The ruins of Noctis were quiet now, but not at peace. The scent of blood still hung thick in the air, heavy with copper and heat. Lana stood in the middle of the broken courtyard, her boots soaked to the ankles in drying hybrid gore. The stones beneath her feet were cracked and littered with mangled limbs, but she didn't move. Not yet. Her body was still, but her mind raced.
Kieran crouched near the edge of the blood-spattered square, his claws slowly retracting. He'd come down from the frenzy, but the wildness hadn't left his eyes. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven rhythms, like he was trying to breathe out something that didn't belong in him. Nyx sat on the edge of a collapsed support beam, her expression unreadable, but her fingers twitching in subtle, repetitive patterns. She was calculating again—measuring something only she could see.
The White Sentinel was gone, but its presence lingered like a shadow burned into the walls. Lana's eyes kept drifting to the rooftops, half-expecting to see it perched again, silent and watching. She didn't know why, but she felt certain that thing hadn't come to kill them. It could have, easily. No—it had come to observe. Maybe even to guide. The thought unsettled her.
She took a slow breath, forcing the tension in her shoulders to melt. The heartbeat in her chest—hers, not the corridor's—was steady. But beneath it, that second rhythm, the pulse she'd come to recognize as the Queen's mark, was stronger than ever. Not painful. Not threatening. But undeniable. It wasn't fighting her anymore. It was syncing. She could feel it.
Then came the sound.
A low whine, almost mechanical, buzzed from the east, followed by the unmistakable rumble of feet. Dozens. Fast, furious. Not stealthy this time. They weren't hiding—they were charging.
Nyx stood abruptly. "They're not scouts this time."
Kieran's claws snapped out again, and he rose into a crouch. "It's a purge."
From the shadows between the ruined towers, they emerged. Twenty—no, closer to forty hybrids. Their bodies were bigger than the scouts', twisted and bulked with reinforced bone and sinew. Some carried jagged weapons, others relied on their claws and sheer force. Their eyes burned red this time—not tracking, but locked onto targets.
Lana stepped forward.
She didn't speak. She didn't give orders. Her body moved on instinct.
The first wave of hybrids charged.
Kieran was the first to meet them, roaring as he lunged into the pack. His body blurred, claws slicing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. He moved like a shadow wrapped in teeth, every strike precise and monstrous. One hybrid leapt on his back, fangs bared, but Kieran spun and slammed it into the ground so hard the stone cracked. Blood sprayed across his chest, and he didn't pause.
Nyx moved with eerie grace, her hands glowing with pulses of psionic light. She touched her temples and the ground beneath one cluster of hybrids exploded in a pulse of sound. Three were thrown back into walls, their skulls cracking on impact. Another charged her from behind, but she turned just in time to release a pulse point blank. Its chest caved in.
Lana's second heartbeat thundered louder, syncing perfectly with the chaos. Her vision sharpened. Time slowed—not literally, but her reactions quickened so fast the world seemed to crawl. A hybrid lunged at her with a blade of fused bone. She sidestepped, grabbed its arm mid-strike, and used its own momentum to drive the blade into its throat. Another came from the side—she ducked and snapped its knee, driving her fist into its chest.
The ground ran slick with blood. And still they came.
Five surrounded Kieran, forcing him back. He gritted his teeth, eyes wild, muscles swelling. Then he roared—not in pain, but in surrender. He let go of what remained of control, and something snapped inside him. His spine extended, claws doubled in length, and his jaw cracked open wider than before. He ripped through the attackers like paper, one after another. A hybrid latched onto his arm—he bit its head off.
Nyx, surrounded on a broken archway, began to glow faintly. Not from within, but from beneath her skin. Her veins shimmered. Her eyes went black, then gold. She extended her arm—and a wave of psychic force slammed outward, lifting ten hybrids off their feet and slamming them into rubble. She began to float—barely, just an inch—but it was enough.
Lana stood in the center of it all. Blood coated her hands. Her hair clung to her face. She didn't scream. She didn't rage. She walked. Calm, focused.
The final wave came.
Ten elite hybrids. Taller. Armored in fused bone. Carrying blades that shimmered with corridor toxin.
One raised its weapon.
Lana closed her eyes.
Her heartbeat stopped—just for a second.
And then, it returned. Stronger. Louder. Clearer.
A pulse of silver light erupted from her chest, and the ground cracked outward. The hybrids were thrown back, their bodies smoking where the light touched them. Lana opened her eyes, and they were clear as ice. No glow. Just clarity.
She moved—fast. Faster than she should. One step, and she was in front of the first hybrid. She struck it once in the chest, and its body folded inward. She pivoted, struck again—three down. She didn't use weapons. She was the weapon.
When the last hybrid fell, the battlefield was still.
Kieran stood, breathing heavily, blood steaming off his shoulders. Nyx floated down, her power receding like a tide. Lana turned, walking slowly toward them.
Then, the air changed.
A silent wind passed through the ruins. High above them, on the tallest spire left standing, the White Sentinel returned. Its armor gleamed faintly in the moonlight. The bone mask split down the middle, revealing a second set of deep, alien eyes—neither cruel nor kind. Just ancient.
It watched them in silence.
Lana lifted her head and met its gaze.
A moment passed. Then another.
The Sentinel nodded—once. A small, decisive motion.
And then it vanished. Not into shadow. Not into mist. It simply ceased to be.
The Queen had seen them. And chosen to let them live.
Jason appeared from a side passage, his face dirtied, his shirt torn at the collar. He looked exhausted, but unharmed. The moment he locked eyes with Lana, a strange relief passed through his features.
"I saw it," he said. "The white one. Watching from the spire."
Lana crossed her arms. "You followed us."
He gave a short nod. "Didn't feel right leaving. Not with you looking like that."
Her brows lifted. "Like what?"
Jason hesitated. "Like you stopped being afraid."
"How did you get past the gate?" Kieran asked.
Jason looked toward the rubble. "Didn't need to. There's an old Queen escape craft in Sector 3. The hybrids kept it intact. Or someone wanted us to find it."
Lana exhaled. "Every time we move, something opens. Not because we're winning. Because we're following her script."
Kieran scowled. "Then let's rewrite it."
Jason nodded west. "The plane's intact. No autopilot, but I can fly it."
Lana looked at the others. "We leave at nightfall."
As they walked toward the hangar, their bodies ached—but their steps were steady.
The Queen had tested them.
They had passed.
But she wasn't done.
High above, behind layered clouds, another ship stirred.
The Queen's eyes never closed.