My Infinite System.

The training room doors slid open with a soft metallic hum, light spilling across the corridor as Lucian stepped inside.

The place was alive with movement. The floor shifted between terrains in pulses of holographic light—jagged rock formations one moment, a rain-slicked street the next. Targets flickered in and out of existence, their outlines breaking into bursts of data as they were destroyed.

Evelyn’s hands blurred with spellwork, weaving sharp arcs of flame that cut down rows of simulated beasts. Silas darted between cover points, his reinforced coat trailing behind him as he dismantled a mechanical drone with clean, efficient shots. Reia moved like liquid shadow, her twin blades cutting invisible seams in the air before the targets even appeared. Vyn stood near the far wall, her black robes stirring faintly as shadows coiled at her feet, lashing upward to crush a construct mid-leap.

Lucian didn’t say a word. He walked to the center of the room, boots echoing against the adaptive flooring, and stopped.

The others noticed. Evelyn’s spell faltered for a moment. Silas paused his reload. Reia’s gaze flicked his way.

Vyn was the first to speak, her voice flat but with a glint in her dark eyes. ”Well? Did our guest sing?”

Lucian shook his head once. ”No.”

She tilted her head slightly, the shadow at her feet curling tighter. ”We can make him talk. A day in my care and he’ll spill everything.”

Lucian’s tone didn’t shift, but it was firm. ”No. Torture won’t work.”

Silas frowned. ”Why not? The guy’s chained. Even Rank X will break eventually.”

”He’s stronger than he looks,” Lucian said, looking at each of them in turn. ”Pain isn’t going to loosen his tongue. He’s been through worse before.”

Evelyn crossed her arms. ”Then what? Keep him fed and comfortable until he decides to be nice? He led the things that slaughtered half a continent.”

Reia slid her blades into their sheaths, her voice calm but edged. ”What about mental breaks? Force him into simulations until he loses sense of what’s real.”

Lucian shook his head again. ”It’s not fear that’s stopping him. It’s choice. He’s choosing to hold it back. You can’t break someone’s will with tricks when they’ve already seen the worst.”

Vyn smirked faintly. ”You make him sound untouchable.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed just slightly. ”No one’s untouchable. You just have to speak the right language.”

Silas raised a brow. ”You mean literal language or—”

But Lucian was already turning toward the door. His stride was quick, purposeful.

Vyn’s voice followed him. ”If you figure out what that is, bring me a seat. I’d like to watch.”

The doors shut behind him, muting the sounds of the training room. The corridor beyond was quieter, the hum of the ship’s systems a constant low thread. Lucian moved without hesitation, his mind sharpening around a single thought.

Karl didn’t break because they were speaking to him like humans spoke. That was the problem.

The heavy security doors hissed open again, seals disengaging in sequence.

Karl looked up immediately, molten eyes catching the light. ”Back again? Can’t get enough of my company?”

Lucian stepped inside, closing the distance until he stood just outside the grav-anchor’s range. His gaze was steady, but there was something different in it now—something focused.

Karl leaned back against the restraints, his smirk curling. ”What’s the plan this time? More questions I won’t answer?”

Lucian didn’t reply in Common.

Instead, his mouth moved and the air in the room changed. The sounds that came out weren’t shaped like human speech—deep, resonant tones layered with hisses and guttural chords, each syllable bending the air around it. It wasn’t just sound. It was weight. Heat. The low rumble of a storm deep inside the earth.

Karl’s eyes widened.

The smirk vanished, replaced with stillness. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a second too long.

Lucian kept speaking, the cadence measured, like he had been born to it. The words carried that ancient rhythm, each one cut with a power that vibrated through the metal floor.

Karl finally found his voice, but it came out lower, almost uncertain. ”You... How—”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly. The next string of words rolled from his tongue with sharper edges, as if pushing into territory most wouldn’t dare touch.

Karl’s gaze sharpened, molten glow flaring under his skin. ”That’s not possible. You’re not—” He stopped himself, breathing harder now.

Lucian tilted his head a fraction, the next phrase a low growl that carried the shape of a challenge.

Karl’s chains rattled as he shifted forward, every muscle coiled. His voice came out like heat escaping a crack in stone. ”Who taught you that?”

Lucian didn’t answer. He let the silence stretch, the echo of his last words hanging heavy in the chamber.

Karl stared at him, eyes searching his face for something—an answer, a crack, anything that would make sense of what he’d just heard. But Lucian gave him nothing.

When Lucian finally stepped back, Karl didn’t follow with another smirk. He just watched, the molten in his gaze still burning, but with something else under it now.

Recognition.

And a trace of doubt.

Lucian turned toward the door, the red glow of the seals washing over him as he left.

Behind him, Karl’s voice followed, quieter than before. ”You’re not one of us... but you speak like one.”

Lucian didn’t stop. The doors sealed shut, cutting the words off like a blade.

In the corridor, his steps were silent, but his mind was already turning. He had seen the way Karl’s posture shifted, the way his eyes narrowed—not in defiance, but in calculation.

Karl wasn’t wondering if he could break free anymore.

He was wondering what Lucian really was.

The chamber was quiet after Lucian left, the red seals casting a slow, steady pulse over the metal walls.

Karl sat there in the grav-anchor’s grip, breathing evenly now, but his gaze stayed locked on the door long after it sealed.

His fingers flexed against the restraints, slow and deliberate. The weight of those words Lucian had spoken still lingered in the air, like heat that wouldn’t fade.

Finally, under his breath, he spoke them again—this time in English.

”You walk with fire in your shadow... yet you carry the scent of the sky.”

The translation lacked the depth of the original tongue. In Dragon Speech, those words weren’t just meaning—they were layered with intent, emotion, the kind of weight that could bend the listener’s instincts. But here, stripped of that resonance, they sounded like an old riddle.

Karl’s jaw tightened. ”No human should know those words. Not unless...”

His molten eyes dimmed, as if turning inward.

Memories pressed at the edge of his mind—faces in firelight, ancient banners torn by storms, the guttural rhythm of war-councils spoken in that same tongue. Words never meant to leave the bloodline.

But Lucian had spoken them with precision. Not just mimicry. He’d understood them.

Karl leaned his head back against the restraints, staring at the ceiling. ”So what are you, Black...?”

The hum of the grav-anchor answered him, steady and unyielding.

But his mind didn’t quiet. Those words would not leave him. Neither would the voice that had spoken them.