The training hall slled of scorched tal and sweat. Orion stood before Varun, his breath heavy from the last sparring session. The older warrior wiped his face with a cloth before tossing it aside, his obsidian blade resting against the wall.
"You've been asking about Hekatryon," Varun said, breaking the silence. His tone wasn't harsh, but there was a weight to it.
Orion nodded, still catching his breath. "I know it's more than just so advanced material. I have asked Cassian about it—" He hesitated, searching for the right word.
Varun finished for him, his lips curling into a slow, unsettling grin. "And there's a reason you weren't supposed to know about it yet," he said.
Orion frowned, his shoulders tensing. "Because I'm not ready?" he said, his gaze searching Varun's face.
Varun exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "Because when children were taught about it early, they got kidnapped and tortured for what they knew."
Orion stiffened. He had expected so vague excuse about responsibility or discipline—not that.
Varun gave him a mont before continuing. "About a decade ago, a rival faction found out that Archon families were training their kids in Hekatryon from an early age. So they started abducting them. They wanted to know how it worked, how to create a Xenothalamus, how to harness it. But even worse, they wanted to find the ones who could use it. You don't need to tell you what they did to get those answers."
Orion's stomach turned. He thought of the security details, the constant surveillance, the paranoia that had surrounded his childhood. He had always assud it was because of war. He hadn't considered this.
"They stopped teaching it to kids after that," Varun continued. "Now, unless you're a special candidate, you don't hear a damn word about it until you join the military for your compulsory service. By then, you're old enough to be useful and strong enough not to break."
Orion swallowed, his throat dry. "But why do I get to know about it now?" he said, shifting his weight slightly, his fingers tightening at his sides.
Varun uncrossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because you're my disciple."
Orion blinked. "Because of the Wraith style?" he said, his brow furrowing.
Varun nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "The Wraith style relies on a discipline called Sensoria. And you can't develop Sensoria without a Xenothalamus," he said.
The lab was quiet except for the steady hum of machinery. Orion sat on the examination table, his bare back against the cool tal of the chair. A small, floating sphere of shifting iridescent light hovered before him.
"This is a Hekatrya Orb," Varun said, standing beside him. He tapped a few controls on the holopanel, making the sphere shift in color. "It starts the process of forming a Xenothalamus in your brain. Without the chamber, this would take months of exposure normally, it was first ford in a rapture."
Orion stared at the orb, watching as tiny strands of light extended from its surface, shifting like nervous filants. "And this thing is just going to... change my brain?"
He wanted to be excited—this was the threshold of sothing greater, sothing that had been hidden from him for so long. But a part of him hesitated.
What if this process rewired him in ways he couldn't control? What if he lost sothing essential, so part of himself he didn't even realize was irreplaceable? The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it down. There was no turning back now.
"The process is gradual—your synaptic architecture undergoes restructuring, dendritic pathways adjust, and the Hekatrya integrates into your cognitive frawork at a fundantal level." Varun said.
Orion's fingers twitched, his jaw tightening slightly. "And if it rejects ?" he said, his voice quieter than before.
Varun smirked. "Then you die," he said, his fingers tapping idly against his arm.
Orion snapped his head toward him, and Varun chuckled. "Relax. If you weren't compatible, you wouldn't have been allowed in its vicinity."
Orion turned back to the sphere. "And after that?"
Varun's smirk twisted into sothing almost predatory. "After that your training starts for real."
The next phase required complete subrsion. Orion found himself in a cylindrical chamber filled with a viscous, translucent solution—a neuroadaptive dium designed to accelerate cellular integration and supply essential nutrients to his brain.
Electrochemical pulses coursed through the liquid, syncing with his body's natural rhythms, enhancing the Hekatrya's assimilation. It was neither comfortable nor painless; every pulse sent a deep ache through his skull, like his neurons were being rewired in real ti.
Hours blurred. A semi-transparent interface projected across the inside of his helt, a HUD tracking his vitals and neural restructuring progress. trics fluctuated—cortical density up 12%, synaptic efficiency spiking erratically.
He could feel the changes, not just in his mind, but in his self. Sensory input sharpened beyond normal paraters. He could hear his own heartbeat like a distant war drum, feel the microcurrents of the fluid moving against his skin.
Then ca the pain.
It wasn't a simple headache anymore—it was an unrelenting pressure, an overclocking of his cognitive functions beyond natural thresholds. His limbs twitched involuntarily, his breath hitched, and a sensation like static crawling through his skull made him want to scream. A warning flashed across the HUD: Neural Stress Threshold Approaching Critical.
Orion's body convulsed as the neural load overwheld him. His consciousness flickered in and out, thoughts scattering like static as his brain struggled to integrate the Xenothalamus. He barely registered the alarms blaring through the chamber, the warning flashes on his HUD turning into incomprehensible streaks of red. His nervous system burned, his muscles locked, and a distant part of him wondered if this was what dying felt like.
Varun was silent for a mont before answering. "Your father wants power, but he doesn't want mindless weapons. The problem is, a lot of people don't see the difference. You beco sothing else in their eyes—an asset or a potential threat."
The lab was quiet except for the steady hum of machinery. Orion sat on the examination table, his bare back against the cool tal of the chair. A small, floating sphere of shifting iridescent light hovered before him.
"This is a Hekatrya Orb," Varun said, standing beside him. He tapped a few controls on the holopanel, making the sphere shift in color. "It starts the process of forming a Xenothalamus in your brain. Without the chamber, this would take months of exposure normally, it was first ford in a rapture."
Orion stared at the orb, watching as tiny strands of light extended from its surface, shifting like nervous filants. "And this thing is just going to... change my brain?"
He wanted to be excited—this was the threshold of sothing greater, sothing that had been hidden from him for so long. But a part of him hesitated.
What if this process rewired him in ways he couldn't control? What if he lost sothing essential, so part of himself he didn't even realize was irreplaceable? The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it down. There was no turning back now.
"The process is gradual—your synaptic architecture undergoes restructuring, dendritic pathways adjust, and the Hekatrya integrates into your cognitive frawork at a fundantal level." Varun said.
Orion's fingers twitched, his jaw tightening slightly. "And if it rejects ?" he said, his voice quieter than before.
Varun smirked. "Then you die," he said, his fingers tapping idly against his arm.
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