Chapter 103: Fracture

“No. I didn’t even know… he was tied to my own existence until recently. You know what he did to me. What he wanted me to become…”

“Exactly.”

Vykhor’s voice cut like a blade.

“Exactly, Evelyn. He shaped you. By raising you, he planted in you everything he wanted.”

“And I rejected all of it!” she snapped. “I ran from him. I betrayed him. I’m with you, with all of you.”

“You say that now.”

He finally looked at her. A hard look, betrayed, threaded with pain.

“You don’t understand,” he went on, deaf to her voice. “That day, I lost everything. My parents. My people. My world. And today, it’s through you that his shadow comes back into my life.”

“I didn’t choose any of this!” she shouted.

“You are his work.”

Silence.

A wall had risen between them. Impassable.

Rax tried to step in. “Man, calm down.”

But Vykhor had already turned away. His prosthetic crackled, blue lines vibrating with anger in every movement.

He walked off without looking back.

Evelyn stood frozen.

“He didn’t even look at me,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Rax set a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s not lost. He’s broken. That’s different.”

Silence fell again, heavier than every wall in this forgotten wing.

Evelyn leaned against the metal bulkhead, arms wrapped around herself as if to keep her heart from exploding. She couldn’t breathe. Not because of faulty filters or dust. Just… him.

Vykhor.

He had left. Without another word. Without a glance. And that was worse than if he’d screamed.

She lowered her head. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale burning. In her chest, a dull pain throbbed—unbearable—one no fight had ever managed to inflict.

He had pushed her away.

And she understood why. That didn’t make it easier.

A deep voice broke the silence gently.

“Evelyn…”

Rax, who had kept a respectful distance, finally came closer—one slow step, no sudden moves. He wasn’t the demonstrative type. But he was there. And that was all she could handle.

“I didn’t know it would hurt this much,” she breathed without looking up.

“It’s because he cares about you,” he said simply.

A joyless laugh escaped her.

“No. He cared about what he thought I was. An ally. A sister-in-arms. Not a design error crawled out of a genetic nightmare.”

“You’re not an error.”

He crouched beside her. She felt the warmth of his presence, the weight of his silent loyalty. No big speeches. Just… Rax.

She finally looked up, eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall.

“And if it’s true? What if I’m just a product? A variable in an equation he wrote years ago? A successful version of his project… and everything I think I am is just well-oiled conditioning?”

“Then why’d you run?”

She blinked, startled.

Rax shrugged.

“If you were really his toy, you wouldn’t have run. You wouldn’t have fought. You wouldn’t have doubted. You would’ve just obeyed. But you told it all to hell. You chose your path. And you keep choosing it. Even here, even now.”

Silence. Then, softer:

“That’s not conditioning. That’s you.”

Evelyn drew a long breath. A tear slipped out despite her. She wiped it away with her sleeve, furious at her own fragility.

“Thank you, Rax.”

“I don’t know how to comfort people,” he said as he stood. “But I know how to protect them. And I’m here. Until the end.”

He held out his hand.

Evelyn took it and got back to her feet.

She already missed Vykhor. Terribly.

But she would hold on. For him. For all of them. For herself.

Technical Wing – Griffin, Zeynn, and Blue

The technical wing vibrated with the aftershocks of fighting still active in nearby corridors. Griffin hammered at an old terminal, eyes narrowed behind the greenish glow of the screens. Zeynn, kneeling by a wall, kept a firm grip on Blue by the scruff of the neck. The animal growled, ears pinned back.

Something was wrong. The young Nytherian could feel it.

“There’s latency in the power circuits,” Griffin murmured. “If I force the cycle here, we can neutralize secondary security.”

“Then do it,” Zeynn whispered, tense. “We have to reach them.”

Griffin was about to answer when the screen flickered. The power cut out for a brief instant—then red light washed over the room.

A laugh. Soft, cold. The Master’s.

The image appeared.

A corridor. Shadows. Voices. Vykhor. Evelyn. And that tearing moment when Vykhor turned on his heel.

Zeynn shot to his feet, eyes wide. Griffin stayed frozen. The air became unbreathable.

The Master’s voice rose.

“You still think you control anything, Alan? You are only a pawn like the rest. I created Evelyn. And I destroyed what still kept her on the right side. Even your little warrior prince folded. Look closely.”

The video replayed. Again. And again. Vykhor stepping back. Evelyn reaching out. And the void between them.

Zeynn moved closer, fists clenched, breath short.

“He left?” he choked. “He… he left her alone?”

Griffin said nothing. The impassive mask he usually wore faltered, cracked by cold fury. But he forced himself to hold it in. Not in front of him.

“You see,” the Master continued, “your little protégée is broken, Alan. And the other one… he is starting to understand too. That everything he loves… ends up falling. Like you. Like her.”

The transmission cut out abruptly.

Zeynn stood there, staring at the now-black screen.

He whispered:

“He broke her heart…”

“No,” Griffin said. “He broke her balance.”

Zeynn turned to him, trembling.

“So what do we do? Wait for everything to collapse again?”

Griffin shook his head. For the first time in a long while, his Exotherian pupils glinted with a fierce light.

“No. We move.”

“Even if she’s alone?”

“Especially because she’s alone.”

Zeynn didn’t answer right away. But when he rose, it was with a different kind of resolve—like a son who would no longer let his heart-mother face chaos without him.

Blue, silent until then, rumbled low. Ready to follow.

The doors slammed with a dull thud, sealing the corridor behind them.

Medical Wing – Rax, Evelyn, and Vykhor

For a moment, silence felt heavier than artificial gravity.

Vykhor barely turned, impassive, eyes fixed on the darkness of the passage ahead. His Kael’tarian prosthetic pulsed with a bluish glow, a reflection of the storm inside him.

“This way,” he said sharply. “I’ll cover the west wing.”

No answer.

Behind them, Rax had already set a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. She kept her eyes down and didn’t try to stop Vykhor. Her fingers trembled faintly, her breath uneven. She didn’t even watch him go.

Rax supported her gently, without a word.

“It’s better this way,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Vykhor took the left corridor, his footsteps echoing like cannon fire through the solitude. He disappeared into the dark, body drawn tight like a bowstring. Alone.

Rax guided Evelyn in the opposite direction, toward the medical wing. She walked mechanically, gaze unfocused, lips sealed. But as they moved away, a shiver climbed through the air—a tension, as if something in the metal of the walls was watching their separation with satisfaction.

The Narak’Tharr was nothing but a memory now. Here there was no ship. No pack.

Only fragments.

Broken hearts. And two opposing paths toward an enemy who was already waiting.

Elsewhere in Helios – Zeynn, Griffin, and Blue on the Move

Zeynn walked fast, shoulders rigid, fists clenched. Griffin and Blue followed in the oppressive silence of a secured corridor, shielded from the Master’s sensors. A metal door slid aside.

And there, facing them—walking alone, dark-eyed, expression hard—stood Vykhor.

Zeynn stopped short. Griffin held him back with a gesture, but the young Nytherian ignored it and stepped forward.

“You’re finally coming back?”

No irony. Just cold anger.

Vykhor didn’t answer immediately. His eyes met Zeynn’s. There was fatigue there, doubt, an immense weight. But no apology.

“Where is Evelyn?” Griffin asked, calmer.

“With Rax. They’re moving toward the central core.”

“Without you?”