_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5" style="border:0px solid">At thirteen, Eris experienced her own Syer awakening.

  Unlike Vance's dramatic colpse in the dining hall, hers occurred in the privacy of her bedroom, in the middle of the night. She awoke to a burning sensation throughout her body, as if her blood had been repced with liquid silver. Moonlight streamed through the window, and as the pain intensified, the light seemed to bend toward her, drawn to her skin like iron filings to a magnet.

  She bit down hard on her pillow to stifle her screams, instinctively understanding that drawing attention would only complicate matters. For hours, she endured the transformation alone, curled into a tight ball as waves of silver energy pulsed through her system, restructuring something fundamental at a cellur level.

  By dawn, the worst had passed. Eris sat up shakily, examining her trembling hands in the early morning light. They looked the same, yet felt utterly different—as if they now contained barely restrained power just beneath the skin. The pendant and bracelet she always wore glowed with unprecedented brightness, responding to her transformed state.

  She knew what had happened. She had awakened, just as Vance had three years earlier. She was now officially a Syer.

  But where he had embraced his awakening with excitement and ambition, Eris regarded hers with detached resignation. Another disruption. Another forced change. Another path not of her choosing.

  When she reported to Mr. Harrison's office the next morning, her face carefully bnk despite her exhaustion, he seemed unsurprised by her news.

  "Detective Quinn mentioned this might happen," he said, already reaching for the phone. "Given your parentage."

  The Syer Association representatives arrived within hours, conducting the same tests they had presumably performed on Vance years earlier. They measured energy outputs, assessed reflexes, documented physical changes. Throughout it all, Eris responded mechanically, volunteering nothing beyond direct answers to direct questions.

  "Battle Mage css," the lead evaluator finally announced, sounding impressed despite her professional detachment. "Rare and complex. Primarily focused on enhancement and absorption abilities. Initial cssification: E-rank, with significant potential for advancement."

  Eris absorbed this information without visible reaction, though internally she noted the irony—she was simultaneously more powerful than most awakened Syers, given her starting rank, and yet weaker than Vance had been. Even in this, she fell short.

  "We'll arrange immediate transfer to the academy," another representative decred, already completing forms on a tablet. "The Battle Mage specialization requires particurly focused training. We can have a spot ready within the week."

  "Fine," Eris replied, her first voluntary word in the hours-long evaluation.

  The representatives exchanged gnces, perhaps expecting more enthusiasm or at least curiosity about her future. They received neither. Eris had learned years ago that her preferences made little difference in the overall trajectory of her life. Better to conserve energy than to waste it on pointless questions or protests.

  Detective Quinn arrived the day before her scheduled departure, ostensibly to ensure a smooth transition but clearly also to assess her emotional state.

  "This is an important step, Eris," he said as they sat in the same conference room where he had first revealed her true identity. "The academy will help you develop your abilities to their full potential."

  "Just like Vance," she observed, a rare hint of bitterness breaking through her carefully maintained indifference.

  Detective Quinn's expression softened with understanding. "His situation was... different. The Shadow Assassin css is incredibly rare, demanding specialized training that consumed all his focus."

  "Of course," Eris agreed, her tone making it clear she neither believed nor cared about the expnation. Three years of complete silence had said more than any beted justification could counter.

  "Your situation is complicated by your dual identity," Detective Quinn continued. "At the academy, you'll be registered as Eris Kane, with only the highest-level administrators aware of your Nightshade heritage. The same security concerns apply."

  "Convenient," Eris noted. Another yer of isotion, another reason to keep everyone at a distance.

  Detective Quinn studied her, concern evident in his gaze. "Eris, I understand the past few years haven't been easy. The ck of contact from Vance, the continued secrecy about your identity—"

  "It doesn't matter," she interrupted, unwilling to revisit old wounds. "The past is irrelevant. I'll go to the academy. I'll learn what I need to learn. That's all."

  The resignation in her voice finally penetrated Detective Quinn's professional demeanor. "You deserve more than mere survival, Eris," he said quietly. "Your parents would have wanted more for you."

  "My parents are dead," she replied ftly. "And Elena Nightshade might as well be. I'm Eris Kane now. Just another Syer trainee."

  The conversation ended there, neither willing to push further into territory that would only reinforce the distance between them.

  The Sanctum City Syer Academy resembled a cross between a military compound and an elite university campus. High walls surrounded sprawling training grounds, dormitories, and cssroom buildings, all dominated by a central tower that gleamed silver against the sky. Security was omnipresent—uniformed guards at every entrance, surveilnce systems covering every approach, magical barriers shimmering faintly around the perimeter.

  Eris was processed through intake with methodical efficiency—issued uniforms, assigned quarters, scheduled for baseline assessments, and briefed on academy regutions. She nodded at appropriate intervals, signed required forms, and followed instructions with the same detached compliance she had perfected at Serenity Home.

  As a Battle Mage trainee, she was assigned to specialized housing with others of her css—though "others" proved to be a generous term. Only two other Battle Mages had awakened in her age cohort across the entire country, reflecting the rarity of the cssification. Her roommate, Kaya Chen, was a perpetually enthusiastic girl whose constant chatter seemed designed specifically to test Eris's commitment to emotional distance.

  "Isn't this incredible?" Kaya enthused as they unpacked in their shared room. "Battle Mages are so rare that we get special training sessions with Commander Reeves herself! She's the highest-ranking Battle Mage in the eastern region. Did you know Battle Mages have the most versatile skill sets of all the Syer csses? We can adapt to almost any combat situation!"

  Eris offered minimal responses, hoping to discourage further conversation, but Kaya proved immune to social cues that would have deterred most people. Her boundless enthusiasm continued through dinner, orientation, and into the night, until sleep finally silenced her.

  The academy routine established itself quickly—combat training in the mornings, academic csses midday, specialized ability development in the afternoons, tactical studies in the evenings. The regimen was physically demanding and mentally exhausting, designed to push awakened Syers to their limits and beyond.

  Eris excelled almost immediately, her years of secret training with Vance having id a foundation that most new arrivals cked. Her combat instructors noted her unusual form—unorthodox but effective—while her ability development mentors marveled at the control she already possessed over her enhancement capabilities.

  "Most new Syers struggle for months to activate their abilities intentionally," one instructor commented during an assessment. "You're doing it with remarkable precision. Almost as if you've had prior training."

  Eris shrugged. "I'm a quick learner."

  Her rapid advancement through the initial training phases attracted attention—from instructors, administrators, and fellow trainees alike. Multiple times in those first weeks, she caught whispers following her through corridors: "Did you see Kane in combat training today?" "They're saying she might advance to D-rank before the semester ends." "How is she developing control so quickly?"

  The attention made her uncomfortable, reminding her too much of the scrutiny she'd faced at Serenity Home when her identity was first discovered. She responded by becoming even more reserved, excelling in required activities but volunteering nothing, forming no connections beyond what was absolutely necessary for academic and training purposes.

  Kaya remained undeterred by Eris's emotional walls, continuing her cheerful one-sided friendship with stubborn optimism. "You're joining us for dinner, right?" she would ask each evening, despite weeks of declined invitations. "The other Battle Mages are saving us seats!"

  "No, thank you," Eris would reply, the response so rehearsed it required no thought.

  Instructors occasionally attempted to penetrate her isotion, concerned that her social detachment might eventually impact her development as a Syer. "Teamwork is essential in the field," one combat trainer emphasized during a performance review. "Your technical skills are exceptional, but your colborative capabilities are concerning."

  "I complete all required group exercises satisfactorily," Eris pointed out, her tone neutral.

  "Completing isn't the same as connecting," the instructor countered. "Syers rely on their teammates in life-or-death situations. Trust isn't optional."

  Eris merely nodded, having learned long ago that agreement—or the appearance of it—was often the quickest way to end uncomfortable conversations. She had no intention of changing her approach. Trust had proven itself optional in her experience, regardless of what academy doctrine promoted.

  Months passed this way, with Eris moving through the academy like a ghost—present in body, excelling in performance, but absent in all the ways that would have made her a true part of the community. She advanced through ranks with mechanical precision, earning her D-rank cssification less than a year after arrival, maintaining academic excellence while revealing nothing of herself beyond what assessments could measure.

  She never asked about Vance, though she knew he had graduated the previous year with highest honors, the youngest trainee ever to achieve S-rank status directly from the academy. His name appeared frequently in academy publications, his accomplishments held up as the standard to which current trainees should aspire.

  Once, during her second year, she glimpsed him from across the main courtyard during a special ceremony where graduated Syers returned to speak with current trainees. He looked different—taller, broader, his bearing even more confident than she remembered. The blue-white energy of his Shadow Assassin abilities occasionally shimmered visibly around him when he demonstrated advanced techniques.

  Eris watched from a distance, refusing to attend the formal gathering despite direct encouragement from her instructors. She observed him through a dormitory window, noting how the other trainees crowded around him, how the administrators deferred to him despite his youth, how completely he had been absorbed into the Syer hierarchy.

  He never looked up toward her window. He never asked about her, as far as she knew. The distance between them, once measured in promises of letters and visits, had become a permanent, unbridgeable chasm.

  She turned away before the demonstration ended, returning to her studies with renewed determination. The past had no pce in her carefully constructed present. Vance Cross belonged to that past, just like Elena Nightshade, just like the parents she still couldn't remember, just like every connection that had proven temporary.

  Eris graduated from the Sanctum City Syer Academy at eighteen, having achieved C-rank status—impressive for her age, though not the record-breaking accomplishment Vance had managed. The ceremony was brief and formal, with no one in attendance specifically for her. Detective Quinn had been reassigned to a different region years earlier. Dr. Foster had retired. No one from Serenity Home had maintained contact once she transferred to the academy.

  "Congratutions, Syer Kane," the academy director said as he presented her diploma and official certification. "You've demonstrated remarkable technical proficiency and combat readiness. The Association is proud to welcome you as a full Syer."

  "Thank you, sir," Eris replied, the expected response delivered with perfect politeness and zero emotion.

  Unlike most graduates, who celebrated with family and friends before receiving their first assignments, Eris proceeded directly to the administrative offices to address practical matters. Her eighteenth birthday had triggered the release of her trust fund—the Nightshade estate that Director Bckwood had mentioned years ago, now converted into a substantial financial account.

  "The full documentation is here," the Association's financial officer expined, sliding a tablet toward her. "Your parents had significant assets, all carefully managed since their deaths. The growth has been considerable."

  Eris reviewed the figures with mild surprise. The amount was far rger than she had anticipated—enough to provide complete financial independence for the foreseeable future. Combined with her Syer sary, she would never need to worry about material resources again.

  "I'd like to purchase private housing," she stated, having considered her options carefully. "Something secure but separate from Association dormitories."

  The financial officer raised an eyebrow. Most new Syers preferred the communal living arrangements, both for security and for the sense of community. "That can certainly be arranged," he replied. "Though the Association recommends—"

  "Private housing," Eris repeated firmly. "As soon as possible."

  Within a week, she had secured a top-floor apartment in a secure building at the edge of Sanctum City's central district—close enough to Association headquarters for convenient reporting but far enough to maintain the separation she desired. The space was modern and minimalist, requiring little maintenance and offering the solitude she prioritized.

  As a C-rank Battle Mage, Eris was assigned to general Breach response duty, typically working in small teams to address lower-level incursions under the supervision of higher-ranked Syers. The work was straightforward, requiring physical capability and technical skill but minimal personal interaction beyond tactical communication.

  Between assignments, she maintained a strictly private life. No socializing with fellow Syers, no participation in community events, no connections beyond what professional requirements demanded. Her apartment remained spartanly furnished, containing nothing personal beyond the essentials and a small collection of books—the one indulgence she permitted herself from childhood.

  Days became weeks, weeks became months, and Eris settled into a life of carefully managed isotion. She completed missions with clinical efficiency, filed required reports promptly, maintained her equipment meticulously, and advanced steadily through the ranks of active Syers based solely on performance metrics.

  By twenty-one, she had achieved B-rank status, earning her the right to lead response teams rather than merely participate in them. The promotion brought increased responsibility but also greater autonomy in selecting assignments, allowing her to further minimize unnecessary interaction.

  Her superiors occasionally noted concerns about her persistent detachment in performance reviews—"Syer Kane demonstrates exceptional combat proficiency but limited team integration" became a standard comment—but her effectiveness in the field prevented any serious intervention. In a profession where results ultimately mattered more than method, her approach was tolerated if not endorsed.

  Once each month, she would receive a secure data packet containing updates on the investigation into her parents' deaths—a continuation of the arrangement Detective Quinn had established years ago. The information was typically minimal, the case having gone cold despite occasional efforts to revive it. Eris reviewed these reports with the same detached attention she gave to all professional communications, filing them methodically without emotional response.

  Elena Nightshade remained a cssification rather than an identity to her—a security designation on certain documents, a genetic heritage that expined her abilities, but not a person she conceived of as herself. Eris Kane was her reality, and that reality was carefully constructed to remain self-contained and impervious to disruption.

  Until Marcus.

  The disruption began innocuously enough—with new neighbors moving into the apartment across the hall when Eris was twenty-three. The Taylors were a young professional couple with a two-year-old son, relocating to Sanctum City for career opportunities. Eris noted their arrival with mild irritation at the increased noise level but otherwise paid them little attention.

  Her first actual encounter occurred in the building's elevator three days after they moved in. Eris was returning from an overnight mission, still wearing her Syer uniform with its distinctive insignia, when the elevator stopped at the fourth floor. Emma Taylor entered, struggling to manage both a grocery bag and a squirming toddler.

  "Sorry!" she apologized immediately, noting Eris's fatigued expression. "Marcus, please stand still for just one minute."

  The child—a round-faced boy with curly dark hair and wide brown eyes—ignored his mother completely, his attention fixed entirely on Eris. Without warning, he lunged forward, tiny hands reaching toward her Syer emblem.

  "Monster fighter!" he decred with toddler enthusiasm, nearly overbancing in his eagerness to touch the insignia on her jacket.

  Eris stiffened, instinctively moving back against the elevator wall. "It's fine," she said tersely to Emma, who was attempting to corral her son with her free arm.

  "I'm so sorry," Emma repeated, sounding genuinely mortified. "He's obsessed with Syers right now. His father lets him watch the children's program about them, and now he thinks every person in uniform is his personal hero."

  Eris nodded curtly, keeping her expression neutral despite her discomfort with the child's continued staring. When the elevator reached their floor, she stepped aside to let Emma exit first, intending to maintain as much distance as possible.

  But as his mother tried to guide him out of the elevator, Marcus pnted his feet firmly, still staring at Eris with undisguised fascination.

  "Monster fighter live here?" he asked, directing the question to no one in particur.

  "Yes, she's our neighbor," Emma expined with the patient tone of a parent accustomed to constant questions. "And her name is Ms. Kane, not 'monster fighter.' Now come on, sweetie, we need to put the groceries away."

  Marcus allowed himself to be led out of the elevator, but not before turning to wave enthusiastically at Eris. "Bye, Ms. Monster Fighter!"

  Eris gave a stiff nod in response, relieved when the encounter ended. She filed it away as a minor irritation, something to be avoided in the future by adjusting her schedule to minimize the chance of simir interactions.

  But Marcus Taylor proved difficult to avoid. Over the following weeks, he seemed to develop an uncanny awareness of her comings and goings, frequently appearing in the hallway or lobby when she passed. Each time, his face would light up with the same unrestrained delight, as if encountering a celebrity rather than a neighbor who had never so much as smiled at him.

  "Ms. Monster Fighter!" he would call, regardless of how many times his parents corrected him with her actual name. "Hi! Hi! Fight monsters today?"

  Eris developed strategies to minimize these encounters—checking the peephole before leaving her apartment, taking the stairs instead of the elevator when possible, varying her schedule to leave at times when toddlers would likely be napping. But Marcus's determination proved surprisingly difficult to circumvent.

  Four weeks after the Taylors moved in, a knock at her door disrupted Eris's evening routine. She checked the peephole with automatic caution, surprised to find David Taylor—Marcus's father—standing in the hallway, looking uncomfortable.

  She briefly considered not answering, but building security protocols encouraged residents to maintain minimal neighborly cooperation. With reluctance, she opened the door partway.

  "Mr. Taylor," she acknowledged, making no move to invite him in.

  "Ms. Kane, I apologize for the intrusion," he began, his discomfort evident. "I wanted to speak with you about Marcus."

  "Is there a problem?" Eris asked, her tone neutral.

  David shifted his weight, clearly struggling to find the right words. "Not exactly a problem, but... Emma and I have noticed his, ah, enthusiasm whenever he sees you. We've talked to him about respecting people's privacy and not bothering you, but he's two, so concepts like 'personal space' are still theoretical at best."

  Eris waited silently, unsure where this conversation was heading.

  "Anyway," David continued, filling the awkward silence, "we wanted to assure you that we're working on it, and to apologize if his attention has been unwelcome. He's just going through a phase with his Syer fascination, and meeting an actual Syer in our building has been... impactful for him."

  "It's fine," Eris replied, the same dismissive response she had offered Emma in the elevator. "Children are naturally curious."

  David nodded, looking relieved at her apparent understanding. "That's very gracious of you. We're trying to redirect his enthusiasm, but it might take time. In the meantime, if he becomes too bothersome, please don't hesitate to let us know."

  "Of course," Eris agreed, already calcuting how quickly she could end this interaction.

  But before she could begin closing the door, a small voice piped up from further down the hallway: "Is that Ms. Monster Fighter?"

  David winced, turning to see Marcus trotting toward them, Emma following with an apologetic expression.

  "I'm sorry," she called. "He was supposed to be getting ready for bath time, but he heard the door and—"

  "Monster fighter!" Marcus excimed, reaching them and beaming up at Eris with unfiltered joy. "Hi!"

  Trapped by social convention and the expectant gazes of all three Taylors, Eris managed a stiff nod. "Hello, Marcus."

  The simple acknowledgment seemed to delight the child beyond all reason. He bounced on his toes, pointing at her apartment door. "Monster fighter home! Monster fighter rest from monsters!"

  "That's right, Ms. Kane is resting," Emma intervened, taking Marcus's hand. "And we need to let her continue resting. Say goodnight now."

  Instead of saying goodnight, Marcus abruptly thrust his free hand toward Eris, offering a crumpled piece of paper. "For you! I made!"

  Reflex rather than choice caused Eris to accept the paper. Unfolding it revealed a chaotic crayon drawing that vaguely resembled a human figure surrounded by colorful scribbles.

  "That's you," Marcus expined with utter seriousness, pointing at the central figure. "Fighting all the monsters." He swept his small hand across the surrounding scribbles. "You win!"

  The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression expectant as he awaited her reaction to this precious gift. Behind him, his parents watched with the resigned expressions of people accustomed to their child's social bulldozing but powerless to prevent it.

  Eris stared at the drawing, momentarily at a loss. In the five years since leaving the academy, no one had given her anything that wasn't functionally necessary or professionally required. Certainly nothing created specifically for her, with such transparent admiration behind it.

  "Thank you," she said finally, the words feeling stiff and unpracticed on her tongue.

  Marcus beamed as if she had just delivered the most effusive praise imaginable. "Welcome! I make more tomorrow!"

  Emma quickly intervened, recognizing the promise of ongoing artwork as potentially unwelcome. "Sweetie, Ms. Kane probably doesn't need drawings every day. Remember what we talked about with not bothering people?"

  But the damage was done. Marcus's expression turned crestfallen, his previous joy colpsing at the thought that his gift might be unwanted.

  Something unexpected and long-dormant stirred in Eris's chest at the sight—a twinge of... something. Not quite guilt, not quite sympathy, but perhaps a distant cousin to both.

  "One drawing was very thoughtful," she heard herself saying, the words emerging without conscious decision. "Thank you for thinking of me."

  The simple acknowledgment was enough to restore Marcus's smile, his emotional weather changing with the characteristic speed of early childhood. "Welcome!" he repeated. "You're the best monster fighter!"

  Emma seized the momentary positivity to redirect him. "And now the best monster fighter needs her rest, and you need your bath. Say goodnight to Ms. Kane."

  "Night-night, Ms. Monster Fighter!" Marcus called, allowing himself to be led away, though not without several backward gnces and waves.

  David lingered a moment longer. "Thank you for your patience," he said quietly. "He really does admire you, in his two-year-old way."

  Eris nodded, already withdrawing emotionally from the unexpected interaction. "It's fine," she repeated, her default response reasserting itself as the momentary disruption faded.

  When they had gone, she closed and locked her door, automatically reinforcing the boundary between herself and the outside world. The drawing remained in her hand, crumpled and colorful, an unsolicited connection to another human being.

  Her first instinct was to discard it—to treat it as the irrelevant intrusion it objectively was, to maintain the careful isotion she had constructed over years of deliberate distance.

  Instead, after a long moment of internal debate, she carefully smoothed out the paper and pced it on her otherwise empty refrigerator door, secured by a single magnet. A small, meaningless concession to a child's innocent enthusiasm. Nothing more.

  She told herself it was simply easier than dealing with the potential social complications of rejecting a toddler's gift. Just a practical decision to minimize future disruption. Certainly not the first hairline crack in a wall built over a decade of deliberate emotional withdrawal.

  Certainly not that.