The first thing Brennan felt when she woke up was fear.
It was a haunting fear, that burned from the inside out, radiating the neural implants all the way to the base of his spine. He opened his eyes with a hoarse groan, the sterilized white ceiling of the CUMR Central Base infirmary spinning slowly above him.
A technomancer nurse approached, her violet eyes glowing with diagnostic runes.
— Calm down, Agent Korr. You were unconscious for almost nine hours.
Brennan tried to sit up. His body protested with a wave of pain that made his teeth grind. The servomotors of the armor had been removed, but the implants still hummed as if they were overheated.
— What… happened? — he asked, his voice hoarse.
The nurse hesitated. Behind her, a Unified Council of the Torn Worlds officer entered the room, his uniform impeccable with the CUMR emblem on his chest. It was Colonel Draven, a gray-haired Terran with a hard expression.
— Agent Brennan Korr — he said formally. — Congratulations. Portal 16 was successfully sealed. The threat has been contained.
Brennan blinked, trying to organize his fragmented memories. The pulsing portal. Echo-7 being launched. The explosion of black and white light.
— But…?
The colonel cleared his throat.
— There was a secondary collapse caused by the experimental device. Two Terran soldiers did not survive: Reyes and Park. The technomancer Thalira Voss was not found. The other team members are in serious condition in the adjacent wards. Some… have not woken up yet.
Brennan felt his stomach tighten. Thalira Voss — the mage who had sensed the portal behaving strangely. Possibly dead because of his decision, along with 2 good soldiers.
— I used the Echo-7 — he murmured, more to himself.
— Yes — confirmed the colonel, his voice neutral but with clear tension underneath. — A device still in the testing phase and expressly prohibited for field operations without Zero-level authorization. You took an extreme risk, Agent Korr. And we paid the price for it.
There was a heavy silence. The colonel continued:
— However… the mission was considered a technical success. The rift was closed. The official report will reflect that. You fulfilled your duty.
Brennan did not respond. "Technical success." Three dead. Several seriously wounded. And him alive.
When the colonel and the nurse left, he was left alone in the white room. It was then that he felt it.
It was not just pain.
It was something deeper.
An unexplained rage had lodged itself in the center of his chest, as if a sharp piece of ice had been thrust between his ribs and now pulsed slowly, in sync with his heartbeat. His neural implants gave a strong glitch. His vision shook, transforming the room for a second into black static cut by golden runes that spun like parasites.
Brennan squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head.
He took a deep breath, trying to anchor himself.
— It was just the Echo-7 — he murmured to himself. — Side effects. It will pass.
But deep down, a part of him already knew that was not true.
Something had come back with him.
Something that had not been there before.
Brennan looked at his own hands. They seemed normal. But for an instant, he swore he had seen thin veins in his arms pulsing under the skin before disappearing.
He got up slowly from the bed, ignoring the pain. He needed to go back home. To Lirael. To the girls.
He needed to feel that he was still himself.
Brennan left the infirmary still wearing the tactical uniform stained with dried blood and burned mana. The CUMR had released him for "home recovery," but the weight on his shoulders did not diminish. He entered the empty magnetic monorail, sat down on a bench at the back and leaned his head against the cold metal wall.
The train accelerated smoothly between the towers of Neo-Qy'thalor. The city lights passed blurred outside.
He activated the implanted communicator.
— Ada… are you there?
His sister's voice emerged almost immediately, clear and cutting, coming straight from the Terran orbital station.
— I'm here. And I've been looking at your data since you woke up in the infirmary. What the hell really happened in there, Brennan?
He closed his eyes.
— The Echo-7… sealed the portal, but caused a secondary collapse. Reyes and Park died. Thalira Voss disappeared. The others are in serious condition.
There was a second of silence on the other side. Ada had never liked Thalira, but still her voice came out lower:
— Shit. Three confirmed losses. I saw the logs. The device shouldn't have been used. You took a huge risk.
Brennan swallowed hard.
— I know. There was no other option.
Ada took a deep breath, the technical sound of keys being typed in the background.
— Look… I'm not going to hassle you now. But there's something. During the mission and in the minutes after you passed out, your vital signs and the neural implant data… they were altered. Strange spikes of activity mixed with mana patterns that shouldn't exist in your body. I think it's best you go straight to a techmed now, the base hospital technomancers can't scan everything.
Brennan felt the fear in his chest pulse stronger.
— What do you mean by that?
— I still don't know. That's why you need a full scan now. Deep level. I'll cross-reference it with the data I have from all the surviving team members. If it's just a side effect of the Echo-7, I'll let you know. If it's something else… we'll deal with it together. Understood?
He gripped the back of the bench until his fingers hurt.
— Understood.
— Good. And Brennan… — Ada's voice softened just a little, enough to show that behind the cynical hacker there was still the sister. — Don't do anything stupid before we have a complete result, okay?
— I need to go home first, see the girls, rest. They must be worried. I'll call you later.
The connection remained open for a few more seconds, as if she wanted to say more, but decided not to.
Brennan turned off the communicator and stayed looking at the city passing outside.
Something had come back with him.
Brennan got off the public transport and walked through the illuminated streets of Neo-Qy'thalor with heavy legs. The city looked the same as always — gothic towers of black stone intertwined with fiber optic cables, enchanted ivy pulsing softly, drones passing above like mechanical fireflies. But for him, everything was slightly displaced. As if he were looking at the world through cracked glass. The colors were a little colder. The sounds, a little more distant.
When he reached the front door, he hesitated for a second before opening it.
Lirael was waiting in the main room. As soon as she saw him, she crossed the space in silence and enveloped him in a long, tight hug. Her familiar scent wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Brennan closed his eyes and returned the hug, burying his face in her hair.
— You took a while — Lirael murmured against his chest. — I saw the preliminary report. Three dead… I met Thalira briefly, she was a good woman.
Brennan swallowed hard.
— It was close.
Lirael pulled back a little to look at his face. Her violet eyes scanned her husband's features with concern. For a brief instant, something flashed in Brennan's eyes — a cold neon reflection, almost imperceptible. She frowned slightly.
— Your eyes… — she began.
Brennan forced a tired smile and kissed her forehead.
— I'm just exhausted, love. The mission was heavier than it seemed. Nothing that a night at home won't cure.
Lirael didn't seem completely convinced, but accepted the answer for now. She squeezed his hand one last time before letting him go.
The sound of running feet and giggles came. Sylara appeared like a hurricane, her dark hair flying, a wide smile on her eight-year-old face.
— Daddy! — she shouted, throwing herself against his legs. — You're back! Tell the real story this time! Not the boring version from the report!
Brennan chuckled softly, a sound that almost sounded normal. He crouched down to his daughter's level and pulled her into a tight hug.
— The real version, huh? Okay… but only because you asked.
While he told a softened version of the mission — omitting the deaths, the Echo-7 and the horror inside the portal —, Sylara listened with eyes shining with excitement. When he finished, she ran to her room and came back holding a handmade drawing on enchanted recycled paper.
— Look what I made today with Mommy!
In the drawing, strokes showed three figures: a man in armor (Brennan), an older girl holding a runic staff (Sylara) and a smaller one with a big smile (Elyndra). Together, they closed a bright portal, mixing rays and golden runes.
Brennan felt his chest tighten hard. A hot and painful emotion rose in his throat. He ran his fingers over the drawing, tracing the irregular lines.
— This is incredible, Sy. Look… you even put the right runes. And Elyndra is holding my hand. — He affectionately ruffled his daughter's hair, smiling for real for the first time since he woke up in the infirmary. — You two are going to be stronger than me one day.
Sylara laughed, proud, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
— Of course! Because we train together!
From the other side of the room, Elyndra appeared shyly, holding her favorite doll — a small cloth mage with embroidered eyes. At five years old, she still had difficulty expressing everything with words, but her eyes said enough.
— Daddy… — she called softly, stretching out her little arms.
Brennan didn't hesitate. He stood up and picked her up in his arms. Elyndra immediately rested her head on his shoulder, her soft little hair brushing his neck. Her scent — baby soap mixed with the slight aroma of mana that was already common in the house because of Lirael's work — filled his chest like a balm.
— Daddy… you are the strongest in the world — she whispered against his shoulder, her voice sleepy and sweet. — You always come back.
Brennan closed his eyes tightly, feeling a hot wave of protective love invade his entire body. He held his daughter close, one hand stroking her back.
— Always, my little one — he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. — I always come back to you. I promise.
Lirael watched the scene from the kitchen door, a soft smile on her lips, but her eyes still carried that shadow of concern. For a few minutes, the house became just a house again: soft laughter, the sound of Sylara talking about her day at school, Elyndra asking her father to tell one more story before bed.
Simple moments.
Warm moments.
Brennan carefully set Elyndra down on the floor, gave Sylara one last kiss on the forehead and went up to the bathroom.
The hot water shower turned on with a soft hiss. He stayed there for long minutes, letting the hot water hit his shoulders and run down his body, taking with it the smell of ozone, dried blood and burned mana from the mission.
For the first time in days, a true feeling of relief invaded him.
It's over, he thought, closing his eyes. The portal was sealed. The Echo-7 worked. It will take weeks until the CUMR calls me again. No missions, no portals, no risks.
That thought brought an extra, almost sweet relief. He imagined quiet days at home: waking up without armor, having coffee while Lirael prepared morning runes, playing with the girls without the weight of a new operation hanging over him.
He left the shower feeling lighter, put on simple home clothes and went down the stairs.
In the living room, the daughters were already playing. Sylara was on the floor, making Elyndra's doll "fight" against a toy drone, laughing loudly every time the doll "won". Elyndra clapped, excited, her little hair still damp from the afternoon bath.
Brennan smiled for real.
He walked over to the wall panel and turned on the holographic television, lowering the volume so as not to disturb the girls' laughter. Lirael was still in the kitchen, the smell of stew and fresh bread filling the house.
The news appeared in the air.
An anchor with a soft and professional voice spoke in an optimistic tone:
— …we confirm that Portal 16, opened on the Eastern Frontier, was closed with total success and without complications. Mixed CUMR teams acted with speed and precision. There is no record of civilian or military casualties. The stability of the Rift remains maintained.
Brennan wasn't really listening.
The words entered and left his head like background noise. He just wanted to forget. Forget the pulsing portal, forget the Echo-7, forget the screams inside the rift. He just wanted to stay there, watching the girls play, smelling the food that Lirael was preparing, pretending that the world outside didn't exist.
For a few minutes, he managed.
He sat on the sofa, watching Sylara and Elyndra laugh, and allowed himself to believe that, at least that night, everything was fine.
Dinner was served on the enchanted wooden table that Lirael had inherited from her family. Simple dishes, but full of aroma: fresh bread, root stew with qy'thalorian spices and pork from Earth that Brennan had brought from a market. The soft lights of the floating runes mixed with the blue glow of the kitchen holographic panels.
Brennan sat at the table. Every gesture he made still hurt — his body felt the consequences of having been in a place where gravity changed every second —, he tried his best not to show that pain.
— This is very good — he said smiling, answering Lirael's question about the food.
Sylara chattered excitedly about the drawing and how she wanted to learn to mix plasma with runes when she was older. Elyndra ate slowly, looking at her father with a shy smile, still holding the doll in her lap.
Lirael watched her husband the whole time.
She noticed how he barely touched the food, how his eyes seemed focused on a distant point, how his fingers drummed on the table in a constant rhythm. Brennan had never been like that. He always told stories, made bad jokes, stole pieces from his daughters' plates to tease them.
— Brennan… — she called softly, after a long silence.
He raised his gaze. For a second, the glow returned to his eyes, faint but present.
Lirael reached out across the table and held his hand. Her fingers were warm, full of living mana. His seemed cold.
— You didn't come back whole — she said, her voice loaded with loving concern, without judgment. — I've known you for twelve years. I know when something is wrong. What happened inside that portal? What did the Echo-7 do to you?
Brennan opened his mouth to answer. He wanted to tell everything. The collapse, the deaths, the feeling of something looking back, the coldness in his chest. He wanted to collapse there, in front of his wife and daughters, and ask for help.
Brennan froze. The fork stopped in the air.
— I… — he began, his voice failing for a moment. — It was just a difficult mission. Nothing we can't overcome.
Lirael squeezed his hand harder, her violet eyes searching his.
— Don't lie to me. Not to us. If you're carrying something, we can carry it together.
Brennan felt a lump in his throat. He almost told her. Almost.
He gently pulled his hand back, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
— I'm tired, Lirael. That's all. We'll talk better tomorrow.
He got up from the table before she could insist. Sylara and Elyndra looked at him with confusion, but said nothing.
Brennan walked to the hallway bathroom, locking the door behind him. The small room was illuminated by a soft rune on the ceiling. He leaned on the black stone sink and raised his gaze to the mirror.
His reflection stared back at him.
For a second — just a second — his eyes changed completely. The brown irises disappeared. In their place appeared two absolute black pits, crossed by veins of yellow fire that pulsed like living embers. The face in the mirror smiled slightly, a smile that Brennan had not commanded.
Panic exploded in his chest.
— No… — he whispered.
He took a step back and, in a desperate impulse, punched the mirror with his closed fist. The glass cracked with a loud snap, fragments falling into the sink. A trickle of blood ran from his knuckles, mixing with the shards.
From the other side of the door, he heard Lirael's worried voice:
— Brennan? What happened?
He didn't answer. He just stayed there, breathing heavily, looking at his own cut fingers, when the weakness hit him like an invisible punch.
The world tilted. His legs lost all strength. A wave of black dizziness rose up his spine and exploded behind his eyes. He tried to hold on to the edge of the sink, but his fingers slipped.
He fell.
His body hit the stone floor of the bathroom hard. His head hit the side of the bathtub.
Silence.
From the other side of the door, Lirael heard the crash.
— Brennan? — she called. — Brennan?
No answer.
— Brennan!
The silence that followed was worse than any scream. Lirael ran to the door and tried to turn the knob. Locked.
— Girls, stay there! — she ordered, her voice already tense.
She raised her right hand. A bright golden rune lit up in her palm. With a quick gesture, she cast the unlocking seal. The lock clicked and the door opened violently.
Brennan was lying on his side on the floor, his body motionless, his face turned to the side, eyes half-open and unfocused. A thin trickle of blood ran from his forehead where he had hit the bathtub.
— Brennan! — Lirael fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she touched his face. — Love, wake up! Wake up!
She activated the communication device attached behind her ear with an urgent touch.
— Emergency! My husband is injured, residence 147, Korr's, east tower, block 7! My husband passed out, he's unresponsive! Send a medical team now!
While speaking, she gently shook his shoulder, her voice failing.
— Brennan, please… stay with me… don't do this…
From the bathroom door, Sylara and Elyndra watched in silence, their little eyes wide with fear. Sylara held her younger sister's hand tightly. Elyndra had her lower lip trembling, tears already beginning to form.
— Daddy… — whispered Elyndra, her voice small and scared.
Sylara said nothing. She just squeezed her sister's hand harder, her little face pale with terror.
Lirael continued trying to wake him, her trembling hands on his chest, while the emergency automated voice repeated on the communicator that the medical team was on its way.
Help arrived ten minutes later.
An emergency AeroMobi emerged from the purple sky, its red and golden lights flashing silently. The vehicle stopped floating exactly next to the apartment's large emergency window — a wide and reinforced opening that all residential buildings had, precisely because access through the corridors was too slow in serious cases.
The window opened with a hydraulic hiss as soon as the AeroMobi aligned. Two paramedics jumped directly into the apartment, followed by a third who carried a foldable stretcher.
— Where is he? — shouted one of them.
— Here! In the bathroom! — answered Lirael, her voice trembling.
They followed the sound of her voice down the hallway. In the bathroom, the lead paramedic was already opening the stretcher on the floor with a metallic click. The other two moved quickly: one of them held Lirael by the shoulders firmly, gently moving her away but without hesitation, while the second did the same with Sylara and Elyndra, who watched everything with their little eyes wide with terror.
— Give us space, ma'am. Give us space.
Brennan was carefully lifted and placed on the stretcher. His body was limp, his head hanging to the side, the blood from his forehead already dry. He was breathing — slowly, but breathing —, however his eyes remained half-open and empty, completely "off".
Lirael went down with the girls by the emergency elevator to the building's underground parking lot. The girls were silent, too scared to cry. She put them in the back seat of the family car, fastened the belts with trembling hands and followed the AeroMobi that was already departing floating ahead, red lights cutting through the night.
Inside the air ambulance, the paramedics began the first care still during the flight. One of them checked the vital signs while the other adjusted a neural stabilizer over Brennan's forehead. The devices emitted constant beeps.
— Breathing present, but zero response — murmured one of them. — He is completely off.
Lirael, in the car right behind, gripped the steering wheel tightly, her eyes fixed on the red lights of the AeroMobi that was heading to the techmed registered in Brennan's file.
Techmed Alaric Syn was a man of about seventy years old, with sparse white hair and sharp gray eyes honed by decades of impossible surgeries. He received the case with silent urgency, without wasting time on formalities.
When Lirael and the girls arrived at the medical center, Brennan had already been taken to the treatment room. They were directed to the waiting lobby — a cold environment, illuminated by soft blue runes and holographic panels.
Alaric placed Brennan on the Diagnostic Bed, a wide and gleaming structure that combined Terran technology with qy'thalorian magic. As soon as his body touched the mattress, automatic restraints closed gently around his wrists and ankles. Mechanical arms descended from the ceiling: X-ray sensors, retractable needles for blood collection, neural scanning probes and analysis runes that slowly spun in the air like golden gears.
The diagnostic system hummed for almost fifteen minutes, analyzing every implant, every synapse, every residual trace of mana.
Finally, a neutral and artificial voice came from the bed's speakers:
— Recommendation: complete reset of all neural implants. Followed by application of guided artificial electrical stimulus at specific points of the cortex that show null activity. High-risk procedure. Responsible party authorization requested.
Alaric looked at the observation glass where Lirael waited, pale. She nodded, her eyes full of tears.
He followed the recommendations.
First came the reset: all implants were turned off simultaneously. Brennan had a brief convulsion, his body arching on the bed. Then, one by one, Alaric applied the electrical stimuli — small arcs of bluish light that entered directly into the "off" points of the brain, accompanied by stabilizing runes that floated over his forehead.
The procedure took almost two hours.
When it ended, the monitors emitted a long and constant beep.
Brennan woke up slowly.
His eyes opened with difficulty, as if his eyelids were made of lead. He blinked several times, confused, looking at the white ceiling and the cold lights above him. His mouth was dry. His head throbbed.
— …where… am I? — he murmured, his voice hoarse and distant, as if coming from very far away.
After waking up, Brennan was transferred to the observation room.
It was a small functional apartment, fully paid for by the CUMR premium plan: a main bed for the patient, two smaller beds for companions, a window overlooking the purple horizon of Neo-Qy'thalor and a holographic panel that displayed all vital signs in real time. The air smelled slightly of disinfectant and stabilizing incense.
Lirael and the girls were allowed to stay with him.
A few hours later, Alaric Syn entered the room. The techmed looked even older under the cold light of the monitors, his gray eyes tired but attentive.
— Good morning, Agent Korr — he said, pulling a chair next to the bed. — I'll be direct. We performed the complete reset of the implants and applied the guided electrical stimuli. The procedure went as expected.
Brennan, still a little groggy, just nodded.
Alaric continued:
— The problem is that we couldn't diagnose the exact cause of the collapse. There is no permanent damage to the implants, nor traces of infection or overload. I have some theories… the most likely is prolonged exposure to unstable mana during portal missions. But nothing is certain. The exams show nothing conclusive.
He gave a slight sigh, almost resigned.
— Anyway, you are stable now.
The next day, Brennan was already fully lucid.
Sitting on the bed, he played with the girls. Sylara was on top of him, tickling and laughing loudly, while Elyndra nestled beside him, holding the little doll and asking him to tell "the story of the neon dragon" one more time. Lirael watched from the armchair, a tired but relieved smile on her face.
Alaric appeared at the door, crossed his arms and watched the scene for a moment.
— Physically, you are great — he said. — But I recommend that you stay here for another three days under full monitoring. I want to be sure there will be no relapses.
Brennan looked at the girls, then at Lirael, and nodded slowly.
— All right. Three days.
In the following three days, Brennan showed no signs of worsening.
The daily exams continued clean. The implants remained stable. Alaric Syn, even cautious, found nothing that justified keeping him hospitalized any longer.
On the morning of the fourth day, he was discharged.
Lirael signed the documents with hands still trembling with relief. Sylara and Elyndra waited in the hallway, holding balloons that the hospital had given as a gift. When Brennan left the room dressed in ordinary clothes, the girls ran to him, hugging his legs at the same time.
The way back home was silent, but light.
Inside the car, Lirael drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other intertwined with Brennan's. The daughters slept in the back seat, exhausted after three days of tension. Brennan looked out the window, seeing the towers and holographic panels pass by, and felt a huge weight leaving his shoulders.
They all carried the same feeling: a deep, almost desperate relief.
The problem had been solved.
The crisis had passed.
The family was whole again.