GATE: First Encounter

Chapter 32

When the rust-stained cargo-bay door shut behind us, the air grew heavier—old oil, dust, and dried metal filling my lungs. A flickering ceiling lamp cast quivering shadows that stretched and shrank with every sway. Lynx kept her shoulders square, signaling obedience to Valsera's orders, yet the tiny twitch at the corner of her eye betrayed unease she couldn't swallow.

"Today is balance and control," she said. Her voice rang harsher in the empty space. "Heartbeat stays under one-forty. I promised not to push."

I nodded, drawing a deep breath to cage the restless heat smoldering in my chest—like trying to trap a flame within.

The warm-up passed in silence: one-legged stands on a narrow beam, slow squats, small joint circles. But the quiet wasn't soothing—it was taut. Lynx tracked every move; her gaze bounced between the pulse-band numbers on my wrist and the sweat on my face. For the first time, I felt her looking at me not as a soldier, but as a delicate, unpredictable mechanism ready to fail.

When stretching ended, she dragged an old mat into the center. "Valsera's part ends here." The docile tone vanished; the uncompromising drillmaster returned. "Last session, you collapsed at this point. Let's see if that iron was forged or merely warmed. Explosive power—shock work."

Definitely beyond Valsera's "light training," yet I didn't object. I wanted to know my limit—and what had changed.

"On my mark," Lynx said, bracing herself. "Drop, chest to floor, coil like a spring, jump as high as you can. No breath, no thought—only motion. Thirty seconds through hell, five sets. Ready?"

"Ready."

The first two sets hurt but stayed manageable. By the third, my lungs burned. Halfway through the fourth I hit the wall—muscles failing, oxygen thinning, vision tunneling. I was a breath from collapse. Lynx stopped shouting, watching the breakdown that would prove her theory.

That instant, something shifted inside me.

The familiar foreign warmth spread from my chest. Not a burst of energy—more like someone injected silent, high-octane fuel into an empty engine.

"An anomaly detected," Yaren said calmly, yet laced with surprise. "Cells are regenerating at high speed."

Externally nothing changed—no smoke, no light—but inside... the burn eased. Blurred sight cleared. Air in my lungs felt cool and strong.

Lynx's eyes widened.

Because I hadn't slowed—I'd accelerated.

I finished the fourth set. Without waiting for the fifteen-second rest, I launched into the fifth. Each rep was stronger, tighter than the first set.

When I stopped I stood tall in the bay's center. Yes, breathless; yes, dripping. But not a wreck on the floor. I could have kept going.

Lynx approached slowly, lowering her stopwatch. No admiration, no anger—only the cold, deep suspicion a soldier wears when faced with an inexplicable anomaly.

"That," she murmured, "what was it?"

"I just pushed myself," I said, trying to steady my breathing.

"No." She shook her head. "That wasn't 'pushing.' That was shutdown. I saw it—you hit the wall. When a body exhausts, it needs rest. Yours didn't. It lied. And now you're lying."

I felt the invisible bridge of trust crack. I wanted to tell her everything. But this was my fight; I couldn't drag her in.

"I can't explain," I whispered.

Her expression crumbled—suspicion turning to hurt. She watched me a moment, then gave a bitter smile.

"I see." But she didn't.

She turned away. "On a battlefield," she said, walking to the door, "the thing that kills faster than the enemy's weapon is the secret your comrade keeps."

She paused without turning. "I don't know what you're hiding, but I hope someday you tell me, Okan. That's it for today. Rest."

And she left. When the door clanged shut, the vast bay felt truly empty for the first time in my life. Lynx's disappointed voice echoed in my skull.

I sank to the floor. The ache in my muscles was nothing next to the ache in my chest. I'd succeeded—broken the limit. But the cost was fracturing the trust of the one friend I had here.

"Yaren..." I whispered inside, helpless. "What do I do?"

Silence. As if he were calculating millions of scenarios. At last his voice came—scalpel-sharp, cool.

"Logical choice: report to Serynox Valsera. She holds your baseline data, and her top goal is to keep you alive. Lynx is emotional; Virel unpredictable. Valsera is the safest ally."

His logic was flawless on paper. But I had blood, not data, in my veins.

"How do I tell her, Yaren?" I said, rising. "Knock on her door and say, 'Hi, an unknown power resurrects me mid-collapse'? They'd strap me to that table, restrict every move. The sliver of freedom I have—I can't give it up."

"That freedom is an illusion," Yaren replied. "The power is uncontrolled, and secrets erect walls between you and allies. Fight alone and odds of failure rise."

"Maybe," I muttered, heading for my quarters. "But I won't go empty-handed. I need to learn more—what sets it off, its limits, its cost. We gather data, win time."

Yaren fell silent—rethinking the "illogical" plan within his logic grids.

Finally he spoke, resigned:

"Understood. New strategy: controlled observation and data collection. But remember—the Serynox team is close, and secrets—especially those that appear in numbers—can't hide forever."