Dev was finally discharged from the hospital after being kept under mandatory 48-hour observation, thanks to hospital policy. He sat in a wheelchair, a cast wrapped around his ankle, crutches resting in his lap. His expression was a deep frown.

  Behind him, Babak was grinning like a kid with a new toy, pushing him with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  “Can you not?” Dev muttered. “This is already embarrassing enough.”

  “Nah, dude—this is fun. You’d definitely be doing this if I was in a wheelchair. Yo, let me pop a wheelie real quick—”

  “NO! Stop. Just... just get me to the car.”

  “Fine, fine,” Babak said, chuckling. “No need to get your panties in a twist. Hey, those nurses are kinda cute. I think they’re giving me the look.”

  Dev glanced over—only to see the nurses absolutely not giving Babak any kind of flirtatious look. If anything, they were giving him the stink eye for treating a hospital discharge like a theme park ride. One of them even raised an eyebrow as if silently asking, Seriously?

  Dev sighed and rolled his eyes. “They’re definitely not giving you the look.”

  Once they reached the car, Babak helped him up from the chair and into the passenger seat, handling the crutches with an exaggerated gentleness that bordered on parody. Dev didn’t even fight it. He just wanted to be home.

  As they pulled out of the hospital parking lot, the radio buzzed low in the background. Some classic rock station. Babak tapped the steering wheel idly before turning to Dev.

  “So,” he said, “I looked into those names you gave me—Sanctuary, Grizanth, and ManaTech Solutions.”

  Dev perked up slightly.

  “Sanctuary’s a guild based in Arizona,” Babak continued. “Seems like they’re expanding across the Southwest—setting up contracts, signing talent, building infrastructure. Grizanth’s down in Louisiana. Creepy logo, but they’re spreading along the Mississippi. Both of them are picking up traction.”

  Dev nodded. As expected. These two would become important in the years to come. Not just guilds, but the foundation of the southern defense grid. The reason the demonic forces never crossed the border into the northern cities. In the future, people called them the Twin Guardian Spirits of the South.

  “And ManaTech Solutions,” Babak went on, glancing at the GPS, “looks like a new startup based out of Denmark. Pretty fresh. All I could find was a barebones site talking about ‘elevating mana through the fusion of magic and technology.’”

  Dev leaned his head back against the seat, eyes distant. He knew exactly what that meant. And he knew exactly who was behind it.

  Alyria Gammelgaard.

  In the future, she’d be known as the greatest mage of the era— She had been one of the hunters who participated in the Demon King Gate raid. While others passed on their techniques before dying, Alyria hadn’t. Her mastery of magic was so far beyond everyone else that even posthumous attempts to reverse-engineer her creations had failed. Every single one of her company’s devices had been protected with anti-tampering wards sophisticated enough to fry military-grade scanners and stump top tier mage-type hunters.

  If Dev could reach her early—earn her trust, maybe push her to share her knowledge before it was too late—it could change everything. Humanity’s odds of surviving what was coming would skyrocket.

  But that was a big if.

  “The two guilds seem like a good investment that I could swing,” Babak continued. “But ManaTech Solutions? I don’t know, man. On paper they read more like a shell company. No investor list, no leadership bios, no patent filings—just a vague-ass website and a lot of mystical buzzwords.”

  Dev turned his head slightly, wincing as his neck protested. “Babs. Trust me on this.”

  Babak glanced at him, skeptical. “You always say that right before some wild shit happens.”

  “I mean it this time. In a few months, ManaTech is gonna drop a prototype called Eidolon Weave. Looks like a small badge—barely bigger than a quarter. You activate it, and it forms a second skin around your body. A seamless mana barrier. Skin-tight, reactive, fully integrated. It’s an environmental adaptation rig.”

  “English, please.”

  Dev took a slow breath. “It lets a human survive in any environment. Lava fields, void zones, radiation, even underwater. It bends mana to simulate Earth-like conditions—oxygen, gravity, temperature, stability. It makes unlivable places livable.”

  Babak blinked. “So like… a magic space suit?”

  “Yeah,” Dev said. “A portable biome that lets you stand toe-to-toe in places only monsters could walk through.”

  Babak let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s actually insane. Still sounds fake, but… insanely cool. How do you even know about this?”

  “Fake now,” Dev said with a half-smile. “But trust me—it’s real. Consider it a little... insider trading.”

  He didn’t mention how thousands of Eidolon Weave units were eventually mass-produced, rolled out to elite hunter guilds and response teams worldwide. How they saved lives across dozens of battles—how the Weaves had kept an entire Hunter unit alive during the raid of environmentally-hostile Cat-Plus Berlin Gate.

  He also didn’t mention how no one could ever reproduce them. How every attempt to reverse-engineer the tech ended in failure, fried circuitry, or corrupted mana flows. How the blueprints were lost the moment Alyria Gammelgaard, the founder of ManaTech Solutions, died in the final raid of the Demon King Gate.

  She had the answers, Dev thought. She just didn’t share them.

  But maybe—this time—she would.

  The rest of the car ride passed in relative silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the radio and Babak’s absent-minded drumming on the steering wheel.

  Dev was quiet, lost in thought. If he played this right—if he moved soon—he might be able to steer Alyria toward a different fate. One where her brilliance wasn’t lost in a smoking crater. One where humanity didn’t have to choose between desperate improvisation and total collapse.

  And all he had to do was figure out how to get an audience with a woman who, in this timeline, probably didn’t even know he was.

  No pressure, he thought.

  They finally pulled into their apartment complex. The garage door rumbled open and Babak eased the car inside. Once parked, he hopped out and circled around, helping Dev out of the passenger seat and getting his crutches set up.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Together, they made the short trek to the elevator.

  When they got back to the apartment, Dev immediately crashed onto the couch with a heavy sigh, dropping the crutches to the side. He barely had time to kick his feet up before Babak disappeared into his room.

  A moment later, Babak emerged—now dressed in a sharp business suit and drowning in Dior Sauvage.

  “Alright,” he said, adjusting his tie. “I’m off to work. Already late. I’ll make those trades for the companies you mentioned, so this better get me promoted.”

  Dev lifted a lazy hand in acknowledgment. “Dude, I know it will.”

  “Oh, and the cybersecurity guy I told you about? He pulled the list of the porter teams from the NYPD’s database. I emailed it to you yesterday. So, maybe look at that instead of bingeing crap on TV all day.”

  Dev smirked. “No promises.”

  Babak pointed at him with mock warning. “I mean it. And if you need anything else... don’t call me.”

  He flashed a grin, waved, and slipped out the door.

  Silence fell again.

  Dev let it settle for a beat before pushing himself upright and reaching for his laptop. He popped it open, opened his email, and found the message from Babak. Attached was the porter team list. He immediately started filtering through it, cross-referencing names, details, any hint of familiarity. He was so focused, he almost didn’t hear the voice.

  Almost.

  “I didn’t think he’d leave so quick.”

  The voice was distorted, low and modulated—but unmistakably familiar.

  Dev froze.

  His eyes widened. He turned sharply, grabbing one of his crutches like a makeshift baseball bat. Without thinking, he swung it with everything he had—

  THUD.

  The crutch connected squarely with Xyros’s head.

  Xyros didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. The full force of the swing landed like it had hit a concrete pillar.

  Dev stared at the unmoving figure.

  The crutch dropped to the floor with a dull clunk.

  Dev stared up at the unmoving figure, still trying to decide whether to scream, bolt, or grab the crutch again and aim lower.

  Xyros tilted his head. “...Ouch?”

  Dev exhaled slowly. “What are you doing here? How did you even get inside?”

  The metal man gave a low, amused hum. “Window,” he said simply. “Slipped in while you two were busy playing hospital discharge Olympics. Been standing in the corner all invisible-like.”

  He stepped forward, boots surprisingly quiet on the hardwood.

  “Color me surprised when your friend started talking porter teams. Made my ears perk up. If I didn’t know any better... I’d say you’re looking for someone.”

  “So you were part of the porter teams,” Dev said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Good to know.”

  The metal man tsked—a sharp, mechanical click of disapproval.

  “Enough of your questions. My turn.”

  He moved in closer, step by step, until he was towering over Dev.

  He leaned in, visor reflecting the pale glow from Dev’s laptop screen.

  “If I was suspicious before… now I’m sure. So I’ll ask again.”

  A pause. The air thickened.

  “How do you know that name?”

  Another step forward.

  “Who told you?”

  Another step.

  “How many others have you told?”

  Dev swallowed the lump rising in his throat, forcing himself to sit up straighter despite the cast and the very real possibility of being yeeted through a wall.

  He met Xyros’s unreadable gaze and raised an eyebrow.

  “Damn, you’re really intense, huh?” Dev muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

  “Talk”

  “Look, I have no idea who you are.”

  “Then why are you looking through the porter teams?”

  “I’m looking through the porter teams to find someone else. His name’s Rowan. He’s the one who told the porters to evacuate. I didn’t see him with the others during questioning, so I’m just trying to see if he made it out alive.”

  Rowan stilled, jaw tightening. "This kid…" he thought. "He’s worried about me? Dammit."

  "Hooman." Xy’Rosh’s voice crackled through the neural link. "The boy’s lying."

  "What? How do you know?"

  "I can read his vital signs. His electrical signals. He’s telling a partial truth, maybe, but not the whole thing."

  Rowan rolled his eyes behind the visor. Great.

  He stepped forward, his voice colder now. “Cut the bullshit.”

  “You said something right before you passed out. A name.”

  Dev didn’t respond.

  Xyros’s modulated voice dropped to a low rumble. “Xy’Rosh.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Really” Xyros asked, voice low and edged.

  “Xyros. I said Xyros.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No,” Dev said firmly. “Xyros is the guy in my dream—the one who looks like you—fighting hordes of monsters. I have no idea what a Xy’Rosh is.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “A dream?” Xyros said flatly. “That’s what you’re going with?”

  “It’s true,” Dev replied, holding his ground. “I get these dreams sometimes. They’re... vivid. Like I just walked outside and watched it happen. And sometimes they come true.”

  “So you’re telling me you can see the future?”

  “Not always. Most of the time it’s little stuff—where traffic jams are gonna be, what time a train shows up. But other times... it’s personal. Like MCAT answers. Or stocks.”

  Up in the mental link, Xy’Rosh stirred. The boy scored a 520 on his MCAT. According to your planet’s standards, that’s nearly a perfect score.

  “That just means he’s smart,” Rowan shot back silently. “It doesn’t actually prove anything.”

  “He was also a pretty good shot. According to the data I found, there’s no record of the boy ever purchasing or using a gun in any capacity—yet he managed to shoot that man in the back of the head from fifty feet away.”

  “Hmm. Now that’s something. Let me activate “the Voice” and increase the pressure—interrogate the kid a bit more. See if he’s really who he says he is.”

  Back in the room, Rowan narrowed his eyes. His voice dropped an octave, smooth and dangerous

  “Alright,” he said aloud. “You want to keep dancing? Then let’s dance.”

  With a thought, he released a controlled wave of mana from his armor. It spilled into the apartment like a pressure front, thick and crushing. The lights dimmed, the air buzzed, and the temperature seemed to drop. For anyone with mana, it would’ve felt like a slight pressure or a probe. For anyone without... it would’ve felt like drowning.

  "Everything you’ve told me so far has been a lie—or, at best, a half-truth. Your concern, your background, the whole military shtick. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to give me the truth. All of it. No edits, no dodges. The whole truth."

  Dev staggered under the oppressive force of mana pressing down on him. His breath hitched, vision tunneling slightly as he clung to the edge of the coffee table.

  “Wait—wait!” he gasped, eyes wide, voice tight. “I know things about you!”

  Rowan didn’t move.

  “I don’t know your name,” Dev continued, forcing the words out through the crushing weight, “but I know you used to be an engineer. I know your power comes from the suit. Underneath all that—”

  He coughed, chest straining under the pressure.

  “—you’re just a guy lnside. Like me. A really strong guy… but still just a guy.”

  Rowan paused.

  The mana pressure lifted instantly, leaving Dev gasping like he’d just surfaced from deep water.

  He gave a subtle nod, and Xy’Rosh withdrew the flow.

  “Who told you that?” Rowan asked, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

  “I told you,” Dev panted. “I saw it in a dream. Please... just believe me.”

  Rowan was silent for a moment, then asked internally,“Xy, what do you think?”

  “According to his vital signs and electrical activity, he believes what he’s saying,” Xy’Rosh replied. “Whether it’s the actual truth... or just his truth... remains to be seen.”

  Dev sat back on the couch, still catching his breath as the residual pressure of mana faded from the room. But even as the physical weight lifted, his mind was spinning.

  Military background?

  Even if Xyros had run a full background check in this timeline, there wouldn’t be any military record. Dev had never served—not here. So why had he brought it up?

  But now, in the silence, it started to click into place.

  There’d been one name. One that kept resurfacing in his mind. Someone who fit the physical profile. Someone he had told about his military experience…

  A name tied to anomalous movement patterns. A person who had vanished right before the Gate went critical. The one of the few porters who hadn’t shown up in the post-Gate debrief.

  He started laughing.

  It was quiet at first—just a breath, a disbelieving chuckle—but it grew, short and sharp like someone who finally solved a riddle they’d been kicking themselves over.

  Rowan tilted his head. “What the hell’s so funny?”

  Dev wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “God. It’s so obvious now.”

  He sat up straighter, grinning through the pain.

  “Wait,” he said. “I just lied.”

  Xyros went still. “About what?”

  “I do know your name.”

  The metal man’s posture shifted—just slightly, but enough to notice. Tension re-entered the room.

  “What did you say?” the metal man asked, his voice suddenly very still.

  Dev leaned forward, pain momentarily forgotten, his tone steady now—almost certain.

  “You’re the only one on that list who fits all the descriptors,” he said. “Vanished right before the Gate went critical. And you knew the exact route I took to the boss room—not just the location. Your the only one i told about military experiance. No one else could’ve known that.”

  He let the silence stretch a beat.

  “You’re Rowan,” Dev finished, eyes locked on the masked figure. “Rowan Pierce.”

  The name hit the air like a dropped knife.

  Rowan didn’t respond immediately. But the tension in his shoulders shifted. His stance changed—barely, but enough.

  Dev smirked faintly. “Gotcha.”