The outbreak was never an accident.
They called it Project Ascension—an experiment buried deep in the archives of the Global Biogenetics Coalition. A virus engineered to unlock dormant potential in human DNA. It was supposed to be controlled, selective. But like all things born of hubris, it escaped.
The first wave was small. A handful of cases in a remote lab in Oslo. Then a few more in Berlin. Within five years, it was global. The pathogen, nicknamed “Elysium,” didn’t kill. Not directly. It rewrote.
For those without the G-Variant gene, exposure meant coma. Weeks, sometimes months, of unconsciousness while their bodies fought to repair the damage. Most woke up. Some didn’t.
But for those who carried the gene?
Cocooning.
Their bodies wrapped in bio-luminescent shells, suspended in a state of genetic metamorphosis. When they emerged, they were changed. Faster. Stronger. Capable of things that defied physics. The world called them the Awakened.
Cashel had seen it all before. He’d watched his younger sister cocoon and emerge with the ability to manipulate gravity. He’d watched his father fall into a coma and never wake. Now, he waited—for the outbreak to reach his city again. For the inevitable.
He sat in the shadow of the old metro station, cigarette burning low between his fingers, eyes scanning the horizon. The air shimmered with heat, and the sky pulsed with a faint green hue—a sign that Elysium was active again.
“Still smoking those?” came a voice behind him.
Cashel turned, heart skipping.
Leonidas.
He leaned against the rusted pillar, arms crossed, dark curls falling into his eyes. He wore a sleeveless tactical vest, his arms inked with swirling patterns that glowed faintly in the low light. Cashel knew those tattoos weren’t just for show—they were conduits for his power. Leonidas had Awakened two years ago. He could manipulate kinetic energy. And Cashel had been in love with him long before that.
“Helps me think,” Cashel said, flicking ash to the ground.
Leonidas stepped closer, the scent of ozone and leather clinging to him. “You’re tense.”
“I’m always tense.”
“No,” Leonidas said, voice low. “This is different.”
Cashel didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not with Leonidas this close. Not with the memory of their last night together still burning in his mind—rough hands, whispered promises, the taste of blood and desire.
“I got tested again,” Cashel said finally. “I have the gene.”
Leonidas’s eyes darkened. “You’re going to cocoon.”
“Soon. Maybe tonight.”
Leonidas stepped forward, fingers brushing Cashel’s wrist. “You scared?”
Cashel laughed, bitter. “Of waking up different? Of forgetting who I am? Of forgetting you?”
Leonidas didn’t speak. He just leaned in, forehead resting against Cashel’s. The silence between them was heavy, electric.
“I’ll be here,” Leonidas whispered. “When you wake up. No matter what you become.”
Cashel closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Leonidas’s breath anchor him. “Promise?”
Leonidas kissed him—soft, slow, aching. “I swear.”
Then the sky cracked.
A pulse of energy surged through the city. Cashel gasped, his body convulsing. Light erupted from his skin, wrapping around him in threads of gold and violet. Leonidas stepped back, eyes wide, fists clenched.
“Cashel!”
But it was too late.
The cocoon formed, sealing Cashel inside.
Leonidas dropped to his knees; hands pressed to the glowing shell.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
And inside the cocoon, Cashel dreamed of fire, flight, and the man he loved.
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