The first sound didn't come from inside the house.
It came from the city—low, long, and ugly, rolling over rooftops like a warning wave.
WOOOOOO—
Lux stopped mid-step. Rize flinched so hard he nearly spilt his water.
Thalia didn't shout. She didn't run. She just turned her head and listened—counting the length of the siren the way people in Sirius City learned to do without being taught.
Then Lux pointed, voice jumping. "Mom… the book!"
On the corner of the living-room table lay a thin Bureau booklet—barely thicker than a school workbook, ten pages at most. It was always kept within reach, like a bandage or a knife.
Now the entire booklet glowed.
Not bright enough to light the room, but bright enough that the cover looked traced in pale fire and the Bureau seal pulsed like a heartbeat.
Rize stared, whispering, "Why is it shining…?"
Thalia was already reaching for it. "Because the city just pushed an alert."
Lux swallowed. "What is it?"
"The Aetherkin Codex," Thalia said, pulling it closer. The cover felt warm under her palm.
Rize blinked. "A… what?"
"Aetherkin Codex," Thalia said simply, flipping it open. "A book that glows as the alarm blares. It sent information to us, civilians, about what's happening when the patrol can't knock on every door."
As the cover opened, the glow tightened into the pages. Ink shimmered across the first sheet—letters dissolving and reforming as if an invisible hand was writing in real time.
Rize leaned closer, eyes huge. "It changes…"
"Yes," Thalia said. "So that we can prepare ourselves."
Her gaze scanned once. Fast.
Then her voice hardened.
"North District breach."
Lux's face tightened. "Breach… like the wall?"
"Not only just the wall," Thalia replied and frowned. "But also entered the district."
She read it aloud, each line landing like a weight.
NORTH DISTRICT BREACH ADVISORY
Multiple wild Aetherkin confirmed in civilian zones.
Containment patrol active.
Civilians: remain indoors. Secure doors/windows.
Threat classes observed: insect-type, rodent-type, bird-type.
Rize swallowed audibly. "Bird-type…?"
Lux's hands curled into fists. "We should—"
"No," Thalia cut him off, clean and sharp. "You will sit. Away from windows."
Lux looked like he wanted to argue on instinct alone, then Rize's fingers tightened around his sleeve.
"I don't like the siren," Rize whispered.
Lux swallowed the protest and sat hard on the sofa. Rize tucked himself into the corner like the cushions could block the world.
Thalia yanked the curtain half-closed. Her eyes swept the room—front latch, back bar, window locks—then landed on Kai.
"Kai," she said, voice low and firm. "Go back to your and your brothers' room. Lock the windows. Stay off the floor near the glass."
Kai didn't argue. His ribs tugged when he stood, but he didn't let his face show it. "Yes, Mom."
Lux started to rise. "I'll go with—"
"No," Thalia cut in. "You stay here where I can see you."
Rize peeked over the sofa arm. "Kai…?"
Kai gave him a small nod. "I'm going. I'll be right there."
He turned and went down the hall.
Not hurriedly.
His body was still recovering. Every few steps, his ribs complained. His shoulder ached when he breathed too deeply. The pain wasn't sharp enough to stop him—just constant enough to remind him he was still breakable.
He kept his pace even.
If Lux saw him grimace, Lux would follow.
If Rize saw him grimace, Rize would panic.
And Thalia… She knew the story.
So Kai walked like it was nothing.
Step. Step. Step.
He slipped into their shared room and shut the door gently behind him.
Kai checked the windows first.
Lock.
Latch.
Second latch.
Sirius City homes were built as if the city expected to be bitten.
The frames weren't cheap wood. They were reinforced composites, banded with dull grey strips that absorbed impact. The glass wasn't ordinary either—thick, treated, and seated in brackets meant to hold even when something desperate slammed into it.
People living near a frontier wall didn't buy "pretty."
They bought "still standing."
Kai exhaled and stared at the door.
Alright… maybe I can use this chance.
He didn't like the thought. It felt greedy.
But he liked dying even less.
Kai raised his voice just enough to carry down the hallway.
"Mom," he called, steady, "I'm going to rest in the room. I've already locked the windows."
There was a brief pause. Thalia answered from the living room, calm and firm.
"Okay. You can stay there. Don't sit by the windows. Keep away from it."
"Yes, Mom," Kai replied.
She thinks I'm resting. That's better.
He turned the lock.
Click.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final.
Kai leaned his forehead against the door for one breath, letting the ache in his ribs settle.
One small test. Just information.
He crossed to the desk and sat down carefully. He didn't slump. Slumping hurt.
His hand drifted to his chest, over the replica amber.
Under it, the hum stirred—quiet, alert, waiting.
Kai swallowed.
"If you're in there," he whispered, "then listen."
He didn't try to understand it.
He tried to use it.
He closed his eyes and pushed intent through the hum.
Come.
Air thickened near the desk. A presence snapped into the room.
The first Bloodcurdle Mosquito manifested—bottle-sized, dark-bodied, wings a blur, needle angled down in disciplined stillness.
Kai stared.
So it's real.
He exhaled slowly.
"Survey outside," he murmured, then pushed the same thought through the link.
Scout. Return if danger.
He unlatched the window, opened it only enough for the insect to slip out, and shut it immediately.
Thunk.
The link snapped into place like a thread tied to his sternum.
And this time, it was more than instinct.
His vision doubled.
Not fully. Not cleanly. But enough.
His own eyes still saw the dim room, the desk, the curtain, the locked window frame.
At the same time, another sight overlaid itself across his mind—jittering, airborne, predatory.
He could see through the mosquito.
Not like looking through a normal person's eyes.
The world from its view was broken into motion, blood-warmth, air tremors, and kill-lines. Edges mattered less than openings. Distance felt shorter. Wind felt visible.
Kai sucked in a breath.
So this is what Active means.
He didn't just command it.
He was linked to it.
He could feel its flight corrections as if a second instinct had been hung inside his skull. He could still think as himself, but the mosquito's hunting logic bled into him—cold, exact, patient.
Then another presence touched the edge of that layered sight.
Close. Sharp. Hungry.
And through the mosquito's perspective, Kai saw it too.
Another Bloodcurdle Mosquito.
Wilder. Unbonded. Drifting in the breach-touched dusk like a loose blade.
Kai pushed a question into the link.
Same as you?
Warm pulse.
Familiar needle-hunger.
Yes.
Kai's heartbeat jumped.
He sent the next instruction, simple and direct.
Bring it. Escort it to the window.
Minutes passed like a tightrope.
He watched both ways at once—his own body still in the room, shoulders tense, and the mosquito's body outside, circling, guiding, closing.
Then a faint tick touched the glass—so soft it could've been a leaf.
Kai rose carefully, ribs protesting, and peeked through the curtain.
Right outside hovered another bottle-sized mosquito, darker and wilder, wings beating unevenly. The first held position beside it like a guard.
Kai could see it with his own eyes.
And he could see it through the first mosquito's eyes too—close, sharp, vulnerable.
His throat went dry.
He cracked the latch just a finger-width—just enough to allow what came next.
Then he recalled the deployed insect.
Back.
The first Bloodcurdle Mosquito dissolved into pale light and sank into his sternum.
The second sight vanished with it, leaving Kai briefly dizzy from the sudden silence in his head.
Slot freed.
Now only the wild one hung there, vibrating with hungry intent.
Kai swallowed and reached inward toward the hum.
Take it.
Pale golden strands spilt from Kai's chest as smooth, controlled strands.
They wrapped the creature layer by layer, forming a glowing cocoon tied to his chest.
Then the cocoon shrank and was swallowed whole as the strands retracted into his body.
Kai staggered back.
Not pain—shock. Like his body had done something it wasn't meant to do.
Again.
But, this time, he's the one initiate the capture.
Then he felt it.
Two presences.
Two rhythms.
Opposite sexes.
Kai's skin prickled.
The start of the colony.
He forced himself not to spiral.
Test. Confirm. Survive.
He focused inward.
Come out. Both.
Pressure tightened behind his ribs. Air thickened—
—and only one mosquito manifested.
The other stayed inside like it had hit an invisible ceiling.
Kai stared.
"…Seriously?"
He dismissed it.
Back.
Then he called again, shifting focus.
Come.
The other mosquito manifested.
So he could choose.
But never both.
Kai exhaled slowly.
One at a time. That's real.
Then the practical problem hit him.
How do I tell you apart when I looked at you like you were twins?
Kai rubbed his forehead. "Ah… damn it."
He called one out again. "Land."
It dropped onto the tabletop.
"Okay. You're the first Bloodcurdle Mosquito," Kai whispered. "Lift one leg."
One leg rose.
"Good."
He recalled it.
Then called the other. "Land."
It settled.
"You're the second Bloodcurdle Mosquito. Two legs."
Two legs rose, steady.
Kai nodded once. "Alright. That works."
It wasn't mysticism.
It was bookkeeping, so he didn't die later.
He deployed the first Bloodcurdle Mosquito again.
The second sight returned with a jolt.
This time, he was ready for it.
His own eyes watched the curtain edge and the room.
The mosquito's eyes rode the air outside.
He saw the world as the insect saw.
Faster than a human should.
Colder.
Every opening was a line of attack. Every movement was either prey, threat, or waste.
Then it found trouble fast.
Feathers. Talons. Diving hunger. Wind-slap.
And because he was linked, Kai saw the attack itself from the mosquito's perspective—a blur from above, a hooked shadow cutting down through the dusk with murderous speed.
A wind-bird predator.
Kai ordered retreat. The link jolted with muted pain as the mosquito got clipped—warning more than agony.
He unlatched the window early, opened it wider, and pulled the mosquito in.
Then he slammed the window shut.
Thunk.
A hard impact followed—heavy enough to carry through the house.
A bird slid down the pane, dizzy, shaking its head.
Kai saw it clearly and cursed under his breath.
"Gust Sparrow."
It kicked off and vanished into dusk.
Footsteps rushed down the hall.
"Kai. What was that?" Thalia's voice was sharp with controlled concern.
"Kai?" Lux sounded strained. "Are you okay?"
Rize's small voice trembled. "Brother…?"
Kai's mind raced.
If Thalia opened the door now, she'd see everything—his window setup, the blood on his sleeve, and the first Bloodcurdle Mosquito hovering like a secret with wings.
He forced his voice to sound normal—annoyed, even.
"Nothing, Mom," he called. "I— I fell off the bed."
A pause.
"You fell?" Thalia repeated.
"Yeah," Kai said quickly. "Rolled wrong. Hit the frame. I'm fine."
Lux started to move. "Do you want help? I can—"
"No," Kai cut in, then softened fast. "No, I'm good. Really. Just… embarrassed."
Rize sniffed. "You sure…?"
"Yes," Kai said, gentler. "Go sit with Mom. I'll fix myself."
Thalia's voice lowered, still firm. "Make sure to stay away from the windows, Kai."
"Yes, Mom."
Another beat.
Then her footsteps retreated.
"Lux. Rize. Back to the sofa. Now."
Kai waited until the sound faded.
Only then did he let his shoulders drop a fraction.
Sorry Mom
He swallowed guilt and looked at the first Bloodcurdle Mosquito hovering unsteadily, wing torn.
"I sent you out," Kai whispered. "That's on me. Go back inside and recuperate."
Back. Heal.
It dissolved into light and sank into his chest.
He deployed the second Bloodcurdle Mosquito.
Again, the shared perspective opened.
His own body remained in the room.
The mosquito's view skimmed low outside, hunting angles, reading warmth and motion as if the whole world were made of veins and risk.
It encountered something low, fast, armoured—rodent warmth, teeth-hunger, straight-line impact.
This time Kai didn't just tag it abstractly.
He glimpsed it through the mosquito's sight—low to the ground, dense, a flash of plated hide and snapping white.
He pulled the mosquito away.
Armoured rodent. I didn't see enough. I'll confirm later.
Then he sent the next instruction, clear and deliberate.
Scout for other insect-type Aetherkin. Bring it. Escort it to the window.
A minute later, the second Bloodcurdle Mosquito returned near the window line.
Kai cracked open the curtain and saw it escorting a round beetle with pale sunspots across a dome-like shell.
Kai's mind recalled it instantly, as if the name had been waiting behind his teeth.
"Oh… a Sunspot Ladybug."
The Sunspot Ladybug clung to the outer frame—
Kai checked the inner "fit."
Blank. Wrong.
Even calm things could hurt him if they didn't fit.
He should've stopped.
But he needed to know what "wrong" meant.
He recalled the mosquito, freed the slot, and attempted capture.
Then, the strands of light spilt from Kai's chest, reached and touched the ladybug—
Resistance surged.
The strands warped, stalled, and the pressure snapped back through Kai's skull like a warning bell.
He cut it instantly.
"Stop."
The strands recoiled. The ladybug dropped away, fluttering off into dusk.
Kai pressed two fingers to his temple.
Wrong bites back.
"Go back where you came from," he murmured.
He deployed again.
This time, the mosquito escorted something larger to the window—wings buzzing so hard Kai could hear it faintly through the glass.
A cicada-like insect clung to the outer beam near the frame.
Kai could see it clearly.
It was a Spark Cicada.
Its veins glimmered faintly, and the air around it felt tense even through the window—like it was holding a charge.
Kai checked "fit."
Blank. Wrong.
He should have stopped.
He didn't.
He recalled the mosquito and pushed with intent to capture.
Then, the strands of light spilt from Kai's chest, reached and touched the cicada—
Yet another resistance surged.
Electricity jumped.
TZT!
The arc crawled along the strands and slammed into Kai's skull like a nail.
He gasped, gripping the desk edge.
Hot blood spilt from his nose.
Outside, the Spark Cicada had suddenly convulsed, then gone still.
Dead.
Kai stared through the blur of his own vision.
He hadn't meant to kill it.
Then the tug came—toward the dead.
Hunger that wasn't his.
The strands of light went straight for it, as it swallowed the whole carcass and vanished into his chest.
Something deep inside shifted, satisfied.
Kai shuddered.
So even mistakes became fuel.
Kai needed one clean win before he stopped.
He deployed the second Bloodcurdle Mosquito again and searched for the "yes" pull—whatever the correct fit felt like when it was right.
He found it.
Tiny. Quick. Patterned hovering.
The layered perception sharpened.
Not into human sight.
Into ordered awareness.
The mosquito saw it as motion and spacing.
Kai felt it as the shape of a path.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
He guided it the same way.
Bring it. Escort it to the window.
A moment later, the mosquito returned to the window line.
Kai cracked the curtain and saw a tiny gnat-like insect hovering near the outer frame, moving in measured, deliberate pauses like it was marking points in space.
Kai's mind supplied the name immediately.
"Signal Gnat…"
He recalled the mosquito to free the slot.
Back.
Then he pushed the capture intent.
Take it.
Then, the strands of light spilt from Kai's chest, reached and touched the gnat—
No resistance.
No backlash.
The strands of light swallowed the whole Signal Gnat and vanished into his chest.
Just a quiet internal click, like a new pocket opening somewhere inside.
And with it came something that made Kai's throat tighten.
Not sight. Not sound.
A ping-map.
The shape of space reduced to points and distances—paths suggested by how signals shifted.
Spiritual Detection—only the first, crude layer of it.
Kai latched the window and sank against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
From the living room, Thalia's voice carried, calmer now but still edged.
"Kai."
Kai answered immediately, before she could decide to come check. "Yes, Mom."
Lux's voice rose, worried and too loud. "Kai! Did something happen again?"
Rize's small voice followed. "Brother…?"
Kai closed his eyes for half a beat.
He couldn't let them see.
"It's nothing," he called softly. "Just a headache."
He lay down fully clothed, ribs aching, skull throbbing, and felt the hum settle beneath his sternum like something satisfied.
Inside, the presences shifted and aligned in ways he didn't fully understand.
Two Bloodcurdle Mosquitoes.
A Signal Gnat.
A carcass of a dead Spark Cicada.
A beginning.
A puzzle.
And a limit.
Kai stared at the ceiling and tried to tell himself he would test more tomorrow.
But the day had taken too much already.
If I keep going, I'll make a mistake.
And mistakes don't just hurt me. They hurt everyone in this house.
Kai recalled everything inward and made the only smart choice left.
Quit while I'm alive.
As sleep pulled him under, the ping-map flickered once—
Then a second time, sharper.
For a split second, the second flicker felt like it pointed somewhere beyond the room—toward the city, toward trouble.
Kai's eyelids dropped anyway.
He passed out before he could understand what it meant.