My Infinite System.

The world snapped back into focus with a jolt that was more mental than physical. One moment, there was the screaming chaos of the transition. The next, there was only silence and still, cold air.

Lucian blinked, his boots settling on a smooth, featureless floor. Marc stood beside him, his posture tense, his eyes already scanning their surroundings. They were in a vast, dim space. The air hummed with a low, pervasive energy that felt both ancient and deeply wrong.

And there he was.

Alistair stood waiting for them, as if he’d been expecting their arrival at this exact spot. A small, almost disappointed smile played on his lips.

”Lucian,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness. His eyes, so like Lucian’s own, swept over him, scrutinizing, probing. A frown creased his brow. ”You did not awaken.”

He took a step closer, his head tilting in genuine curiosity. ”After all that power I sent to you... you forced it away. Pushed it into your brother instead.” He glanced at Marc, a flicker of appraisal in his gaze before returning to Lucian. ”I have to wonder... are you truly my son? A true Aethel would have seized that power, not given it away. That was a... human thing to do.”

Lucian didn’t flinch. He didn’t rise to the bait. The time for doubts and questions was over. With a soft, metallic whisper, he drew his blade. The matte-black katana seemed to drink the faint light in the room. He pointed the tip directly at his father’s heart.

”Where is Lucy?” His voice was low, flat, and left no room for anything else.

Alistair’s smile returned, wider this time, tinged with amusement. ”You’ll see her in due time. She’s preparing for her role. Our role.” He spread his hands, a casual, open gesture. ”So. This is it? After all this time, you finally track me down. You stand before the father you thought was dead, the architect of your suffering... and you want to... what? Take it up with your old man?”

”You don’t get to call yourself that,” Marc said, his voice calm but layered with that eerie, dual-toned power. He hadn’t transformed, but the threat was there, simmering under the surface.

”I am what I am,” Alistair replied, his gaze still locked on Lucian. ”And I did what was necessary. I made you what you are. Strong. Resilient. You should be thanking me.”

”Thank you?” Lucian’s knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. ”For killing our mother? For tearing our family apart? For using us like pieces on a board?”

”A necessary sacrifice on a difficult path,” Alistair said, his tone shifting from amused to lecturing. ”You see the small picture, Lucian. Your pain, your loss. I see the grand design. A universe corrupted by lesser beings, a legacy wiped out by jealousy and fear. I am going to fix it. And I need my family to do it.”

”We’re not your tools,” Lucian snarled.

”Everyone is a tool for something,” Alistair countered softly. ”The question is, what are you a tool for? Your own limited sense of vengeance? Or for the restoration of everything that was stolen from us?”

He took another step forward, ignoring the blade pointed at him. ”Join me, Lucian. Not as a weapon, but as a son. Help me wake the rest of the way up. Together, with Lucy and Marc, we can be whole again. We can bring our people back. We can make a universe worthy of our bloodline.”

For a single, fleeting second, the image flashed in Lucian’s mind—a family, whole and powerful, the void of his loss filled. It was a poisonous, seductive thought.

He crushed it.

”The only thing I’m going to bring back is my sister,” Lucian said. ”Now. Where. Is. She?”

Alistair’s face fell. The last vestige of paternal pretense melted away, leaving only cold, ruthless determination. ”You disappoint me. I had hoped for more vision. Very well.”

He didn’t gesture or call out. He simply said, ”Lucy.”

A section of the wall behind him shimmered and became transparent. There, suspended in a cylinder of softly glowing energy, was Lucy. Her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her silver hair floated around her head like a halo. Her eyes were open, but they were pure, blank white, devoid of any thought or recognition. The intricate, glowing sigils on her skin pulsed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, synchronized with the thrumming core of energy that dominated the chamber behind her.

”She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Alistair said, his voice full of genuine pride. ”The key, fully forged and ready to turn.”

”What did you do to her?” Marc demanded, his own power beginning to leak out, causing the air around him to warp.

”I cleared away the clutter,” Alistair said simply. ”The doubt. The fear. The pointless attachments. Now, her will is purely my will. Her power, my direction.”

He looked back at Lucian, a final, cold offer in his eyes. ”This is your last chance. Stand down. Accept your place at my side. Or I will have her remove you.”

Lucian’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the nightmare scenario. Fighting his father was one thing. Fighting his brainwashed sister was another.

He met Marc’s eyes for a split second. A silent understanding passed between them. There was no choice. They had to get to her.

Lucian shifted his stance, the point of his sword now aiming past Alistair, toward the cylinder holding Lucy.

”We’re taking her back,” Lucian said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Alistair sighed, a sound of profound weariness. ”So be it.”

He didn’t move to attack them himself. Instead, he turned slightly towards Lucy’s chamber.

”My dear,” he said, his voice gentle, as if speaking to a sleeping child. ”Your brothers are here. They’ve come to disrupt our work. They need to be... pacified.”

The blank white eyes of Lucy shifted. They moved from staring at nothing, to focusing directly on Lucian and Marc.

A low hum filled the room, several octaves deeper than before. The sigils on her skin blazed with violent light.

She raised one hand.

And the world around Lucian and Marc erupted into a storm of raw, violet chaos.