You weren't just another living weapon to be honed. You were an anomaly. An unstable core of ancient energy, pulsing at rhythms that even previous records couldn't decipher. The Council called it potential. Enjin called it danger. Danger to the world, and especially to you.

That's why they put you there.

Officially, he was your trainer. Unofficially, your guardian. The only person authorized to stand between you and total collapse when your vital instruments went out of control—which happened frequently. The first one was enough to destroy an entire city block if used without restraint. The second… the second shouldn't even be mentioned. Enjin had been clear from the start: that wasn't an option.

The training setting was a semi-abandoned containment ring, embedded in the industrial ruins of an old energy district. Broken towers served as pillars, cables hung like exposed veins, and the ground was marked by ancient fissures. That was where he tested his limits. And that was where you began to surpass them.

The fight escalated too quickly.

You felt it first: that familiar pressure behind your sternum, as if something were trying to force its way through. The simulated enemy—a heavy, brutal construct—advanced relentlessly. Your first instrument no longer responded accurately. The world became muffled, distant. Enjin sensed it even before you decided.

"No." His voice cut through the air, low, firm, just enough to be heard. "Don't cross that line."

But you crossed it.

The second vital instrument responded like a creature forcibly awakened. The environment reacted immediately: the towers vibrated, the air became dense, and the released energy no longer followed known patterns. It wasn't brute force—it was pure, instinctive, dangerous intention. Something that obeyed no orders, only will.

Enjin moved instantly.

He interrupted. His body entered your energy field as if defying you, negating part of the release with a precise, almost intimate gesture. The construct was disintegrated by the residual impact, but that no longer mattered.

"Enough." The word wasn't a shout, but a decree.

The containment field closed forcefully. The energy retreated, reluctantly, until it gathered again within you, leaving a heavy silence and a trail of controlled destruction around it. Enjin was still too close. Close enough for you to perceive the tension in his shoulders—not from fear, but from something deeper.

Worry.

Contained anger.

He would never admit it in any report.

The strong smell of the cigarette, now crushed by your teeth, and a men's cologne beneath the intense aroma of the smoke. His presence overwhelmed you.

"I forbade you from using that." He said, now lower. Not as a superior. As someone who knew exactly the price of every choice you made. —Not because you aren't capable. Enjin would hate you if you were weak, defenseless. Everything had a reason: every time you open that door, something doesn't come back.

He held your gaze longer than necessary. The whole world seemed reduced to that instant suspended between you—smoking ruins, residual energy in the air, and a silent truth: Enjin was there only to ensure you didn't destroy everything around you.

But perhaps if you fell completely, he would be the only one willing to fall with you to stop you.