The rangers sat around the table in tense silence. Siegwick's eyes were glued to the screen below, studying the information for any fleeting sign. He gripped the beacon tight in his hands, trying to make sense of the disjointed garble of static.

Minutes of foul silence dragged by until the comms system finally let out some garbled but tangible words.

"T-trant…D—" The transmission was garbled. " —o you c-co..py?"

The ranger assigned to the communications unit promptly replied, "This is Trant Station. Your signal is weak. Please repeat. Over."

"Hos—ti—pre-p—for defen—measures…over."

The garbled words shifted the air in the room, tightening it like a vise. The rangers exchanged grim glances, the silent acknowledgment flashing like a shared code. Without a word, they moved into action, splintering off into well-drilled teams.

Calli lingered just long enough to tap Gira on the shoulder, offering a small wave before she joined her squad, leaving Lucas, Gira, Siegwick, and one other ranger in the room.

Gira moseyed over to Lucas, lowering his voice into a whisper. "Pssssst. Hey, what's happening?"

Lucas didn't respond. He slumped against the wall—giving off the vibe of an old puppet that had been laid down to collect dust for decades in some forlorn attic.

"Lucas?" Gira asked, circling around his friend, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Leave him be."

Gira turned to see the gray-faced Siegwick, a tall man with a sharp, well-groomed white beard. It was sharply angular and pointed around his jawline, giving the appearance of jaws. He had a foggy silver iris that ran the line of looking like a blind eye, while his right iris was a warm golden hue that contrasted the other eye. Both eyes were piercing, hawklike in their intensity, and they sat fiercely under a stern frown. His hair was either naturally silver or grayed from age. It was neatly combed, with a distinguished, sleek look.

Unlike the other rangers, Siegwick's uniform stood out—sleeveless, revealing his muscular arms lined with deep scars and wild tattoos displaying two serpents, their necks clutched by six-fingered hands. The contrast between these old wounds, his tattoos, and the otherwise high-class, fatherly demeanor was striking. There was a dignified air and commanding presence that clashed with the weathered engravings on his arm, giving him the appearance of a sensible crook.

His hands were encased in deep gloves bearing an insignia distinct from the other rangers—a rhombus framing four golden flames with a headless salamander at its center. Over his uniform, a set of overall-like straps wove across his broad frame, connecting to dark, plated pants tucked neatly into boots that extended above his ankles. These boots, black and reinforced with ranger-standard armor plating, added to his imposing presence.

But beyond that Siegwick was tall—towering over the other rangers in the room.

Gira sunk under his shadow, feeling sheepish under his imposing glare.

"What's wrong with Lucas?" he asked, trying to mirror the composed demeanor of the grayed ranger, but the underlying naivety had not left him.

Siegwick walked over and grabbed Gira by the scruff of his neck. Shocking the boy as he was dragged out of the room like some misbehaved cat. Dropping him in the hallway and, with a sharp click, closing the door behind them.

"You must be the boy Xizu called about." Siegwick said, his voice low and oppressive.

Gira's eyes wandered away, feigning ignorance. "X-xizu? Who might that be?"

Siegwick's frown deepened. "Listen closely, you little freak. I'm not in the mood for games, alright? Use that Kyyr skin of yours and stay hidden in the room assigned to you. Right now, you're a liability, and I won't tolerate some reckless goofball in my station." Siegwick's shadow overtook Gira as he leaned in, his breath palpable in the air. "Do I make myself clear?"

Gira shriveled up under his first real scolding, his voice small and hesitant. "Y-yes, sir…"

"Good," he said, pointing down the hallway, his gaze slicing through Gira's entire demeanor with overpowering authority.

Sheeeesh! What scary geezer… Gira thought as he walked back towards the cramped, windowless room. But—glancing back to see Siegwick disappear behind a door—Gira decided he would in fact not go back to the cramped little room and instead follow his earlier whim to explore. Checking every door that lined the dreary hallway on his way back to the lobby, only to find them all either locked or filled with bland nothingness. The white halls seemed a little haunting in their blandness the more closely he examined them. Absentmindedly dragging his hand along the wall, Gira meandered his way back to the lobby.

Sitting on a chair facing the wrong direction was Denver, precariously balancing his weight on its edge as he tinkered with a device. Noticing Gira, he gave a casual wave.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty! How was the flashy systems room? Exciting, right?" Denver called out with a grin.

"Hey Big D, how's your little d?" Gira asked, pointing at his crotch.

"He's been through wor—hey—didn't you have green eyes a minute ago?" Denver asked.

Gira narrowed his eyes. "Why does everyone keep talking about my eyes?" he asked, puzzled.

"I swear they were green." Denver added, scratching his hair as he studied Gira like some zoo animal.

"Well, maybe?" Gira responded genuinely confused, "I honestly don't even know what I look like in general." The awkward reality of his own perception began to settle within him.

"Weren't you taller too? Actually… weren't you older?" Denver asked, straightening up in his chair as he scooted his seat to face the odd Gira.

"Isn't it because of my shoes?" Gira asked, pointing down at his feet.

"But you were wearing those when I first met you."

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"True…" Gira said, "I must've shrunk." he added, putting his fist into the palm of his other hand.

Denver studied Gira, trying to make sense of the changes—the new eye color, the brighter demeanor, and the most obvious loss of height. "Are you sure it's not your Kyyr ability? I swear by the fifteen, you looked different earlier."

"Well, if it is my Kyyr thing, then I have no idea what it does or how to use it." Gira remarked, glancing down as he tried to study his own body.

"Oh, figuring out your ability isn't too hard," Denver explained, waving his hands around. "All it takes is focus and meditating in a quiet room while you move Kyyr around your body."

"How do I do that?" Gira asked.

"Oh, uhh, you just focus really hard on your body's core and you should feel something changing all around you." Denver explained with a clueless smile.

"Huh?" Gira tilted his head. "Is everyone here just really, really, really bad at explaining things?"

Denver gave Gira a reassuring smile. "Trust me," he said with the clear confidence of a moron.

Gira found solace in his smile; he shrugged. "Alright, I got nothing else to do. I guess I'll head back to where I woke up and figure this out while you guys do whatever you guys are doing out there."

"Oh, apparently a pack of monsters is coming this way or something," Denver explained, oddly nonchalant. "They haven't really explained much to me, but since I'm a combat medic, I'm hanging back here in case anyone gets hurt."

"Ohhhh, I thought you were afraid of the dark." Gira said bluntly.

"What kind of lame impression did I give you?" Denver asked, looking a little defeated.

"A good one?" Gira replied, sounding a bit conflicted.

The two bantered for a minute or two more before Gira headed back to test out this Kyyr thing. But he found himself sitting in the middle of one of the hallways. Since he'd forgotten where he'd even come from. Settling down, he closed his eyes and began to focus his being on sensing his Kyyr.

As he sat on the carpeted floor, his ears picked up on the soft buzzing of the lights above and the distant echoes of those beyond the walls of the hallway. He tried to concentrate, clenching his body in every which way as he adjusted himself on the carpet floor. He scrunched up his face, tense and confused, trying to find something within. An echo of the enigmatic Kyyr they all kept prattling on and on about.

He focused on the darkness before him. Watching the faded light from his iris twist into a myriad of colors, the more he focused, the more he could see. Etched across the sharp, vast void of the black, an odd little line began to crease the darkness around it. The strange lights appeared to bend inward until only the line remained visible. Then nothing. There was just a ghostly line stretching across the horizon of his mind. He focused on the line, waiting for anything to happen, but the shoestring line remained still.

There was something about it—a magnetism that drew him in. Emotions began to contour the line in a myriad of colors. Gira concentrated harder on the line; after all, this was all he could give, all that he could dare to offer the fragile thread before him.

"At the very least… be kind—"

A voice called out from behind him as he fell slightly forward. He had a body within this esoteric mindscape—an avatar, allowing him to relay his sensibilities to the abstract. He approached the line, stretching his hand toward it, but he quickly retreated in a panic.

From somewhere between and within the line, something began to emerge. An oily black form appeared—a long, alien finger grasped the rim of the line, pulling itself through. Reaching out of the realm beyond the line, a single arm, a seven-fingered hand outstretched and unnatural. As Gira watched, another hand materialized, this one scaly and clawed, its scales a blend of blacks, oranges, and reds as it blossomed next to the oily black hand. More arms followed, each stranger than the last. A crimson clawed arm, etched with splintered geometric cracks that revealed a strange glow below. Then another, larger than the rest, its skin ablaze in a mixture of dark void and searing amber fire beneath. Even more arms pushed their way through—one was a dark purple scaled hand that emerged as a fist, another a bony six-fingered claw that twisted violently. Finally, the last arm appeared, ivory-scaled, ending in a twisted, jagged claw.

The arms all reached for Gira at once, their movements swift and unsettling. Acting purely on raw stupidity, he randomly grabbed two—the cracked crimson crystal arm and the oily black hand. He pulled on them until their visages half emerged in shadow, which seemed to snap him out of the trance.

"Wha? Did…did that mean anything?" Gira exclaimed to no one as he sat, unchanged, in the dreary hallway. Clearly disappointed, he tried once more to focus Kyyr into his hand. To his surprise, a tingling warmth twisted around his hand.

"Woah... fizzy," he muttered, concentrating more Kyyr into his hand. Suddenly, "OUCH!" His skin turned red and stung sharply. "What was that?" He asked, though no one was around to answer.

"It's our blood…" A deep, coarse, and rugged voice spoke from behind him.

Gira whipped his head around, searching for the source of the voice. "H-hello?" But there was only silence. After a moment of thought, a smile crept across his face. "Hmmmm, what a silly-sounding voice." He remarked mockingly.

"WHAT?" The voice shot back, sounding indignant.

"AHA!" Gira spun around, but there was no one there. "What the—huh?" Or so he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a blurb at the end of the hallway. So—with no regard for his own safety—he stood up and went to investigate.

He followed the hallway until he reached an intersection, where he noticed an open door to his right. A sign stuck to the ceiling read "restroom," with an arrow pointing toward the entrance. Curious, he wandered over and stepped inside. To his left was a mirror.

Gira saw himself for the first time. His reflection revealed messy, spiky black hair and a rather slender build with fine features—not that he stood out much compared to anyone else he'd met, but curiously enough, his eyes weren't black or teal. They were heterochromic—one a vibrant, deep red, while the other was a deep, dark blue with hints of a spacey purple tinge that gave one eye the illusion of a void, contrasting the crimson tinge of his other iris.

"Ha?" he laughed triumphantly for some reason. "My eyes aren't even teal or black; they look cool though," Gira muttered as he studied his reflection in the mirror. He began making faces, striking a series of odd poses as he admired his newfound self.

Halfwaythrough a pose, Gira suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Shaking it off, he looked back into the mirror—and froze. His eyes were now teal, and he had clearly grown a little taller. He even looked noticeably older.

"What in the world?" He murmured softly, studying his now-aged appearance. As he continued to observe himself, he suddenly felt giddy as his eyes seemed to become black as he cracked up at himself. But just as quickly, his mood mellowed out and his eyes became a bright electric blue as he watched himself get a little older again. "What in the world am I?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Who knows!" The same coarse voice chimed in, now with a more lighthearted tone. Gira blinked and looked past his own reflection—his crimson and blue eyes wide in shock. Placing heavy hands on his shoulder was a massive creature, smiling at him. Its skin was a crimson, crystal-like texture that seemed to crack with every subtle movement.

Its visage was surprising, to say the least. It was a vaguely humanoid form with two poky ear bits that looked kind of like cat ears. They were sharp and from their origin point, they seemed to crack the featureless face. It had no eyes, no nose—just an impossibly wide, grinning mouth. Rows of sharp teeth decorated its mouth as it seemed to force a smile. Its face cracking the wider the smile grew.

"W-what are you?" Gira asked, his eyes wide as he examined the monster that was holding onto him. "You." It answered.

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