The helicopter flew for about twenty minutes.
Leon observed the changing terrain below through the window. The ruins gradually thinned; buildings began to appear intact, and roads regained recognizable outlines. They were leaving the core area of Boston and heading northwest toward the suburbs.
From the air, he could see the occasional convoy on the ground—military trucks, armored vehicles, Humvees—traveling in columns along the highways, all heading in the same direction. Some convoys were carrying supplies, others were packed with people. Survivors. Quite a few of them.
"How many have you rescued?" Leon asked Zoe, who sat across from him.
Zoe was wiping down the limbs of her compound bow with a cloth, not looking up. "Since last night, the advanced team has rescued about three hundred people. The entire Aurora Bureau has rescued over two thousand in New England."
"Two thousand." Leon repeated the number. "The Boston metro area had over four million."
"We know." Zoe's tone was flat. "This isn't a rescue operation. It's an evacuation. Save as many as we can. Those we can't… we'll deal with later."
Later. Behind those two words lay countless lives that couldn't be saved. Leon didn't press. He no longer needed an answer.
The helicopter began to descend. Below was an area enclosed by temporary walls—walls built from shipping containers and sandbags, about four meters high, with a guard post at regular intervals. Armed soldiers stood watch at the posts, and several searchlights swept back and forth.
Inside the walls was a military base. Leon recognized the standard layout—barracks, mess hall, command post, helipad. Three helicopters and several drones sat on the helipad. Dozens of tents were pitched in the open area in front of the barracks, and people in black tactical gear—the same as Zoe's—moved among them, along with soldiers in camouflage.
The helicopter landed on the helipad. The rotor wash kicked up dust, and Leon squinted, shielding his face with his hand.
"We're here." Zoe jumped off the helicopter, her movements crisp. "Aurora Bureau's temporary headquarters. Former National Guard base."
Leon followed, his injured left shoulder twinging as his feet hit the ground. He looked around, surveying the base with the eye of a scientist examining a laboratory.
The layout was logical, the defenses complete, the personnel well‑trained. This wasn't a makeshift shelter—it was a deliberately planned command center. What Zoe had said before was confirmed: the Aurora Bureau hadn't been formed after the meteor fell; it had been ready for years, just waiting for the trigger event.
"Follow me." Zoe strode ahead.
Leon followed, across the helipad, past a row of barracks, to a two‑story concrete building. Two armed guards stood at the entrance. They snapped to attention when they saw Zoe. She nodded and pushed the door open.
The interior had been converted into a comprehensive command center. The first floor was a large hall filled with computers, display screens, communications equipment, and instruments Leon couldn't name. Dozens of people were busy—some typing on keyboards, some answering phones, some drawing lines on maps. The air smelled of coffee, printer ink, and tension.
At the front of the hall was a massive electronic screen displaying a map of New England. The map was marked with color‑coded icons—red for monster‑infested areas, green for secured zones, yellow for areas awaiting confirmation. Boston was a dense patch of red, like a spreading cancer.
"Captain." A young woman walked up, holding a tablet. "The assessment center is ready. They're waiting for you to bring him over."
Zoe took the tablet, glanced at it, then turned to Leon. "Ability assessment. Everyone has to do it, whether they join or not."
"Assess what?" Leon asked.
"Mana affinity, physical fitness, psychological profile, and… combat ability." Zoe handed the tablet back to the woman. "You've already had your affinity measured—S‑class. Today we'll run the other tests."
Leon didn't object. He wanted to know his limits too.
The assessment center was on the second floor. A large room converted into a testing facility, filled with various equipment—fitness testers, EEG monitors, mana sensors, and some things Leon hadn't seen before. In the center of the room was an empty circular area with complex symbols drawn on the floor, like a magic circle.
The person in charge was a man in his fifties, gray‑haired, wearing thick‑rimmed glasses and a stained white lab coat. He introduced himself as Howard Chen, the Aurora Bureau's chief science advisor, formerly a professor of biophysics at Stanford.
"Winchester." Howard looked at the file in his hand, reading Leon's name. "MIT, quantum physics, three years since your PhD, twelve published papers, three of them in Nature and Science. Your advisor was Robert Landau?"
"You know Professor Landau?" Leon was a little surprised.
"We were colleagues, though not in the same field." Howard looked up, gazing at Leon through his glasses. "Landau once said he had a student smarter than him. I'm guessing that's you."
Leon didn't respond to the compliment. He had no interest in flattery, only in data.
"Let's begin the tests," he said.
The physical fitness test was straightforward—strength, speed, reaction, endurance. Leon's scores were above average for his age, but not top tier. His bench press was only eighty kilograms, his hundred‑meter dash thirteen seconds—no advantage over professionally trained soldiers.
But his reaction speed test caught Howard's attention.
The test used a visual stimulus reaction timer—a light appeared at a random location on a screen, and the subject had to touch it as quickly as possible. The average human reaction time is about 0.25 seconds; trained special forces can reach 0.15 seconds. Leon's average was 0.12 seconds, with a fastest time of 0.08 seconds.
"Your reaction time is twice as fast as a normal person's." Howard stared at the data, frowning. "This isn't something training can achieve. Your nervous system may have been altered by the energy wave."
Leon didn't tell him that this score was achieved despite his injured left shoulder.
Next came the psychological evaluation. Not a questionnaire, but EEG monitoring. Howard had Leon sit in a chair with electrodes attached to his head, then showed him a series of images—ordinary, frightening, eerie, disturbing. The EEG recorded his brain activity with each image.
"Abnormal." Howard studied the brainwave patterns, his expression growing more serious. "Your amygdala's activation level in response to fear stimuli is only thirty percent of a normal person's. Not suppression—a genuine, physical insensitivity."
"What does that mean?" Leon asked.
"It means your fear response has been drastically reduced." Howard removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "When ordinary people see those mutated creatures, their amygdala goes into overdrive, causing panic, rapid heartbeat, muscle stiffness. You don't. Your brain keeps functioning rationally, as if you were processing data in a lab."
Leon was silent for a few seconds. This explained why he hadn't felt fear when facing the Shadow Cat and the Steel‑Mane Wolf—not because he was brave, but because his brain's structure had been altered. The energy wave had not only given him mana; it had rewritten his emotional response patterns.
"Is that good or bad?" he asked.
"In the apocalypse, it's good," Howard said. "In a normal society… you'd be diagnosed as a psychopath."
The final test was combat ability.
Leon was taken to a training ground behind the base. The area was small, enclosed by chain‑link fences, the ground covered with gravel. In the center stood a burly man about 1.9 meters tall, wearing a tactical vest, his muscular arms bare, his muscles hard as granite. On his hands were metal gauntlets etched with symbols similar to those on the magic circle.
"This is Marcus Lee." Zoe stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed. "Aurora Bureau's combat instructor, former Marine. His ability is 'Steel Skin'—his entire body can harden to the level of armored vehicle in 0.3 seconds."
Marcus grinned at Leon, showing a row of white teeth. "Don't worry, I won't break you. The captain says you're special. I want to see how special."
Leon flexed his left shoulder, confirming that the injury had mostly healed. He had no formal combat training, but he had the Book of Truth, mana sense, and a brain calmer than anyone else's.
"Begin," Zoe said.
Marcus didn't charge. He advanced toward Leon with slow, measured steps, each footfall crunching the gravel. His hands hung at his sides, not raised, the runes on his gauntlets faintly glowing.
A veteran's caution. He wouldn't let his guard down just because the opponent looked harmless.
Leon stood his ground, not retreating. His mana sense was fully active, tracking the energy fluctuations around Marcus. Marcus's energy source was bright—brighter than the Shadow Cat—but its pulse was steady, without the signature of an attack pattern.
He wasn't hostile. This was a test, not a real fight.
That gave Leon an idea.
He extended his right hand, palm up, and constructed a circular energy path in his palm. Energy circulated within the circle, accelerated, and was released from the center.
A small flame appeared in his palm.
Marcus stopped, watching the flame with interest. "Magic? Interesting."
Leon didn't attack with the flame. He held it for about two seconds, then extinguished it. As the temperature in his palm rose, his mana sense detected a subtle shift in Marcus's energy field—a faint disturbance, like a conditioned reflex.
He was afraid of fire.
No, not fire. High temperature. Steel Skin could harden his hide, but it couldn't insulate against heat transfer. If exposed to high temperatures directly, his skin would burn just like anyone else's.
Leon extinguished the flame and raised both hands. "I surrender."
Marcus blinked. "What?"
"Your Steel Skin is unbeatable in close combat," Leon said. "I have no weapon that can penetrate your skin and no strength to overpower you. In any direct confrontation, I have no chance of winning."
"Then that flame…"
"Just to confirm a hypothesis." Leon lowered his hands. "Your ability has limited defense against high temperatures. If I wanted to beat you, I'd keep my distance and use sustained heat to force you to retreat, rather than engage head‑on."
At the edge of the training ground, the corner of Zoe's mouth lifted.
Marcus stared at Leon for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "Interesting. Really interesting. You're the first person to surrender in this test but make it feel like you're the winner."
He walked over and clapped Leon on the shoulder—hard enough to make Leon's knees buckle. "Welcome aboard, brother."
"He hasn't joined yet." Zoe walked over, interrupting Marcus's enthusiasm. "The tests are done. Howard's data is in. Overall rating: S‑class potential."
Marcus's eyes widened. "S‑class? Same as you?"
"Same as me." Zoe looked at Leon. "Now, it's time to meet the director."
Alexander Reid, the director of the Aurora Bureau, was a hard man to overlook.
He was about sixty, 1.85 meters tall, in excellent shape, without an ounce of flab. His silver‑gray hair was neatly combed, his face had few wrinkles, but those that existed were deeply etched, like carvings. His eyes were light blue, their gaze steady, carrying the calm of someone long accustomed to being at the center of power.
His office was on the third floor of the command center—not large, but tastefully arranged. A solid wood desk, a few chairs, a map and a United Nations flag on the wall. There was no computer on the desk, only a stack of documents and a cup of cold coffee.
When Leon entered, Reid was reading a file. He looked up, his gaze lingering on Leon for two seconds, then set down the file, stood, and extended his hand.
"Dr. Winchester. I've heard a great deal about you."
Leon shook his hand. Reid's palm was dry, firm; the handshake lasted about two seconds, perfectly measured—neither warm nor cold.
"Please sit." Reid returned to his chair, folding his hands on the desk. "I've read Zoe's report. S‑class potential, outstanding tactical analysis, precise mana control. Howard's evaluation is also very positive. Your performance since the meteor fell is the best they've seen."
"Thank you," Leon said, sitting without any trace of flattery.
"I'll get straight to the point," Reid said. "The Aurora Bureau needs talent like yours. Not as a soldier, not on the front lines. As a researcher, a tactical advisor, as… well, we haven't decided on the exact title yet. But we need your brain."
Leon didn't answer immediately. He looked into Reid's eyes, assessing the man.
Reid was telling the truth—the Aurora Bureau did need talent. But he was also probing Leon, watching his reactions, looking for weaknesses, for what might move him.
"Before I answer, I need to know more," Leon said. "What exactly is the Aurora Bureau? Where did you come from? What is your ultimate goal?"
Reid looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded, as if confirming a judgment.
"The Aurora Bureau's predecessor was the United Nations 'Anomalous Phenomena Response Committee,'" he said. "Established in 2019, ostensibly to study climate change and natural disasters, but in reality, it was always monitoring global abnormal energy fluctuations."
"2019." Leon repeated the year. "Five years ago."
"Five years ago," Reid confirmed. "At that time, we discovered an ancient ruin beneath the ice sheet in Greenland. The ruin had energy readings—very strong, but dormant. We didn't know what it was, only that it was slowly awakening."
"The meteor fall triggered its full activation," Leon said.
"Yes." Reid's expression grew grim. "The meteor wasn't a meteorite—it was a phenomenon of energy focusing. It excited the energy hidden in the ruin and spread it across the globe. That's the magic tide."
Leon absorbed this information. An ancient ruin beneath Greenland. Dormant energy. A global release triggered by a meteor. All of it pointed to one conclusion—this wasn't a natural phenomenon. It was deliberate, or at least purposeful.
"What's the Aurora Bureau's structure?" he asked.
"Three layers." Reid held up three fingers. "First layer: Military Operations Division. Responsible for clearing monsters, protecting survivors, maintaining order. Zoe's advanced team belongs to this layer."
He folded one finger. "Second layer: Research and Development Division. Responsible for analyzing mana phenomena, developing countermeasures, exploring ruins. Howard heads this division."
He folded the second finger. "Third layer: Strategic Planning Division. Responsible for long‑term strategy, coordinating with remaining government forces, managing resource allocation. I directly manage this division."
"How many people do you have?" Leon asked.
"Currently about twenty‑five hundred in New England. Globally, the Aurora Bureau has branches in thirty‑seven countries, with a total strength of about forty thousand." Reid paused. "But communications are down. I don't know the status of the other branches."
Forty thousand. Not a huge number relative to global survivors, but it was already a sizable, organized military force. And they'd had five years of preparation, accumulating a great deal of research data.
"How advanced is the Aurora Bureau's research on magic?" Leon asked the question that mattered most to him.
Reid didn't answer directly. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed. "Howard, come to my office."
Three minutes later, Howard Chen entered, carrying a thick folder. He set it on the desk and opened it, revealing dense data charts and research reports.
"This is all our research results from the past five years," Howard said. "Mostly theoretical, a small part applied."
Leon took the folder and flipped through it quickly.
Page one was basic data analysis of the energy wave—frequency, amplitude, waveform, propagation. It was similar to the data he'd jotted in his notebook, but more comprehensive and precise.
Page two was a study of mana's effects on the human body. The data showed that about thirty percent of people had some degree of mana affinity, five percent had high affinity, and one percent reached S‑class. The higher the affinity, the greater the physical alteration, and the stronger the abilities or magic they gained.
Page three was basic theory of spell structures. It overlapped with the knowledge the Book of Truth had given him, but was cruder. The Aurora Bureau's understanding of spell structures was still at an empirical stage, lacking a systematic mathematical framework.
Page four was the study of runes. The Aurora Bureau had found many runes in the Greenland ruin but had deciphered less than ten percent. The rest remained unknown.
Leon turned page after page, feeling a growing sense of contradiction. The Aurora Bureau's research results were more extensive than he had expected, but their quality was lower. They had accumulated vast amounts of data but lacked the ability to integrate it into a systematic theory. They had abundant research resources but lacked a core researcher with a deep physics background who could see the big picture.
That was exactly where he could contribute.
"I've decided not to join the Aurora Bureau," Leon said, closing the folder and looking up at Reid.
Silence filled the office for two seconds.
Howard looked as if he'd been doused with cold water. Reid's expression didn't change, but Leon noticed his fingers tap the desk once.
"Reason," Reid said.
"My condition for joining any organization is only one: maintain research independence," Leon said. "I need the freedom to choose my research direction, allocate my time, and use my results. The Aurora Bureau's current structure doesn't allow that."
"You're a scientist, not a lone wolf." Reid's tone didn't change, but his gaze sharpened. "In this environment, no one can be completely independent."
"I don't need complete independence. I need an undisturbed research environment," Leon said. "I can provide what the Aurora Bureau needs—tactical analysis, magic research, technology development. But I want to do it as a collaborator, not a subordinate."
Reid stared at him for a long time.
Zoe had warned him that this young man wasn't the type to obediently follow orders. His test results already showed it—his fear response was only thirty percent of normal, his rational thinking remained calm in crisis, his tactical judgment was more precise than most officers'.
Such a person wouldn't be intimidated by authority, bought by titles, or driven by commands.
They were driven only by purpose.
"What do you want?" Reid asked.
"A lab," Leon said. "Equipment, materials, data. A space where I can work."
"What can you give the Aurora Bureau?"
"A theoretical framework," Leon said. "Your spell research is still in the empirical phase; I can help you build a mathematical foundation. Your rune decryption is too slow; I can help accelerate it. Your equipment design lacks systematic thinking; I can help optimize it."
He paused.
"I can also help train your people. Fighting with magic is completely different from fighting with guns. You need a new tactical system."
Silence fell again.
Howard looked at Leon, his expression shifting from shock to admiration. He had studied mana for five years, accumulated a mountain of data, but had never been able to integrate it into a complete theory. This young man had built a preliminary framework in a single day—from his test reports, Howard could see the mathematical formulas and physical models, more refined than any of the Aurora Bureau's five‑year achievements.
Reid's fingers stopped tapping.
"Collaborator status," he said. "Not an Aurora Bureau employee, not part of the military structure. You have your own research goals; the Aurora Bureau has its own mission needs. We cooperate in certain areas and stay out of each other's way in others."
"Agreed," Leon said.
"The Aurora Bureau will provide the lab and basic equipment you need, but advanced equipment and rare materials will require you to earn them through missions," Reid continued. "You can use the Aurora Bureau's data and research results, but you'll also need to share a portion of your results with the Bureau—which portion will be negotiated case by case."
"Reasonable," Leon nodded.
"One last thing." Reid stood and walked to the window, his back to Leon. "The Aurora Bureau won't restrict your freedom of movement, but you cannot harm the Bureau's interests. If one day you discover something that might be detrimental to the Bureau, I hope you'll at least give me a chance to hear the explanation."
Leon also stood. "I never hide data. The value of science lies in reproducibility and verifiability."
Reid turned to face him. In those light blue eyes, something shifted—not trust, because trust takes time to build. More like a wager: "I bet you're worth it."
"Welcome to the Aurora Bureau," he said. "Though not in the way we expected."
Leon extended his hand. "Pleasure working together."
The two hands clasped.
Zoe had been waiting outside the door. When Leon came out, she was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"All settled?" she asked.
"All settled," Leon said. "Collaborator status, not subordinate."
The corner of Zoe's mouth lifted. "I figured. You're not the type to take orders."
She took a card from her pocket and handed it to Leon. The card was white, printed with his name and an ID number, and on the back, the Aurora Bureau's emblem.
"A temporary pass," she said. "With this, you can move freely inside the base. Your lab is on the second floor, next to Howard's. Not big, but enough for one person."
Leon took the card and looked it over. "I need to start working."
"I know." Zoe turned to leave, then stopped. "Leon."
"What?"
"What you did at the gas station today… it was good." She said this without looking at him, her tone flat, as if stating a fact. "If you want, I can teach you some combat techniques. Not because you need them, but because you might."
She didn't wait for an answer, striding off down the hall.
Leon stood in the corridor, watching her figure disappear at the stairs.
He looked down at the white card in his hand, at the words "Collaborator."
This wasn't the life he wanted. He wanted labs, data, theories, answers. But this world no longer offered those. In this world, labs had to be built, data had to be collected, theories had to be derived, answers had to be found.
And before that, he had to survive.
Leon put the card in his pocket and walked toward the second floor.
His lab was waiting for him.
His new research was about to begin.