Twinlight

Chapter 10: Fight Fire with Fire

Silas Locke was the architect of Elian Thorne’s nightmare.

This world had never been solely defined by its mechanical civilization. Alongside the whirring cogs and drones thrived something far older and more enigmatic. Tonight’s Gauntlet, crafted by Silas, followed Lucian Reed’s directive: to test the mettle of the newcomer.

The trial, known as the Doppelgänger Dilemma, was meant to gauge Elian’s courage under pressure. But Silas hadn’t anticipated a reaction that transcended mere bravery.

He realized, with dawning clarity, that when danger loomed, this boy didn’t just endure—he responded with cold, calculated ferocity.

No tremor shook Elian now. No reckless, adrenaline-fueled defiance. Only icy calm.

Yet Silas was baffled. How had he broken free? This was his domain, woven from his own mind. He’d actively blocked Elian from seizing the dagger—yet the barrier had shattered like glass.

Standing in the empty parlor, Elian called out, "Silas?"

The Gauntlet held. Silas descended the stairs, still clad in the police uniform, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Remarkable. Maintaining lucidity within the Gauntlet… The boss was right. You’re… unusual."

"Why?" Elian asked, genuinely perplexed. "I’ve done nothing to provoke you."

"Because the boss sees potential in you," Silas replied, settling on the bottom step. "I needed to know what kind of man you are. Though it seems the Gauntlet may have lost its edge against you."

"Is this your ability?" Elian pressed.

"Yes," Silas shrugged, unbothered by the admission. "Just as you possess eidetic recall, I have my gifts. Nothing worth hiding."

Elian’s understanding of the world deepened, layered with new mystery. The coexistence of cold machinery and hidden power didn’t frighten him—it ignited a fierce curiosity. This, he realized, was why Lucian Reed and his circle held such sway within Penitentiary-18. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to possess it.

As Elian remained silent, lost in thought, Silas probed: "Are you with the Thorne Syndicate?"

Elian sidestepped the question. "Is that why I get special treatment? And why do the Sentinel Units ignore you?"

"The boss is… unique. The Sentinels don’t concern themselves with us," Silas deflected. "Don’t change the subject. I reviewed the surveillance footage. You spoke with Luther Ward. He’s Thorne, and he was desperate to reach you. That makes you Thorne Syndicate."

Thorne Syndicate. Elian filed the name away.

A strange calm settled over him. Against the reach Silas and Lucian possessed here, he was a child taking its first steps. There was no point in fear. Their continued interest, despite knowing his suspected affiliation, meant they wanted something too.

Elian lowered himself onto the torn sofa, his voice steady. "If you’re so certain I’m Thorne Syndicate, why offer me an olive branch?"

"Our organization doesn’t care about pedigree," Silas said, his grin widening. "Only shared purpose. Anyone can join." He paused, the grin sharpening. "If they’re worthy."

Elian blinked. All this… was an audition? He’d assumed they sought an alliance with his supposed backers.

"You’re recruiting me?" Elian asked, incredulous.

Silas noted, with renewed surprise, how completely the boy had relaxed. Utterly composed, facing the unknown. He’s only seventeen.

"Why are you in Penitentiary-18?" Silas pressed, genuinely curious.

*If I said I have no idea, would you believe me?* Elian thought wryly. *You’d need to ask Luther…* He made a mental note to extract the truth from the chatterbox—though the prospect of enduring Luther's eager rambling and brown-nosing made him wince.

"Don’t want to say? Fine," Silas conceded easily. "I’ll find out. Get some rest. You’ve got chess with the boss tomorrow."

Darkness swallowed Elian. He awoke on the cold floor of his cell, pulling himself onto the unforgiving bunk. His gaze fixed on the massive alloy door—beyond it lay the prison’s cold, enigmatic heart.

Return Countdown: 20:59:21

Return Countdown: 20:59:20

Dawn found Lucian Reed seated at his usual table, contemplating a chess endgame. The prison lay silent, inmates still confined.

Silas perched on a chair nearby. "Boss, I ran the kid through the Doppelgänger Dilemma last night. Guess what? He grabbed the knife and went straight for the kill. That boy’s got a ruthless streak."

Evander Vale frowned. "I told you not to push it. That trial breaks ordinary men."

"Relax," Silas retorted. "I aborted it. And you know what? He broke my control inside the Gauntlet."

"Oh?" Lucian looked up, genuine interest flickering in his eyes. "I confirmed he’s baseline human. For one to shatter your hold… That is unusual."

Even Felis, the large cat dozing on the table, opened one eye to regard Silas with feline curiosity.

"How did he manage it?" Evander asked.

"Don’t know," Silas admitted.

"Perhaps sheer force of will," Lucian mused, not pressing the point. Elian wasn’t the first to defy the Gauntlet.

Silas leaned forward. "Boss, I still urge caution. Elian’s… cold. Violent. He’s not like us."

"Violent?" Lucian’s smile was tinged with sadness. "How many of our brothers and sisters have died for this cause? How long have the three of us been caged in this steel tomb?" He met Silas’s gaze. "Understand this, Silas: We cannot answer darkness with gentleness." His voice hardened. "We must fight fire with fire."

A shadow crossed Lucian’s face. "Evander, fetch my harmonica."

As breakfast neared, the prison stirred. The clamor of inmates pounding on cell doors rose like steam in a boiling pot.

Then, pure, crystal-clear notes drifted across the prison yard. The haunting melody of a harmonica, achingly beautiful.

The pounding fists stilled. Men fell silent, listening. It was like cool spring rain falling on parched earth.