room thumped like a giant drum, as if the mountain itself had finally let out a breath it had been holding for a hundred years.

At the core, TinTing stood with her eyes closed, her fear burning away like mist. Her glyph didn’t just close the ring; its light flowed out and wrapped around the entire circle. The sound was both music and shield at the same time. She trembled, not from fear, but from the power of change.

High above, the Jade Dragon wove itself into the Dragon Shield, its light running under its scales to burn the last of Liánhuǒ’s curse to ash. Old, invisible chains snapped and fell without a sound, and even the floor felt lighter.

“If you’re going to rewrite the regulations, do it with flair!” Magpie said from his perch. “If the Vault collapses, Horse squad, you’re buying me a new one.”

No one laughed; they were too stunned. The doors opened to reveal a mural of the Eight Immortals, their eyes bright. For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole universe was watching.

As the matrix peaked, TinTing’s old shard, her badge of failure, melted and re-formed in her palm. Now clean and bright, it pulsed with the room’s rhythm, no longer humming, but singing.

The Dragon’s voice echoed through the stone. “You are the Jade Glow. The 88,888,888th sigil. Let your light guide.”

Power surged through the hall. People cried, others laughed, and old grudges dropped away like dust.

Magpie pretended not to have tears in his eyes. “Mostly intact. New record.”

TinTing looked at Pip, who looked back. Li Wei gave a small nod. Words were not needed. Together, they stepped through the doors and into their future.

The first strike was not loud, but wrong. The air in the doorway smudged, and 12 dark shapes peeled up from the floor. They were not the Zodiac Shields, but shadows of them—sharp where the real ones were smooth, and hungry where the real ones were steady.

The Shadow Rat cut across their sightlines with jittery after-images. The Shadow Ox bent gravity sideways, causing their boots to slide off the glyphs. The Shadow Tiger shoved people with shockwaves that were out of sync with the drum. The Shadow Rabbit twisted space, causing lines to not meet.

Black-coated Syndicate trenchcoats slipped between them, their null-silk cuffs and expressionless faces a grim sight. One threw glittering dust that killed sound where it landed. Another tossed a net that ate light. A third flicked a coin that produced a perfect, fake Admiral’s voice, “Stand down.” The rookies flinched, and two nearly obeyed.

“Fake. Eyes on me,” Magpie snapped. The room went kinetic.

Pip moved left with Squad 6, calling counts with his fingers when the sound cut. Zip and Flip shot along the ring like gremlins, hook-knives out, helmets clunking. Flip used a magnet clamp to snap a trenchcoat’s null net. Zip headbutted the Shadow Rooster’s shins, yelling, “Clock this!” and then rolled out of the way as Pip slid a spar through it and pinned it down.

TinTing’s light pushed against the resistance, then pushed again. The Shadow Dragon leaned in from the ceiling and began to drink from her edges. The trenchcoats fed it, thin black cords running from their sleeves to the shadow’s mouth.

Li Wei saw the cords first and moved toward TinTing, but Pip caught his arm. “No,” he said, hard and with instinct, remembering the moment of hesitation in the tunnels. Li Wei froze, hurt flashing across his face, then went wide to try and work a flank.

The Shadow Dog lunged where loyalty lives. It copied an ally’s posture, then grabbed Li Wei’s wrist and twisted him into TinTing’s sightline, making it look as if he was the one pulling her away. TinTing’s focus wavered. The Shadow Rabbit took the inch and turned it into a mile, shifting the floor under TinTing. Her link slipped.

Everything got ugly. The Shadow Pig swallowed the drum’s beat, and the Shadow Snake looped a coil over TinTing’s shoulders, muting her glyph. A trenchcoat cracked a baton, and a voice like her mother’s came out, “Ting, baby—come home.” TinTing’s knees bent, not in a fall, but as if she was leaning into the voice. The Jade Glow thinned.

Pip went straight for the Shadow Snake, his spar like a paddle. He hit it again and again, harder each time, but the coil didn’t care. He pushed, he snarled, but he wouldn’t call Li Wei.

Zip and Flip slammed a cart into the Shadow Ox’s shins. “Heave-ho!” Zip whooped, only to be flung into a banner. Magpie dove, caught him by the vest, and slingshotted him back. “Again,” Magpie said coldly.

The trenchcoats smiled without lips. One flipped his coin, and the Admiral’s voice returned: “Pip—stand down. That’s an order.” For a half-second, Pip’s hands twitched.

That half-second cost them. The Shadow Rabbit split the floor. A thin seam appeared, then widened, and TinTing slid backward, out of the center, out of her own light. The Jade Glow guttered like a candle in a strong wind.

Pip’s gut turned to ice. He looked at Li Wei, past the memory of that bad moment in the tunnels. Li Wei was already moving back toward the cords. He hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t run.

Pip choked on his pride, then swallowed it. “Li Wei!” he begged, his voice raw. “I can’t get her. Help me.”

Li Wei’s eyes snapped to his. The hurt vanished. He nodded, without a lecture or an “I-told-you-so,” and struck the cords like a blade.

“Two-count!” Pip yelled. “On me!”

Li Wei drove the Shadow Dog back with a clean step-cut. Pip dropped under the Shadow Snake’s loop, got his shoulder under TinTing’s weight, took the burn, and set his jaw.

“Now!”

They moved together.

Pip took Rat-Ox—quick hands, solid core. He jammed the seal’s faulty lattice, braced, and held. Li Wei took Tiger-Goat—a hard shove followed by a soft landing. He hammered the Shadow Rabbit with a straight-line strike and smoothed the warped space with a breath that felt like mercy.

The floor snapped back into place. TinTing slid back into her own light like a bead onto a string. The Shadow Zodiacs hissed as if they were losing air. The trenchcoats stopped smiling.

The Shadow Rooster tried to reset the room’s timing, but Zip hit its ankle with a wrench. “Not on my watch, chicken!” he yelled. Flip fired a grapnel that wrapped a trenchcoat’s coin and yanked the fake Admiral’s voice into the rafters. Magpie snagged it out of the air, swallowed it, and burped static. “No more lip,” he said.

Pip and Li Wei didn’t let go.

“Three-count,” Pip said through his teeth. “Cut and cover.”

Li Wei’s eyes flicked to the cords feeding the Shadow Dragon. “On four.”

They moved without a word.

Pip stepped in and snapped two of the cords at the coupler. Li Wei slammed Tiger down the remaining line, and Goat spread a soft quake that knocked the trenchcoats off balance without breaking bones. Zip and Flip flipped the null nets back over the trenchcoats, trapping two of them in their own gear. The rookies saw their chance and surged, shields high and brave.

The Shadow Pig tried to swallow their sound again, but the kids stomped in unison, left, right, left, making their own drum. The vault answered, faint at first, then stronger. The beat came back.

The Shadow Dragon lunged for TinTing’s light one last time. The Jade Dragon descended like a door slamming shut. It didn’t roar. It simply looked. Its light touched the Shadow’s mouth and sealed it shut with a quiet “enough.”

The Shadow Zodiacs shredded like wet paper in the wind. The trenchcoats cut their lines and ran into the cracks they had opened. Zip pegged one with a sausage. “Arrested by lunch,” Flip applauded.

TinTing’s legs gave out, and Pip and Li Wei caught her together. Her eyes were open but distant, and the Jade Glow flickered as if listening to something far away.

“Move!” Magpie snapped. “Hall of the Twelve. Now.”

They carried her there, and the rookies cleared a path without being told. The room’s edge shimmered, and the shields in the old tiles woke up just enough to hold the space.

TinTing did not speak or cry. She was in a fight no one else could join.

Pip knelt and pressed his forehead to hers, his breath shaking. He pulled a smooth, cool green stone from his pocket. “Pohnamu,” he whispered, curling her fingers around it. “Find me, okay?” He kissed her hair, a light promise. “I didn’t come here for love,” he whispered. “I came to stop him. But… you were there. You’re here.” His voice broke, and he let it. “This isn’t goodbye. Mā te wā.”

He stood guard with Li Wei beside him. No one mentioned the earlier grab. No one needed to.

Outside the hall, the vault still smelled of heat and metal. Inside, it was quiet, not empty, but held. The fight was won, but the hard part, the part no one else could do, had just begun.

Pip did not look away. Li Wei did not either. They stayed there until the beat under the floor matched the beat in their chests, and then they stayed longer still.