The cell was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Only his own breathing and the faint scrape of fabric against concrete as he shifted against the wall.

  Outside the tiny window, the light bled away bit by bit. The golden strip on the floor shrank. The air in the cell seemed to cool with it.

  [+1 Energy point]

  The last notification chimed in his mind, soft and final.

  Sol opened his eyes.

  The window was nothing but a dull rectangle now, the sun already sunk below whatever wall or building blocked his view. Only a washed-out glow remained, not enough for his fingers to catch.

  He exhaled in frustration.

  "The sun's already gone?" he muttered. "I still haven't absorbed enough. I wonder if moonlight even counts…"

  The thought slipped out before he could stop it.

  Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, it was an experiment for later. Moonlight wasn't here yet.

  Right now, the only thing he had was the panel.

  He pulled it up again, eyes going straight to the numbers.

  The disappointment hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

  After he'd pushed the unlock progress to 5%, he'd tried feeding more energy points into it, eager to keep the momentum.

  And discovered the catch.

  The cost had doubled.

  What used to be ten Energy Points for 1% had become twenty for the same measly increase. And from the way it scaled, he was sure it would jump again once he hit 10%.

  A nasty, climbing curve.

  "Of course," he thought, jaw tightening. "Can't have it be easy."

  After they'd herded everyone back to their cells, he'd spent the rest of the day with his arm hanging out the window whenever a shaft of light shifted past. His shoulder ached from holding the same angle for so long. His fingers were numb from scraping against rough stone.

  Exhaustion clung to him now, heavy and insistent.

  But he'd done it.

  He should have enough Energy Points stored to unlock the next ability.

  His hand hovered over the glowing progress bar in his mind's eye—but he didn't trigger it. Not yet.

  Instead, he leaned his head back against the cold wall and let his thoughts drift toward the name at the top of the template.

  God of Light.

  "I wonder which God of Light this is even talking about…" he murmured.

  Ancient myths and legends flickered through his memory in half-formed images. Baldur. Ra, the Egyptian sun god. Others he only vaguely remembered from movies, games, half-read wiki articles at three in the morning.

  So many gods are tied to light. To the sun. To radiance.

  And yet his first unlocked ability had been Dark Projectile.

  Space. A tearing, devouring void. Not exactly what you'd expect from a benevolent sun deity.

  "It doesn't match," he thought, frowning. "Either I don't know enough about these gods… or this 'God of Light' isn't based on any one of them."

  What made it worse was that different myths gave the same gods different aspects. Different powers. Different interpretations. His scattered knowledge didn't help at all.

  He rubbed his temple with two fingers, annoyed.

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  "It's not even clear what this God of Light is modeled on," he muttered.

  His gaze slid unconsciously to the basic abilities listed under his name.

  Energy Absorption.

  If he didn't have that…

  "Did I get this God of Light template because of my ability?" he wondered. "If I couldn't absorb energy, how would I feed the system at all?"

  The answer was obvious.

  I wouldn't.

  A grim image formed unbidden in his mind: this same cell, this same body strapped to a metal table under cold lights, dissected and discarded. Too weak to fight back. No system. No template. Just another corpse on a researcher's checklist.

  A chill crawled down his spine.

  "Damn," he thought, lips twisting. "When you think about it, this system's kind of outrageous."

  If he hadn't been born—or reborn—into a body that could drink in energy, he'd have no way to charge this so-called divine template.

  No second chance. No way to push back.

  "I shouldn't spiral over it," he told himself, forcibly cutting off the mental loop. "Once the unlock progress hits a hundred percent, maybe it'll make sense."

  Maybe.

  Or maybe he'd just be a stronger lab rat if he failed to escape.

  He refused to let that be the outcome.

  The decision settled his nerves.

  He focused on the panel, inhaled slowly, and pushed.

  Every last Energy Point he had poured into the unlock progress.

  The bar jumped.

  A crisp chime echoed in his mind.

  [Ability: Echo Shield (Unlocked)]

  The panel flickered, lines reshuffling as new data slid into place.

  [Name: Sol Walker]

  [Age: 16 (Remaining Lifespan: 114 days)]

  [Current Template: God of Light]

  (Unlock Progress: 10%)

  [Abilities: Energy Absorption, Energy Release]

  [GoL Abilities: (Dark Projectile (0/100) Level 1) | (Echo Shield (0/100) Level 1)]

  [Energy Points: 0]

  "Echo Shield?" he echoed under his breath.

  He couldn't deny it—his first reaction was disappointment. Compared to a space-tearing projectile, the name sounded painfully… defensive. Safe. Boring.

  He sat there for a moment in silence, letting the incoming information about the ability spool out in his mind.

  Then he huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

  "All right," he muttered. "It's not bad."

  The Echo Shield didn't just block.

  From the knowledge settling into his nerves and muscles, he understood it could intercept some energy-based attacks and even physical blows, then rebound a portion of what it took in. Redirect it.

  A shield that hit back.

  How effective it would be in an actual fight was another question entirely. Numbers in his head weren't the same thing as a punch to the gut or a bullet to the chest.

  "I'll have to test it," he thought, glancing around his cramped cell.

  That thought led to another, more tempting one.

  If I'm testing something anyway…

  He checked the corners of the ceiling. No cameras. Either they trusted the collars here, or the real surveillance was hidden elsewhere.

  Good enough for a small risk.

  He slid off the bed and squatted beside it, using the frame as partial cover from anyone who might glance in. The floor under him was cold, rough concrete pitted with old stains.

  He extended his right hand, palm facing down.

  "Let's see," he whispered.

  He summoned Dark Projectile—carefully, cautiously, like touching a knife edge.

  [Dark Projectile Experience +1]

  [Ability: Dark Projectile (1/100) Level 1]

  A faint hum brushed his senses as the notification appeared.

  Then, at the tip of his index finger, a sesame-sized blue particle blinked into existence. It wasn't bright, not like ordinary light. It was dense. Heavy. Wrong.

  The space around it warped.

  Air seemed to bend inward. The tiny point repelled the surrounding space, distorting it into a thin, finger-width strip of blackness that swallowed the color from everything behind it.

  With a soft, vicious whoosh, the distortion snapped forward.

  The concrete floor in front of his hand didn't crack.

  It vanished.

  A deep, neat, small hole appeared where solid stone had been, its edges smooth and sharp, like something had taken a bite out of reality itself.

  Sol's heart lurched.

  He stared at the hole, barely breathing.

  "That was… Level 1?" he thought, skin prickling. "At this range, it looks like a gunshot."

  A powerful one.

  "Pitifully small range, though," he muttered aloud, despite the awe threading through his voice. "If you didn't know what caused it, you'd just think someone fired a round into the floor."

  Still, the idea of that same distortion hitting flesh made his stomach knot.

  Before he could try to fire off another test shot, pain lanced through his neck.

  "Ah—!"

  The collar clamped against his skin began to vibrate sharply, a high-pitched beep drilling into his ears. Agony spiked from the base of his skull down his spine, like a live wire had been jammed directly into his nerves.

  Sol's hand flew to his throat.

  His fingers dug into the smooth metal, knuckles white, veins bulging at his temple as he ground his teeth against a groan.

  It felt like his neck was going to explode.

  Seconds crawled.

  The beeping finally cut off. The shock faded to a deep, throbbing ache.

  He stayed there, hunched, breathing hard, until the worst of it eased.

  When he finally straightened, sweat cooled on his skin, making the air feel even colder.

  His expression had gone flat.

  Then it tightened into a deep frown as his fingers traced the collar's edges.

  "With this thing on…" he thought, anger simmering beneath the pain, "I can't even train, let alone fight freely."

  A few more uses, and the monitors would flag the spike. Someone in a control room would rewind footage, see something strange, start asking questions.

  He couldn't afford that.

  He stared hard at the collar, as if he could burn a hole through it by will alone.

  "It looks like I really do need to get out of here," he said quietly.

  Not someday.

  Soon.

  He sat back on his heels and let his thoughts run cold and methodical for a moment. Cameras. Guard routes. Yard times. The collar's range of tolerance. The timing of shift changes. The moment the next God of Light ability would likely unlock.

  Piece by piece, a rough escape plan formed in his mind.

  Risky.

  But better than waiting to die on a table.

  "The next ability unlock is almost in reach," he thought, feeling a strange mix of dread and exhilaration coil in his chest. "By tomorrow night… I should be ready."