—When Cores Collide
June 6, 2031.
8:15 AM
The school gates loomed before Shawn like the rusted jaws of an ancient beast.
Wrought-iron bars glistened with morning dew, droplets clinging like saliva from a hungry maw.
He adjusted his backpack strap. The weight of his dormant Thunder Core pressed against his sternum like a leaden heart.
Three days had passed since his return from the capital. Yet Elder Lee's cryptic words coiled through his mind like smoke:
"The storm isn't coming."
What should have been reassurance now felt like the calm before a hurricane.
A familiar scent cut through the crisp autumn air—sandalwood and something burnt.
Shawn turned.
Dan emerged from the student swarm. His usual varsity jacket was gone, replaced by a tailored blazer that looked absurdly out of place.
But it wasn't the clothes that made Shawn's breath catch.
It was the pendant at Dan's throat.
The Fire Core pulsed like an open wound, its crimson glow reflected in eyes now flecked with molten gold.
Dan smirked. "Nervous, superstar?"
He tapped the pendant with deliberate casualness. Heatwaves rippled through the air between them.
"Don't worry," he added, the smile never reaching his altered eyes. "We'll make today memorable."
A sound rose behind Shawn—Julie humming "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" in a haunting, watery vibrato.
Her usual neat braids had unraveled into loose waves that moved with unnatural fluidity, as if suspended in an invisible current.
The Water Core at her throat shimmered, casting shifting blue patterns across her pale skin. In the refracted morning light, momentary numbers appeared:
2031. 1931 again.
Shawn's stomach twisted.
They have Arcane Cores too?
His fingers twitched toward his own concealed pendant.
But the Thunder Core remained silent. Not just quiet—hollow. As if something had scooped out its usual electric presence.
The sensation reminded him of waking from a nightmare, limbs unresponsive, mind trapped in stillness.
---
8:30 AM - Examination Hall
The hall smelled of industrial-strength cleaner and adolescent anxiety.
Shawn took his assigned seat by the left window. Instinctively, he noted the positioning—
Dan to his right.
Julie directly behind.
A perfect triangle. And he was the apex.
At the front of the room, Mr. Rook loomed like a misplaced relic—thick glasses slipping down his nose, gray hair in a permanent state of disarray, and a sweater vest that might've once been ironic but now just looked tired.
There was something almost comical about him, like a cartoon owl forced into human form. But the severity in his eyes cut through the absurdity.
This was a man who could detect cheating with sonar.
Shawn's pencil case rattled on the desk. Not from his hands—but from some deeper resonance.
The Thunder Core had never been this silent before. Not dormant. Muted.
---
9:00 AM - Language Arts Exam
The test booklet crackled as Shawn turned the first page.
Question 1:
"Compare pre-WWII economic collapse narratives to post-economic literature, with particular attention to cyclical motifs."
His pen hovered.
Normally, the Thunder Core would whisper connections to him.
Today—only static.
White noise. Broken by occasional bursts of what sounded like… old radio broadcasts?
A sizzling sound pulled his attention rightward.
Dan was writing. Smoke curled from his pencil tip. The Fire Core's glow intensified with every word. Heat radiated from his desk, making the air shimmer—warping Shawn's view of his own test.
Behind him, gentle sloshing.
Through the window's reflection, Shawn saw Julie's Water Core pulse. Ink flowed upward from her pen—defying gravity—forming perfect characters that rearranged mid-sentence.
They weren't just cheating.
Their Cores were feeding them answers.
An intimacy Shawn had never achieved with his own Core.
Ice water flooded his veins.
---
10:15 AM
Dan was the first to finish.
SLAM.
His test booklet hit the desk with unnecessary force. Several students flinched.
He strode forward, the Fire Core pulsing like a racing heart. Its afterimages burned into Shawn's vision.
As Dan passed Shawn's desk, he dragged his fingers across the surface.
The laminate bubbled and warped instantly, molten plastic branding a message into existence:
THEY REMEMBER 1931.
Julie followed.
Droplets trailed from her pendant, darkening the exam sheet. One expanded—shimmering—before evaporating, revealing elegant cursive:
THIS TIME, WE CONTROL THE RESET.
Shawn's hands trembled.
The Thunder Core stayed silent.
But something deeper stirred.
An instinct older than the pendant itself.
Something that recognized this for what it truly was—
A declaration of war.
---
11:00 AM
The exam bell rang.
Relief should have come with it.
Instead—
Three sharp pulses.
The Thunder Core's first reaction all morning.
Then—silence again.
Around him, students stretched and laughed. Oblivious.
Dan and Julie radiated tension like a pressure drop before a storm.
---
11:05 AM — Sunlight dappled the schoolyard.
Fresh-cut grass. The sharp, metallic scent of ozone—
A storm waiting just beyond the horizon.
Everything looked normal.
Safe.
And then—
A scream.
Dan stood atop a concrete bench, arms raised in mock benediction.
The Fire Core at his throat ignited—
A halo of flame erupted, crackling like a living crown.
Students stumbled back, their screams strangled by shock.
Julie stepped forward from the panicked crowd.
Her Water Core surged violently.
Behind her, the decorative fountain shattered, and water rose—
twisting, shimmering, coiling into a dome above her.
"AGI-ST will reshape history," she intoned, her voice laced with echoes—
as if other versions of her spoke in unison from distant places.
Droplets crystallized midair, sharpening into deadly icicles.
Each one caught the scene around them, reflecting chaos from countless angles.
"The great moment is coming."
The icicles trembled—
Then aligned—
Toward Shawn.
"No one can stop it! Look—the countdown has begun!"
High above, the ancient quartz clock in the tower flared to life.
Blood-red numbers glowed across its face:
2031.07.01 | 24D | 03:15:23
Shawn's blood turned cold.
They didn't just know about the loop—
They meant to trigger it.
To erase everything.
To rewrite it all.
A sudden grip on his arm—
Rook.
The old proctor stood like a lightning rod in the storm's eye.
His long coat flared. His glasses glinted.
He smelled of wet earth and ozone.
In his hand, a pocket watch clicked open—
Its brass face worn smooth, engraved with two dates:
1931 – 2031
"They think repeating 1931 will save them," Rook growled.
"They don't understand—"
"It'll doom us all."
"The Conclave doesn't want to break the cycle—"
"They want to own it."
Shawn opened his mouth to ask, What conclave?
Then—
A fireball hurtled toward them.
Shawn didn't think—
He moved.
Shoved Rook clear—
Dove behind a stone planter.
Heat roared past.
The smell of burning hair curled around him.
"The clock tower!"
Rook's voice cut through the chaos.
His veins stood out like high-tension cables.
"Last time—it was the clock! That's how they initiated the reset!"
Shawn looked up.
The tower's hands spun wildly.
Numbers warped.
Roman numerals melted like candle wax.
Another blast—
No hesitation.
Dan's fire roared forward—
Shawn grabbed Julie.
Spun her into its path.
Water met flame.
The resulting steam explosion cracked the sky.
The earth shuddered.
Windows blew inward.
Students scattered like leaves.
At last—
The Thunder Core awoke.
Lightning split the heavens.
And Shawn understood.
The storm wasn't coming.
It had already arrived.