I hadn't even sat up yet. My mind still rang with the icy echo of Valsera's lab, while my body, almost on instinct, was bracing for morning. Dawn hadn't yet seeped into the station's steel shell, but the tension inside me had been awake for hours.
Three sharp, decisive knocks came at the door—a summons, not a request. Then a familiar voice cut through the silence like a blade:
"Get up. It's time."
Even through the door, Lynx's voice was unmistakable—hard-edged, all purpose and no warmth.
I rose slowly. When my bare feet touched the cold floor, the symbiote at my wrist pulsed faintly, reminding me it was there. Yaren was awake but silent, watching from the back of my mind like an analyst in a command center. Maybe he wanted to leave this morning—this first confrontation—to me.
When I opened the door, Lynx stood like a statue, dressed in a form-fitting, dark-gray-and-black training uniform. The close-knit fabric traced her musculature, each breath causing subtle shifts beneath the surface. Her tail was still—not with excitement, but with the patience of a predator. Her eyes scanned me top to bottom like a commander inspecting a weapon. She took in the fatigue on my face, the resolve in my eyes, and said nothing. Then she turned.
"Follow."
No frills. This morning she wasn't my friend; she was my trainer.
We moved through the corridors in silence. The station still slept. Emergency lights cast a low glow; the air was cold enough to sting my throat. Our footsteps echoed in the metallic maze as she guided me through narrow, neglected routes—avoiding main halls entirely. It was deliberate, steering me along paths no one else used.
After a few doors, two metal staircases, and a damp-smelling service tunnel, we reached a narrow passage with a rusted security panel caked in dust. Lynx tapped her wrist against it. The system hesitated, then emitted a low, reluctant beep.
The door slid open with a hiss, like an old machine clearing its throat.
A rush of cold, musty air hit me—nothing like the sterile breath of the station above. This was the scent of something dead, not living. Lynx glanced at me.
"This is your battlefield now. Go in."
The change in atmosphere was instant. Light came only from a few failing fluorescents, flickering like restless ghosts. The floor was cracked tile, darkened with old water stains. Rusted pipes ran along the ceiling like veins, webbed with dust and cobwebs, carrying a faint, wheezing current of air.
The place had been forgotten. But now it would be revived—by my pain.
"You won't shed blood today," Lynx said, her voice echoing in the emptiness. "But we'll find your limits. I don't know what you'll face tomorrow. I need to know how you take pain, how fast you get back up, how long you can hold your breath."
She stepped closer, voice like a vow.
"This isn't training. This is survival."
I scanned the room: a collapsed storage rack in one corner, shattered crates scattered across the floor. It was a graveyard turned depot—now to become my war zone.
"Ready?" she asked.
I swallowed. I wasn't ready—no one could be. But there was no choice.
"I'm ready," I said, my voice steadier than expected.
Lynx nodded, dropping a few items from the bag slung over her shoulder—weighted spheres, a balance bar. All old, scratched, and dented, but serviceable.
YOU ARE READING
GATE: First Encounter
FantasyA stranger in his own body... An intruder in his own mind... Okan had no idea he was living the last ordinary day of his life. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his own bed but a captive on Aetherion-a distant world beyond the stars. How...
