The wind in Enclave Nine always smelled of rust and blood.
Wren hated it here.
Even before the Council had turned it into a testing ground, even before rogue Shatterborn factions claimed it for their own, the enclave had always felt wrong. Like something was rotting beneath the metal.
But now—as she, Asher, Zara, Mira, Echo, and Rafe stepped through the underground threshold—the rot had a voice.
Gunfire crackled far off in the distance. Not enough to be urgent, but close enough to whisper: you're late.
The interior was scorched and hollow, lined with collapsed market stalls and crumbling structures. Their boots crunched glass. Old neon signs flickered above, remnants of an undercity that once had color. Now it was only red, black, and war-worn grey.
"They're already here," Rafe muttered, eyes narrowing as he peered through the shattered window of what used to be a med station.
"They" meant the Broken Crest—a violent offshoot faction of Shatterborn extremists who believed the Council had to be destroyed by any means necessary. Even if it meant burning innocents with them.
Zara clenched her jaw. "We warned them weeks ago. Told them the Crest would make a move soon."
"And they didn't listen," Mira said, voice tight. "Or they couldn't."
Asher stepped into the center of what was once a public square. A rusted statue of a faceless Shatterborn stood at the middle, split down the center. A poetic kind of irony.
"This isn't a rescue," he said. "This is reinforcement. We stabilize what's left. And if the Crest won't stand down, we put them down."
Wren gave a sharp nod, already pulling up her tablet and syncing with the local tech grid. Most of the city's systems had been fried during the last conflict, but pieces still lived—old security cameras, abandoned surveillance drones, a few weathered data cores.
"I've got movement," she whispered. "Three blocks north. Flashes of kinetic resonance. Definitely Shatterborn signatures. Multiple."
Echo stepped up beside her, cracked knuckles glowing faintly beneath his gloves. He didn't need to speak.
The crew moved.
They split into two units—Asher, Zara, and Echo taking the main path through the alleys while Mira, Rafe, and Wren flanked from the collapsed monorail line above.
Wren hated splitting up. It never ended clean.
But the Crest had dug in deep, and with the Council breathing down their necks, they couldn't afford delays.
As she moved along the broken rail with Mira and Rafe, her thoughts flickered to the files still encrypted on her tablet. The Vault data. Names. Origins. Abilities that didn't fit within Council records. Shatterborn like Echo, whose abilities evolved far beyond early classifications.
And then there were the redacted names. Dozens of them.
Zara's name among them.
Wren still hadn't told anyone that.
A whisper from below yanked her back.
Rafe held up a hand—halt.
Down in the courtyard below them, two Broken Crest operatives were dragging a girl with glimmering skin and terrified eyes. A Shatterborn—young. Too young.
Wren didn't wait.
She activated her EMP nodes and dropped over the side, twin blades forming along her wrists from her kinetic harness. The moment she hit the ground, both operatives turned—but she was already moving.
Rafe dropped in behind her, a pulse of air pushing outward as he fired a projected shockwave from his open palm, slamming one of the Crest into a wall with bone-snapping force.
Mira was silent as smoke, her shadows flickering like ribbons around her arms as she went straight for the second.
The fight lasted twelve seconds.
When it ended, the girl was staring up at them with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"You're…" she started, "…you're the ones from the Enclave Seven broadcast."
Wren knelt. "Yeah. We're also the reason this place hasn't been completely leveled yet. What's your name?"
"Kael."
"Can you walk?"
Kael nodded, too fast.
"Then come on. Time to get out of the fire."
Meanwhile, Asher stood knee-deep in broken stone and molten earth.
Echo had carved them a clean path by sheer force, but the resistance was heavy—Crest soldiers using corrupted amplifiers to mimic true abilities, their minds barely coherent.
It didn't take long before they were surrounded.
Zara's hand snapped outward, waves of illusion shimmered around them, distorting their enemies' vision. But the effect was weakening—too many, too close.
Asher closed his eyes.
And he let the power come.
The air fractured around him.
Energy exploded from his body like a ripple of thunder—sending the Crest flying, unconscious or worse. His skin glowed with fracture lines of light. The ground cratered beneath his feet.
When the light faded, Zara was still staring.
Not with fear.
But with something deeper.
"You're changing," she whispered.
He nodded. "I have to."
Echo grunted beside him and offered a thumbs-up before smashing one last amplifier drone underfoot like it was made of paper.
By the time both groups reconvened, the sun—or what passed for it in the undercity—was rising.
Enclave Nine was quiet again.
But this time… the silence felt earned.
Wren scanned the skyline. "More are coming. Other enclaves. Word's spreading."
Rafe folded his arms. "So what's next?"
Asher turned to the girl they'd rescued—Kael—and then looked up toward the fractured sky.
"We give them something to believe in. We bring every enclave together."
Zara stepped beside him. "Even if the Council tries to stop us."
"Especially if they do."
Wren's tablet pinged faintly.
She glanced down.
And froze.
The encryption on one of the redacted files had finally cracked.
She read the name once.
Then twice.
Then slowly raised her eyes.
"…Asher," she said quietly, "you need to see this."