The trip back to the Academy was silent.
No one said a word. The low buzz of the stealth transport's engines was the only sound. The win in the mining facility felt hollow. It left them with a bad feeling.
Draven sat with his eyes closed, his huge sword cleaned and resting against his seat. Jonah could see how tight his jaw was. Seraph, their strong captain, looked out the window at the blurry city lights below, her face serious and hard to read. Vanessa held a small computer in her lap, but she wasn't looking at it. Her thumb just moved slowly across the dark screen.
Jonah leaned his head on the window, feeling the transport's shaking through his head. He kept seeing the mocking face from the memory, and he could still feel the corrupted trace of his own magic. Dr. Thorne. The crazy doctor who had gotten away from him once was back, and this time, what he did felt like a personal attack. Thorne hadn't just made a monster. He had used a part of Jonah to do it.
The transport went slower, landing softly on a secret platform far under the Academy. The doors opened with a hiss. A high-ranking guard, one of the Headmaster's best, was there waiting for them. His face showed no feeling.
"The Headmaster is waiting for you," the guard said. "In his private study. Right away."
That was not the usual way things were done. Most times, they would first have a doctor look at them, talk about the mission with a lower-ranking officer, and then get some needed rest. Being called straight away to the Headmaster's very private room meant only one thing: this was a crisis. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novel※fire.net
They walked behind the guard through the empty halls that echoed.
The Headmaster's room was the opposite of the cold lab they had just left. It felt warm. A soft golden light came from some glowing balls floating near the roof. The Headmaster stood by a very big window that looked out over all of the Academy. His hands were joined behind his back. He didn't turn when they came in.
"Report," he ordered. His voice was deep and tired.
Seraph stepped forward. "Mission objective completed, sir. We located the Bureau's research facility in the Dragon's Tooth mountains. It has been neutralized."
The Headmaster finally turned from the window. His face showed deep worry. He looked at each of them, then finally at Jonah, trying to see the truth in his expression.
"Neutralized is a simple word, Captain," the Headmaster said quietly. "Tell me what you found."
Seraph looked at Jonah. This part of the story was his to tell.
Jonah took a shaky breath. He could still smell the bad chemicals from the lab in his memory. He told the Headmaster all of it. He described the ugly mix of machine and living body, the bloody surgery tables, and the animals cut open while still alive in their cages.
Then, he told him about Subject Alpha.
"It wasn't a clone," Jonah said, his voice barely heard. "He called it a 'prototype'. Dozens of different beasts, all roughly stitched and fused together. On its arm was an awful imitation of my God Mark. It was powered by an artificial Genesis Core they implanted in its chest."
He met the Headmaster's intense look, forcing himself not to look away. "Sir, it was in constant, unimaginable pain. Its only form of communication was a psychic scream of pure suffering."
The study became very quiet. The Headmaster's face grew more serious and cold with each word Jonah said.
Vanessa stepped forward, holding her datapad. "I recovered the personal research log of the lead scientist," she said, her voice steady even though her hands shook a little. "The data confirms everything. The scientist was Dr. Aris Thorne."
The Headmaster's jaw tightened at the name. He knew it.
"According to his log," Vanessa continued, "they used Jonah's stolen blood sample as the 'spark,' as he called it. They couldn't replicate Jonah's ability to create, so they built a living container and forced his power into it." She took a deep breath. "Thorne described Subject Alpha as a flawed but necessary failure.'"
"A failure," the Headmaster repeated, the words sounding cold.
"Yes, sir," Vanessa said, her face pale. "The final log entry was the most critical. It stated that all research data was being transferred to a new, primary location. He called it the 'Primary Genesis Facility.' She swallowed hard before saying the last, shocking news. "And it said they would begin the next version right away. Subject Beta."
The Headmaster closed his eyes. For a long moment, he didn't move at all. When he opened them again, he looked older. The heavy worry of the nation seemed clearer on him than ever.
"I underestimated them," he said.
"I believed the Bureau's rebel group was small," the Headmaster went on. "Just a few bitter old men still wanting their past power. I thought I could stop them, fight this war hidden from everyone."
He looked at Jonah, and for a short moment, Jonah saw a bit of sadness in the old man's eyes. "But a living first version, even if it's not perfect, changes everything. This lab needed a lot of money and technology, much more than a small group should have. They are more advanced and better organized than I ever imagined."
He walked to his large desk and placed his hands flat on the polished wood, staring down as if the answer was in the wood's swirling design.
"My strategy has failed," he stated. "Keeping this a secret, fighting them with only the Academy's resources... it is no longer enough. We are facing an enemy that can create an army of these... abominations. An enemy that has a evil blueprint of your soul, Jonah."
The Headmaster looked up, and the tired look in his eyes was now a strong, angry look. He had made his mind up.
"The Academy cannot fight this war alone anymore."
He walked back to the window, staring out at the peaceful campus below.
"There are other powers in this nation," he said, his voice a low growl. "Powers who despise the Bureau and their obsessive secrecy as much as I do."
He turned back to face them, his decision made. "I must reach out to a potential ally. A rival power within the government."
His final words hung in the air.
"I need to make a call to the formal military."